Notes: I've been writing this on and off for months, ever since Ste told Brendan he was engaged in the hospital, actually, and last night I finally finished it. It feels so unbelievably, amazingly good to get rid of the bloody thing! It's long - around 7500 words of fluff and angst and plot of which just under half of those words, and I can't stress this enough, are basically just porn. I was blushing half the time writing this, I swear.
It's AU now obviously since 'Oaks are headin' for a weddin'. I'd set it maybe a couple of weeks ago but involving more recent canon events.
Warnings: Explicit, graphic descriptions of sex and very brief allusions to Stug relationship.
Title from the song I Can't Pretend by Billie Holiday, fic inspired by and written to her entire collection 'cause it's so damn sexual.
Dear Guest,
It is with deepest deep regret that we have to inform you we have decided to cancel our forthcoming wedding which was due to take place on Tuesday 13th November.
We offer our most greatest sincerest apologies for any inconvenience this might may have caused you and will be glad happy to assist with any work or financial related comi commitments you may have made in preparation for the event.
Yours regretfully sincerely,
Steven Hay and Douglas Carter
Douglas Carter and Steven Hay
Ste reads the letter again. He's read it over and over so many times he feels like he's going cross-eyed. There's a banging, shuffling sound that startles him out of his concentration and Ste realises it's the front door. He's instantly on edge, has a feeling he knows who it might be but doesn't know if he wants to be right or wrong. He's been hoping for a reason to put down the letter for ages and there the Universe goes, breaking the habits of a lifetime and giving him what he wants.
"Hey," says a soft, lilting voice and Ste dares a glance up. Right, then. "Thought I'd call round, been worried about you. Your phones off."
"Just needed some peace and quiet," he rasps out, voice rusty from disuse. Brendan gives him a little half-smile and pulls a bottle of amber liquid from the bag he's carrying.
"Thought this might be a little bit more of what you needed, actually."
"You must be psychic," Ste says, grateful and tense. He could use something to chase away the chill that's settled in his body and smooth away the rough edges of his broken up emotions so he can stop cutting himself open.
"Nope, just own a successful establishment where people often come to drown their sorrows," Brendan quips, heads to the kitchen and comes back with two glasses which he fills. He hands one to Ste, then shrugs off his jacket and sits himself down in the armchair. "So, how are you doing?"
Ste drinks the whiskey down in one, feels it burn down his throat and settle warmly in his stomach. How is he doing? If he had to describe it in one word, he'd pick bruised. Physically bruised. His whole body aches with it, feels sensitive and sore, like his skin is flayed and every nerve ending is exposed and raw.
"Not too bad, I dunno, " he says vaguely.
"Come on, you've been locked up in here for days," Brendan says, pouring him a refill, "it's not like you to hide away like this."
"I'm not hidin'," he says petulantly. It's half true, he had been trying to avoid accidentally bumping into the man now sat in his living room as much as he'd needed time alone to clear his head. "Just trying to – to get used to stuff."
"And people round here are like gossip feasting vultures?"
"Yeah, that too." Ste cracks a smile, the first one in what feels like ages. His facial muscles had almost forgotten how to make the shapes.
There's a low hum under his skin, a flush of something other than aching confusion and sickening worry. It shines in such stark relief to the pain of the last few days that he clings to it. Ste honestly can't see how today might end, has no idea what even the next few hours might bring. It thrills him, this not knowing. It's the opposite of how he felt a week ago, his entire life mapped out for him with no room to breathe, no room for him to do what he does best and fuck something up.
He's always felt like this with Brendan: like anything could happen, for better or for worse.
"Well, if you need anything, you know I'm your man," Brendan says, holds up his drink and Ste clinks their glasses together. The sound of it rings through him and he's suddenly transported. A memory, sharp as a knife and saturated in vivid colour. It cuts through the grey fog he's been suffocating on for the past four days and he shakes his head to clear it, the smell of aftershave, the warmth of alcohol, the press of a body over his own and for the first time knowing what it meant to want something.
The letter on the sofa next to him is a convenient distraction.
"Read this for me then." He hands it to Brendan, scribbled and messy with corrections and doodles of people hanging themselves all around the margins.
"Wow, you're quite the tortured artist," Brendan says dryly, eyebrows raised at his suicidal stick men.
"Just read it," he snaps, rolling his eyes. Brendan whispers bossy under his breath but, thankfully, does as he's told. Ste watches his eyes flick across the paper, watches his lips move minutely as he follows the words and it hits him that he's watching Brendan read the letter cancelling his and Doug's wedding and he doesn't even know, doesn't have any idea that he's – that Ste -
No.
Ste pulls his legs up onto the sofa and wraps his arms around his knees protectively.
"Nice and formal, doesn't give much away. It's good."
"I basically ripped it off from some wedding guru woman on the internet," he admits tiredly. "I couldn't even start it myself. How do you write something so huge down in, like, less than a hundred words? My whole life's turned upside down and I have to tidy it up for people to read about."
"Hey, don't worry about the letters now, okay? Those people ain't important," Brendan says soothingly. "Concentrate on you, the business, your family, those things are important."
Brendan makes sense but Ste's too drained to focus on anything bigger than the words on that page. There's so much he can't face right now that the letters feel like his only lifeline.
"I have loads to write, it's a big job."
"Do them on the computer?"
"No, me and Doug both agreed it's more respectful to hand-write them. We're doing half the guest list each," he explains tiredly and Brendan gives him a stern look, "look, I'm going to stay with Amy and the kids this weekend. I just want to get 'em all off by then."
Brendan tuts, blows out a long-suffering sigh and holds his hand out.
"Give me some paper then."
Ste finds he's too thankful to put up even a token protest and happily hands over everything Brendan asks for.
After half an hour, longer than Ste had expected to be fair to him, Brendan gets bored and starts wandering around the room. He turns on the radio, fiddles with the stations until he finds something he doesn't hate, comments on every single thing he touches despite getting no reply from Ste and generally acting like a curious five year old.
It's so perfectly Brendan, so familiar, something Ste had forgotten he was once so used to, that his concentration improves and he powers through three more letters in record time. He'd once spent so many nights doing the books, the staff rota, the orders, everything that was basically the bosses job, whilst Brendan had wandered about the club juggling glasses, flicking limes at him and playing with the DJ booth, perving on Ste and making lewd comments to distract him and make him laugh. It was the closest they ever came to domestic bliss.
"I never liked weddings," Brendan says in and amongst the random chatter and the word gets Ste's attention, "like fish being gawped at in a bowl, so much cheese and cliche."
"To be honest I was never that big on 'em," Ste admits, finishing up another letter and folding the paper into an envelope to set aside, "but then when Doug proposed - "
He chokes on his words, has to cough to ease up his tightening throat.
" - I just never thought anyone would, yknow?"
"Propose?"
"Want to commit to me like that, it's well massive," he says softly, aware of the awkwardness of his words but he's drunk enough whiskey to dangerously loosen his tongue. "Think I'll regret not getting to do the cheesy, cliche, typical wedding stuff the most."
"What, like the birdy song and the end-of-the-night drunken brawl?" Brendan scoffs and it makes Ste chuckle.
"Yeah, actually," he says thoughtfully, "and the other stuff. I always wanted to have a first dance."
He feels instantly embarrassed having said something so ridiculously fluffy and he screws his face up and groans.
"Aww, Steven, that's adorable," Brendan teases fondly.
"Uh, just forget I said that, please," he pleads, grabbing the notepad again, resting it on his folded legs and bending over it far enough that Brendan can't catch his eye.
Minutes go by in which he scratches out more words and then he suddenly notices two things simultaneously: the radio's been turned up, something slow and jazzy, and Brendan's stood right next to the sofa with his hand out, palm up and at his eye level.
He follows the arm up until he's looking into Brendan's expectant face. His fingers wiggle for emphasis.
"You're joking?" Ste asks blankly.
"Nope. Come on, you'll dance yet, Cinderella," Brendan says charmingly, cocks his head and gives Ste an easy, lopsided smile. Stood there like that, hand out, dressed in his black suit pants, white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and sleeves rolled up, music crooning in the background, Ste thinks he looks like a movie star. All he needs is a cigarette between his lips and he'd belong on a vintage poster.
He stares, breathes a laugh and shakes his head in disbelief. He kind of wants to call Brendan mad, slap his hand away and tell him to stop messing about but he doesn't. What he really wants to do is take Brendan's hand. Ste used to pride himself on being the type of person who did what he wanted.
"Don't leave me and Miss Holiday hangin' Steven."
He can't help a wide smile break out on his face and he thinks, fuck it, he just cancelled his fucking wedding, he's owed a dance, and reaches out. Brendan drags Ste upright smoothly and wraps one arm around his waist, hand flat on his lower back to pull him close. He takes Ste's other hand and twirls them over into the middle of the living room.
Ste's never been one for dancing like this but Brendan leads him expertly and he finds it's easy. He bites his bottom lip but the stupid grin that's attached itself to his traitorous face will not budge. Brendan watches him closely; eyes sparkling mischievously, clearly very pleased with himself.
"Cheered up yet?" he asks smugly and Ste tuts and rolls his eyes but it's no use; he can't deny that Brendan's warmth and humour is enough to comfort him, that it makes him feel so brilliantly alive.
"Shut up. Who taught you how to dance then, 'ard man?" Ste can't help but ask, half to distract himself from Brendan's stupid, beautiful face inches away from his own and half because he's genuinely curious.
"You can't teach this kind of perfection, Steven," he answers breezily, spinning them with a flourish.
"Very funny. Eileen then?"
Brendan coughs a laugh, surprised.
"Eileen couldn't dance to save her life and by God did I try to teach her," he says fondly. "No it was - "
He stops and looks over Ste's shoulder, past him, somewhere miles away. He blinks slowly, smiles sadly.
" - my nana taught me."
Ste's struck by his tone, soft and high and childlike. He's thirsty for knowledge about Brendan's past, has always wanted to know what makes him tick, why he is the way he is. All he knows about Brendan's grandmother he learned from Cheryl: that she's dead, that they took her to the house that blew up and landed Brendan in hospital because she wanted to die there. That Brendan loves his family is one thing Ste is certain of.
"Aww, that's nice."
"Yeah," Brendan says softly, distractedly, before shaking himself slightly and looking back at Ste. "She used to say that all young gentlemen should know how to sweep a lady off her feet."
Ste snorts. "Well, I'm no lady but I'd say she did a good job."
"No, you're definitely no lady. Clearly she didn't do that good a job," he drawls out with a smirk.
Ste feels laughter bubble up in his chest and before he knows it he's throwing his head back and pouring it out, leaning back in Brendan's arms and trusting him to hold him up as he giggles, real and amazing and it feels so good to just laugh.
It eases some of his tension, leaves him feeling languid and craving contact. He leans in closer and rests his forehead on Brendan's shoulder, lets go of his hand and slides both arms around his neck. Brendan freezes for a second before moving his free hand to join his other around Ste's waist.
"You okay?"
"Mmmhmm," he mumbles into the material of Brendan's shirt; inhales the scent of soap and aftershave, soaks in the heat of warm palms against the thin material of his t-shirt, counts the beats of Brendan's heart against his own and matches the rhythm of his breathing to the rise and fall of Brendan's chest.
It's so stupidly dangerous to let himself get this close, this carried away, when he's so vulnerable, but it's so fucking easy with Brendan. He'd suspected he was going to do something crazy the second Brendan walked through his door. They fall into each other like this, effortless and inevitable. Four days ago Ste'd had to tell the man who loved him that he couldn't get married, had to shatter both their worlds into pieces because of something he'd struggled so hard to deny for too long. What he feels now, though, right here with their bodies pressed together and his own heart beating somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, is almost acceptance.
They're barely moving anymore, just swaying on the spot to the music. Ste feels and hears the click of Brendan's throat when he swallows and his own heart rate kicks up in response; like they're so finely tuned that his body reacts to Brendan before his brain does.
Ste feels suddenly dizzy, head spinning, his body lighting up and sparking along every inch where he and Brendan touch. He breathes out shakily and turns his face into Brendan's neck, so far gone he can't control himself anymore. He drags his lips against the rough stubble and thrills when Brendan moans his name softly.
"I'm sorry," he whispers against Brendan's skin and goes to pull back but Brendan tightens his grip on Ste's waist, curls his fingers into the hem of his t-shirt and slips them underneath the cloth, spreads his hands across the heated skin of Ste's lower back and presses them tightly together, flushed and close.
"Me too," Brendan sighs, turns his face towards him and plants a soft kiss to Ste's temple.
"I can't take this anymore," he groans, completely unwilling to stop himself now. The wall he's shoddily built up over the last months to keep his emotions held back is crumbling and they're about to break free and drown them both.
"Steven, don't," Brendan's pleads, gripping him tightly in warning.
"I have to - "
He chokes on his words, starts to shake in Brendan's arms, too wrecked to hold back the tide.
"Hey, shhh. You're not in any fit state," Brendan soothes, strokes his thumb up and down Ste's spine.
"Brendan, stop trying to protect me," he says angrily, desperately. He pulls back to look him in the eye. "The wedding, Doug, everything, it was wrong. How can you marry someone when - "
Brendan shakes his head, flicks his eyes over Ste's face quickly like he's terrified.
" - when all you can think about is someone else."
They stare at each other without a word, music playing on in the background. Brendan hasn't taken his hands off Ste's body and Ste hasn't moved back an inch. He feels hyper-aware and giddy with relief from his confession. He's finally said the words and he's so ready to deal with their consequences.
"You're not, Steven," Brendan tries diplomatically. "You're just grieving, just going through a hard time - "
Ste actually laughs.
"Don't tell me how I feel. You're one of the only people in the whole world who never tried to make me something I wasn't, don't start now."
"I'm just saying your head's gotta be a mess right now."
"My head was a mess up until four days ago."
"You know this isn't a good idea," Brendan says, voice strained like he's forcing himself to argue out of some sense of obligation.
"I know that a lot of things I've done recently have been good ideas and not one of them has made me 'appy."
"If you keep pushing this I swear - "
Brendan's eyes drop to his lips and Ste gets the idea of exactly what he's swearing. He touches his tongue to the corner of his mouth purposefully and shivers in anticipation when Brendan's eyes go dark, all pupil. He looks dangerous, predatory and it makes Ste's blood sing.
"I'm no good for you," Brendan says raggedly, a tired repeat that's as meaningless to Ste now as it was when he'd said it the first time.
"You're better than you think you are, Brendan," he says meaningfully, "and nobody gets to tell me what's best for me anymore."
He tightens his hands on Brendan's shoulders and surges upwards, presses his body flush against him and crushes their lips together. Brendan's arms instantly slide around him and tighten, pulling him up onto his toes. Ste tilts his head and feels Brendan's mouth open against his, tongue sliding into him, rough and claiming and ohGodsounbelievable. He kisses Brendan back like he's starving for it, pours all of his tension and longing into him, the months of confusion and chaos, the years of hurt and disappointment.
Brendan takes it all.
They pull apart and Ste's trembling so badly he can barely stand. He tucks his forehead under Brendan's chin and just breathes, in and out, deeply. He spreads his palms across Brendan's chest and slides them down over his ribs, his stomach, his hips until he can pull the material of Brendan's shirt from his trousers. A strangled noise escapes the back of his throat as he touches his fingers to the warm skin of Brendan's body.
It seems to spur Brendan into action and he cups both hands around Ste's neck, draws him back in for another searing kiss and walks them backwards across the room until Ste's back hits the hallway wall.
He's pinned there, Brendan's hands flat against the wall at either side of his face, body hard against his own. He slides one leg between both of Ste's and presses upwards and the blood rushes out of his brain so quickly that he sees flying pinpricks of light dancing in front of his eyes and grinds against Brendan's thigh shamelessly, half-hard in seconds.
He grapples with the buttons of Brendan's stupid, complicated shirt with his uncooperative fingers, threading them through their holes one at a time until he can get the awkward thing open and get his hands against the firm body underneath. He touches everywhere, spreads his fingers so he can feel as much as possible all at once.
Ste pushes him away for a split second to get the shirt off his shoulders, enough time for Brendan to get his hands under the hem of Ste's t-shirt and tug it over his head. He grabs Ste's waist, rough now, no messing about, and pulls him close; presses them together, skin to skin, feverish and hot.
He's dizzy when Brendan spins them and pins him to the bedroom door, fastens his lips onto Ste's throat and sucks hard enough to leave marks whilst he fumbles with the door handle until it opens up and unbalances them. Brendan grips his thighs quickly and pulls Ste's legs out from under him, up around his waist, and they topple into the room gracelessly before they're going over and Ste's back hits the bed with a bounce, Brendan sprawled on top of him.
He laughs breathlessly, hot all over from the rush of adrenaline and the way Brendan just basically manhandled so thoroughly. He shimmies up the mattress and sits up on his elbows to watch Brendan crawl up between his spread legs with the filthiest smirk on his face. Every bit of his body is tense in excitement and dark, delicious anticipation. The mere thought of Brendan touching him is giving him goosebumps and the bastard knows it.
"What d'you want, Steven?" he asks, low and rough, leaning over him, close but not-quite-touching.
He swallows, hard.
"I want you to fuck me -" he says breathlessly and then can't help a smirk of his own, " - Brendan."
Brendan growls low in his throat and claims his mouth again, quick and hard, before he leans back to unceremoniously divest Ste of his jeans and boxers. He gets up on his knees between Ste's legs and fumbles with his belt and Ste can see his dick straining against the black material of his pants, almost at eye level.
He sits up and bats Brendan's hands away, unthreads the belt himself and tosses it across the room before leaning forward and pressing his face into Brendan's stomach. He rubs one open palm across Brendan's covered erection and nuzzles his lips down through the hair bellow his belly button, leaving a damp trail under his mouth.
Brendan touches the back of his neck gently and Ste looks up, revels in the completely focused attention that he has, that he's always craved. He pops the button on Brendan's fly and drags down his zip, doesn't take his eyes from the man's above him as he peels his boxers down and feels his dick push up against his chin.
Ste's mouth waters and he can't resist flicking his eyes downwards, has to see and then touch. Brendan's hard and thick in his hand and he tightens his grip and pumps up and down slowly, lowers his lips to the head and presses his tongue against the tip until the taste of salt spreads across his taste-buds.
Brendan makes a noise above him, a cut off sigh, nearly a whimper, and Ste fastens his lips tightly around the width of him and swallows down until he feels the head bump the back of his throat. Brendan's stomach muscles tremble under his fingertips when he drags his tongue against the underside and sucks hard. Ste moves back, trailing lips and tongue along the shaft and then goes right back down again, getting into a rhythm that makes Brendan's fingers curl tightly into the skin of his neck.
He feels giddy and reckless, relaxes his throat as best he can and takes a breath through his nose before sliding all the way down on Brendan's dick until his lips are pressed to the course hair at the base. Brendan gasps out and thrusts forward minutely, seemingly unable to stop himself, making Ste's throat flutter around him and his eyes water. He looks up and meets Brendan's gaze and he's looking down in awe, eyes liquid and dark, mouth soft and open. He slides his hand from Ste's neck, trails fingers across his cheek, and presses his thumb to the corner of Ste's mouth, slips the tip of it in alongside himself and drags the saliva gathering there across Ste's chin.
"If you could see yourself - " he says roughly, barely more than a growl. "I'm gonna fuck you until you can't even see, I swear."
Ste moans involuntarily, trails his mouth up and off Brendan's dick and wipes the back of his hand across his face.
"Now, please," he says desperately and it makes Brendan chuckle darkly and push him down onto the bed before he hurriedly shucks off the rest of his clothes.
Ste admires him openly; his body has changed. He's bigger, broader, more solid muscle and tight skin. He's all barely concealed strength, power rippling under tight control and Ste's mesmerised, completely intoxicated.
Brendan stretches out over him slowly, lithe and graceful, and lays down between his legs. He leans his weight on one elbow and smoothes his other palm down Ste's body, curls his fingers underneath Ste's bent knee and pulls his leg up to hook over his hip.
Ste arches his back and Brendan grinds down against him and the slow rub of hot skin against skin is so gratifying. They move together, Ste's hips rolling upwards, Brendan's weight heavier on his body with every lazy thrust like he can't get close enough. Ste clings to his back, his shoulders, his hips, can't still his roaming hands, wants to touch every inch of this body that he can read so well but that feels so new. The damp slide of his dick trapped between their sweating bodies, rough against the hair on Brendan's stomach, soft and slippery against the satiny skin of Brendan's own dick and the leak of pre-come, sticky and slick, makes him throw his head back and moan.
Brendan presses his lips against Ste's throat, drags his tongue across his rushing pulse and pulls the skin between his teeth making him cry out and scratch his nails across Brendan's scalp. He twists his fingers through Brendan's hair roughly and pulls him closer, feels the burn of his stubble as he licks a path up Ste's neck and into his mouth, slow, wet slide of tongues to match their rolling bodies.
Everything is hot and close, he's heavy with sensation, nothing to him except slick pleasure and dragging skin.
Brendan starts to shake against him, chokes off a moan into Ste's mouth and stills his movements, pulling back to rest their foreheads together. They breathe, harsh, panting gasps between them, exchanging one another's air until Ste comes back down from the brink of coming all over his damn self just from their bodies being pressed together. He doesn't know how he's going to last a second longer without Brendan getting the fuck inside him. Tells him so.
Brendan smirks at him, puffs a laugh and gestures to the bedside table. "Still in there?"
Ste nods eagerly and reaches across to fumble in the drawer and Brendan pulls his leg up higher to angle his hips and slides his wondering hand down between his thighs. Ste loses all his concentration and Brendan gives him a sharp smack on the arse.
"Keep looking."
"Yes, boss," Ste says, trying for sarcastic but his voice is too thick and rough and Brendan groans at the word. It still illicits the same reaction it always did, memories of the cold office floor biting into his knees where he'd knelt under the desk, mouth sliding down the length of Brendan's dick, thighs shaking under his hands, while Rhys or Jacqui stood in the doorway, confused and waiting for orders, did you actually need something, boss?
What do you need, Brendan?
To fuck your pretty mouth, Steven.
Christ, memories like that still have the potential to get him off like a fucking horny teenager.
He feels Brendan's hand smoothing over the hot skin where he just landed his slap before he trails his fingertips across to between his arse cheeks. He presses against his hole, not pushing inside, not yet, and rubs slowly, tortuously.
Ste finally finds what he's looking for and lets out a relieved groan and Brendan props himself up on his elbow to snatch the lube. He uncaps the bottle and squirts some of the clear liquid into his hand before tossing it aside.
"Gimme your hand," he says roughly and Ste does. Brendan cups the back of it and tangles their fingers together and Ste's breath catches in his throat.
They bring their joint hands down together to settle between his spread legs. Brendan pushes Ste's hand under his balls, moves both their slippery fingers downwards and presses his index finger to the back of Ste's against his entrance. He gasps when both the digits slip inside him, Brendan guiding them up and up until they're in to the knuckle.
It's tight and hot and Brendan twists and pushes until the muscles loosen up enough for him to slide his middle finger in alongside them both. He presses Ste's own trapped hand upwards firmly and he cries out. Brendan watches intently while he does it again and again, while he fingers Ste open with his own damn hand, until he's arching up against Brendan's body helplessly and his breathing is ragged.
In the next moment, before Ste can even catch his breath or figure out where any of his limbs have gotten to, he's flipped over onto his stomach, Brendan grabbing his hips and pulling him up so his knees are under him. Ste folds his arms underneath him to rest his forehead on, his body tensing in anticipation.
"You okay?" Brendan asks shakily, smoothing both hands up and down his back. Ste rolls his head against his forearms to look over his shoulder.
"Yeah, come on, Brendan," he begs breathlessly, so desperate for this to happen he can't put it into more than those four words. He's aching with it, empty and craving like he's never experienced with anyone else. Ste watches Brendan's eyes flutter shut as he takes several deep breaths. Then he lines up, spreads him open and pushes home.
It burns all the way in, too big, too much and it's not just that; it's Brendan, it's Brendan filling him up, splitting him wide open, making him vulnerable all over again. Ste braces it out until he's all the way in, then lets himself relax into it.
"Don't move, just give me a minute," he whispers and Brendan trembles against him, trying to stay still.
Deeply, steadily, Ste breathes in and out, rocks back a little and gets accustomed to the stretch and Brendan moves with him, instinctive like they've always been, the way their bodies know each other. It eases the initial discomfort and Ste wants more, pushes back in encouragement and Brendan takes the hint, slides out all the way before pressing back into him slowly. Ste hears him sigh through it, looks over his shoulder and watches Brendan's face in fascination, watches him watch himself disappear into Ste's body like it's a revelation.
He looks up and catches Ste's eye, swallows and repeats, the slow, unbelievable friction, in and out, gaze never faltering, never breaking that connection between them. Ste wants so desperately to touch him, to have him close, and he flings his arm back to clutch at Brendan's hand on his hip, catches it and pulls. Brendan shifts forwards, no words required for him to understand, and drapes his body across Ste's back. He covers the backs of both Ste's hands with his own, threads their fingers together once again, and pins them down into the mattress at either side of him.
They fall into a perfect rhythm like that, the slow push of Brendan's dick impossibly deep inside him, the slide of their bodies together, hot and languid and intimate. He melts at the feeling of Brendan's lips and tongue pressing wet kisses to the back of his neck, shivers at the hot breath blowing over the damp skin as he pants against him. A powerful pressure starts to build throughout his whole body and he moans and pushes back helplessly, tries to get closer, deeper. He's teetering on the edge and he needs more, it's not enough.
"Brendan, please, I need - harder," he pleads, can't form whole sentences because his senses are too overwhelmed. Brendan squeezes his fingers once then let go, slides both his arms securely around Ste's middle and he's suddenly heaved upright onto his knees like he's in worship, back pressed against Brendan's solid chest and hands wrapped tightly around Brendan's forearms for support.
He doesn't have time to catch his breath before Brendan gives him exactly what he wants, thrusts into him hard and Ste cries out ohgodyes and drops his head back against Brendan's shoulder. Strong arms hold him up as Brendan fucks him, long, deep strokes that push against the place inside him that sets his skin alight and makes him burn. He's so close he can taste it on the tip of his tongue, liquid fire spreads under his skin, radiates out from deep inside him and skitters through every vein and he has to touch himself, tries to pry his fingernails out of Brendan's forearm long enough to navigate the clumsy limb but Brendan stops him.
"Let me," he growls into Ste's ear, breath damp on the side of his neck and ohgod he sounds as wrecked as Ste feels.
Brendan unwraps one arm from around his waist and when he makes a tight fist around Ste's dick a shiver so powerful wracks his body that he thinks he might have wrenched some joints, strangled moan that sounds like a broken sob forced out of him because he has no control over his own voice anymore.
Brendan strokes him in time with his thrusts and Ste feels completely trapped and helpless, caught, defenselessly, between Brendan's hand and Brendan's dick, Brendan's body solid and supportive against him, Brendan's hot breath ragged in his ear, Brendan's lips soft against the side of his neck, Brendan, Brendan, Brendan and he's driven to the very edge, hovering there for the most agonisingly intense second, and pulled inexorably over.
When he comes it's like an explosion. Brendan doesn't relent for one second, fucks him through it and strips his dick with his talented hand, and Ste faintly hears his own voice crying out, over and over, high pitched moans and whimpers and not a coherent word in sight. He's shaking intensely, arching up in Brendan's grip and clawing at the skin of his arms, coming apart so violently and completely and relying on Brendan to pull him out of the other side in one piece.
The last of his orgasm ripples though him and he tries not to sag in Brendan's arms, raises one shaking hand up and back over his shoulder to cling to Brendan's neck just to keep from falling because he wants to feel it when Brendan comes. He turns his face over his shoulder, catches Brendan's lips with his own in the soft touch of a clinging kiss.
"Come on, Brendan," Ste whispers against him and he does. Ste feels both his arms tighten around his middle painfully as his rhythm stutters and falters and Brendan buries his face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his low moans vibrating through Ste's body. He gives one last thrust, buries himself deep and comes with a powerful shudder, leans nearly all his weight on Ste's body so that he has to hold them both up through the force of it. Ste hears his name on Brendan's lips against him, pressed into his skin, reverent and broken like a desperate prayer, and he feels exalted.
When it's over, Brendan sighs against him; the rapid rise and fall of his chest against Ste's back and the trembling of both their bodies the only movement now. Ste feels Brendan's arms go slack around him and he has just enough foresight to throw the wet patch of duvet aside before he collapses face forward into the pillows in a boneless heap. After a moment he feels the bed dip at the side of him and he turns his head and cracks open one eye.
Brendan's laid on his side, head propped on his elbow and watching him curiously. Ste looks him up and down, takes in his relaxed, flushed body, the twinkle in his blue eyes and has to shut his own eyes against the sight and groan.
"God, you're sexy. Seriously, how are you even allowed?" he muffles into the bed, stupidly. He hears Brendan laugh out loud and has to look again because he hates to miss any single one of Brendan's smiles.
"I ask my reflection the same question every morning, Steven," he says, smirking and Ste adores his cockiness with a dopey smile in return. Brendan reaches out and trails his fingertips across his back and it feels so lovely that Ste moans softly, feels more content than he has in longer than he can even remember. They stay like that for a while, Brendan watching and touching him gently, Ste staring openly, fascinated by the play of muscles in his shoulder.
"As much as I hate to be the talky one, maybe we should, y'know, talk?" Brendan says eventually. Ste finds he isn't the least bit nervous.
"Okay," he agrees softly, could probably talk for England right now the way he's feeling. "That was seriously amazing and I want to do it again, all the time. I mean like, every day, sometimes twice a day, and the other stuff as well, y'know, the coupley stuff? I wanna do that too, all of it, with you."
Brendan's stunned into silence for what might be the first time Ste's ever known. He opens his mouth to say something, closes it again, gawps a bit, frowns, takes a breath and then lets it out.
"I don't think it's that simple, Steven," is what he ends up saying.
"Why did you tell me to marry Doug?" Ste asks abruptly and Brendan gawps again.
"Because - " he starts, looks at Ste like he's going mad, " - because he was good for you, he could give you what you needed."
"And what do I need, Brendan?"
"Someone safe, who can give you a proper relationship."
"And?"
"And, what?" he asks. "What more could you – "
"Someone who loves me?" Ste interrupts gently and Brendan's expression goes soft and thoughtful in the silence that follows.
"Yeah," he breathes, eventually, voice little more than a sigh and there's dawning comprehension written all over his face.
"Someone who'd push me into marrying someone else just to keep me safe? Someone who'd ignore his own feelings because he doesn't want to risk my chance at happiness? Some who'd go and shack up with a priest just to get fixed?" Ste says eagerly, on a roll now, and he shuffles up to lean on his elbows to get some height. "Someone who'd take a bullet for me?"
"Steven - "
"Four days ago I told Doug I couldn't marry him because I was in love with someone else and he obviously didn't need to ask who I was talking about."
"Steven - "
"All that stuff you said about what your looking for being right in front of you - "
"Steven!"
"Brendan, please!" he snaps, frustrated with his self-sacrifice and protests. "Just tell me how you feel about me, we deserve this!"
"If you would just let me speak," Brendan says, exasperated and smiling and how hadn't Ste noticed he was smiling? "I'd say, yeah. Okay."
"Yeah?" Ste asks sheepishly, corner of his mouth turning up in a smile he can't stop.
"Yeah, I'm tired of pretending I might get over you one day," he admits softly, a little sheepish himself and Ste finds he likes the expression almost as much as he likes the words. "It's clearly never gonna happen."
"We 'ave to make a proper go of it, though, right?" Ste says eagerly, "I mean, like, the whole business. If I buy you flowers I wanna see 'em in a vase in your office where everyone can see 'em."
"You're gonna buy me flowers?" Brendan asks, face scrunched up. "What happened to you?"
"I'm the best boyfriend in the world, me, you just haven't seen me in action yet," he says smugly. "You will, though, and if I hear one complaint it's over. Your flowers - straight in the bin."
"You wouldn't dare, Steven Hay," Brendan quips, pushes one hand against his shoulder until he's on his back with Brendan rolling on top of him and settling back in between his legs like he belongs there - just how Ste likes him. "I'll take your soppy flowers. I'll daisy-chain the fuckers up and wear them like a headband if that's what you want."
Ste throws his head back and laughs, helplessly, completely overtaken by fits of giggles that he can't suppress. He snorts and hiccups his way back to a semi-straight face under Brendan's watchful, fascinated gaze. He's looking at Ste like he can't quite believe all this is real. Ste finds himself agreeing.
"Would you really?" he asks once he's calmed down a bit.
"I'd rather get another chance with that bullet, but yeah. I'll do whatever it takes," Brendan tells him softly, runs his fingertips through Ste's hair and presses a small, tender kiss to his lips. "I'm gonna be what you deserve. In fact - "
He pulls right back and looks down at Ste with a worryingly excitable glint in his eyes.
" - I'm gonna be the best boyfriend in the world."
There's a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, something about what a tall order that's going to be, but his brain is too busy tripping over hearing Brendan's voice using the word boyfriend in reference to himself. It's too crazy to be happening and Ste suddenly can't get past it. Boyfriend. Boyfriend? Boyfriendboyfriendboyfriend.
"So I can call you my boyfriend?" he blurts out, fucking mouth and brain short-circuiting.
Brendan huffs a bit and Ste thinks, this right here might be the first test of their success at this. "Fine, yeah, okay. You can call me your boyfriend. I, for one, will be calling you my old ball-and-chain, so - "
Ste brings his leg up over Brendan's hip and kicks him in the back with his heel.
"Fine, how about my other half?"
"Better half," Ste quips with an eye roll.
Brendan's expression turns soft and adoring. He touches his fingers to Ste's face gently, strokes a thumb across his bottom lip.
"Definitely."
Ste's heart skips a beat and he shakes his head, no.
"Other half will do."