A/N: Starting another fan fiction…not sure why, I'm an idiot, I know. Dedicated to a) iamthebabelfish who gave me inspiration for this due to a roleplay between me and her…and b+c) to NattieeeJayyy and ChantelleOD for listening to this idea and fangirling over it… This chapter was mainly a chance for me to do a bit of descriptive writing before I went into the plot =) Thanks for T for helping with the title.

Brendan took another sip of the amber liquid in his tumbler and sighed, twirling it in his hands, watching the liquid splash against the sides of the glasses. The club was dimly lit and had closed an hour ago, yet he could still smell the lingering odour of drunk, sweat-ridden uni students. He hated students. Hated them. The club was always full of them though, so he didn't really have the right to complain, considering they were one of their main sources of profit.

He looked up lazily as Rhys trudged out of the office, shrugging his jacket on. "Right. I, err, sorted that rota thingy out. Is it alright if I go now, boss?"

Brendan nodded a little and tilted his glass a little as a sort of salute. "See ye tomorrow…" He drawled slowly, draining the last of his whisky and standing up straight as Rhys walked out and closed the door. Brendan shivered a little from the gust of cold wind and the slight spatter of rain that came in through the door before Rhys shut it and he poured himself another whisky.

He was used to spending his nights like this - after closing time - just lingering around for another two hours or so, not really doing anything…just existing. It was relaxing, in a way. More relaxing than being at home with Cheryl; the chatterbox and village gossip and Lynsey, who was just as bad. Not to mention Scottish Foxy who was always nattering in his ear, trying to impress him. Sometimes all Brendan wanted, no, needed, was a bit of peace and quiet, where he could be alone with his thoughts, no matter how weird those thoughts may be.

He stood up straight and walked slowly to the sofa, sitting down on it and leaning back, making himself comfortable. He could hear the faint, repetitive pattering of the rain against the brickwork and roof of the club and it was, in a weird way, sort of soothing. It echoed softly through the large empty space of the nightclub and it made it feel bigger, made Brendan feel like he had the whole world to himself.

The club seemed so huge, so peaceful right now, and it was bizarre to think you could barely move in this space only an hour ago. Every night it turns into a place which vaguely reminded Brendan of hens in the battery cages. Not like he was complaining; it all meant more money for him. When he'd first got into this business, running nightclubs used to make him feel a little ill; the smell of people and the heart-shaking bass of the music used to get to him. But now he was sort of accustomed to it. He liked it.

He heard the wind batter the building outside and he smiled to himself, pitying poor Rhys who had just left to walk home, pitying all those who had left the clubs when it closed, the weather cursing their luck and he envied those who were warm in bed, safe from the storm with people they love.

Wow.

That was a weird thought. Too much whisky, Brendan told himself, brushing away that odd thought. He downed the rest of the golden liquid in his glass and crunched on one of the ice cubes as it slid into his mouth. He pondered over his life at the moment for a brief second and considered staying and pouring more whisky. But something nagged at him in the back of his mind. There's something you have to do, mate. So with that, he stood up and walked out of the club, shivering only slightly against the onslaught.

-OXO-

The rain was constant all night. So was the wind. Brendan lay on his side and stared at the red digits on the alarm clock that read 4:17. it was the early hours of the morning and yet he could still hear the wind howling and shaking the window pane. He turned to lie on his back and stared up at the tiny details of the intricate patterned ceiling that he could see thanks to the orange glare of the street lamps coming through the crack in the curtains.

He turned his head to the side to look at the space in the bed beside him. Except there was no space. And this was not his bed. He smiled a little to himself and reached up his hand to brush a bit of hair away from Stephen's sleeping face. He hadn't expected to get him back tonight, not after everything. But when he turned up at just gone 2am on Stephen's doorstep, drenched in rainwater, something in the core of Stephen's very being reignited. He saw it with his own eyes.

But Stephen wasn't that easy, not any more. He had provided Brendan with a towel to dry himself off and a cup of tea and they sat and talked. Small talk, jokes, sarcastic comments and then eventually - when neither of them could ignore the obvious anymore - they discussed their relationship, their feelings and eventually, the mutual desire to be in a relationship, Douglas or no Douglas. It was going to be difficult, but Brendan had cracked it. So with that, they had gone to bed together. Around an hour from this very moment.

It had been a quick session of sex, to be fair, as they had both been desperate and longing for one another's touches. It was messy and sloppy, their lips colliding desperately, almost tearing one another's clothes off until they both collapsed on the bed and became a mess of limbs and deep thrusts and hair pulling and the deepest, warmest feeling in the bottom of both their guts. Eventually, they became harmonious, a symphony of moans and cries, and a routine of kissing and biting and hip rolling and thrusts, so intricate it almost seemed as if it had choreographed and planned. And as they drew to a close, they pressed their foreheads together, moaning the other's name as they came.

Stephen had been exhausted, Brendan remembered. And he had fallen asleep soon after Brendan had pulled out. But it wasn't like Brendan cared; they had all the time in the world, right? Besides, he didn't mind having Stephen sleep beside him. So he closed his eyes and listened to the howling wind and the hammering rain - satisfied by the fact that the envious feeling from earlier had dissipated. He had his Stephen back.