A/N: Thanks for all the lovely comments so far and yes – the second part already! I've got a feeling you're going to like this one…

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Part 2

The welcome party for new recruits explodes with over indulgent canapés, served by women in miniature cocktail dresses, with champagne on tap. Warren doesn't throw any expense at the venue and they end up crammed into an upstairs conference suite at the agency. It's a busman's holiday. Brendan forces himself to slow down on the drinking; Warren's eyes are on him for a long period as he deliberates over what to drink. But even when Warren leaves early, fiancée Louise in tow, Brendan's still aware of the pressing reminder of his threats. It wouldn't take long for a man like Warren to ruin him and his reputation. More than ever he feels trapped. He could quit, wring Warren's neck as he'd like and turn his back on the city. But he can't face returning to Ireland and if word leaks about his violent impulses and sexual harassment then he'll never work again.

In the men's bathroom, he finds Steven washing his hands. He's in a shapeless nylon shirt, still creased from the way it was folded in its packaging and with that cheap sheen that Brendan can't bear. Still, he can't fail but notice how it makes the blue of his eyes look even more like an ocean. He's obviously bought the shirt with whatever leftover coins he had from the sign up charge Brendan convinced him into paying a fortnight ago. Brendan wonders to himself how long it will take for him to grow used to the lifestyle he'll soon inherit.

Since that first meeting, they've spent an unbearable amount of time together. Unbearable because Brendan carries a tension wound up in his shoulders, a noose around him, dying to pull his usual techniques on Steven. If it hadn't be for Warren's heavy-handed presence he would have already bedded him by now. Broken him in. It's taken every strength not to touch him, desperate to treat him like the object of desire he'll become. He wants to warn Steven, with tongue and fingers and flesh, that soon he'll be just a canvas or a coat-hanger but Brendan already sees more in him than that.

He tries not to think about it too long, because the itch to be inside him, to pump him of all his worth is too strong, but there's something different about Steven that he doesn't normally feel. Ordinarily, with Warren's threats in mind he'd have taken himself off to a hotel or a bar and purged his urges on some other poor sap, knowing he could resist his own client list if he really had to. But Steven's pulling him into conflict already, taunting him over what he is prohibited from.

It only escalated from that first meeting, where he sat all limbs and youthful confidence in trainers and too much hair gel. Then once his professional headshots were taken, Brendan had to sit opposite him, opening up the images and stamping on the rush of blood to his cock.

He looked stunning; there was little else Brendan could think about looking at them. In monochrome he had sleek angles and flawless skin, the kind that didn't look real. It was as if someone had drawn him. A pained seriousness in his express left Brendan trembling with how vulnerable he looked, his frame like glass. In the ones shot in colour, he burst the photo into life with mischievous lip biting that had Brendan stuffing his fingers into his mouth to stop the sounds crawling to escape. His eyes were a bright, transfixing blue and his head look bed-ruffled. Brendan had felt a violent shiver across his neck, the idea of fucking him, persisting like a nag that just wouldn't stop.

"What do you think? You think they'll look alright in my portfolio?" Ste had sat, tipping forward on the edge of his seat. There was a giddiness overtaking his self-doubt; he knew he looked good in them.

"More than alright," Brendan had said, shifting. He had to concentrate to keep his leg still from jittering.

There had been times after where Brendan had allowed himself to loom into Steven's personal space and call him into progress meetings just to keep checks on him. He put more effort into finding Ste work than he did any of his other clients. He was good at selling him, his emails to companies and designers sounding like his mouth was watering.

But with Warren leaving the party, it almost feels like a sign he should just fuck the warnings. Just the sight of Steven at the event is enough to make him snap.

"Enjoying yourself are you?" Brendan says, washing his hands at the sink next to Ste. Being a model hasn't quite rubbed off on him yet; there's still too much gel in his hair.

"Yeah! This party is well good," he says, grinning. The tips of his ears are red and Brendan's secretly pleased he's clearly started drinking already. He should feel guilty about luring young and impressionable lads and loosening them with drink, but he's selfish and needy and he knows they'll both enjoy it. Ste's still a polite boy, despite how he sometimes comes across. "Are you having a nice time?"

"It's getting better," Brendan says, looking Ste up and down. Mentally he repeats the measurements he knows are attached to that boy of his.

Ste leans on the sink and turns to Brendan. "Have you heard back from anyone yet, about me?" His brow is furrowed in curiosity, but there's still a lightness in his tone like he's a giddy kid waiting for approval.

Brendan shakes his hands dry and places a finger to his lips, shushing. He presses the finger against Ste's confused pout, leaving a wet mark. "No business talk. Not right now. Go fill you boots; have a drink and relax."

Back in the conference room, Brendan slips two twenty notes under the bra-strap of one of the waitresses, pointing out his target of Steven and telling her to make sure his drink is topped up all night. He lets Steven mingle with the rest of the party, slinking to a corner just watching him. He's a natural; soaking up the attention and bubbling with energy. Brendan resents it slightly; he's the opposite: hostile and stand-offish. He has no friends to speak of and resents small talk.

In the shadows he can't wait any longer, particularly seeing Steven conversing with another male model – one who's a flirt and one who Brendan had one disappointing night with a few years back. Brendan swoops in, taking the glass from Ste's hand and beckoning him out of the conversation. He steers him out of the direction of his company, who rolls his eyes at Brendan's intervention, and Ste is lead away and out of the party, smuggled into Brendan's office with a kidnapped bottle of champagne.

Ste's giggly and full of dramatic whispers in the dark of the office. He stumbles while Brendan flicks on the light and falls into his desk chair, already hard, anticipating what he's going to do to Steven across the desk.

"We shouldn't be here, should we?" Ste says in exaggerated whispers, taking his newly topped up glass and coughing at its fizz. On their way downstairs out of the party, Ste grinned at the illicit adventure of it all and now Brendan can hardly breathe with his plan coming together. Ste sits on top of the desk his legs swinging.

"No we shouldn't. But I won't tell if you don't." He clicks their glasses together.

Ste takes a large gulp and Brendan is transfixed watching the pump of his throat until the champagne spikes Ste's nose and his whole body scrunches.

"Easy," Brendan says, giving himself the excuse to touch Ste's knee. He lets it sit there longer than he should. "You're supposed to take it slow. Enjoy it."

"I've not really had it before," Ste says, wiping his wet lips on the back of his hand.

"Virgin." Brendan teases with a twisted smile. He pretends to be drunker than he is. He'd need an engine full of this cheap stuff Warren's bought in to get even close to the hot sway Ste has. What it has done is made his arousal sharper, the leaps he's taking riskier.

Ste's head falls down and he wriggles on the desk. He's misunderstood the remark and pulls at his shirt sleeves. "I'm just waiting for the right person, me." He looks up at Brendan, who hides a persistent smirk. "I'm gay."

Brendan's eyes press close for a long second and then he opens them again, letting that warm liquid rush of pleasure seep through him. He allows the smile that wants to form, slip into kindness. "Good for you, mate," he says encouragingly. It's not sarcastic like it is in his head. He rarely uses that word mate and it feels strange in his mouth, but Ste eases up with relief and it's satisfying. Usually it wouldn't take much more persuasion or talk and he'd make his moves on the fragile young thing, but there's something about Steven. He thinks about the word 'special' but ignores it because the idea is ridiculous.

After a little while of uncomfortable silence, the party upstairs a soundtrack to their still tension, Brendan slips off his suit jacket and perches up onto the desk besides Ste. He sees this as some sort of swap and hops into Brendan's chair, wheeling in it like a big kid. Brendan joins in with the laughter but hates the exchange of power, his control slipping with Steven lounged in the boss's chair.

"D'you think I'm gonna get a lot of offers then?" Ste says, looking around the office again which evidences Brendan's skill at securing all the big names.

Brendan pours him another drink, licking his fingers when the alcohol fizzes over. He catches Steven's eye. "If you don't then you're outta here," he teases. Ste pretends to be appalled and shoves his leg playfully. "Steven, stick with me and they're gonna be begging me for you."

Ste's eyes dazzle. He scoots forward in the chair, leaning forward. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." This close Brendan can almost taste him, feel his pulse. It's agony. "Look at you. Best looking fucking thing in the building."

Ste hinges on every word. His pupils have sunk his eyes and he's staring straight at Brendan's mouth. "Really?"

"I ain't lying." He doesn't usually drop in compliments about their looks – usually they know how good they are – but with Steven it happens before he acknowledges it. "You know…" he swallows, throbbing under his clothes. Warren's not here, it can happen and he can make sure it stays secret. He can't stand being near him if he can't have him. "We make a good team." He reaches out, fingers parting Steven's fringe and thumb caressing his cheek, gracing his lips lightly. "We make a really good team…I could give you anything you want…" His touch disappears slowly and he rests his hand on his own thigh. Ste's gaze follows and – bingo – he might just get the hint.

Brendan feels hot air spurting from his nose. He hears it as if it's louder than the music upstairs. Brendan runs his thumb down the seam of his trousers and it's like he's starting a game for Ste to finish. He watches Ste wet his lips and move closer, colouring with the awareness of what Brendan's doing.

Brendan reaches out again as encouragement, hand on Steven's neck, touching his lips open. They exchange a look, it's shaky, like Ste's crossing a border with a weapon. His palms ease onto Brendan's thighs, the fabric sticking to his hands and the sound Brendan makes is caught somewhere between a sigh and the words: Come on. He smiles, dark lips of persuasion and sees Ste look up and out of the office windows as if they'll be caught.

"Nobody's around," Brendan says, looking down at Steven's hands, "It's just you and me." He rolls his hips, hoping to get the lad moving his palms. He's so nervous that Brendan even hears him swallow; the tremble of his hands vibrates through to his groin - it's bliss.

He could use more confidence in his curiosity, so Brendan repositions his hand so it cups him through the material and gets the motion going, palms flat and circling, friction building as he presses up and drags down. Ste's ripe with concentration – eagerness – as Brendan reclines back on his palms letting Ste taken control. He murmurs and sighs just enough to let Ste know to carry on. Ste uses both hands, inching forward on the seat.

"That's good," Brendan says, letting his head roll back when he hears Ste's anxious laugh escape in their stolen moment. He feels a shift in pressure and one of Ste's hands disappears, to pick up his glass and drain it fully. He eases up from the office chair and unbuttons Brendan's trousers; the sound of the zip being dragged cuts through the room.

Brendan's surprised and impressed by his nerve and he tilts Ste's chin up to tell him so. He goes to speak, feeling Steven's hand seek out his solid cock underneath fabric. He's daring and hungry, straight from Brendan's fantasies. His hands are hot and quivering, their pulse seeps through into Brendan's cock and they're connected by the feral beat of their bodies. The colour has washed from Ste's fixed expression like his nerves have caught up with him; this is abnormal behaviour for a boy like him Brendan thinks.

The phone rings, penetrating the moment and Brendan's conscience.

"Fuck!" Brendan says, fishing for his phone.

Ste's mouth is open, wet, perfectly shaped. He holds back for a moment, imploring. "Who is it?" It's code for: Can you ignore it? Ste's hands withdraw to his side.

It's Brendan's lawyer but he's desperate to press red and get Steven's mouth on him before they both back out. The call dies away and they're both breathless with relief that they can continue. Ste touches him through his underwear, little butterfly touches that agonise Brendan.

The phone rings again.

"Fucking hell!" Brendan wants to throw it across the room. He knows it must be important for Jim to bother him at this time. He looks at Steven, cupping his face, his gaze avoidant. "It's my lawyer," he says. "Don't move, I'll be right back."

He zips and buttons up, cursing all the way out of the office and down the corridor.

"Fuck's sake Jim this better be important!"

Jim's weary sigh is on the other end. "You're being sued," he says without pause, "Sexual harassment."

"What the hell?!"

"Does the name Kevin Foster mean anything to you?" Jim says. Brendan can hear him rifling through papers on the other end of the phone. "Ex-model of yours?"

"Yeah, ex being the operative word. Arrogant piece of shit." Brendan remembers him clearly. He had the right look, but his arrogance grew to untameable levels and he just wasn't getting the work; he was let go two months previously and Brendan gave his ego a good kick on the way out telling him he had an attitude problem and wasn't good looking enough to suit their clients.

"Well he's saying you promised him work for sexual favours, bribed him into sleeping with you."

"That's a load of shit!" Brendan cries, "I never touched him. It's lies."

There's a pause on the line. "We're going to need some good defence," Jim says. "It's not looking good, Brendan. You've got a reputation."

"We both know I've fucked around. But I never went near that little shit," Brendan says, thumping a wall with his fist; Kevin's one of his models he never so much as flirted with.

"I'm still in the office, can you make it over now?"

Brendan grimaces, thinking back to Ste in the office – the eager novice that awaits him. "I'm busy, alright?"

He hears Jim scoff on the other end. "What, more important than your livelihood?! Call round tomorrow. We might be able to settle this outside of court."

"He wants money, Jim. The cunt's after my money!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Brendan." Jim says, hanging up.

When Brendan re-enters the office, Ste is standing by the door. He touches his head, bashful and apologetic. "Probably the booze," he says, "Not really a good idea, is it?" He's retucked his shirt and his fringe is back in place, neat as a school kid. It occurs to Brendan he hasn't even had the chance to kiss him.

Brendan's head is fucked and he barely has the energy to excuse himself. He lifts his arm to touch Ste's face and then drops it down, defeated. "Get yourself home," he says, straightening up. "I'll call you as soon as I hear from any of the designers."