A/N: I was begged/convince to write this by an anonymous person and as it's a bit different from writing Stendan, I thought – eh why not? Obviously contains Ethan/Brendan so avoid if you hate the idea of it! It is an acquired taste I know. ;) if you do read, I hope you like it anyway.
Off the Record
He laid there, starched sheets sticking to his skin, for the third night in a row. It was that recurring dream again.
The sounds around him were ones that he was becoming accustomed to, but ones that still stiffened his spine with fear. His police training had cemented his strict views on justice and punishment – as far as he'd always been concerned crime was not a grey area – but nothing had prepared him for the reality of prison.
He knew criminals, he'd known bad men, but he'd always thought of himself as one of the good guys. But how did the saying go? Good guys finish last.
When he couldn't sleep, he rested his head back and thought about the men who had slept in this bed before him. The young, the old, the innocent, the guilty. He noticed scratchings and marks on the wall. An eye for an eye: said one. Revenge. And he thought of one man when these words caught his eyes – Brendan Brady. An enigma, a dominant, dark puppet master at the heart of the village. The very same man he'd wrongly accused and convicted, a man who committed crimes with a charm and a beauty – not a thug like so many others, not a brute – he made people bow to him in spite of his wrongs.
And he was the ever-present object of desire in Ethan's dreams, reflecting more about the inner workings of his mind than he dared consider awake. Tonight's had been no different.
\x\
"Brendan Brady? Are you serious?" Ethan said, an edge of despair to his voice when he picked up a call from his boss.
"You know him, you've questioned him before," the sergeant said.
Ethan rubbed his forehead and trying to summon the strength he needed to resist falling for Brady's charm offensive. "But this is different, this is undercover."
"Tell him it's off the record. You know as well as I do that he likes a pretty boy," the sergeant lisped his voice at this and laughed heartily.
"He's not going to fall for it,"
"Try. Get a confession out of him. I'm not having another open case on my hands when you should be doing your job properly."
\x\
Of course Brendan was suspicious. He had a nose for these things. He eyed Ethan up and down (then up again) as soon as he stood in the doorway of Chez Chez. Trying to sound as casual as possible, Ethan explained he was there for a chat – off the record, of course – about Warren Fox. Ethan knew he wanted rid and he thought they might be able to help each other out.
Brendan ushered him into the office with a smile that for a moment Ethan thought meant he was winning. But he knew it was never that easy with Brendan.
"I take precautions," Brendan said flirtatiously. "If this is really off the record," he said locking the door behind them, "then you'll let me search you."
"I'm not bugged,"
Brendan smirked. "Then you won't mind."
\x\
"Stand there," he instructed, propelling himself out of the chair and approaching Ethan. As he closed in, the room seemed to shrink around them. "Put your arms out."
He huffed but complied regardless. "This really isn't necessary."
Brendan stood in front of him toe-to-toe and pressed a finger against the other man's lips. "Sssh," he said and circled round him before stopping directly at his back.
He must have been close ; Ethan could hear the wet chewing from his mouth. Brendan pressed the tip of his nose against the nape of Ethan's neck; his skin prickled with fear.
"You're nervous," Brendan said, running his hands over and under Ethan's arms.
"I've got nothing to hide," Ethan said with a shaky confidence that was destroyed immediately with Brendan's sharp laughter. He thrust his hands into the pockets of Ethan's jacket then paced around him until they were facing again.
Ethan had noticed it before, the way Brendan moved his head slowly from side to side when he was studying someone. He had the ability to unnerve and terrify with a glance and Ethan started to feel it now, a rush of heat making his clothes stick to him. Without giving him a moment to speak, Brendan had stepped even closer and ran his palms down the sides of Ethan's body. Feeling an uncomfortable flush of anxious perspiration, Ethan twitched under Brendan's touch.
"Hot or cold Dectective?" he said with a warm exhale against Ethan's earlobe. "Am I getting hot or cold?" He paused, reeled back his head and dragged his thumbs down the front of Ethan's torso, stopping at the waist where his shirt was tucked firmly into his work-trousers.
Ethan's eyes darted to the ceiling as he squirmed; Brendan's hands lingered in the front trouser pockets. His fingertips grazed the inner lining.
"Open them."
He spluttered. "What?"
And there it was again: the laughter. "Did you really think I wasn't going to check there? Me? Really?" Brendan took a moment to clasp Ethan's face in his hands. "So y'are just a pretty face then,"
Half-heartedly, Ethan attempted to shake him off. "You really think I'd hide a recording device there?"
A smile curled his lips, a slithered glance of those threatening teeth, as he spoke. "So you're just pleased to see me then?"
Chest feeling tight, Ethan willed himself to bolt out of the office dignity and sanity (mostly) intact. Instead he stumbled awkwardly backwards when Brendan's hand groped at his crotch.
"Easy," Brendan teased, stilling him with one hand on his shoulder.
Ethan's eyes darted in an inevitable embarrassment that, as he'd expected and dreaded, he was throbbing hard in this man's palm. He dared to look, for a fleeting moment, into Brendan's eyes. They glittered with what Ethan could only imagine was pity.
The amusement in his voice didn't go unnoticed and he rolled his hand over Ethan's groin. "Well, what you lack in policing you certainly make up for in enthusiasm," he said.
As Ethan tried to hide his mortification, Brendan pulled a mocking sad face. He lowered his mouth to Ethan's ear and licked the edge of his lobe.
"Don't be ashamed. Are you ashamed? You are ashamed?" he said in a manic sing-song. Then much darker: "Open them."
Ethan's hands fumbled to his belt; the clunk-clank sounds of surrender.
"Your weakness," Brendan said, words deep and measured as he stroked teasingly against Ethan's cock, "is pathetic. But so…" His mouth hovered beside Ethan's, whose bottom lip jutted out in a quivering mixture of terror and anticipation, and then he sunk his teeth into the flesh, tugged and withdrew. "Delicious," he finished. Brendan kissed him with tight-lipped coldness - and in a surprising hunger – Ethan kissed him back.
As Ethan felt his underwear grow damp around him, Brendan was momentarily distracted with the discovery of an electronic device and wiring hooked between Ethan's discarded belt and his shoe. He laced it between two fingers and tutted.
"Disappointing," he said. Brendan gathered the recording equipment, stamped it with his foot until the screen shattered and hurtled it across the room.
He changed tact then – eased back onto the edge of the desk – he sat and observed.
"So what convinced you to be a copper then? Did ya play cops and robbers? Chasing people around and around until they squeaked 'I give up, punish me for being bad!'? Yeah, is that how it happened?"
Ethan didn't answer. Brendan jerked up onto his feet again, taking Ethan's wrists in a tight grip.
"Or was it the handcuffs? Di'they get you off? Seeing men like me with no control. Or is it because you like men like me? You like the bad ones; the ones that get under your skin; the ones that keep you awake at night with your little fantasies; the ones that keep you going from girl to girl sticking your dick about hoping that someone might think you're just a little bit bad. A little bit like me,"
"I'm nothing like you!" Ethan replied. His eyes were steely for a moment.
He laughed. "You're three inches smaller for a start. And I ain't talking height."
Belittled and degraded to his limit, Ethan crouched to scoop up his trousers.
"Hey," Brendan said, giving his shoulder a little shove and the clothes and belt falling back to the floor, "Where do you think you're going?"
"Out of here!"
Brendan shook his head. "You're forgetting one thing: my confession,"
Ethan scoffed. "I think we're past that, don't you?"
His eyebrows flickered up and his gaze lingered on the pressing hard-on under Ethan's clothing. He backed him up until they were pressed against the door of the office. Brendan had two fingers pressed against Ethan's chest and revelled in the breathless anxiety in his face.
He leant in close after a mocking cross of his chest and kiss of his cross. "My confession: I'm gonna fuck you. And you wanna know what your confession is?" He smiled then, something so smug and wicked and arousing about it. "You want me to fuck you,"
Attempting to worm his way apart from Brendan, Ethan turned his head and slid against the door, but after moving an inch, Brendan's broad forearms trapped him. His breath was hot and claustrophobic and the weight of him against his body almost made Ethan feel faint.
"You wanna play bad? I'm giving you the perfect opportunity," Brendan purred, his palms circling up over Ethan's chest, fingers scratching through his cotton shirt. "Be bad," he drawled into Ethan's ear.
He felt a moan rise in the back of his throat, but it was lost in their drumming heartbeats. Ethan closed his eyes and with a resigned sigh finally answered. "Just once." He sounded almost breathless when he admitted his defeat. "And it goes no further, okay?"
He searched out for Brendan's eyes for some sort of promise or understanding, realising he was being an idiot for placing so much trust in a criminal but obeying regardless, and found none. Brendan wasn't interested in contracts or keeping his word; his motives and intentions were like a red-mist his eyes.
Their open mouths danced around each other, top and bottom lips brushing as a tease. Ethan freed himself from his jacket, shoes and socks and launched himself onto Brendan's mouth, feeling the power soon snatched from him. Brendan made brutal, hot work of the kiss, tugging down Ethan's underwear and pushing him across the room. With a firm shove, and Ethan's palms out to hold himself up, Brendan bent him over the glass desk, sucking the flesh of his neck and shoulders in through his teeth.
Ethan pressed his forehead against his forearm on the desk; his eyes squeezed shut and he succumbed to the sounds trapped within him. He abandoned all hope of rational thought, or thinking at all, and let himself give into full loss of power. When it came to Brendan, it was hopeless to assume any sort of dominance, even if the job required it. It was a losing battle; he was impossible to resist.
Brendan had pushed Ethan's shirt up his spine and kissed there, down and further down. He made Ethan beg for it. That was half the pleasure, making Ethan ask and plead. The other half came from watching him squirm under the licking of Brendan's tongue.
He fucked him. Rough and sweaty and half dressed. He kept Ethan's head down, ("I'm not interested in looking into your eyes pretty boy,") letting the man under him groan and leave damp teeth marks in his own arm. Like Brendan knew he would – he was weak – Ethan came first, spilling over Brendan's hand and after a startled cry, slumped over the desk and reeled with the aftershock as Brendan pounded into him four final times.
A little while after they'd cleaned and zipped in silence, Brendan offered Ethan a mocking round of applause.
"You've finally found something you're good at," he said. Swaggering closer, it was him that looked proud of himself, not Ethan. "Does that go down well at the station? Letting the suspects fuck you? Do the crooks get sucked off and the murderers get the main prize?" he continued, taking Ethan's arse under his hands and squeezing.
He shifted away, mortified. "Don't."
Brendan reached up and tilted his chin towards him, "You know where to find me if you need a reminder of who's in charge. Now get out of my sight."