You'd had Leah and Lucas to stay for the weekend. It had been an impossible task to convince Amy to let them see you for two whole nights, and you'd spent evening after evening arguing down the phone to her, trying not to raise your voice as Brendan eyed you wearily from the sofa, knowing how this particular conversation was going without having to hear the screeching voice of your ex girlfriend on the other line.
She'd raised several conditions, namely that Brendan wouldn't be anywhere in the house when the kids came to stay. You'd immediately fought against it, because this was Brendan's home, had been for over a year now.
You would never let him stay at Cheryl's flat again, not after it had been tainted by Seamus's presence and poison. You'd pointed out to Amy that you'd have a difficult time explaining Brendan's sudden absence to the kids, especially when every time they phoned they asked to speak to daddy Brendan, or the hairy man as Leah still liked to affectionately call him sometimes, a nickname that had never quite dropped.
After weeks of trying to make negotiations that never met Amy's standards, she finally relented, but not before you'd had to confirm to her that no Brendan had not been in trouble with the police recently, and no he had not been accused of sexual assault again since that night.
You had spoken in hushed whispers, dreading Brendan walking into the room and hearing you dredging up the past, needing to reassure Amy that you weren't married to Tony Soprano.
When Amy had brought Leah and Lucas over from Manchester they'd run up to the flat, two live wires of energy, falling effortlessly into Brendan's arms as though he hadn't just spent more than twelve months away from them.
Amy had crossed her arms, keeping her distance and not taking her eyes off Brendan, and you knew that she'd been assessing his movements, his actions, the way that he spoke to the kids. He was on his best behaviour, nodding over to her and even mustering an alright, Amy? and you felt pride swell in you, large and overwhelming, and something like hope.
You felt sure that it was only a matter of time before Amy began to thaw, and while you could never imagine the three of you sitting down to afternoon tea, you tried to remember that she had liked Brendan, once.
Perhaps she could learn to again, when she saw that he wasn't going anywhere, and that he would protect the kids with his life, was like the heroes in the stories that you read to them, willing to slay dragons and defeat the villain to save them. And God knows, there had been a lot of dragons and villains in your time together.
You'd waved her goodbye and closed the door behind you, hearing laughter and noise fill the house. You'd become so used to it just being the two of you that it felt strange at first, but it didn't take you long to adjust.
You'd still kept some of their favourite toys in the flat, and you packed them out of their storage boxes and spread them across the floor, Brendan kneeling beside Leah and idly stroking her hair while she began to colour in a drawing.
You'd started preparing lunch as you'd watched them, and it was one of those moments where it felt surreal and dangerous, dangerous because you had so much to lose, and you weren't used to winning.
You were waiting for the moment when something went wrong, had this permanently nagging feeling in the back of your mind that it was inevitable where you and Brendan were concerned. Usually a part of you reveled in the chaos; if you wanted to ensure a life of safety and predictability then you wouldn't have married Brendan.
But it wasn't just yourself that had to deal with the fallout now. Your children were here, and you felt like Amy was waiting in the wings for something to go horribly awry, the perfect chance for her to swoop in and snatch the kids from you, her view of Brendan proving entirely correct.
It only took until that evening for you to start panicking, your throat becoming dry and your skin turning cold, feeling like you were on the edge of a precipice. You were in the middle of dinner, Lucas and Brendan seeming to be engaging in a competition over who could use the most ketchup, when Leah's complexion turned increasingly white, sweat particles appearing on her forehead.
She hadn't managed to make it to the toilet before she'd thrown up on the carpet, heaving sobs coming out of her when the retching had subsided. You knew it was natural, that everyone got sick, but you couldn't help feeling like Amy would somehow twist it, would accuse you of doing something to spark it, however much you realised that you were being ridiculous.
You imagined her finding some vague way of blaming it on Brendan, perhaps by saying that he gave her too much to eat, or had overexerted her.
You'd done everything you could to get her well again by Sunday evening. Brendan had been on story time duty, spending hours by her bed to read to her. You'd concentrated on entertaining Lucas, using any free time you had to frantically enter search terms into the internet, trying to discover some way of magically healing Leah within twenty four hours.
You'd got into bed that night, your brow crinkling with worry, Amy's voice ringing in your ears. You couldn't believe it when Brendan started to be the calm one.
"She's got a bug, Steven. She'll be fine, she just needs some rest."
"Maybe I shouldn't have ordered the pizza. Amy would have a go at me about it anyway, wouldn't she? She wants them to eat broccoli and have that omega three thing."
"Omega what?" Brendan blinked suspiciously. He was wary of anything that didn't include the word bacon in it.
"Don't ask." You'd pulled the covers over you, sighing and huffing.
You knew you were grossly exaggerating, but you'd wanted this to be the perfect weekend, a chance to convince Amy that you could still be responsible with Brendan in your life. You hadn't bargained on your daughter being up half the night, calling for you and waking your sleeping husband, the warmth of his body leaving you after he insisted that he see to Leah.
When Sunday rolled around you'd popped into town and brought Leah some new clothes, as if that would somehow make her instantly appear glowing and full of health. Brendan had smirked at your skewed plan, and you'd elbowed him and stolen his coffee until he'd stopped.
You'd lined up the kids and felt faintly like the Von Trapps from the film you'd watched with the kids once, the Sound of Music. You felt as though you were presenting your family to the world, putting on a show and asking for Amy's approval. It wasn't you.
Amy had appeared surprised by the state of the flat when she'd walked in, as though she was expecting nothing less than a circus. She'd crouched down to greet the kids, and you'd known then that you didn't stand a chance, that with her proximity to them she'd see Leah's still ashen appearance.
You hadn't asked your daughter to lie to Amy; Brendan had told you that he was against that, that you should never ask a child to lie on your behalf, and you hadn't questioned him further. Something told you not to.
"Is Leah okay? She doesn't look well."
You'd glanced at Brendan, preparing yourself for the fallout.
"She was sick on Saturday."
Amy looked at you, and you wondered if she could see your fraying nerves.
"I thought she might be. It's been going around her class."
The sigh of relief you breathed was monumental, and you struggled to conceal it. You were sure that you could see Brendan laughing silently from behind the hand covering his mouth, his eyes bright as he met your gaze. You'd never hear the end of this from him, of how you'd spent all night panicking over something which was explained away by a simple classroom bug.
"Right, well...thanks."
"You don't have to thank me for taking care of my own kids, Amy."
You hated how frosty things had become. You wanted to ease the tension, to feel her put her arms around you the way she used to, before she defined you by the person you were with.
But you weren't there yet, and instead you had a half hearted hug goodbye, the kids clinging onto you and Brendan before their faces disappeared around the corner, and you didn't know for certain when you would see them again.
You felt a hand on your shoulder, a reminder that you still had him, that you'd always have him.
You'd made the place spotless for Amy's arrival, and it allowed you to sink onto the sofa now, your legs splayed over the table, Brendan eating a chocolate fudge cake straight from the packet, slicing it with the edge of his hand and scooping it up in his palm.
"I hope you're going to the gym tomorrow to work that off." Teasing him was one of your favourite pastimes. It made him feisty, and you liked that.
"Why? Going to call me a tubby again, are you?"
You stretched out a hand and lifted up the end of his t-shirt, finding his belly button and poking a single finger there, then letting out a booming laugh when he shrugged you off, his eyes rolling in their sockets.
"Like a demanding wife, you are. You only want me for my body."
You'd looked him over, your eyes travelling from his stomach to his thighs to his dick snug in his trousers, a peek of your tongue showing between your lips. He still made you hard, even after all this time.
He saw you looking. "Fucking shallow is what you are."
"Are you honestly complaining?"
With one movement you were in his arms, pushing the packet of cake to the side and straddling him, his hands gloriously messy and stained with chocolate, your own hands on the back of his neck to bring him closer. You could taste the sweet cocoa on his lips, the sugar on his tongue transferring to yours as you kissed him, long and deep.
He'd fallen asleep by Leah's side the night before, and you'd woken up alone in the double bed, frustratingly out of reach of getting your morning erection seen to. You were going to make up for lost time.
"You should apologise to me, laughing at me like that earlier." Your hand worked his fly, dragging the zip down and rubbing against his dick with your fingers, barely there movements which made him push forward to create more friction, his tongue licking a stripe across your lips. "Not very nice of you."
He cocked his head to the side, staring at you with dancing eyes, alight with playfulness.
"Is that so?"
You hummed against his throat as your lips sucked the skin there. When you'd undone the clasp of his jeans you reached for his left hand, your thumb brushing against the ring there.
"I really should take this off. Not very supportive, are you?"
He knew what game you were playing, knew that you just liked touching it, feeling the ring, solid and heavy and so perfectly fitted that it seemed permanently molded to his finger, unable to be removed. It was still a novelty, still made you feel giddy and excitable, the fact that you had a matching one on your left hand too.
You placed them together, momentarily distracted and stilling in your exploration of his body, and when he glanced down at your hands side by side he didn't look afraid. Something different had overtaken him, the fear being washed away by this person he'd become. He was still recognisable, still the man that you'd met four years ago, but the walls weren't so hard to climb anymore. He'd broken them down for you.
"Maybe you should make it up to me."
You'd emphasised your point by licking on his fingers, removing the cake crumbs and the sticky chocolate ganache, getting them ready to go into you instead. You left only the faintest taste of the cake, imagining Brendan eating it out of your hole, the sweetness mixing with the sourness of you.
Without further prompting you'd stood up and removed your tracksuit bottoms, leaving them pooled on the floor along with your boxers. It made you feel powerful and you made a show of it, stripping your clothes off as slowly as possible as Brendan watched you, his eyes moving lower and lower with every inch of skin revealed.
When you were completely naked you knew where his gaze would settle.
You took advantage of it, your hand straying to your dick, and you could see Brendan's breathing change, growing harsher as you stroked your cock, thumb flicking over your foreskin, over the veins and squeezing your shaft when you wanted to delay your reactions. You felt tightly wound, already close to releasing before you'd barely begun, feeling the familiar tension in you start to build.
"Come 'ere." Brendan's voice was cracked, and he extended a finger out towards you, curling it and gesturing for you to come closer.
You were swaying your hips to the side as you walked, an action that you were sure must look faintly ridiculous, but he was staring at you hungrily, any ounce of humour gone from his expression. He didn't wait until you were in his lap again, making a grab for your hand as you let out a yelp of surprise, maneuvering you until your bare skin was pressed against his shirt which you hadn't even started to unbutton.
Brendan wrapped a firm hand around your dick. "So hard, Steven."
You looked at him challengingly. "I'm not the only one," you murmured, kissing him softly and brushing your hand against his dick, feeling it respond to your touch. You'd barely done anything and he was already ready to fuck you.
He laughed darkly, making a move to get undressed, but you stopped him. You were used to fucking him when he was fully clothed; your time as boss and employee hadn't made that an issue. It had made you skillful and adept in that area, the way that Brendan had shoved you roughly onto the desk in his office and slicked himself inside you without removing his suit.
It had taken you time to adjust to this new way of life, had seemed so strangely domestic when you'd had time to luxuriate over each other, using an actual bed inside of being trapped in a toilet cubicle in Chez Chez, your pants around your ankles and Brendan's cock sliding in and out of your hole while you tried not to alert the other staff with your open, abandoned moans.
"I've been thinking about this all day." You whispered into his ear when you weren't sucking on his lobe, and you felt a shiver run through him. It was one of his many weak spots, and you delighted in the way that it caused him to anchor his head closer to you, working your tongue against him, knowing that he wanted it on his cock.
You were building up to this, this state of prolonged pleasure something you wanted to stop time for, capturing the feeling of your skin tingling and your balls aching, your arse grinding shamelessly against his thigh.
"What are you fucking?"
You felt dazed and confused, and it was only when you stopped kissing him that you realised that you'd been unconsciously rocking up and down, gently bouncing on him as though he was filling you with his fingers or his cock, when he was offering no such stimulation.
You whined unashamedly, a high pitched keening noise that made the pupil's of Brendan's eyes grow even bigger, even more blown, his finger tracing your eyelashes as you stared at him impatiently.
You were either going to have to beg to get what you wanted, or you were going to have to take control and make him give it to you.
He allowed you to guide his fingers into your hole, meeting you with little resistance as you inserted the first one into you, the burn manageable as you pushed past the initial sting of discomfort. Brendan's eyes assessed your reaction as you rubbed his digit against your prostate, curling it upwards and directing it, only relenting when the feel of it became too much and your hands gripped his shoulders, your head sagging forward onto his chest. Your lips settled on his cross, kissing against the cold metal.
"Feel good, Steven?" He had to ask that every damn time, made it seem like it was detrimental to his health if you didn't answer, your mind too overcome with lust and the feel of his finger fucking your hole to gather the strength to form cohesive sentences.
"Yeah." You were already worked up, already reaching forward to stroke your cock, but he moved your hand out of reach, tutting at you and acting as though you'd offended him.
"Too soon."
You took his lower lip between your teeth and sucked at it, bitting down as your form of revenge. It only encouraged him more, making him laugh into your mouth and add a second finger as a reward. You were looser now and it slid into you easily, your hole stretching to allow its smooth entry.
It was frustrating, being denied the touch on your cock, especially when it sent a thousand jolts of pleasure and desire through you when combined with the rub of his fingers. You resorted to dirty tactics, undulating your hips and creating friction against his cock with your leg, making him harder while he sent a wave of vibrations through you, the speed of his fingers increasing and making you want to come.
"Please fuck me."
Your words broke the silence and caused him to draw apart and survey you with dark eyes. You were sure that he was going to deny you and prolong the torture, not letting you orgasm through the movements inside your hole, waiting until you were writhing with frustration and he replaced his fingers with his cock, bringing you the release that you were desperately craving now, that you couldn't wait a moment longer for.
He surprised you.
"Go and get the lube."
You all but bounded to your feet, embarrassingly keen, cock standing thick and proud on your stomach, your legs feeling shaky as you ran into the bedroom, hunting through the drawers. You imagined the possibility that you'd be faced with an empty bottle and your mind wandered to other forms of lubrication, your thoughts settling on the chocolate cake and the runny icing and how it would look smoothed over Brendan's cock. It didn't seem any more odd than using jam, a quirk you'd grown accustomed to in your relationship with Brendan. You slicked your hole up with it more often than you spread it over your toast.
When you went back to the living room you found Brendan stretched out on the sofa, leaning back against his arms.
"Make yourself comfortable then." You had the sinking feeling that you weren't going to get fucked tonight. He looked like he was going to fall asleep on you.
"I don't feel well," he mumbled, long and drawn out.
"Since when?" You felt paranoid, resisted running to the bathroom mirror and staring at your reflection to see if you looked haggard, if that was why he suddenly didn't want you.
Brendan never said no, had fucked you even when his cheeks had been stained with tears after Seamus had first arrived, his heaving sobs turning to choked groans when he entered you, nails scrapping against your nipples when he hiked your jumper up, your stomach pressed against the cooker in your kitchen while you rocked backwards against his cock.
He'd fucked you during the two week heatwave that summer, the bed covers thrown back and your skin shining with perspiration, his hold on you too intense, too warm mixed with the sweltering temperature.
He'd fucked you after you'd slammed the deli's door in his face after you'd seen him talking to the McQueen lad in the village, had a name like the Pope and a face like a slapped arse, fucking smug was what he was, thought that he was better than you and you hated the idea that perhaps he was. He'd ignored the locked door and the closed sign that had suddenly appeared, Doug coming out of the kitchen and staring between you with the air of someone who'd dealt with all of this for far too long and knew exactly how to handle it.
"You have ten minutes to sort this out."
He'd opened the door and disappeared round the corner, not giving you time to keep Brendan out. You'd turned your back. If he had the audacity to saunter into the deli like nothing had happened then you weren't going to look into his eyes, listening as he formed pitiful excuses.
"Bit dramatic even for you, don't you think?"
You had tried not to get the thickest panini you could find and throw it at him, aiming squarely for his head. You didn't want to give him the satisfaction.
"He dropped something in the village. I was handing it to him."
"Was it his penis?" Your voice was like acid.
"When are you going to get over this?"
You slowly turned around to face him, needing to look at him while you ripped into him.
"Get over it? Get over finding him in your bed when I'd travelled miles to see you, when I thought you'd be waiting for me?"
You were dragging up something unnecessary that was better kept buried. You didn't care about John Paul, didn't even care that he'd had Brendan once. He wasn't the one who got to be with him every night, wasn't the one who he was sharing his life with. But you knew it was one of your weaknesses, that you got like this when you were itching for a fight. You used anything at your disposal to wound.
"You think he means anything? What would you have me do though, ignore his entire existence?"
"Yes!" You spluttered indignantly, thinking that it was a pretty damn reasonable request.
"Be practical about this."
It only riled you more. You became animated, waving your hands in the air erratically and pointing a finger in his direction in accusation, your voice strained and cold, heat flooding through you and making your cheeks feel hot, a red flush appearing there.
You were in the middle of a particularly rambling sentence about how he clearly had a type, clearly went for young and skinny men who would bend to his will and hero worship him, and how long was it going to be before he tired of you and your advancing years - I'm twenty three Brendan, far too old for you now, right?
He'd marched so quickly towards you that you didn't have time to react, his hand batting your own away and steering your face towards his, knocking the breath out of you and lifting you so that your toes came off the floor, Brendan ensuring that your legs were wrapped securely around his waist. He'd carried you into the kitchen while you half protested, your arguments becoming feeble when he lay you down on the floor and released his dick from the confines of his trousers.
The fight had gone out of you and you'd allowed a smile to show through, your legs parting as he made himself erect and ready for you, you aiding him by playing with your hole, transferring your angry energy into fucking him with everything that you had.
You had been unbelievably grateful that Doug had known you well enough to stay away for longer than ten minutes, and he'd entered the deli to find you alone and sweeping your semen off the floor, praying that you wouldn't be so unfortunate to receive an unexpected visit from the hygiene standards agency that afternoon.
You were sure that he would fuck you through anything. But the sight of Brendan lying on the sofa, staring up at you through half mast and bleary eyes made your theory appear suddenly fragile.
"Oh shit." You'd been so focused on getting Leah better that you had barely had time to consider that Brendan would be affected.
"What?"
"You're ill."
"No," he mumbled half heartedly. "S'ok, just give me a minute. I'll be fine."
"I'm not getting your germs!" If Brendan was off work then one of you would have to make money, and Doug would scold you about coming into contact with his fancy Italian bread when you were sick.
"Don't you want my cooties?" Brendan saying cooties had you giggling, let alone the way that he started reaching towards you with both arms, the perfect impression of a zombie when coupled with the colour leeching from his face.
You dodged out of the way even though he was nowhere close to touching you, then went into the kitchen and reached for the highest shelf.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting you some Calpol."
"Calpol? Jesus Steven, I'm not five."
You ignored him and shook the bottle, wordlessly begging for your dick to go down. You went through into the other room and poured some onto a spoon.
"Open up."
Brendan made a fuss about it, sighing dramatically and muttering fucking Calpol under his breath, but you could tell that he liked it, both the sugary taste of it and the way that you were tending to him. It was one of his worst kept secrets; Brendan Brady liked to be taken care of.
You convinced him to move from the sofa to the bedroom, but he'd frowned at you as you climbed in beside him.
"I thought you didn't want to get sick?"
"I don't, but..." You didn't want to be away from him either. He looked fine, and you were still holding on to your determination to fuck him, your hands finding their way to Brendan's jeans and trying to strip him out of them.
Your bottom lip jutted out when he restrained you. "I mean it, I really don't feel good."
You were beginning to realise that he wasn't doing this for sympathy, or as some misguided attempt to make you wait on him hand and foot and deliver soup to his side. He had a temperature, and although it was slight it was enough to make you keep a cooling palm against his forehead, Brendan closing his eyes at the sensation.
"You shouldn't sleep here. You should go." He sounded as reluctant as you felt. "You've got work tomorrow."
You'd slowly shifted off the bed, never taking your eyes off him until you were at the doorway. The spare bed that night felt too large despite it being half the size of your regular one. You ended up staying up for most of the night, just in case Brendan needed you. You heard him run into the bathroom at three o'clock in the morning, finding him slumped against the toilet seat, the unmistakable scent of vomit filling your senses unpleasantly.
"Bren, do you need anything?"
"Go to sleep, Steven."
You hated his stubbornness. His strong desire to be invincible meant that he was loath to let go of his pride, and it was clear that he didn't want you to see him like this. After getting him a glass of water and handing him toilet paper you went back to bed, your sleep restless and interrupted by the continuous noises of Brendan's back and forth journeys to the bathroom.
You thought it would come and go as quickly as Leah's twenty four hour bug had, but Brendan's was more persistent. After two days he was still bed bound, and you'd arrive home to find his forehead damp with sweat, one hand clutching his stomach while he tried to speak around the nausea that gripped him.
You'd suggested calling a local doctor in, perhaps getting Dr Browning to come and see him. Then you'd realised your mistake when he became silent, his eyes on the floor and his lips twitching.
"Sorry, I didn't mean...that was stupid. Of course we won't call him." You'd stumbled over your words, cursing your lack of censorship, how your thoughts ran away with you until you spoke them out loud without moderating them.
"It's okay. I'm fine, really." He wasn't, but you didn't panic. Cheryl had come over to see him and she'd told you that he got like this; he rarely ever became ill, but when he did it knocked him out for days, rendering him incapable of action for at least a week.
You felt bad for him, and you wanted him to get better, but there was a selfishness to your wishes. You didn't just want it for him, you wanted it for you. You missed the feel of him inside you, missed being woken in the early hours by the prickle of his moustache against your cheek, his hands fitting snuggly around your balls, massaging them in his palm and rousing you with coaxing words.
You'd taken to lying awake in the spare room, unable to sleep and feeling the gnawing sensation of arousal growing within you, not able to satisfy it the way you wanted. You'd wrap a hand around your dick and begin stroking it, your ministrations frenzied and desperate, your body humming and crying out for release.
But still that wasn't enough, and even after you'd come you'd reach your hand down lower, close to your entrance. You'd only stroke against the muscle at first, sighing at the feel of it as you tempted it to become looser. It wasn't like when Brendan did it; it was akin to tickling yourself, unable to get the same level of sensation and pleasure, but there was still a satisfaction to it, and the first two nights you worked yourself up to three fingers, jerking yourself off at the same time to make yourself spill over the covers of the bed.
You'd felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Brendan would cry out in frustration if he could see you, when he still felt too weak to even reach a hand around cutlery. But the need in you only grew stronger as the week progressed, and touching yourself was the only way to feed it.
By the third day you were resorting to desperate measures. You felt faintly embarrassed on your behalf - you'd gone without sex for months before you'd started seeing Doug, and it hadn't been as difficult as this. You found yourself wearing next to nothing when you brought Brendan breakfast, the towel that you managed to drop from around your waist being done so purposefully that your protestations of "I'm dead clumsy, me" sounded weak to your ears.
You bent down to pick it up, your arse exposed to him. You could feel his eyes burning into you, and you longed for him to reach over and lay a hand on your back, stroking until the touch got lower. You'd take anything in the state you were in, would fuck yourself with his fingers and nothing more if that's what he offered you. You gritted your teeth when the touch never came, but you felt persistent that day, and when you turned around to face him your voice was low, your tone thickened.
"Brendan?"
He looked like he knew exactly where your mind was wandering.
"Steven?" He said, deadpan.
"How about I feed you some soup?" What you really wanted was to feed him your come, but you were trying to be refined to begin with. To manipulate him into believing that your intentions were good, honourable. You nearly snorted when you aligned those qualities with yourself.
"I'm capable of putting a spoon in my mouth."
You were tiring of his insistence at being constantly self sufficient. There was something you liked about the idea of nursing him back to health. Regular Florence Nightingale, you. Or you would be, for him.
"Don't be so grumpy." You didn't give him a choice after that, heating some soup in the microwave and carrying it through on a tray adorned with orange juice and a napkin, because you were well aware of how Brendan couldn't eat a single thing without spilling it down himself, perhaps yourself excluded. He usually liked to get any liquids from you safely down his throat.
You propped him up in bed, making him comfortable with pillows surrounding him. You fed him small spoonfuls at first to see if he could take it, if his stomach had recovered enough. When he opened his lips eagerly you gradually increased the amount, and your own mouth was watering.
It was obscene that this was doing it for you, that the sight of his tongue darting out and slurping the soup was making you hard. You tried to conceal your erection under the covers, knowing that Brendan would no doubt scold you for your emotional blackmail; food in exchange for cock.
"This is delicious."
His words brought you back down to earth, wading through the fog of your mind which was currently imagining Brendan pummelling into you from behind, the taste of warm chicken soup on his tongue from where he'd licked it out of your hole.
"Ta."
You would have liked to have said that he was to blame for the accident, but it was entirely your doing. You tipped the spoon so that the soup trickled down his chin, spilling onto the napkin and leaving his mouth an irresistible mess. You could see his hand coming up to wipe it off, and you quickly batted it away with your own, so aggressively that he stared at you in surprise. You mumbled an apology but didn't take your hand away.
"Let me get that for you." Before he could stop you you'd collected the soup on your tongue, the razor edges of his stubble combining with the flavour of the chicken.
"Steven..." It sounded like a warning.
"Please, just do something for me. Anything." You were way past the point of begging.
He looked torn. "What do you want?"
Your hand wandered over the top of his pajama bottoms, snaking down towards his pubic hair. You smoothed your thumb over the head of his cock, registering the texture of it and how much you'd missed it.
"I feel like shit. I can't."
"Please." You mumbled it against his lips, fingers feeling along the veins on his cock, forgetting about his dinner entirely.
You could tell he was close, would weaken if you pressed that much further, his resolve crumbling entirely if you got your mouth around his dick. But you wanted to come first by his means. Needed to.
The idea struck you then, and you turned to lie across his side of the bed, bum propped up before him.
"I can't -" He was already protesting, already sounding like he was close to denying you again.
"You don't have to do anything." You were going to do all the work.
You spread the cheeks of your arse, leaning against your knees to open yourself up even more to him. You were reminded by his heavy breaths that he hadn't had sex in days either, and you looked at him over your shoulder, knowing that your eyes must be pleading and desperate, a mirror image of his own.
"Put your fingers in me."
Brendan seemed to know your plan without having to ask, and after he'd moistened his fingers with his spit he pushed two gently inside of you, doing nothing more than to keep them there. He didn't have to exert himself, barely even had to move. Instead you built up a rhythm, adjusting your body and finding the right angle before grinding back against his fingers, getting them to rub where you wanted them to.
"Rub your dick against the covers, Steven. I want you to come."
You groaned at the content of his words, eager to obey. You positioned part of the duvet underneath your groin, his fingers inside you as you moved, making sure that you didn't dislodge them. When you lay down again you reached a hand around your cock and played with it, the hard length moving against the covers when your hand slackened from the feel of Brendan's fingers curling inside you.
You instructed him, deeper and to the left and just move them a bit, just a little bit, while you milked them as though they were his cock, getting a different type of pleasure but one no less exquisite, not after you'd been without his touch for days. It was never like this when you masturbated, could never match up to what he did for you, and your hands were straining against the bedsheets, your knuckles white and looking painfully tense as you rocked back on Brendan's fingers to make yourself come.
You sagged forward onto the covers, your spunk lightly covering the sheets, Brendan's fingers still warm and soft inside you. You took them out slowly, shuddering against the sound that they made, wet and filthy as they left your body, slick with the dampness of your inner tissues. Brendan looked at you when he licked the digits, looking decidedly less peaky than before. When he licked you clean off his fingers you imagined his tongue on your hole, eating you out ruthlessly.
You still felt turned on, not nearly sated. It caused you to pull down his pajama bottoms in one clean sweep that took him by surprise, your mouth settling around his cock before he'd had time to blink. You couldn't articulate how much you'd been wanting this, how you'd been going half crazy with the need to have his cock in your mouth, your tongue sliding over him, licking every time that you deep throated him, massaging him with your hand when you came up for air.
You felt strong hands pushing on your shoulders, the sound of a groan escaping from Brendan's mouth, a fervoured whisper.
"Come on, Steven."
You knew he wanted more, gave it to him without pause by taking a deep breath and swallowing him down, your eyes watering and you skin tickled by the pubic hair that was inches from your mouth. You released him with a pop, your saliva coating his cock and Brendan arching his hips closer to you, spine coming off the bed.
"Feeling better?" You asked him with a grin, nuzzling against his foreskin with your lips.
"Maybe a little bit," he admitted. His thumb brushed over your mouth, trailing across it before you sucked on it. "Would feel even better if you did that again."
You were aware of him watching you, your arse in the air as you concentrated on making him come, mouth opening and lips creating a warm vacuum around him, a hum of pleasure transferring from you to him.
His leg came up in the bed when he was close, and it reminded you so vividly of the way that he would move when you were on top, when you lowered yourself down onto his erect cock and rode him. It made you grow restless, made you release him from your mouth and shuffle up in the bed, eyelashes fluttering and voice persuasive, falsely innocent.
"Bren..."
You tried to guide his cock into you, disarming him. His resistance was waning, especially when you gave him more reassurance.
"I'll do everything. Just lie back, yeah?"
You felt excitement coursing through you, arousal in your veins. A spurt of precome was leaking from your cock, and you knew that you wouldn't last long. You wanted to scream with how primed with tension you were. It made you shake as you stroked Brendan before lining him up, his cock tapping against your hole.
"Go on." His eyes were alive with wanting you, burning with it.
"Fucking hell!" You banged your fist on the table beside the bed, the knock on the door making you both jolt. You stared at Brendan imploringly. "Just leave it, yeah?" The head of his cock was beginning to enter you, and you felt your inner muscles rippling around it, emitting a long drawn out sigh as you anticipated him filling you completely.
The knock on the door became more insistent. You still had a baseball bat lying in a corner of your closet, and your mind wandered there.
"They'll piss off eventually." Your kisses on Brendan's neck became an attempt to keep him in the bed. You didn't care if you got sick too. You needed this, needed him.
He didn't argue back, replacing your hand with his own and pushing his cock into you, and you were so tantalisingly close, moments away from him being balls deep inside you.
"Brendan! It's me. Open up."
You grumbled under your breath, knowing that Brendan wouldn't keep Cheryl out in the cold. Brendan's hand stilled and he carefully rolled you off him, shaking his head in frustration as he slipped his pajama bottoms back on.
"You coming?" He gestured to the door.
"No." You crossed your arms, cursing how good it had felt, almost having him inside you again. The sensation already felt lost to you, and you felt your pulse return to normal, the anticipation being replaced by the reality that the world you'd created together wasn't always so private.
He apologised with his eyes, leaving you to answer the door and make his excuses about why you stayed in the bedroom the entire time, scowling and rubbing your cock irritably, still not getting the feeling that you craved.
Your hope rested on convincing Brendan to fuck you once Cheryl had left, but when he finally closed the door behind her he told you that she'd managed to get him to agree to go into work for a first hours.
You threw your shoe at the wall when he left.
It had been five days since you'd had sex. Brendan's few hours at Chez Chez had extended to him sorting out all the accounts and dealing with the hiring of new staff, and when he'd come back you'd been fast asleep in bed, finding it already empty when you rose the next morning.
You caught Doug looking at you cautiously at work.
"What?" You waved the knife that you were using precariously close to his body.
"We're meant to cut panini's Ste, not slaughter them."
You looked down at the bread on the cutting board, not even having noticed the mess you'd made. You'd all but murdered it, the bread now in a dozen pieces, too small to be of any use.
"Sorry." You didn't feel sorry. You went to the bin and emptied the bread into it, not caring when you split half on the floor and Doug bent down and discarded the rest, shaking his head at you.
"Whatever's going on with you and Brendan -"
"Why does it always have to be about me and Brendan?" You shot back, temper rising.
"Because it always is."
You ignored him, spending most of the shift in the kitchen preparing sandwiches, unable to face speaking to customers. You kept on waiting for Brendan to come in, sauntering over to you and suggesting that you join him in his office, but he never did. You got a message off him, loads of work to catch up on today, will make it up to you, and you resisted the urge to ask when and where and how. You couldn't concentrate on anything else all day.
You went into Chez Chez at the end of the day and found Brendan dodging out of the way of balloons and fairy lights that Mitzeee had put up for the night's themed event. You tried to back him into his office, one hand on his thigh and trailing lower to signify your intentions.
"Steven, I really don't have time." You could feel his cock harden under you touch, your body shielding his from view so that Mitzeee wouldn't see. She loved nothing more than to gossip over the two of you, especially after she'd found Brendan in the middle of sucking you off in his office a month ago, an early afternoon treat that had descended into sheepish grins and blushed faces, her staring down at your dick without even trying to pretend that she hadn't noticed it in the mouth of her boss.
"Brendan." You wanted to make him understand. "It's been five days." You sounded it out, elongating the words and vowels. "Five days."
"Yes, I'm aware." He never took his eyes off your lips. You licked them, hoping that you could remind him of exactly what you were capable of doing with them.
"Then drop whatever you've got, and come and give me a kiss."
He frowned, confused. "A kiss? Is that all you want, Steven?" He leaned forward, but you drew back.
"I didn't mean a kiss there."
He rolled his eyes, looking amused and affectionate. You were interrupted by the clip clop of heels and the sight of Mitzeee's red lipstick and curled hair, sweeping you away with a flick of her hand because they had important business to attend to. You made your footsteps down the stairs as loud and as angry as possible, closing the door forcefully on your way out.
You considered going home, but there was a bus drawing up and you ran to catch it, a plan forming in your head. You couldn't stop thinking about it once you had sat down, and when you got to town you walked with purpose into the shop, looking around furtively just before you entered, making sure that there was no around that you knew.
You'd never been into one of these places before, and you'd considered buying something online to save you the embarrassment, but it would take too long for delivery. You didn't have the patience.
You felt out of place, most of the customers being women or couples shopping together, and for one uncomfortable moment you felt like a pervert, browsing the shelves for sex toys and passing by a massive display of dildos. You glanced around to see if anyone was watching you and judging you, but no ones eyes met yours, and you began to think that perhaps it was okay, that you could do this - find what you were looking for, and leave the shop before anyone noticed what you were purchasing. Although how the hell you'd hide a rubber cock in your hands you had no idea.
You couldn't believe the things that adorned the shelves, how much there was. You passed by different brands of lube and butt plugs, then wandered into the dress up section, seeing the kind of lingerie that you hadn't had someone wear for you since Rae.
There were handcuffs, and you smiled faintly as you remembered the almost identical pair lying in your flat. Brendan may have hated prison but he had no qualms about chaining you to the bed, donning you with a blindfold while you longed to break free and touch him, your back arching off the bed as he ate out your hole and sucked you dry.
You couldn't stop looking over your shoulder, expecting to be accosted by one of the McQueens. You could imagine them in a place like this, Myra or Theresa running back to Brendan and telling him all about your visit here. You nearly jumped out of your skin when a sales assistant came over to you when you were standing by the display that interested you the most, the whole reason behind your little trip.
"Can I help you with anything?"
You wondered if you looked like you needed help, if you looked lost and out of place. But she was smiling, and wasn't staring at you like you were a freak.
"I was just wanting to buy a..." You pointed in front of you.
"A dildo?" She looked faintly amused by your coyness.
"Mmmm," you admitted, fidgeting. You decided to be bold. "Do you have any nine inch ones?"
"The biggest we go up to is eight inches."
"That'll do." You smiled at her until she got the message, leaving to help another customer who looked far more comfortable than you.
You scanned the shelves, taking in all the different types, never knowing when you came here that there would be this many. There were large ones in garish colours, pink and purple and orange. You immediately discounted those; you'd never be able to hide them away successfully in your sock drawer.
There were ones for double penetration, but as tempting as it was you knew you'd be pushing your luck there. Brendan loved your fingers and tongue in him but anything bigger had always been outrightly rejected, and your stomach twisted when you thought of why, your eyes becoming red rimmed before you shook the images from your mind. If you dwelled on that then you'd never be able to pick yourself up and be the man that he needed, the man that he deserved. Someone strong when he felt weak.
There were dildos that curved and were easily pliable when you grasped them in your hand, and glass ones that you touched almost cautiously, put off by the idea of the material going inside you.
After staring at them for more than ten minutes you eventually settled on one of the more realistic models, one equipped with balls and a cup that you could stick on surfaces. You suddenly had an image of you bouncing on it in the bath, and stifled a giggle. The entire thing felt ridiculous, but you couldn't deny that your interest had been piqued, and your hands weren't going to suffice to bring yourself off. You needed something inside you, something to stretch and fill and make you feel whole.
You walked self consciously to the counter and paid, grateful when the woman serving barely even glanced at you. You supposed they were used to this every day, and a gay man in here was nothing new. You didn't have to hide the bag - it was plain and nondescript, and you felt anticipation pulsing through you as you made the bus ride back to the village.
When you got back to the flat you called out just in case anyone was there, despite knowing that Brendan was the only one with the key. You felt nervous, and after making yourself a cup of tea and procrastinating you couldn't wait any longer. You took the bag into the bedroom, closing the door carefully behind you. You emptied the contents onto the bed and put the lube that you'd already had beside it, stripping off your clothes until you were completely naked, your cock already standing against your stomach.
You made yourself comfortable on the bed, working yourself up to the right mood by idly stroking along your chest and tummy, tweaking a nipple in the way that Brendan did. If you weren't relaxed then it had the tendency to hurt your hole, and even though you were going to take in a smaller size than usual, you still wanted to be ready, to make it as good as it was with Brendan.
But without his hands and lips and words whispered in your ear it wasn't as easy, and you closed your eyes, memories of him being inside you flooding through you. The more vidid the images the more good it felt when you stroked your cock, and you began to get lost to it, letting it take hold, the outside world receding.
You wanted to increase the pressure coursing through your body. You began toying with your hole, your fingers flittering over it while you jerked yourself off. The sensation made you ache, and you would have given anything for Brendan to walk through the door and slip his dick into you - no waiting, no foreplay, just him fucking you hard and fast, hands pinning your body to the bed.
You tried to recreate the feeling, uncapping the lubricant and spreading it across the dildo, coating it like you would Brendan's cock. It was slippery in your hands, and you brushed the rubbery head of it against your entrance to begin with, bracing yourself for that first initial push, only drawing it back to weave your fingers in and out of your hole, opening it up.
When the dildo entered you it was easier than you thought. Your hole was already loose and wet, and your mind was making your arousal spike with thoughts of Brendan. His hands in your hair, gripping it so that the lines of pleasure and pain became blurred. His lips on your nipples, sucking and licking and swirling over the flesh there. His cock leaving your arse only to slam back in, making your body quiver with the shock of it, the force. His possessiveness that took your breath away, how he'd interlock your fingers with his and kiss your wedding ring, you're mine Steven, no one else's, and how these words would nearly always be spoken just before he climaxed.
It made you desperate for sex, made you insert the dildo as far as you could get it and start moving your hand back and forth, making the head of it rub against your insides. Your legs were spread, splayed on the sheets and clenched, the veins on your hands visible, large and colourful against your skin.
You didn't realise that your mouth was open before a drop of saliva dribbled down your chin and onto your bare chest, and you made no attempt to remove it, felt like you couldn't even if you wanted to. Everything was concentrated on what your hand was doing, the way that you were fucking yourself with the dildo, and it may not have been Brendan but it was good, made your cock so hard that you had something inside you after all these days without.
You were close to coming already but wanted to starve it off, wanted to make this last, feel it build and hit heavy heights. You moved from the bed to the carpet instead, planting the dildo squarely on the floor and easing it back into your hole, allowing your arse to swallow it up. You rocked back on it, went faster and seated yourself until all that was visible were the rubbery balls and the base that lay against the carpet.
You raised your face to the ceiling, closing your eyes and fucking your hole open, one hand frantically working your cock until you felt the familiar wetness of the precome against your thumb and fingers. You massaged it onto the head of your cock and kept going, your legs threatening to buck from underneath you, sweat making your skin gleam and radiate heat.
You couldn't remember the last time you'd been this horny. You'd have done anything to get cock, would have tied Brendan up in his office if you'd had to, and now you had a replica inside you, making your body feel like it was convulsing, that it wasn't possible for one person to feel this much pleasure.
Your mind was hazy and lust driven, and you reached for your phone in the pocket of your trousers, never stilling in your actions, an obscene sound of the squelching being emitted from the dildo and making colour spread across your cheeks. You barely knew what you were doing, just aimed the camera on yourself and pressed record while you bobbed up and down, groans and sighs spilling from your lips as naturally as air.
Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of your phone and you brought Brendan's number up on the screen, sending the video message to him, not adding any additional text before you chucked the phone back onto the carpet, the buzz of it alerting you that the footage had been delivered.
It took him less than fifteen minutes to get there, and you knew he must have run from Chez Chez back to the flat, because he was panting when he barraged through the front door and into the bedroom. His eyes were blown as he drank you in. Your hand was wrapped around your cock, minutes away from coming. You'd climbed onto the bed again while you'd been waiting for him, and you were spread out before him now, staring at him with open desire.
"Please make me come."
He let out a growl and strode over to you, slipping out the dildo in one move that made you keen high in your throat, the sensation delicious. He stared down at your hole as he hurriedly took his clothes off.
"Jesus. Look at that thing."
You were too busy touching it, keeping it loose for him.
"That was your plan then? Fuck yourself with that toy, send me a video, expect me to come running?"
"It worked didn't it?" You said, raising your eyebrows challengingly, daring him to argue back.
He grinned, all white gleaming teeth and barely concealed lust. "You're fucking filthy, you know that?"
"You love it."
He nodded in agreement, spreading lube onto his cock and settling his arms either side of you on the bed.
"What did you tell Mitzeee?" You asked between kisses.
"I said that something came up." He let out a booming laugh that sounded almost identical to your own in volume. Proud. Unashamed.
"Put it in me." You stared down at his cock. Five fucking days. It felt like a lifetime, the longest you'd gone without him since his last trip alone to Ireland a year ago.
"Maybe I want to play first." You groaned when he kept up the sweet torture, teeth grazing against your skin and his fingers exploring your hole. "Jesus Steven, you're so wet."
"For you." You guided his fingers where you most wanted them, even deeper inside you until you felt him everywhere, not a sound or a smell or a taste or a touch that wasn't Brendan. The illness that had left him weak had gone, and his hold on you was solid and firm as he pressed his chest against yours, the rub of his cross making you squirm at how cold the metal was in contrast to the warmth of his skin.
"Brendan, fuck me. Please just fuck me."
He looked into your eyes, seeing the plea behind them and removing his fingers, replacing them with his cock.
"Is this what you want?" His voice was soft, a low rumble.
You didn't reply, wrapping your legs around him and stroking along his arse with the heel of your foot instead.
"Steven? I said, is this what you want?"
"Yes." It felt like you were shouting, everything heightened now that he was there. You'd been craving his touch for days and now you had it, had missed the feel of him, his eyes closing as he built up the thrusts inside you until you felt as though you might break from the onslaught.
The dildo lay forgotten on the floor, the rubber shiny from the lube and the spongey wetness of your hole. There was nothing that could match up to this, nothing that could compete with the feel of Brendan fucking you, being all around you, the sight of his smile when he made you come, the satisfaction behind it, a hint of smugness when your come was viscous and sticky and seemed to go on for miles, a trail along your stomach. It coated his hands before he licked it off, his thrusts gathering a pace that you didn't even know was possible, didn't see how he could go any harder but he did, he always did.
"You gonna make me come now?"
"Yeah." Your lips felt swollen from his kisses, your hole worked so thoroughly from Brendan's dick that you were sure you'd still be loose enough to fuck him the next morning.
He restrained your hands and you aided him, trying not to move them when he held them down on the bed, fucking the breath out of you. The sound of his balls slapping against your arse was filling the room, and if you could have come again so soon than you would have - everything felt right, connected together seamlessly, his body and yours fused, and you'd never experienced it with anyone else in your life.
When he came inside you he let out a roar, sounding barely human. You stroked down his heaving and damp back, Brendan recovering in your arms.
"Admit it. You hated me this week."
"Nah." You tried to sound convincing. "I didn't hate you."
"Were you going to replace me with that thing over there?" His gaze travelled to the dildo, and you smirked.
"Maybe. Maybe forever," you teased, your legs intertwining with his, feeling the masculinity of the hair that lay scattered along his skin.
"What happened to in sickness and in health? You're meant to love me no matter what, remember?"
"If I had realised that you'd make me wait almost a week for you then I'd never have married you."
He tickled you, knowing that it was your torture, and you struggled against him, complaining and trying to swat him away with your hands.
"Never again, yeah?" Your voice was light and playful but he knew that you weren't joking.
"Never again."
You smiled and kissed against his hair, dozing in his arms until sunrise.
The next day you woke up with a fever and a headache. Brendan took the day off work, bringing you glasses of water when you were able to stay out of the bathroom for long enough. His cock filled you as you lay spread eagled on the bed, never again ringing in your ears.