So, I needed some good old fashioned sexual tension after some pretty dull episodes. 'Inspired' by the spoilers, though nothing like what I expect the spoilers to turn out.
This story is called 'Fuck' in my head and on my computer, but I thought naming it that on might be a step to far.
Enjoy! And please review!
Fuck!
Ste wanted to fuck.
He wanted raw, passionate, desperate fucking, where his stomach squeezed in anticipation and his whole body hummed with need. He needed that moment of abandon, where up was down and there was nothing but him and the warm body above him in all of the world. He wanted to be used like a rag doll, while being held and treasured and needed.
Doug could do the needing part. He had no problem letting Ste know how much he needed him, in words, in looks, in tears. In rash decisions to leave the country when he thought they were splitting. And there were elements of the other stuff that he could do, too. And he was lovely, and encouraging and kind. And it wasn't his fault he wasn't stronger than Ste.
Besides, it was ridiculous of Ste to want someone stronger than him. That hadn't exactly been a pro for his previous relationship. In many ways it had been a massive con.
Outside of the bedroom anyway.
And as if relationship was a sensible term for that … whatever it was … series of sexual and violent encounters.
Doug would never actually hurt him, which put him a long way in front of Brendan on the list suitable for partners.
Right now, the man he'd decided he was in love with was getting dressed hurriedly. Chinos, shirt. Thinking about it, the dress code for their business was a lot like what Doug wore anyway.
"Ste, are you sure you don't mind?" Doug asked. Unfortunately he wasn't talking about fucking; He was talking about abandon Ste alone at the deli all day while he did something Ste hadn't really listened to, but was something to do with Texas and Dodger.
"Course," Ste insisted, "it's fine, I don't mind."
"I mean, do you want me to open up before I go, or…"
"Don't be silly," Ste interrupted, "you'll be late. It's fine. I do know what I'm doing, you know."
"I know," Doug said, indulgently, "I just feel bad…"
He let the sentence trail off. Doug may have reasons to feel bad, but this wasn't one of them.
"Go!" Ste said, smiling, "you're just getting in the way now, anyway."
Doug smiled, and left, dallying a couple of times to give extra but completely unnecessary instructions. It was Ste's business too; after all, it's not like he didn't know what to do.
Ste got himself washed and dressed, before making the short walk to the deli, still feeling that urge to fuck. It just wouldn't leave him alone. But then, that feeling had barely left him alone for the best part of a year now. He'd kept it at bay; it hadn't been that hard. What Doug was offering was real, and meaningful. The kids loved him, Amy loved him, Ste loved him, and he loved them all. Ste could imagine waking up beside Doug every morning for the rest of his life, opening the deli, playing with Leah and Lucas, holding hands in the park. So what if he didn't make Ste giddy with need, or make his hormones go crazy? Ste had lived without that for more than twenty years. And it's not like they never slept together.
And nothing else was on the table now anyway. Brendan had made that clear.
Ste arrived at the deli, opened it, and surveyed his empire, smiling. This was what life was meant to be about. Being your own boss, having a partner who loved and cherished you, kindness, family. Snatched gropes behind closed doors were nothing to all of that. No throbbing, no clothe-ripping, no strong hands pushing him to the edge could ever live up to that.
He made his way to the kitchen, trying to get the thought of those hands out of his head. They were very distracting – the image of those hands on his wrists, on his face, on his thighs, on his...
He was about to unlock the store room when the door to the deli opened. He panicked at being caught in such a day dream, and dropped the keys in his hand. He bounded to the front.
"Hey, can't you read the sign, we don't open for…"
His stroppy protest was met by an infuriatingly amused smirk.
"I didn't think you'd mind, Steven," Brendan greeted, "good morning by the way."
Ste folded his arms, working quite hard not to look at Brendan's hands.
"How d'you figure that one out?" he asked, sassily. Obviously he minded most things Brendan did more than he minded the rest of the human race.
"Well, it's what most people say in the morning…" Brendan teased.
"I mean... Oh, you know what I mean!" Ste replied, making Brendan smile again at his frustration.
"I'm planning a little something at the club tonight, needed some catering doing," he put his head casually to one side, "interested?"
That was a complicated question, "How many?" he asked. It was just him after all.
"Not many."
Ste rolled his eyes, "Any chance of being more specific?" he asked.
Brendan shrugged, "About a dozen?"
"And what time?"
"Tenish?" he said.
Ste glared, "Is this even real, Brendan, or are you just winding me up?"
Brendan snorted, "You think I'd make up an event just to wind you up?"
Ste folded his arms.
"Of course it's real, Steven. It's Joel's birthday."
Ste let his arms drop. "Oh."
Brendan looked a little triumphant. "Yeah."
"And you thought today was the best amount of notice you could give us?" Ste sassed.
Brendan shrugged.
"Well, why don't you come back when you know what you want, yeah?" Ste said, annoyed. This didn't feel like a real order. It didn't feel like a real conversation.
"Have you heard the saying, 'the customer is always right, Steven?'" Brendan mocked.
"Have you heard the phrase 'opening hours', Brendan?" Ste countered, "Why don't you try listening to 'em?"
And he marched back into the kitchen. He didn't have much faith in Brendan making large orders, not when he regularly 'forgot' to pay for sandwiches. Now where did he put those keys? He heard Brendan turn to leave as he searched the floor of the kitchen, then had an annoying thought.
He checked behind the dishwasher.
Sure enough, there they were. They must have landed on the top then slid off when he was dealing with Brendan. They'd got trapped there before. It had taken them ages to get them out. Eventually Ste and Doug had had to move the bloody thing out so they could grab them. Something Doug couldn't help him with right now from wherever he was with Texas.
He needed to open in half an hour.
"Brendan!" he called, just as he heard the door open, annoyed that he even had to admit he needed help from that man. "Could you … give me a hand with something?"
The word hand had been a mistake. The image of them holding his thighs apart slid unbidden through his head.
Brendan poked a curious head into the kitchen. "What seems to be the problem?"
Ste breathed deep, "Can you help me move the dishwasher?"
Brendan looked at him like he was mad. "Why?"
"My keys fell down the back."
Brendan smirked, "Isn't this the sort of thing that Douglas is for?" he said, tauntingly.
Ste bristled at Brendan's tone, "Yes, I'd much rather ask Doug for anything than you, but he ain't here, so are you gonna help me or not?"
"That how you usually ask for help, is it?" Brendan sneered, annoyingly making no move to get closer.
"Please," said Ste through gritted teeth.
Brendan stepped forward and surveyed the dishwasher. Ste breathed with relief, and started to explain. "So, it took the two of us together last time, we just put both our hands at the back and tugged and it…"
Brendan put a hand of each side of the dishwasher and pulled it away from the wall. Ste never finished the sentence.
"Er… thanks," he said instead, as Brendan slipped behind the machine to reach the keys. "Er… could you…?"
Brendan slid the machine back, then stood up straight, brushing off his jacket with those strong, strong hands.
Ste found himself staring at them, their strength so alluring. He wished he'd been thinking less about fucking recently.
"Thanks," he said again, and went to take the keys.
Which Brendan moved out of his reach. Ste scowled at him, and Brendan looked triumphant.
"So, it took you and Dougie boy together to move that did it?"
So they were back to teasing Doug in his absence, were they? Well it wasn't going to work. Doug wasn't Noah – what he and Ste shared was real, however Ste felt about Brendan.
"Whatever," he said, and went for the keys again. Brendan kept them out of his reach, and put a hand on Ste's chest to keep them apart.
"Well, that can't be very satisfying," Brendan leered, cryptically.
"What?" Ste demanded, annoyed at the childish game.
"I know what you're like, Steven," Brendan replied, quietly, "I know what you like."
"Give over," Ste interrupted, trying to dart round Brendan to reach the keys. Brendan didn't fall for it; instead he caught Ste's hand, and pushed him back against the wall.
"I remember practically throwing you on to the nearest surface, and you still begging for more."
Images, more and more of them, were flying round Ste's head. Not good.
"Brendan…" Ste started.
Brendan was unmoved; he slipped the keys into his pocket and continued: "And then holding you there. You loved that, the resistance against your wrists as you wriggled and writhed and begged me to fuck you."
"Brendan!" Ste managed to scold through his fog of memories and flush of embarrassment. His heart rate building and his breathing unsteady, he put a hand on Brendan's chest to push him away, but Brendan simply took that hand too.
"What, am I getting too close?" Brendan growled, "Are you feeling uncomfortable?" He pressed Ste's hands against the wall. "Maybe that's what you need, Steven," he whispered, "for me to take the choice away. So you can get what you want but not deal with the guilt?"
Oh, God, that was so very wrong, on so many levels. As wrong as Ste still wanting Brendan despite the beatings and the abandonment and the secrecy and the betrayal. But if Brendan just kissed him, while he couldn't run or escape or say no, then he couldn't be blamed. He wouldn't have betrayed Doug.
Brendan's face got closer. Ste felt his lips open. The pressure on his wrists increased.
Then Brendan stepped away. The hands were gone, Ste was worked up over nothing, and Brendan was walking away.
"You don't get that, Steven. You don't get to pretend that I'm the big bad wolf." He turned, sadly, and walked back out into the shop.
Which pissed off Ste, spectacularly.
"Oi!" he shouted after the retreating form, "what do you think you're doing?"
"Leaving," Brendan replied, "listening to your opening hours, or whatever."
"Hey, you can't just do that!"
"Do what?" Brendan asked, nearly at the door as Ste tore after him, anger coursing through him.
"Have you got any idea what it's like when you do stuff like that?"
"Have you got any idea what it's like watching you kissing Douglas? Watching you make a home with a man, no a child who is so weasely…"
"Doug is twice the man you are!" Ste shouted angrily.
"To watch you fall in love with someone else right under my noise!" Brendan shouted back.
Ste wasn't going to fall for that, "Don't make out you love me! I ain't gonna fall for it again!"
"Fall for it?!" Brendan cried.
"I'm never gonna fall for your lies again!"
"Oh, that's rich, isn't it? From Mr sign-over-the-deli-and-we'll-get-back-together!"
Ste flushed red, "You just wanted to control me again!"
"By buying you your own business?!"
"By owning my business!"
"Jesus, Steven, stop behaving like a little girl!"
That was a step too far. Ste punched him.
He didn't hit his target, and it was the only excuse Brendan needed to really grab him, and throw him back, that look in his eye that Ste had dreaded so often. Ste hit the shelves where Brendan pinned him with his body and his gaze. He flinched from the fist that never came.
"Temper, temper," Brendan teased. "Is it somehow not as bad when you try to hit me?"
"Fuck off!" Ste shouted.
"No," replied Brendan, simply. "I think you want me like this, Steven."
"No!" Ste insisted, still shouting.
"Yeah, so this whole thing wasn't about provoking me to something? I mean, you called me back, twice in fact, you started shouting, you started using your fists!"
"Get off!" He struggled under Brendan's grip.
"You really want me to?" Brendan growled.
Ste didn't answer. He didn't know if he wanted to fuck or fight, but neither of them involved Brendan leaving.
"Didn't think so," Brendan growled, and ground his lips against Ste's.
Ste knew he should be angry. He knew he should push Brendan off and throw him out of the deli. He definitely shouldn't start kissing back. And he definitely shouldn't deepen it.
He found himself halfway in between. His arms were wriggling to be free of Brendan's grip, but his lips were clinging on. And the feeling of those hands, holding him, pressing him against the wood in at his back, was beginning to drive him crazy.
Just as he was getting into it, Brendan pulled away.
"Want me to stop?" he whispered hoarsely, though Ste was pretty sure Brendan was as far gone as him, and stopping would have been pretty impossible now.
"No," Ste whispered back, and wasted no time bringing their lips together. Brendan met his tongue with his own, and pushed Ste further up onto the ledger.
God, Brendan was lifting Ste up, like he weighed nothing. He shoved Ste's legs apart and got himself in between them without once breaking the kiss. He let go of Ste's arms, and moved his grip to Ste's thighs. Ste threw his arms around Brendan's neck, and suddenly he was moving, out of the main shop, back to the kitchen, where Ste felt his back hit a surface. Brendan's hands worked on Ste's fly, tugging them open, as Ste's reached for Brendan's shirt. He was shaking and impatient, and he felt some of the small plastic buttons fly under his fingers. He couldn't care as his hands met Brendan's beautiful chest. It oozed masculinity, and Ste had to admit to missing it. Doug's did not measure up.
Shit, he shouldn't have thought of Doug right now. He pulled back from the kiss, but his hands had a mind of their own. They wanted to touch, to feel, to memorise the form before him. His lips urged to join them, but Brendan had never been one to let him have his own way, even in bed. He pushed Ste flat down on the surface, his hands grabbing Ste's again, pushing them above his head, and bringing their groins together, eliciting groans from them both. Ste shuddered under the sensations, the intensity of them, as he felt both his wrists pushed and held together by one strong hand. God he loved this, to feel that strength above him, that intensity, that passion, the resistance on his wrists. His shirt was shoved upwards and Brendan explored his chest, his stomach, his hips, pulling down his underwear. This was so wrong, but oh so amazing.
Brendan flipped him over, bent him at the hips. Ste hummed with anticipation, as Brendan pulled out his wallet, and swore loudly.
"What?" asked Ste, between panting breaths.
"I've haven't got a fucking Johnny."
"Oh," Ste replied, in the process of being crushed by disappointment.
"Have you?" Brendan asked,
"No," Ste replied, but without checking. It was the reality check he needed. He slid out from between Brendan and the surface, pulling up his pants and trousers on the way. "Oh God," he muttered under his breath.
Brendan was rubbing his face in frustration.
"This doesn't change what just happened," the older man insisted.
Ste didn't answer. He was staring at the floor disgusted with himself. He was as hard as a rock.
"You still wanted to! You still wanted me!" Brendan cried.
What did that mean? "What, was this some petty victory to you? Proven to yourself you can still get to me? You already did that, remember."
"Don't be thick!" Brendan nearly shouted, "You still want me! Because you still love me!"
Of course he still loved him, what sort of a statement was that? "Yeah," he whispered, almost sick with shame.
"More than him?" Brendan asked, just a little shake in his voice giving away how important that question was to him, how essential the answer would be.
But Ste didn't answer. He couldn't. How could he love this volatile mess of aggression more than the kind man who had believed in him when no one else would, who had helped him make something of himself, who had given him the confidence back that Brendan had knocked out of him. It would be stupid, wouldn't it?
Brendan almost growled at the lack of response. He threw his shirt closed.
"I'll get you there, Steven," he hissed, "I'll get you there if it kills me!"
And he stormed from the kitchen, from the shop, his shirt still undone, his obvious erection pressing against his trousers, and Ste nearly wept from the loss.
He had to get on. This was a stupid waste of time. It's not like Brendan had even tried to change. There was no going back there.
He brushed down his clothes, checked his hair, wiped his face, and restarted the day. Time to open the storeroom. That Brendan had just run off with the keys for.
Fuck.