Notes: Another fic written for someone on Tumblr. Product of a conversation about Ste's arse and Walker and guns and... oh, bloody hell. Please forgive me for this.

Warnings: Gun play. Some people may interpret very mild consent issues in this. It really is completely open to however you want to read it, though. I know not everybody sees things the same way (EDIT - I'm editing to add that this really is a genuine warning. I had a reviewer who was rightfully concerned that this might be a snidey dig at people who get triggered easily and I'm genuinely sorry to ANYONE who read it that way. That's not how it was intended AT ALL. It's a genuine warning because I do happen to read some mild consent issues into this and I know that some people might see it that way and some people might not.)

Word Count ~1600

His knees dig into the mattress. There's a hot body pressed against his back, rough hands encasing his hips, long and slender fingers, fingers that know every inch of him, pushing into the skin of his sides. He daren't look down. Walker and his gun and his liquid-heat sprawled under him, sat up on his elbows between Ste's spread legs, the soft skin of his inner thighs brushing against Walker's hips.

"It's okay, Steven," Brendan whispers into the back of his neck. "Gonna take care of you - be so good, I promise." Ste breathes, shakes, thrills with anticipation and fear. He nods, rolls his head back against Brendan's shoulder and Brendan grazes his lips against his throat and murmurs, "do you trust me?"

"Completely."

Brendan works a finger into him, pushes and rubs until it's too good and Ste keens and bucks and Brendan has to curve an arm around his middle to control him. He adds another, stretches and loosens him, and then Walker touches, just one fingertip against Ste's stomach, and he does it, he looks down, right into Walker's glazed, burning eyes.

"No." Brendan's voice, whip-crack sharp like a bolt of electricity and cold as ice. "I told you that you don't touch him until I tell you you can."

Walker's mouth pulls into a slow smirk. He turns his eyes up over Ste's shoulder and nods. Brendan runs the show here every time and Ste knows who he belongs to. Walker's a dead man, a ghost. Ste doesn't remember what he looks like in the daylight, anymore. He comes like a shadow to their bed and slips off just as quietly. The metal at his side is a show of precaution and trust. This thing they do, this secret act committed only by moonlight, is that precarious.

"Whatever you say, Brendan."

Brendan's satisfied by his compliance, Ste can feel it in the way he relaxes ever so slightly. Trust. He removes his hand from between Ste's legs with a last twisting rub and replaces it with his dick, blunt head pressing past the tight ring of muscle at his entrance. Ste exhales through the smooth slide, takes it so well now, so used to the size and shape of him, body moulding to accommodate. He buries himself all the way in and Ste moans and throws an arm back and winds his fingers into Brendan's hair.

"What does he feel like?" Walker asks, eyes fixed and intent on Ste's face and once again Ste can't bear to look at him, looks everywhere but. Walker's body is pale and washed in silver light from the window and he's like ice the way Ste's gaze can't grip him.

"Tight. Hot. He feels good." Brendan's voice is like smoke and whiskey and he scrapes his fingernails lightly up and down Ste's body, his sides and hips and stomach. Ste shivers and arches, forward then back, tries to make Brendan move because the stillness is like agony.

"Think he wants you to fuck him, Brendan."

"That right, Steven?" Brendan says against his skin. "Is that what you want?"

He nods and struggles to find his voice. "Ye - yes, yeah, come on."

Something in Brendan breaks and he pulls out, hovers for a split-second, and then slides back home so hard that the only thing stopping Ste lurching forward is Brendan's arm tight around him. He fucks into Ste relentlessly, hips angled justsoperfectly with the head of his dick nailing the sensitive gland inside him with every stroke, and Ste clings to him, rides it out as best he can, one hand pulling roughly on Brendan's hair and the other scrabbling and scratching into Brendan's forearm, deep welts reddening under his nails.

"Is it good, Ste?" Walker's voice floats through the foggy, pleasure soaked haze of his brain and Ste whimpers around the words he's trying to say, his voice broken and hitching, almost sobbing out of him.

"Tell him, Steven," Brendan growls against his ear. "Tell him how I'm gettin' that spot real deep, how good it feels. Right. There." He punctuates the words with sharp, precise thrusts that shoot out fire through his whole body

"Oh, fuck - there - don't stop, Brendan, please - " he chokes out on one ragged breath and then Brendan gives him everything he's got, everything he can take.

He's so close, right on that glinting knife-edge, ears ringing with it, and he hasn't even been touched. He knows that Brendan can feel it, can read his body better than anyone in the world. He slows down and squeezes one hand around the base of Ste's dick, holds him tight.

"Get him off, Walker," Brendan says, voice a low command. "And make it good."

Walker's smile demands Ste's attention and for all it hurts he suddenly can't look away. He watches Walker shuffle forward ever so slightly. Then he watches Brendan push his dick between Walker's ready and parted lips.

He makes a noise like a strangled cat, spine drawing into a tight arch and forcing the length of him down Walker's throat and it's so fucking hot, so much tight, wet suction. Brendan fucks him and Walker licks and slurps his way up and down his sensitive flesh and he can't process all the sensations. He's a fucking mess, a tangled up, squirming ball of heat and light and pleasure. There's no end to the onslaught, no relief from the mounting pressure, and he's up and up and up until he's crashing with an honest to God scream. It tears out of his throat like a bullet ripping from a gun barrel.

He shakes and cries in Brendan's arms, shoots his load down Walker's throat, sees nothing but the pale green of Walker's eyes as he looks up at Ste through his fringe. There's awe in that green, he sees it every time and doesn't know what it means, and soft lips and words against the side of his neck, soothing and coaxing him down from the very edge of oblivion.

" - good boy, aren't you? Isn't he, Walker? Tell him how beautiful he looks when he comes apart like that - "

Walker pulls away from nuzzling his hip, eyes never leaving Ste's. "He's lovely."

"You wanna fuck him?"

"Absolutely."

Brendan's arms tighten around his loose and trembling body and Walker falls back against the pillows, his hand disappearing underneath him. There's the blunt press of something huge, something he can't even begin to figure out how to handle, and then Walker's sliding in alongside Brendan and Ste is whining high in the back of his throat. The pressure is immense and he can't take it, split in two and still wanting more, too weak to do anything except let Brendan seat all his weight carefully in Walker's lap and hold him up against his own body.

"Are you okay?" Brendan asks him in a breathless whisper, soft and clear and concerned. His hands are shaking against Ste's skin like he's just as overwhelmed.

He nods because he can't speak. He's not capable of words anymore. He turns his face desperately into Brendan and Brendan's right there in an instant, lips covering his own, hot and melting kisses, pouring of adoration right into him and he drinks it up, can't ever get enough.

Then, Brendan moves, pushes his hips up ever so slightly, and all three of them moan. He sets a pace, faster and rougher, Walker's hips shifting up when Brendan pulls back, and Ste hangs between them, body heavy like he's boneless except not because he's half-hard again and how the fuck did that happen? He can feel Walker's thighs shaking next to his own, can feel Brendan's stuttering breath on his shoulder, and then he can feel cold steel against his throat.

"I could kill you both right now." Walker clicks off the safety and fingers the trigger and the words grind out of him, rough and desperate and he doesn't stop fucking Ste and neither does Brendan. "One bullet and you'd both be dead."

A red-hot bolt of fear sings through him and that's what tips him over the edge for the second time. He blanks out completely, doesn't know who he is or what his fucking name even sounds like, anymore. All that exists is the pressure inside him and the metal against his skin.

He floats in some weird, foggy-white abyss for long minutes and then finally comes to slowly like his awareness is swimming up through syrup. He's achingly empty, completely bereft, but there's hands soothing up and down his back and a solid chest underneath his own. He inhales the smell of Walker, realises he's sprawled forward over his body with his forehead pressing against Walker's collarbone and it's his hands that are trailing up and down his skin so soft and calming.

He can't feel Brendan touching him but he's in the room somewhere, Ste can always sense his presence.

"Time to go, Ste," Walker whispers into his hair and Ste finds himself clinging, only slightly but it's there and it's compulsive and he wants to slap himself out of it. He tears away, rolls to the side and lands on the mattress in a sprawl on his back. He watches through half-lidded eyes and in the dark as Walker stands and dresses, watches how Brendan watches him too, not like Ste does, not with fascination. He watches Walker like he knows him, knows exactly what he's thinking.

Brendan gives him a slow nod which Walker returns and then he's gone like a whisper, gun and all.