A/N:
Right so this was originally supposed to be a PWP based around that incredible fanart (on Kieron's fanpage) of the bearded prison kiss. The boys stole the idea though and made it very angsty so it's become a more than words!
This is the last ever more than words. It's probably the last bit of cannon I'm going to write. So I want to thank everyone for the incredible support for this series, I love that people are still reading and favouriting it – even now :D Massive thanks to everyone who's ever reviewed but mainly: Kabr, Kylikki, Ruthyroo, Hollie, PatriciaJessic, Running shoes, FranceGLfan, and all my amazing guests. I've had some totally epic reviews that have made me squee, and some have even made me cry – even in the midst of all the heartache "you make me believe the world could be beautiful"!
About this fic:
Set now.
This conjugal visit is what could happen if Stendan lived basically anywhere but the UK (oh and were married)! I also like to think that Brendan could make anything he wants happen ;)
Warning:
M but surprisingly unadult when compared to the rest of the series!
Very very angsty.
***S&B***
"So this is erm…different," he rubs his hand over his neck, that way he does when he's tense. I can see nerves in the very fabric of him. "I got you a sandwich but they said I wasn't allowed to bring it in. Right? Like I'm gonna poison you or…" he was laughing but now his words have faded as though its talk like that that has ripped us in two. He never understood that I could listen to him speak about the weather and feel calm.
"Steven… we don't have to…we could just…"
"What? Talk?" He laughs a little, "no."
"No," I agree.
I can't take my eyes from him. I wonder if he knows that's my favourite shirt. I love him in those jeans. He's wearing those trainers he bought in our last few weeks – his 'special occasional trainers' he told me, always planning for the future that I could never give him.
"How long do we have?"
"Now? Four hours... A little under."
He sucks in a breath of pain and I know I shouldn't have invited him here. I know I've asked for too much. But I couldn't go any longer without seeing him, smelling him, touching him, tasting him. My life has been nothing but the deprivation of him, and my nights have been long painful withdrawals.
"Steven-"
"Don't. Four hours right? So the way I see it is we have four hours to just do this, to just pretend everything's normal - we can do that." He nods slowly.
His teeth are pulling at that bottom lip that way I never decoded. I never quite understood what it meant. He did it the first few times we went to bed; he did it when he took care of me after Southport when he told me there was nothing I couldn't overcome; he was doing it when I made Leah laugh for the first time; and he did it that day he picked me up from the police station after Kevin. Maybe it just means newness, uncertainty. But all this is, right now, is us. And he is expert in us - he taught me it. He made the perfect rules for our love. I need to remind him of that.
"Fuck Brendan I mean I used to think half an hour with you was alri-"
His words turn into a moan as I cross the short distance between us and kiss him. I snare his face with both of my hands because I want us back in that world we created, the place of light and purity.
And I kiss him hard and relentlessly because I need to be inside him. It's not that I don't know who I am without him, but I can't even begin to find the thread of the man I want to be when he's not here.
I kiss him like I want to break him into little parts and hold him within me because I can't face this world without him, I don't live without him.
I kiss him because I need to consume him and his hands pull at my hair like he needs to break me too.
Soon I have him against the trailer door, his body writhing, arching, thrusting, every movement designed with one intention - to get closer. My hands work quickly, impulsively, at the buttons of his shirt, the zip of his jeans like I'm craving. Steven Hay has been my addiction for an eternity. But my potent love for him is not my drug, it doesn't damage and destroy, it makes beautiful and worthy and true. My love for Steven is like addiction for life.
At last I can hear him, collect all his moans and sighs and gasps. I can feel him, the most perfect body I have ever held, one that was carved to be loved by me. I can smell him, the remains of the deli that almost drove us apart and that aftershave that bought us back together. I can taste him.
My hands slip over the globes of that perfect arse, his responsive fingers flex into my neck – these patterns that became the custom of us. Our habitual love. Our home.
And then I can taste salt, wet salt, and I know instinctively what it is.
"Fuck, Steven!" I say, pulling back on instinct. I cup his face with my hands, pressing against his eyes trying to dam his tears.
"I don- I can't. I can't do normal - I'm sorry."
"I don't want normal," I promise him.
I press a kiss to his lips - once, twice, three times, like he did the first time I let myself think of future.
And then my forehead rests against his.
I'm the worst person to invite him here. I knew he would never say no. I was supposed to leave him alone in that hospital, I was supposed to let him move on without me, start a life without me, find his happy ever after without me.
But I can only breathe when I am this close to him, and I have been suffocating for too long. I left him my heart, so my blood can only beat when I hold him. My every vein is selfish.
"I love you." I tell him, wishing for his sake that I didn't.
"I love you too." He tells me quickly and our hearts make the perfect symmetry.
"How have you been?"
"OK…I'm not sure…I drink, whiskey. I drink a lot…I'm sorry," his eyes fluttering closed, in guilt, "I'm sorry I don't think I can do thirty years."
"Steven you can't wait for me – promise me that."
His fingers clasp at my face, his eyes opening, void of sadness only desperation hewing the blue.
"Appeal. Please? Cheryl will-"
"It's not as simple as that."
His brow furrows for a moment, a look of confusion, or destituteness. And then he nods briefly, just once.
"She's not even phoned or –"
"She doesn't know how Steven, she misses you, you know, she just… doesn't know how to-"
"She took you away from me!"
"No. She didn't."
"She did. We were gonna be OK, you and me, weren't we? And then she-"
"I stole you."
It takes a moment then a smile sweeps his lips, appears from the darkness, and brushes just delicately against those beautiful lips.
"I stole you back," his voice is light. "When I came to Dublin."
"Yeah, you did."
"Do you… I mean you were starting again, you were gonna be OK, if you hadn't come back, if I'd gone to America, so I'd get it if you - wished I hadn't come-"
"Never." I say, gripping his perfect face between my hands, I need him to know that our time, however short, will always be worth whatever punishment God has for me.
"Sometimes I th-" he leaves the confession unsaid. "It might be easier," he tells me, his eyes evading mine, like this is his last confession.
"I know," I tell him brushing my lips to his once more. "We were a leap of faith, Steven. And we burned."
And God how magnificently.
"But not because of-"
I take his hand in my own, bring it to my chest, lay his fingers above my heart.
"Not because of how I feel about you, or how you feel about me," I place my hand to his heart. "We burned because of me, because of who I am. But I would have done anything, and I will take anything for those months you gave me. You, Steven, you. You made me happy, don't forget that OK? You made me…love."
There's silence as we bathe in the truth, and I feel his heart absorb those words.
"I love you." He whispers.
And then his fingers are on my neck, pulling me to him. And he kisses me softly, and slowly, and I feel his smile grow in the kiss. So I trail my tongue along his bottom lip that way I know will brighten his beam. I lean into him, and he leans against the door, and our bodies align perfectly. Our worlds unite for one last moment of time.
I step into him and achieve that breathy sigh. His hands slope down my shoulders, and I wrap my arms around his waist. Pull him closer to me. He lifts himself up into my embrace, wrapping his legs around my hips into the place he's always fitted.
Our kiss lasts as I carry him to the bed. He forsakes the devil on my back, allowing me to cling to our love for one last heartbeat. And we don't part for a single moment, even when he lies down into the white hard sheets of the trailer bed.
If love was a currency this would be the Marriott. But there's something fitting about this goodbye being here. There's something right about these last extraordinary touches being in a cheap, rickety caravan. Because our perfect love was formed in desolation.
I curve my body around his, arch over him, and his eyes blink slowly open, casting that blue light on me again, so I can feel like me, so I can feel loved and worthy.
And I say words I have never said before. I say the words I thought during every one of our last few touches. I say words I never thought I would, to the only man I would only ever say them to. Because I could live a thousand lives and these words will only ever be true with Steven.
"I'm gonna make love to you now," I whisper pressing my kiss to his.
His lips part, his eyes widen, and he just accepts this moment with all of him - like he doesn't see my love as weak selfish vulnerability, but as the depth and the strength of a thousand promises.
I run my hand down over his jeans, his cock hard and waiting and mine. And his eyes flutter like he can't withstand the passion.
He breathes, "Please, Brendan. Please make love to me."
Our lips are drawn irrevocably towards each other. It's a slow, lazy, infinitely deep kiss, and I want it to last into the darkness, I want to keep the trail of him against me, even when I am alone.
Our kiss is languid. I can hear the clock ticking but this is our forever, and I will take him forever. Our hands commit to memorised paths of abandonment, as his shirt lies open, and my jeans are unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped. We pull apart for the exposing of skin, and territory of touches. I stroke my hand over his cheek, his chin, his throat, his shoulder bone. I want to take him all. His skin is stripped slowly, as I worship the gold of his body, the taut perfection.
The shine of the light from outside highlights every soft contour of the treasure of his body.
He cups my face with his hands, and our gaze locks unbreakably.
"Brendan," he whispers as my lips press to his again, "you're proper beautiful."
And I feel like he's not just talking about my body, not just what he can see but what he can feel and what he knows, and I feel like I can heal. Like even when I'm ripped away from him I will be OK because he has given me the cure now.
And he takes off the prison jumper, and my last jeans, and the customary vest and I know I'm coming back alive. My life was formed as a dead language and it is only him who is fluent in every word. He will remain it's one true native.
I lay above him, in nothing but the cross I gave him and he kisses every inch of my body so I feel covered in our one million embraces.
Finally, entirely exposed, he wraps his legs around my hips and our cocks slide slowly together - hardening with their one true mate. Moans fall from his lips and I realise I am groaning too – and it's a beautiful everlasting melody only made by us.
I reach for the lube, loaned on request. I press a finger into him and his long eyelashes flutter like he's a million miles away. But I can tell by the smile on his face and purity in his eyes that wherever he is he's right with me. As my fingers slide into him, ready him for the strength of our love, I run my fingers over his jaw, his cheek, brushing the hair back from his face. I touch him, always, commit forever to the remains of our love. He releases perfectly as though his body has been carved for mine. He stares at me like he could cry with the intensity of need and passion. There's no need for words when we know each other like we do, when we share the same soul. So I hear his silent plea.
I only want to give him everything so I push my cock slowly ever so slowly inside him. And we fit.
He arches up, pressing me in deeper.
For a split second I can barely think, I am nothing but sensation, and I cling to him because he will always be my anchor.
But I can breathe because it's him, and my heart can beat because it's him. And it doesn't matter what they do, how they separate us, he will always be my reality.
"I love you," I tell him.
"I love you," he promises as a kiss.
His whole body writhes into mine, bucking harder and faster. Our bodies writhe in heat. A sheen breaks onto his beautiful body and our movements intensify. Our lips press but slack, like there is no need to kiss, just a need to breathe and be breathed.
I run my lips and my tash and my nose over every inch of him I can reach - the soft lobe of his ear, the jut of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils, the touch of the beautiful smile I've only ever seen like this. These things that are mine, that will always be mine, they can't take this away.
The beginning of the arch to climax, to finalisation, starts with a foreheads rest and the press of hot skin and muscles that tremble, shiver, sweat. It starts with heat and love, so much love it aches. I thrust deeply into him, leave my heart within him, I have no use for it now. And he claws tighter as he always has done at goodbye.
"Steven, it's OK," I tell him, as I feel him fight against the perfect closure.
My eyes tell a wordless promise I will love you into the next life and forever more.
"Let go now, please – for me."
He arches into me, his love exploding first, as he takes mine from me. And as we cool our pants are hot and hard into each other's wrecked bodies.
"There will never, ever be anyone else for me right?" He whispers oh so quietly. "I will move on, if that's what you want, but I will never, ever forget this."
And I can't reject that promise. He has made me feel worthy of it. Worthy of love. Worthy of the faultlessness that is his love. So I press my lips to his and whisper, "thank you."
It hurts to pull away from him, to withdraw. This is the last time I will be complete. But as I do his body doesn't let go of mine, and we lay on our sides, facing each other, our legs and our arms and our hearts wrapped - bound for an eternity. The clock is on the wall above his head, reckoning our final countdown.
"Twenty minutes," I breathe.
He shakes his head quickly, and his lips part to let out a moan that doesn't come.
"In the next life, Steven, I promise."
Our kiss is wet, formed with tears, his and mine. This is goodbye.
With all that's said and done, there are no words to say at the end of forever, at the start of our Judgment Day. And as we change in silence, I reach in my pocket for my one last request.
"I got you something," I whisper.
His hands slide over his neck, through his hair, and I know this hurts but it's my one last request. He sits next to me on the bed. He closes his eyes and opens his hand - the way that we used to in our domesticity. I place the object in his grasp, and his fingers flex and feel.
His smile tells me he recognises the shape. He blinks his eyes open and I see a veil of sadness disappear for a dance of happy, pure memories. I should have made this happen when I had the chance, I shouldn't have dashed his hopes for the sake of a few silly words, I would have done if I had known how our love could make me strong.
I make it up to him now – my final apology.
My boy sits on our conjugal prison bed, our sign of forever in his hands.
Our love locked to a padlock with the engravings:
S.H.&B.B.
I.T.N.L.
I close his hands around it, bring it up to my lips.
"Take it to Dublin," I request with a lasting kiss, "and remember the good."
A/N: Thank you for reading :D I think those last initials could be obvious or dead confusing so let me know and I'll put a translation.