A mixture of fluffy and sexy scenarios set over various years within canon and the future. Enjoy!
Deleted Scenes from Domestic Bliss
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from: February 2013
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Ste's gums vibrate, minty spray dotting the mirror, as the toothbrush head finishes a lap of his mouth. Electric toothbrushes are a sign of fancy living. It's an elite lifestyle he's never been a part of – until now. It's for posh people too lazy to do it themselves; it's basically one step below having your own house cleaner. The weird drill noise and ticklish mechanics of it still take some getting used to and half the time he's tempted to turn it off and just scrub at them himself, but he won't. Because the electric toothbrush is Brendan's. It's in their (their their their!) bathroom now. Permanently.
In a way, Ste's quite glad he doesn't need to clean his teeth manually anymore. Looking around the bathroom, he's noticed the sink edge (which normally just housed a bar of budget soap, a razor and a gluey tube of Colgate) has grown in clutter. One jerk of his elbow in a bout of enthusiastic brushing and the whole lot would scatter. The cabinet above the sink is worse. What once housed a modest collection of toiletries from Boots and kids' novelty bubble bath now contains designer bottles and tubs – lotions and scents. Hair wax (what's wrong with gel?) and aftershave balm (er…a splash of water?) and things Ste can't even read. Things in French.
But when Ste notices, it isn't in annoyance – it isn't some commitment-phobe reaction – it's because he likes signs of Brendan in his life. He likes bundling up the washing and half of his arms are full of Brendan's shirts. He likes when he opens the fridge and sees Brendan's bought a new pint of milk.
He doesn't really know why Brendan needs so much stuff, so once he's inspected the bottles in the cabinet he starts looking closer at Brendan to see if he can notice a difference. He aims for subtlety, pressed up against Brendan's body and trying to concentrate on his pores and lines.
They're alone in the flat; the kids are with Mike and have been since Brendan moved in. The spell will be broken in the morning when their granddad drops them off. Ste knows he'll have to try and persuade Brendan to stay out of the way but doesn't want to drag up the whole Amy thing again seeing as it's mere days since the big bust up over it.
"Time's Mike bringing the kids back tomorrow?" Brendan says, his words form lazy half-sentences in the dark like he's used up all his day's energy on that earlier fuck. His arm flexes around Ste's shoulder, his warm muscles clenching and relaxing.
"Eleven," Ste says. He skirts his finger around Brendan's nipple and knows he probably shouldn't bite it – but definitely will – when they've got the serious talk out of the way. Brendan goes crazy over Ste's little cat-licks and nibbles of his chest. It's the quickest way to round two, save sitting on his face and letting the heat of his thighs rub up against Brendan's stubble. He does that so often he's surprised it still has an impact.
"I'll head to the club at ten then. Got books to do and stuff, so…" Brendan says and his voice drifts into nothing. His brow lowers, his head twisting back a little to get a better look at Ste. "Have I got something on my face, or?"
Ste avoids eye contact and ruffles, before tutting to make out Brendan's exaggerating. "Just looking, aren't I? Thought I was allowed to look?" He reaches out and strokes Brendan's cheek with his knuckles. It's smooth. Tea-tree smooth. He never sees Brendan put it on; he keeps up the pretence and locks himself away.
Brendan's fingers tighten around his wrist and he prises him off, pinning his arm up above their heads. "Look but not touch," he says and kisses the sensitive underside of his arm, leaving Ste in giggles. Brendan knows all his weak spots – there's a lot.
"Wouldn't wanna ruin all that time you spend in the bathroom slapping cream on your face," Ste says, just as the tip of Brendan's tongue circles in the crook of Ste's arm – the smell of his skin must be suffocating Brendan's nostrils; he's that close.
He stops licking and Ste feels a rush of cool air in its trail. "And?" Brendan says, jaw twitching.
"Just saying." Ste tries to distract him with his free arm – scratching his nails through the short hair on the back of Brendan's head. He draws his mouth into a sulky pout and sighs. Whines. Changes direction. "Suck me off, will ya?" He pulls his leg over the top of Brendan's and angles his body so that his erection nudges Brendan.
Brendan releases Ste's hand and glides his own down the outline of his body. There's a shiver in Ste's frame, rippling with anticipation, but the look Brendan gives him tells him his excitement is premature. Ste closes his eyes, ignoring the way Brendan's bottom lip juts out at him with playful menace. Brendan's fingers gloss against his arse, liquid soft.
"You like that, Steven?"
Ste hums. He knows his smile is dopey, he can imagine it taking over his face. He makes all the right noises. "Nice hands. Soft."
"Good job I slap on all that cream then, isn't it?" Brendan says, shifting in the bed and pinching Ste, enough to make him shriek.
"Fucking hell, Brendan!" Ste says, shoving him, his skin smarting at the sharp pinch. "That well hurt!"
"You want some cream on it?" Brendan says, deadpan.
"Oh ha ha. Very funny." He folds his arms across his chest like a child and rolls away from Brendan so they're touching at the shoulders now rather than chest.
Brendan releases a long stream of air as if he's planning something. It's one of his 'old man' noises that now make up the soundtrack of the flat. He lifts the duvet with two fingers, tilting his gaze underneath. Inspects. "Still wanna blow job?"
Ste grunts. His body gives him away.
"Well, don't sound too keen!"
"If you want."
"Don't sulk like a fucking baby." Brendan clambers on top of him, bare thighs parted either side of his.
"Fine, go on then. Suck me off then," Ste says, still with a grump in his voice. Of course he wants it, but he has to put up a bit of resistance in retaliation. It's how they work.
Brendan has both of Ste's arms pinned up over the pillow and his breath pants in hot, claustrophobic streams against Ste's neck as he kisses him. Then he stops as if he's been hit by a thought and pulls away.
"What? What?" Ste asks and the reluctance drops like a scolding object to the floor. If Brendan pauses, there's always a reason.
"You think the kids'll be okay with me moving in?" he says, pulling back into a kneeling position. His thumbs trace over Ste's wrists and it's so delicate and intimate that Ste wishes it'll never end.
"Course. They love you, don't they?"
"Do they?"
Ste didn't expect that response and he blinks. He's still getting used to seeing Brendan prised open like this, so vulnerable with him. "Course they do. You're 'Daddy Brendan' aren't you?"
Brendan releases him and spreads his hands down over Ste's chest before gravitating back to his face and hair. Ste's never known someone who would worship his face as much as Brendan does. It's like he's memorising even speck of him. Ste knows why – Brendan won't let himself believe that he can hold onto the good things. He holds Ste's cheeks in both hands. It looks like he wants to say more, like he's completely fogged with other worries, but he doesn't admit them.
"You're their Dad, a real dad. I'm not fit for…" he stops. Ste reaches up to touch his cheek and shakes his head.
"Brendan-"
"Until Amy knows, if the kids slip up or – I don't know – maybe…"
Ste has a sudden, painful pang. His mind cascades through the worst outcomes – that Brendan wants to move out, that he wants to stop seeing each other. His hands fall to Brendan's waist like he's protecting him from leaving.
Brendan brightens a little, masking whatever insecurities he'd dug into. "How does 'Uncle Brendan' sound?" He rolls his r's and tries to make a joke of it. His pupils don't meet Ste's until the last minute, until his smile is secured.
Ste doesn't know how to respond, he doesn't know the right words and he's aware of how coarse his hands feel against Brendan's body. It's having them in water so often; he's forever needing to wash his hands in the deli. He thinks he might nick a bit of handcream when Brendan's not watching.
"I love having you here," he says. He knows those tensions are still bubbling but he can't find a way to solve them without confronting his fears. Telling Amy could mean losing the kids. "I love living with you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Good." When he exhales it's in his throat, sounding like the stopping of an old train. He uses both hands, pulling Ste's cock between both of his palms. They're soft, but his intent isn't.
::
from April 2016
::
"Thought you were sick?" Brendan says, looking up but with half an eye still on the club accounts. Takings are on the up but they're bound to take a nose dive again this month now that all the college students will have trotted home to see mummy and daddy. It wouldn't normally bother him – the usual cycle of profit and loss – but he's meant to be putting a little away each month to save for some family caravan park Steven saw on the TV. At least, he claimed to have seen it on the TV. Brendan has a sneaking suspicion he went there with Rae and the kids in a time of their lives that seems so long ago now. But it gives him an uneasy stab of jealousy that he's been before with an ex. The whole idea of a holiday park makes him sweat but he's putting the pennies away and praying for a torrential downpour that lasts the six week school holidays. Then wouldn't it be a crying shame if the holiday was rained off?
"I am." Leah pouts, swinging around as she grips onto the back of Brendan's chair. She's full of drama like her mother.
"Why aren't you in bed then?" Brendan faces away from her, picking up his pen and pretending to do important grown-up scribbles in the books.
"DVD's finished," she says trying to lift up the front of the accounts folder.
"You want me to put on another one?" Brendan asks and sees that she's looking a lot healthier than the sickly performance she gave before school this morning. Steven's a lot tougher than he is, but even he gave in today – preoccupied with starting an early shift in the café he works in. Brendan agreed to stay at home and keep an eye on her. That involved staying out the way as she watched Frozen twice and warming her up some soup when she felt up to it. Well, he was supposed to make soup.
Ste had called earlier to check up on her (both of them really) and had talked Brendan through a – what he called 'simple' – chicken soup recipe.
"You do know who you're talking to?" Brendan had said, not bothering to write anything down. He'd make her a dippy egg. Steven had said no dippy eggs – they weren't good for kids' stomachs, especially not when they were poorly. But when Brendan was a kid he remembered his mother making him a dippy egg with its runny centre like liquid gold.
"Bren, it's not that difficult…"
"Steven, she'll be fine. I've given her a banana and some brandy and she's perked up a bit." He waited for the reaction, smirking away.
"Right, you better be joking me!"
"Get back to work, kiddo."
"Call me if there's any problems, yeah?"
"Love you."
"Love you too."
He made her a dippy egg.
Still using the back of Brendan's chair as a ballet bar, Leah insists she doesn't want another DVD on so picks up Brendan's calculator and prods at random numbers. He's dragged away from his books for a moment and shows her how to write 'HELLO' on the calculator. Then 'BOOBS'. He finds it funnier than she does and folds away his work – he's not going to get anymore done today.
"What do you wanna do then, sweetheart?" He's tired of playing the enemy. If she wants to skip school for a day at home where's the harm?
A few moments later Leah trots off to her bedroom and then reappears clutching an array of glitter nail polish. She lays them out with salon precision on the coffee table and plonks herself down on the sofa, fingers splayed and looking pointedly at Brendan.
He stands, looking at her, arms folded. "Paint your nails?"
"Uh-huh!" She grins, wobbly teeth and all. "Please, Daddy Brendan." She pouts again – the kind he can never say no too. She really is daddy's little girl and she knows it.
"Jesus Mary and Joseph," he says, under his breath.
When Ste comes home with Lucas at four, Brendan and Leah are camped out on the living room sofas watching some girlie American sitcom on the Disney channel. Leah has her spindly arms wrapped around one of Brendan's, using him like a cushion. Like Ste suspects, Brendan has nodded off, but wakes with a start when Lucas comes bounding in, jumping on him.
"Long day, was it?" Ste says, teasing as he sheds his coat in the hallway and steps over the collection of discarded toys around their feet in the living room. Neither of them are very strict on the tidying front. Brendan manhandles Lucas, tossing him to one side like a rugby ball; he likes a bit of rough and tumble and is often found head butting various pieces of furniture.
They kiss and it lasts slightly longer, is slightly needier than their usual greeting and the kids make predictable 'yuck' faces.
Leah's multi-coloured glittery nails catch the light and Ste pounces immediately, holding her hand. "What's this?"
Leah smiles, shifting her eyes from side to side. She doesn't land Brendan in it just yet.
"Leah! You know you're not allowed to put all that on your fingers when you've got school. You had a letter about it last week!"
Brendan stands like someone's ejected his seat and bumbles about, muttering something about tidying up. Before he can move out of Ste's war path, he's nailed with Ste's pointed finger.
"Did you let her do this?"
"Woah hang on now, why've I been dragged into this?"
"Cos you've got glitter on your own fingers, that's why!"
Ste's eyes bulge, his face fixed. Brendan loves him a little more for that – his parent face. The one where he's waiting for the kids to apologise. Brendan glances down and sees that he's got the evidence all over him.
"I was just trynna make her feel better. Do a good thing for the poorly princess." As if on cue, Leah snuggles up to Brendan's side, twirling the end of a fishtail plait which had also been his doing. He'd been proud of that.
"Glitter as well, Bren – really? You know how hard that stuff is to get off?"
Brendan's focus slides, rolling his eyes. "Not personally, no."
Ste stoops down. "And you missy," he says, holding onto Leah's shoulders, "should know better. You're supposed to be off school sick, right? Not doing your nails. Now go and get those remover pad things and start scrubbing. No dinner til it's all off."
Leah's mouth tightens as she stomps away to the bathroom, hair swinging in her sulk.
"Customer send their food back today or something?" Brendan asks Ste, watching as he scoops up all Leah's girlie bits and pieces from the coffee table.
"What?"
"The mooood." Brendan follows him.
"I'm not in a mood."
"No?"
"No," Ste says, stopping. He turns, kicking one of the toys under the sofa where it can't be seen. "I'm not. You can't let her get away with everything."
"What's the big deal?"
"Cos we had a letter about it last week and if she goes in with her nails like that then they'll phone here or they'll phone Amy…" Ste sighs and pops briefly into Leah's room to return her things. "Doesn't look good does it? We've already got a harder time than any other parent and we don't need that school judging us."
Brendan nods once. Because one of them is a convicted murderer and the other is a former drug addict. And their mother needs just the smallest of excuses to be knocking on their door.
"Because of the gay thing," Ste says. Brendan's on him, kissing him – smiling into his mouth – because the world through Steven's eyes is always a brighter, easier one. He has to catch Ste around the middle to keep him on his feet.
He pulls away when Ste's fierce response dies down and it's just the two of them breathing hurriedly, staring into each other's eyes. "The plait's good though?" Brendan says, more of a confirmation than a question. His mouth nuzzles against the side of Ste's head, his stubble making sandpapery scratches along Ste's hairline.
"I'm well impressed."
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from February 2013
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The phone rings at four in the afternoon. He doesn't answer the first time the phone rings. He ended up working in Chez Chez until gone three in the morning – not the plan. He hadn't realised how precious the hours away from the club were until they started having meaning, until home started meaning Steven and his warm mouth and gentle eyes. Even him rabbiting on was a comfort that he cherished. Being the man Brendan is, he carries with him this shadow of doom – a belief that he needs to hold onto these moments but for him, the good things just never last. And life with Steven is almost too good to be true.
When it's clear the caller really wants his attention, Brendan jabs a finger at the green button without looking at the call display but hoping it won't be work related or Cheryl with a request that he comes for dinner with Seamus. There are only so many times he can refuse and he thinks he's reaching that threshold.
"Yeah?" he says, weighed down by the sleep he's been dragged from.
"Hiya," comes the cheery response, the opposite temperament to his. He loves Ste for it. "You alright?"
Brendan mumbles, rubbing his hand across his face. "Asleep."
"Aw sorry," Ste says quickly, speeding to get to the point of his call. "I was just ringing to say that I'm gonna be late cos this delivery at the deli hasn't showed. I've been rushed off me feet all day. It's the last thing I need. D'you think you could pick up the kids from their afterschool clubs and bring 'em home? I'll call and let them know."
In the back of his mind Brendan groans. It's the last thing on earth he wants to do. Not only will it involve entertaining the kids until Ste gets home but it means interacting with scrutinising adults with their deluded belief in their own authority. He'd half hoped that Ste would get the kids in and to bed for an early night so they could cosy up with a meal together. He was even feeling generous – thinking of firing up the blow torch and surprising Ste with a crème brûlée.
But clearly that isn't going to happen. Brendan agrees, pushes himself out the door and into the car. First to the judo club in this dingy community centre by the station and then to a youth centre where Leah's practising something inexplicably called 'street dancing'. The judo instructor gives him a terse nod, the lines on his forehead thick under the weight of an hour's practise with the under-fives, and hands Lucas over without the grilling Brendan had anticipated.
"How was judo, kid?" Brendan asks as he buckles him into the car. Ste has just this week decided he no longer needs a car seat and Brendan was half pleased, half mournful that he had to get rid of its place on the backseat. He felt like a real father driving around with a car-seat in the back.
Lucas, unlike his sister, isn't the chatty sort and it suits Brendan when his only reply is: "Great! I kicked butt." Brendan ruffles his hair and jumps in the front.
He foresees picking up Leah akin to going through customs at the airport. Brendan sweats, shrinking under his leather jacket.
"Who are you here to pick up?" a young woman in gym gear asks, giving him the once over. She knows he's here for Leah but this is the type of power these people hold – you have to pass their tests so you're not the creepy guy picking up kids that aren't theirs.
"Leah Barnes," Brendan says, hopping on his feet. He can feel mothers' eyes looking over at him. Babysitter. Uncle. He can't remember who he's supposed to be today.
The young woman's face brightens a little. "Oh you must be Brendan!" she says, squeezing her hands together. "The accent…" she says, trying to offer some sort of explanation. "Leah talked about you non-stop today."
Brendan's joy is twinned with a panic that the comments will travel back to Amy so he says nothing – doesn't query it because as much as he'd like to know the details he can't draw attention to his role in the children's lives. Before the woman can add anything more, he catches sight of Leah just as she spots him too – her little mouth falling open – and she runs headlong at him as if she hasn't seen him for a week.
"Daddy Brendan!" she says, as she throws her arms around his legs. He's glad it's muffled because they've been working on Uncle Brendan in the hopes that'd be easier to pass off to the wrong ears.
She wants to show him some of her moves and although there's a panicked blush itching his neck and he initial dissuades her from the idea, she begs him fluttering her eyelashes.
"Please." She whines and then looks towards the dance teacher for back up.
"Only if your dad's got the time," she says and Brendan almost jumps out of his skin. "You'll have to show Mrs Regis the routine next week when she's back off her holiday." The dance teacher looks at Brendan adding, "I'm only covering this week for their usual dance teacher." His body pangs with relief and he feels his limbs moving looser – the rest of the hall is almost empty now, away from prying eyes.
"Go on then, princess." Brendan is dumped with Leah's gym bag and when the dance teacher presses play, Leah shows off her short routine of intently practised moves. He's never been confronted with the idea of cheering on a small child before and the concept is alien, but when the routine ends and she bows, the smile he breaks out into comes naturally.
"Wow," he says, "Those are some moves!"
"Yeah?" Leah says, hopping closer. "I'm gonna show Daddy when we get in."
Brendan tenses again, anticipating an odd look from the cover teacher watching, but her smile doesn't change. It's almost as if she doesn't care.
"Okay, let's get you home. Your Daddy's still at work so you'll have to let him see it in the morning, alright?"
He doesn't know why he says it. Maybe it's a test to see if the woman scowls or comments. But she doesn't. The cheery smile sticks, even as she leads them out the doors. He buzzes with the adrenaline of a successful trip picking up the kids and after he's seen they're both buckled in, offers them a trip to McDonalds.
Leah is prising apart her Happy Meal burger, picking at the cheese and Lucas has wiped McNugget grease over the leather seats but Brendan copes. He turns around in his seat, mouth still tasting of the strawberry milkshake he ordered. "You can have a McFlurry each - on one condition."
"We're listening," Leah says, blinking at him.
"One – you don't tell your dad about the ice cream. Two – bed by six o'clock. Asleep. None of this messing around staying up stuff."
"Half-past six." Leah says.
"Six."
"My bedtime is seven."
Brendan sighs. "Fine. Half-six. But your dad and I…we're having grown up time tonight," – Leah pulls a face – "so no getting up and asking for a story. Got it?" Brendan inwardly groans remembering a few nights ago where he had Steven on his knees in front of him, arms outstretched and rubbing his dick through his suit trousers, just edged out of shyness and about to reveal a particularly explicit fantasy when the kids' door opens and Leah comes out claiming she can't sleep. Brendan had to dive quickly to the sofa and cover his lap with a cushion when Ste disappeared to soothe her back to bed. He never did hear what Steven's dirtiest fantasy was.
Brendan gets the kids home, hair and teeth brushed and into their jammies in record time, sticks on the end of a DVD they'd started before school and nursery and checks his phone for updates from Ste. Just the one.
i'll b home at 7 mayb quarta 2. hope kids bhaved. i owe u and I love u. really love u xxxxxxx
Brendan catches himself smiling dreamily like a teenage girl in the microwave reflection and forces himself to snap out of it. The kids are contented so he gets to work on the crème brûlée. Oven on, cream in a pan, vanilla pod in, simmering away nicely. Egg yolks and sugar, fluffed up, pour over cream, whisk whisky whisky.
"What you cooking, Daddy Brendan?" Leah asks from her position on the settee. She's still not picking up on the Uncle Brendan thing. "A cake?"
"No," Brendan says, his voice levelled with concentration as he sieves the mixture into the nearest jug he could find. He hopes to God he made a good enough job of rising it of last night's tomato and garlic sauce. "Your Daddy's favourite pudding."
Not true of course. He isn't sure what Steven's favourite dessert was, it just so happened that crème brûlée is all he can make.
After filling the ramekins (he made four, one for Steven, three for him) and putting them in a bain-marie, he loads the oven with a smug grin and pours himself a shallow whiskey. "Forty minutes til bedtime kids, so get thinkin' about what story you want."
After twenty minutes the movie ends and Brendan coerces them into their beds, stories chosen and read. He knows the brownie points from Steven that await and it makes him try a little harder on the voices. Leah's snuffly giggles make him smile, but he calms her down out of her hysterics by stroking the hair off her face.
He hears the oven timer ping and swerves out of her room, goodnight kiss done and light out. He won't bother with a main course, seeing as the last time he attempted to microwave a lasagne he burnt it and swore at the oven for a good ten minutes, full of blame, and then chucked it on the front lawn in a temper. He bought a new one the next day with more buttons than a space shuttle which he still couldn't figure out so the old one got reinstated.
It's five to seven when Steven gets in. There's a pink Disney candle (Leah's) lit on the table and a CD that came free with the newspaper on low in the background. One of those CDs where you only know three tracks and the rest are B-side singles that no one knows with wince inducing lyrics, but Brendan felt the need to block out the hum of the leccy and get Carly Rae Jepsen out of his head. Ste had caught him humming it in the shower (he'd heard it incessantly at the club) and hadn't let him forget it since. Ste's key slides into the lock as Brendan is sprinkling sugar on the top of the crème brûlée.
Brendan looks up as Ste creeps in.
"Right, who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?" He keeps his voice quiet, aware the lights are dimmed and the kids are nowhere to be seen.
Brendan pulls him forward by his coat and their mouths touch.
"Got rid of him. I'm the new one," Brendan says, meeting him again for another kiss, this one open mouthed.
Ste runs his hands up Brendan's shirt, outdoor-cold hands warming up on his body. "Mm I like you."
Brendan shivers as Ste's temperature seeps through under his shirt. Ste cringes and apologises, heading back to the hall to get rid of his coat. He blows on his hands to warm them up.
"Kids in bed?"
"Fed, washed, jammies, story." Brendan reveals it because he wants the benefits it'll reap but he doesn't wait for Ste's reply, he fires up the blow-torch. "Now for the fun bit."
"No wonder you got them kids eating outta the palm of your hand. You're a big kid yourself." Ste admires the laid table – even if it's only a tablecloth, spoons and a Princess Aurora candle – and plonks himself down on the chair, tossing one of Leah's dolls to one side. "Are we skipping straight to pudding?" He leans back on his chair to observe Brendan caramelising the sugar.
"Got a problem with that?"
"Nope."
"Good." Brendan brings over the ramekin dishes – one each for now. "Here you go."
"This is the biggest one I've seen in my life," Ste says, cracking the sugar with the back of his spoon.
Brendan raises his eyebrows – no comment needed.
"How is it?"
Ste cleans the spoon, eyes and lips tight until he says, "So good."
They polish off the desserts in five spoonfuls and Brendan fetches them both a beer from the fridge. He walks behind Ste and presses the bottle against the nape of his neck so he jolts. Brendan laughs.
"Ah! Bastard!"
"What, after all that?" Brendan chinks their bottles together and waits for Ste to take a healthy swig, neck elongating and pulsing before he drinks his.
"You can still be a bastard, you know, even if you do all this. You know I hate the cold. Don't mean I don't love you."
Brendan smiles, head falling forward. He's still adjusting to how freely and easily those words are exchanged. They have the weight of lifetimes behind them.
"About you owing me then?"
"What about it?" Ste says picking himself up off the chair and swerving his way over to Brendan's side of the table, where his chair is pulled out from under it and swivelled. With one hand he drinks and the other he twists a button of his shirt. He takes a last swig, swallows and puts his bottle next to Brendan's. He places both his hands on Brendan's thighs and for his own amusement, kisses the tip of Brendan's nose.
"Mouth," Brendan says, tilting up his face and catching Ste in a kiss that thrums with sugar and vanilla. He tastes like clouds of Heaven. He reaches up and tries to pull Ste onto his lap, but meets resistance and realises Ste has other ideas.
Ste stands up straight, his teeth pulling on his bottom lip. "I don't want any interruptions tonight so you keep it quiet, yeah? I mean, don't make no noise cos that'd be weird."
"You gonna rabbit on all night, or?"
"Not if you're gonna be like that, no." Ste lowers himself to the floor. Brendan flickers between bouncing his legs up and down, drumming his fingers on the table and taking clumsy sips of beer as Ste rubs up and down his thighs and heads for the fly.
Brendan knows his mind should be filled with unfiltered lust, white heat, but he finds himself transfixed at the beautiful concentration on Ste's face, the way his hair lays in ripples of gold in the light and the freshness of his eyes even after an extended day at work. He can't and won't tell him, but he reaches up, placing his fingers on Ste's face and hopes they said enough.
"I am getting there, you know. You don't have to push me down."
"I'm not. I was just…"
"What?" Ste says, fingers tight and clawed around the waistband of Brendan's jeans.
"Nothing. Doesn't – just carry on."
"D'you remember all them times I'd sneak into the office to suck you off?" His eyes sparkle in their shared, illicit history.
Brendan's breaths huff loudly from his nose, lips parted. He leans back against the chair, one arm flopped on the table. Ste's hands make tentative, warming strokes from root to tip. Of course he remembers. Each time has played in 3D technicolour since they happened. He remembers the secrecy and the thrill and the lust and loathing. He remembers wiping cum on Ste's uniform and sending him home to change, he remembers rewatching CCTV footage of their fucks and then calling Ste in to relive it, he remembers having to re-write a rota when it got caught under Ste's arching body and crumpled as Ste gripped hold of the desk, he remembers a hazy, euphoric shag finishing with him inviting Ste home and staring at him too long across the bar.
Ste's mouth presents itself as a tight, flushed bed of heat. It quivers just by the mere action of Ste breathing and humming. He knows it, uses it to his advantage. Ste has curled up palms kneading into Brendan's thighs and tongue making kissy criss-crosses of pure heaven on Brendan's slit. His timings are planned, delicate and hungry at all the right moments, hollowing his cheeks and slackening the pressure to tease and prolong. He's masterful, like he's absorbed some of Brendan's arrogance. Brendan's love for him fuels him, makes him confident.
Brendan pushes his fingers through Ste's hair and his body's reaction demands a brief break, but instead Brendan's head throws back, almost disturbing the balance of the chair and his groans hurl themselves out of his chest before Ste has a chance to flash him the warning eyes. He forgets – they're not alone. Ste's fingers lavish expert pressure on Brendan's balls and he makes pupil-blown doe-eyed gaze to gaze contact when Brendan fills his mouth.
Ste, wet mouthed and curling his way up Brendan's reeling, trembling body, kisses Brendan's torso and neck and face until he stands, unbuttons his work shirt, leaning over Brendan's seated position. Brendan's still bleary eyed, trying to form thoughts and words, only just conscious enough to rub his hands flat across Ste's body in front of him. Ste's legs open up so he can perch on Brendan's lap. They're a cocoon.
"Tell me what you want," Brendan says, slipping his hand up Ste's shirt, parting it from his skin and easing it from his shoulder. "Anything."
Ste's saved from embarrassment, head over Brendan's shoulder, mouth perched just above Brendan's ear. Brendan rests his face, scratchy and warm, against Ste's thrumming chest. It's all he hears until Ste is brave enough to speak.
:
"Are you sure this is what you want?" Brendan asks, breaking away from the kiss that has dragged them through the rooms of the house.
Ste nods, laughing, as he backs up into the bedroom. His work shirt is a crumpled, half-unbuttoned mess from where Brendan's hands have been. Brendan pushes him back with both hands until he's on the bed, pulling the shirt from his shoulders.
There's a hazy, rushed moment where clothes are torn off and thrown around the room and then, as requested, Brendan heads for the wardrobe and redresses – this time it's a full suit, shirt and jacket too. He catches Ste's eye as he buttons up, checking for the approval. Ste's slack jawed, tongue loose and out from his lips. He masturbates furiously, forgetting himself, forgetting that this has stopped being a fantasy and is now being played out for real.
Brendan's state of desperation rivals Ste's and he watches him obsessively, a smile snarling its way across his mouth. He rubs a flat palm against his own groin and Ste sparks with lust, grabbing him by the jacket lapel and pulling him onto the bed. Ste's teeth close around Brendan's bottom lip and tugs, running his hands up Brendan's chest.
Brendan lets Ste dominate. The hairs on the back of his neck electrify as Ste pushes him down and mounts on top of him, his naked body brushing against Brendan's suit. Living up to his flirtatious nature, Ste bites down on his lip and draws Brendan's zip down in drag that cuts through their panting.
"I love you."
Ste grins, leaning over him and ripping his shirt open. He steals Brendan's surprise with a kiss. "Love you too. And don't you even moan about the shirt, alright?"
Brendan slaps his arse in revenge. He can't believe it took Ste so long to admit what he wanted – that he wanted Brendan dressed up in clothes from the past; that he wanted to feel his muscular arms under the tight shirt fabric; that he wanted to sit – naked in contrast to Brendan's overdressed attire – astride Brendan and be licked inside out; that he wanted to ride him and let Brendan finger him and for once let Brendan's suit be ruined. For once Brendan relinquish his dominance and let's Ste take control.
::
from September 2017
::
The Hoover has just sucked something up into its belly that it wasn't meant to. A sock or a plastic figurine from Lucas's Marvel collection or a Barbie dinner set which Leah was asked several times to pack away but didn't. Whatever it is churns away in the innards of the machine making a clunking noise. Brendan pulls the plug on it and kicks it into the corner while he reassembles his patience. He fucking hates hoovering and he can't quite believe he's reached a stage of adulthood - of marriage - that requires a fucking chores rota. It isn't pinned to the fridge or anything that formal but it was said by Steven in a casual manner that suggested they'd had some sort of conversation about days and what needed doing. They hadn't. Fair enough, Steven does the majority of the cooking and he himself chooses to do the ironing - liking the creases just so - but when did he get lumbered with hoovering?!
It's been a recent decision to divide up the chores. He can't really remember how the agreement started but then when he glances over to the kitchen and sees a Pyrex dish waiting to be rinsed, smeared with cream and a little cocoa powder it all comes flooding back with a warm clarity. Last night, tiramisu. Homemade of course. Leftovers in bed. Steven in a particularly playful mood. Yes, it's all coming back now.
Brendan had been in the bathroom for some time, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The bathroom light had this strange grey glow about it that always made both of them look a bit grubby and jaundiced in the face. His teeth tingled from brushing and he ran a hand over the scratchy grey of a day's stubble. He'd been too lazy to trim his moustache in the morning before work so he unravelled the trimmer cable and began work. It took concentration and a steady hand but he felt pretty sure he could do it in his sleep. That night though he'd felt a little blurry from all the late nights in a row and the thought entered his mind that perhaps he should shave it off completely. It wasn't the first time he'd thought about it.
When he was released from prison (the second time) he'd stripped the beard from his face and held the razor so tightly on his hand that his knuckles had gone blue. Ste had been drifting around, as he'd done so cautiously back then terrified of Brendan's mental state post-prison, and caught a glimpse of him through the ajar door. He'd pushed the door open with the flat of his hand and they exchanged a long, silent stare through Brendan's mirrored reflection.
Ste could see what he debated, whether his image clung too much to a painful past, to memories that could be rinsed down the sink and out of the system. But the reality was, the worst of the past lived on inside their minds, not on Brendan's face.
"Don't do it," Ste had said, his words faltered - they were unlike his tiptoeing of late, but he wasn't ready to tell Brendan what to do. He couldn't lose him again. Seeing him at the sink in his bathroom and with the thick line of his moustache, carved out from the beard, looking more like the man he'd been dragged away from, made his breath catch. "I mean, it's your face, you can do what you want with it. I just...I don't want you to."
Ste had stepped into the bathroom and taken the shaver from Brendan's hand and placed it back into the cabinet.
"Why?" Brendan had asked. He felt so raw from prison, it still felt precarious to be out, like living and being with Steven could be snatched away again at any moment.
They faced each other and Ste, like he did so often, wore his heart on his expression, staring up into Brendan's face. He rose up on his feet and smoothed out Brendan's moustache with both thumbs.
"Cos your Brendan Brady...this is Brendan Brady. And I love him. You. It." He smiled, the sort of sweet smile that passed a ripple of mischief to his eyes. "It'd be weird with it. It feels good. Soft and nice."
"Okay," Brendan said, the origin of good humour twitching his mouth.
"I've spent years convincing people that tashes are dead sexy, alright? So don't you dare go getting rid!" He teased him lightly while Brendan proved the point and fluffed it against the side of Ste's cheek as he kissed him. Ste inhaled, his rib cage lifting and doubling his chest in size. "I love you. Inside. Outside. Past, future. Now." He let the words rush out, timid around their significance.
Brendan had breathed him in, his hair all zesty from the morning's shampoo. "What did I do to deserve man like you?"
"You was lucky." Ste said, confirming it with a nod. He skirted his hands down the flank of Brendan's chest. "C'mon. Coffee's getting cold in the kitchen."
Then last night, again at the sink with trimmers in hand, he'd hovered over those memories, stirred out of them finally with the curling sounds of Ste calling for him. Most of the time when he was summoned by his better half it'd be fishwife calls or accent inflected shouts that'd set all the hairs on his neck upright but tonight Ste's tone said one thing and one thing only. He was impatient for sex. And Brendan didn't need telling twice.
Loosening the belt on one of their towelling robes, Brendan headed through to the bedroom, flicking off all the flat's lights as he went. He knew the sound of the plastic switches being pressed would signal his movements towards the room and Steven liked little more than these little anticipatory rituals. He found Ste, without a shred of clothing, knelt up on the bed with a family sized dish of tiramisu between his knees. There were finger track marks in the cream and he seemed distracted, sucking on the whole head of a spoon when Brendan sauntered in.
His mouth shone once he's taken the spoon out. "What took you so long?" His teeth shone pearly white in the glow of the bedside lamps.
"I see you've already made a start on dessert." Brendan dropped the dressing gown and slipped under the covers. He made no effort to hide his erection pushing up under the sheets.
Steven's arse pointed in his direction as he elbowed forward to load up another spoon. "D'you want some?"
Brendan tilted his head to the side. "Yeah. And some pudding while you're there."
Ste laughed in a dirty, throaty way and let the handle of the spoon hang from his mouth as he dragged two fingers into the cream topping and shuffled over to Brendan. He grinned breathlessly and fed his fingers into Brendan's mouth, holding them there for him to suck clean. When a little dessert stuck to his lips, he leaned over and they kissed - giggly breaths huffing from their noses.
Brendan hummed his appreciation, licking his lips.
"Practising a new recipe," Ste said, hovering over Brendan's body so his thighs just grazed Brendan's covered cock every time he moved.
"This ain't gonna end up like last time is it?" Brendan asked, stilling Ste's hips before he could get too excited.
"What d'you mean?"
Brendan sniffed as if to say Ste was bullshitting that he didn't know what he was referring too.
"You know. About six months ago where you laid back and let me lick squirty cream outta yer and then sulked at me for three days cos I'd ruined the sheets."
"I never." Ste's head creased with lines. Brendan was just about to interject when Ste continued: "I was mad at you cos you never washed the sheets when you were supposed to. I don't mind them getting messy..."
Brendan's fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't going to get into this with him. Stubborn little fuck. "Get on your back then."
"Back?" Ste said flirtatiously just as Brendan smudged lines of cream across his belly.
"Not for long," he said, licking his fingers and then lowering his mouth to suck the dessert from his stomach and navel. He pinched the fleshier parts between his teeth taking in all its sugary liquor flavour. "That's if you're gonna let me."
"Might," Ste said, voice suddenly quivering as Brendan smeared his balls. "If you wash the sheets."
"Deal." He lashed his tongue against Ste's balls and underneath his cock, making a messy job of cleaning him up. He smelt musty and hot underneath that sweetness and Brendan revelled in it, groaning loud guttural sounds of enjoyment.
"And the hoovering once a week. You know it knackers my back." Ste sped up as he spoke, releasing a strained fuck as Brendan pumped his dick, messily spooning dessert between the two of them.
"Deal," Brendan said, a little coffee sponge spraying. He pinned Ste's legs down with his and moved on top, gyrating their cocks together under one hand. "And it ain't the hoovering at does your back in. It's that Wii Dance shit with Leah and you coming to bed every night wanting fucked every upside down way."
He flipped Ste over onto his front, cum blending into one with the dessert and plunged his fingers back into the cream and onto the milky golden of his arse cheeks. He nodded at his own handiwork. Smug.
"Yeah, but you like that I'm bendy though, don't you?" His eyes sparkled, throwing his gaze back over his shoulder.
The mere mention had Brendan growling and pushing himself against Ste's opening before relenting when he knew Ste wasn't ready. He flattened onto the bed and began sweeping licks of his tongue across Ste's fleshy skin. Stretching out his arm to pull the tiramisu dish towards him, Brendan jerked Ste's legs apart and layered the cocoa dusted cream in thick streaks over his hole. His impatience took the better of him and with his fingers still sticky with dessert, his tongue pulsed inside Ste, making him slippery with saliva.
All agreements about chores and hoovering and washing the sheets had been forgotten as Brendan smoothed his hand down Ste's spine listening to his fractured mews, the stunted pants of breath as his body opened up for Brendan. The bed rutted against the wall, scratching paint at the base and Brendan reached out for the headboard railings as he fucked Ste, using it to stabilise and deepen the thrusts when Ste cried out for more. Ste had arched and coiled underneath him but the volume of him drilled through Brendan's head as strong as ever. With expert timing, Ste knew how to handle Brendan's momentum and angled the shape of his body, tensing his muscles and spurring Brendan to climax like it was second nature.
As Brendan came, releasing a wall of sound from his chest like he was transferring it into Ste's body, he ran his fingers through Ste's hair. How had it come to this? Someone as Heaven sent as this? He released himself from Ste and finished him with his mouth in moves that were slow and intimate and loving before they returned under the covers and finished off the dessert spoon by spoon.
When Brendan recalls this all, standing with the Hoover extension under his arm and the flat looking a little less grim than it did before, he realises that perhaps the detestable chore of vacuuming is the least that Steven is owed.
::
from April 2032
::
"Don't," Ste says in a voice that means the exact opposite. He's in the kitchen in the dark getting a glass of water and Brendan has slipped out of bed minutes later and prowls up behind him. The amber streetlight glow from outside smears in condensation across the window but the apartment is contradictorily icy. He's on tip-toes, hiding away from the tiled floor. He's snuck out of bed at four in the morning, his skin temperature dropping in a steep decline. Brendan presses up behind him, the heat from the bed pulsating from his naked body. His arms are open, and palms smack flat against the counter, trapping Ste against the sink.
Ste says don't again, this time with a laugh that gets thrust out of him as Brendan jams their bodies together. He leans in, the hairs on the back of Ste's neck rising. It's a primal instinct – animals do it to make themselves appear bigger to predatory threats – but Ste caves to dominance and feels a shiver of arousal at Brendan's breath on the nape of his neck. Brendan has his prey eyed and Ste knows it. Brendan's tongue extends and curls underneath Ste's earlobe. He flicks it and its quiver makes Brendan's erection harder against Ste's backside.
"Don't….stop…"
"What is it? Don't? Or stop?"
"Don't stop."
Satisfied, Brendan cranes his neck to suck at Ste's earlobe, his rough jaw starting a heat rash in its path. He blows cool air against it and then heads for the right lobe.
"God, Brendan."
Brendan's silent, teeth making dashed indentations in Ste's ear lobes. Then he licks Ste's neck and up his hairline, against the grain. Ste doesn't remember how they both discovered he gets turned on by having his ear lobes toyed with – only that Brendan seemed to know before he did. Now it's as automatic in Brendan's foreplay rituals as kissing.
"It's four am," Ste says, already wondering if he can slip out of his underwear himself without looking too desperate. Brendan's teeth scrape through the shaven hair at the back of his neck like raking through leaves and Ste winds his neck back until it's on Brendan's shoulder and he's feeling Brendan slide both hands into his boxer shorts.
His body bends, the souls of his feet concave and on tip toes. His meaningless complaints are littered with fucks and oh shit and his arm wraps back and around Brendan's neck. His fingers scrunch into Brendan's hair, mirroring the same concentrated roughness of Brendan's fingers along his shaft. Brendan pulls down Ste's boxers and Ste slumps listlessly back onto Brendan's command, feeling his chest thump at a slower, coaxing pace than Ste's.
Brendan's body does everything to keep Ste upright with his hands occupied, but Ste is slight and obedient so it's an easy task. Brendan pins Ste's shoulder still with his chin and works one fervent hand over Ste's dick. Ste's brain is still half clogged with sleep but Brendan's playing with him plunges his body into full alertness. His stomach lurches and pre-cum oils Brendan's unrelenting pumping of his dick into heaven. Ste's hips buck, puppeteered by Brendan's command.
"Not yet," Brendan says and ushers him, still dreamlike and flushed, over to the kitchen table. There's a gentle smack beside Ste and he sees Brendan has come prepared from the bedroom - a bottle of lube sits on the table. The incident felt spontaneous when it had actually been planned from the moment Brendan left the bedroom.
Ste knees his way up onto the table and spreads his legs like a man who's done this move too many times to count. With his backside up and facing Brendan, he flattens the rest of himself, back feline-curved. Brendan opens him up with the tip of his thumb and licks from his balls to the base of his spine in one clean stroke. Ste's dick shudders against his belly, still on pause from the liaison at the sink, but Brendan's moved on, teasing his cheeks apart and letting his tongue roam into the dark heat.
When he's done, when Ste's thighs and cheeks have been bitten and stung with play slaps, when Brendan's turned him inside out with lube and finger play and they've edged themselves to a point of near insanity, Brendan flips him over, drags him close and fucks his cock so deep inside that Ste can almost feel another world around him. He feels ripped from reality, focused on blood swarming and heat swelling and Brendan making him ache in the most incredible way. He feels devoured.
When Brendan comes, he finishes Ste in the same way it started. Except this time it's not pressed against the kitchen counter, it's on the table and it's messy and loud and desperate. Brendan licks him afterwards, kisses him too. Ste can't remember a time, although he knows it existed, when he shied away from tasting himself from Brendan's mouth. Now it's natural - it turns Brendan on as much as Ste likes his ear lobes toyed with.
"I only came in here to get a glass of water," Ste says after breathless silence. They laugh and Brendan eases him back onto his feet, kissing him.
"Back to bed then, yeah?"
Ste rubs his face, sleepily, and nods. His back spasms and his flinch of pain sends Brendan into brief alarm.
"I'm fine. I'm fine!" Ste says. "God, you pick your nights for it, don't ya? You know we've got the grandkids over tomorrow? I'm gonna be knackered."
"S'fine, isn't it? We'll all go for a nap, won't we?"
"Good luck getting our Sian to sleep. She's ten not two."
"I forget they're so old now."
"You forget you are, you mean."
Brendan slaps his behind. "Enough of that. Bed."