Totally blown away by the reaction to this! Thank you thank you thank you :)
Ok, I've re-written this chapter a few times, over and over (hence the delay to update, sorry!) and I'm not completely happy with it. I liked the first chapter and I just don't feel like this one matches up, but I'm just going to bite the bullet and upload. Hope it's ok.
When he comes to it's hard not to think it, not to let his mind present the obvious, that the darkness has lifted and it feels good – too good; too good for a sinner like him to have made it here. Heaven. He was damned to hell and he knew that, knew it so vividly that he's sure this hell on earth he had been put through was a taster for what was to come for him, fire and heat and torture that had spilled over from his inevitable destination because he was the epitome of bad. He must be. He deserved the worst.
So why is he here now, sunlight blinding his eyes, fresh air filling his lungs from where it floods through the open window before him, warmth of Steven's body beside him and beneath him, his head resting in the boys lap as he sits and Brendan lays down. Maybe this is the worst form of torture, a taste of everything good, of what might have been, of what could have been, of what life was for him once upon a time, for those glorious three months. It'll be snatched away from him soon, he's sure of it; must all be some illusion, like an oasis in the desert - the one thing he longs for, needs more than anything. But it isn't going to last. He feels sure of it.
He breathes it in, inhales it, deciding to savour all that he can before reality snaps back around him as it surely will do soon. The scent of him, the citrus of his shower gel infused with the musk of his aftershave - so familiar, so real it's as if the boy is here with him, holding him. The faint smell of Irish stew simmering through from the kitchen. Too good to be true. Surely.
He doesn't want to move out of fear it will shift him back to his own dimension, trigger some switch that will pull him out of this reverie and drop him back in his world of self pity and darkness.
He feels a warm hand brush against the side of his head, the side that isn't resting in the boys lap, running up and down gently, shirt cuff tickling at the short hairs near the nape of his neck. It feels so real he almost lets himself believe it's true. It moves lower, trailing across his shoulders and down his arm, taking hold of his hand, intertwining his fingers. His instincts take over and he squeezes the hand in return, sure this weakness will be the thing to snap him back to reality.
Except nothing changes. The light doesn't fade. The warmth of his body is still here, the touch of his fingers still against his own, the gentleness of his thumb as it drags against his palm. The scent of him, so sweet and unmistakeable, still floating up inside his weary senses and filling him with hope. He dares to blink his eyes back open, rolling onto his back and looking up at Steven sitting here, watching him intently, look of disbelief in his own eyes.
"Brendan!" The boy whispers as if in awe, "Oh god, Brendan."
And it sounds like relief – pure unadulterated relief than seeps out of the boys perfect mouth as he squeezes him a little tighter.
Brendan swallows down, waiting for everything to return back to black. The longer it takes, the more he lets himself believe that this isn't all a trick of the mind. That he really is here, here in his boys arms; that the light surrounding him isn't Heaven, but it's his Heaven, it's Steven bringing light back into his world and the thought stills him, a haze of peace surrounding him, bringing him strength when his whole body is weak with fatigue and despair.
"Steven."
It rasps out of him, shocking even himself with the desperation of it, the pain that etches into his throat as the vibrations hum from his voice box. The razors slicing down the inside of his tonsils. He tries to sit himself up but it's useless. He's useless. His limbs have deserted him, despite the light around him now, his body is still fading.
He wills himself to be stronger, to be strong enough in this moment to look Steven in the eye and tell him – tell him everything he's been thinking since he last saw him that day in the hospital. The loss, the soul crippling loss he had felt at the absence of Steven from his world. The darkness that had descended all around him, that had always been there for him but which felt stronger than ever, deeper than ever before, since he had been given a taste of the springtime before it had been snatched cruelly from his grasp.
The nights he had spent inside, yearning for him; waking in the night with his name on his lips; memories haunting him from their blink-and-you'll-miss-it moments of true unadulterated happiness together; dreams tempting him with snapshots of a future they could have had – a future his boy deserved and he longs to be the one to give him. A future full of light; full of happiness and hope.
He's waking again now – feels the line blur between sleep and life and he didn't even realise he had succumbed again to the fatigue, but here he is now and it's dusk outside, the sun setting and now he's sure it's happened. He feels no warmth against his face and no beating heart against his ear, no hand linked in with his own and he knows. He thinks he knows.
The darkness is back.
Steven's gone – it had all been his mind. The devil playing tricks on him, teasing him with that life. That one thing he needs more than anything.
He knows it must have been too good to be true.
He may as well let go, give in to the pain he feels coursing through his body, isn't sure if it's anything physical, can't see any scars forming other than those etched into his soul, but there's no point any more. No point in any of this any longer.
His head is spinning. He had let himself believe that the boy – his boy – had been here. It had felt so real, he had so wanted it to be real. He knew he shouldn't have fallen for it. There's nothing left for him now. Nothing if there's no Steven in his reality.
You're a doctor, please just help him.
I will. But who is he?
The sound of voices behind him. The sound of his voice. Steven.
Steven and his new Prince. They're here, still plaguing his dreams.
Of course he's a doctor. Steven deserves a good man. A hero. But Brendan despises the man already.
It gives him little comfort right now to know that Steven's moved on and that he's happy, as he had told him to – not when all he wants is to feel him here again, feel his heat beneath him.
He blinks his eyes open and lets himself focus on it, rolling onto his back, stifling the groan that threatens to escape his lips and alert them to his waking state.
He's Brendan.
There's a smile to the boys words. Something a lot like pride. Disbelief in there, too. But definitely pride.
He needs an ambulance. He's weak, he needs proper care.
No, we can't – he can't. No.
There's silence again. Heavy, laboured silence between the two of them. Uncertainty flying through the air between them and Brendan lies there and drinks it in, desperate to see cracks in their surface, searching for something he can exploit, somewhere he can worm his way into and chisel away at until there's nothing left of them, no longer a pair, just Steven. Just his Steven.
He needn't let it worry him.
Just tell me who he is. Why do you care so much?
The Prince is pushing him, searching for answers.
It's Brendan.
It's all Steven has the strength to say. It's all he needs to say.
It's Brendan. And it's Steven. And that's all that there would ever be.
He's drifting off again, with the taste of opportunity on the tip of his tongue – Steven still cares, that much is obvious to him now, and Brendan vows to do all he can to win him back.
-s-
"Brendan," the voice is sweet as fucking syrup as it pours into him, seeping through him and enveloping his cold heart, warming through it and he's waking again now, waking from another sleep he hadn't felt himself fall into.
"Brendan, you need to eat something," and it sounds a lot like care, like concern, like Steven's voice is laced with worry; a lot like something not from a dream or from some alternate universe where the devil is tempting him with hallucinations of what could have been or what it was once upon a time for them.
"Please, Brendan," he continues to beg, "I hate seeing you this weak."
It occurrs to him then, like a shot of lightening through his weary soul. If this is some trick, some mirage of the perfect life for him, then why would he be so helpless in it? Why would his body be so weak? Why would he be this shadow of his former self; this pathetic, drained, self-pitying burden on the man he loved.
He wouldn't be this way.
He doesn't want to let himself believe this is real, fear gripping his insides at the idea of Steven really being here, actually sitting before him now, watching him intently, panic and dread and concern racing past his eyes. This isn't his dream. Steven is his dream, yes – Steven's the mirage. But this life – this picture now of complete dependence, of the look on Steven's face, of the desperation in his voice and the trembling passing through his body at the sight of Brendan before him.
This isn't his dream.
This is his reality.
This is happening. It's really happening.
Steven is here. Steven is real. It's all real.
A flash of sunlight creeps through the curtains, sun appearing behind a cloud and Brendan blinks back as it pours over his face, blinding him with realisation.
Steven sees it and he stands up, goes to shut the curtains to block it out, to protect him from it.
Brendan fights to get the words out, whispering, "No," at Steven, summoning all the strength he has to say it but after so many years in the darkness, after so long in the shadows, he can't block out this blinding ray of light.
Steven turns to him and smiles.
It pierces through him, the way the sun falls around him, claws its way past him and he stands there, basking in it, and it's the most beautiful thing Brendan has ever seen.
"It speaks," Steven teases him.
If he can find the energy to smile, he hopes he's doing so now.
Even now, even as he looks at him with concern and worry and disbelief – even now, Steven's sass still shines through.
Steven returns to him, sitting before him on the coffee table and picking up the bowl of steaming stew from beside him. He feeds it to Brendan, one spoonful at a time. Brendan taking it from him without question, knows this is what he needs – can't remember the last time he had eaten, let alone tasted anything so divine.
It warms his whole body through as it slides down his throat, sensation seeping back through him and he can feel his body strengthening already. With every mouthful he eyes Steven over the spoon, watches the smile form on his face as he swallows it down, tries his best to be seductive but he senses the boy's smile has little to do with his suggestive eyes and more to do with his willingness to take back his delicious cuisine with such an appetite.
He hasn't felt like eating in days; weeks even. Not properly in years. All of a sudden he feels as if there's a reason to live again – a reason to look after himself – and it's sat right before him.
Steven is worth fighting for.
After a few more bowls full of stew his body is starting to respond to him. His appetite has returned with a vengeance. He feels lighter – it seems easier to move somewhat. The aching in his muscles is ebbing away; the tremble in his hands is slowly steadying; and he can feel some kind of fire starting to burn inside of him. Every time he looks at his boy, the fire sears higher, scorching further into the recesses of his body and soul.
All the while the boy is sat there opposite him, watching him intently, as if he's matching up his features with the image he had resigned to his memory, drinking in the parts he had almost forgotten.
Brendan feels self-conscious, knows he looks a shadow of the man he had been when Steven had loved him, wonders if his boy feels anything at all when he looks back at him now. If there's even a shred of the love he had once poured over him.
"How – When did you get out, Bren?" Steven asks gently. It's not interrogative, it's not spiteful or venomous or contemptful. It holds that gentle intrigue that Steven has always possessed, and Brendan smiles with it.
"I got released a couple of weeks ago," he replies, words slow and tortured as they pass through his lips, even the act of small talk taking up so much of his vacuous energy supply. "I haven't escaped," he adds with a hint of sarcasm, has seen the suspicion in the boys eyes and smiles at him knowingly.
He notices Steven's face fall upon hearing he had been out for so long. He won't let himself hope that it's because he cares. He had watched Steven for those few weeks since his release and it was clear he had moved on. He thought it was clear, anyway. And he won't hold that against him. He can't hold anything against Steven. There's nothing that would make Brendan stop loving him.
"Where have you been?" Steven asks, his voice betraying the hurt he's so obviously feeling.
"I've been here, Steven," Brendan answers matter-of-factly, can't lie to him now, no reason to hide from him, looking Steven straight in the eye as he adds, "I've been right here. I came for you."
A flicker of something passes over Steven's eyes. If he lets himself dream, he may recognise it as happiness, or as relief; or as love. But he knows, he's watched him these past few weeks and he knows the boy has moved on, so it can't be that that he's seeing. Surely it can't.
"You came for me?" Steven repeats, dumbfounded.
"I came for you," Brendan confirms.
Seconds pass between them, minutes even as they sit, assessing each other. The room is thick with that spark that's flying between them now, connecting through their eyes, so reminiscent of everything that's gone between them in the past.
They haven't lost it. Right now, Brendan knows they haven't lost it. This thing between them, the thing that at one point in time he had wanted to control, to manipulate, to use for his own pleasure and nothing more; but now it's bigger than him or Steven could ever have imagined – bigger than life itself and the world they both live in.
He doesn't care about Prince Hollywood any more. He doesn't care if Steven's moving on and won't return his words – all he cares about is making sure that Steven knows. If nothing else, he needs Steven to know that nothing has changed. Not for him, anyway.
"I never stopped loving you, Steven. I've never felt any differently about you. I promi -"
But he can't finish his vow, can't spill out his heart to the boy in the way he had rehearsed for so long because he's suddenly in his lap, his lips are against his own and it's blinding, intoxicating, overwhelming.
He's stunned into submission, breathless with the boy as he straddles him, knees either side of his hips, palms against each side of his neck and fingers reaching round, pulling him closer. He adjusts himself, mesmerised by the feeling of the boy against him after all this time and he opens his lips and lets him inside.
Their tongues reunite with force, dancing together as if neither of them have forgotten the moves, their bodies slotting back together with ridiculous ease. As Brendan consumes his boy, tastes him all over his tongue, groaning into his mouth and feeling the vibration of Steven's moans in reply, he finally lets himself accept it all.
Steven's here. He's real. And he's exactly where he had been four years ago.
How could he have ever doubted his boy.
"I love you, Brendan," Steven whispers into his mouth, as if right on cue, "I never stopped, I swear."
His words fill Brendan with light and with love, creeping into the darkest corners of his soul, awakening them to the possibilities now that Steven's back. He's back, and Brendan swears he's never going to let him go again.
"I thought about you every day in there," Brendan replies, invading Steven's neck, kissing, licking, biting, devouring hungrily because he's been starved of this boy for too long.
"I love you, Brendan," Steven repeats, saying the words again because they just don't seem to hold enough weight, don't seem enough, don't seem to reflect the pain and the anguish and the waiting and the despair and the loss of hope he's fought against to keep that light shining deep in the recesses of his heart.
"You already said that," Brendan quips, smirking into the boys chest now, sucking at the space just above his collarbone and stroking up and down the goosebumps he can feel appearing on his forearms.
"I could tell you a million times," Steven replies as he punctuates each word with a kiss against his temple, his forehead, his cheek, his ear, his hairline, "and it still wouldn't be enough, Brendan."
There's a rough knocking at the door, three times, pause, four times; but neither of them make a move to answer it. Neither of them can summon up the strength to pull away from each other, not in this Heaven-sent moment they've both lost themselves in.
Seconds later a buzzing against the coffee table, phone vibrating away furiously, seeming to convey the thoughts of the person on the other end but it's useless – there's nothing that can tear them apart right now. They both know who's knocking, who's calling; but Steven's white knight has returned now, and the Prince stands no chance in this battle.
Brendan might feel weary, might be sure that what he's about to do is against the doctors orders in more ways than one, but he isn't about to let something as precious as this moment fall away. He will summon up all the strength he can muster to let him and Steven be together once more. Even if it kills him, he'll die with a smile on his face.
"I want you," he whispers into Steven's ear, biting at his lobe as he does so and eliciting a sound of pure pleasure from his boy.
"You've got me," he whispers back, pulling away and holding his face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together as he stares deep into Brendan's eyes. "You've always had me. I never let you go, Brendan. I never could let you go."
Brendan urges forwards and invades his mouth, dominating his tongue, reveling in the slip slide of Steven's tongue against his own, the slight bumps of his tastebuds at the back of his tongue, the heat and passion of it as they dance together once again, his hands reaching to the small of his back and pulling him close, as close as he can get. Steven's grinding down on him now, his hardness flush against him and his body's responding. Fuck, it's been so long since he's had this. Four years since he's been this close to another person. Four whole years of abstaining from this kind of contact because to do this with anyone other than Steven would have felt like the worst kind of betrayal.
"I want you," Brendan repeats in the short interlude between their kisses.
"Then have me," Steven replies, "Have me, now, Brendan."
He doesn't need telling twice, pulling his shirt up over his head as Steven mirrors him with his own before reaching down and unbuckling Brendan's belt and unbuttoning his jeans. He stands up to pull his trackies and boxers down in one quick movement, and watches on hungrily as Brendan lifts his hips and drags his own trousers and boxers down with his thumbs, still seductive as fuck despite his weakened body and drawn out appearance. It doesn't matter to Steven – he still wants him. He can't imagine a time he won't want Brendan Brady like this.
It's quick and it's ragged, pained, desperate. Steven sucking on Brendan's fingers when he pushes them into his mouth, slicking them up before he pulls them out and pushes into his hole without warning, without apology. Brendan prepares him minimally, can't be done with any of the foreplay or the rest of it, he's waited too fucking long and he needs this, needs to feel alive again, to feel the blood rushing through his veins and the sweat dripping from his body, wants to feel that white heat of his orgasm as it radiates out of him and pushes into Steven. His hands are working him up, stroking along his cock but it's not his hands that he wants, it's his whole fucking body, he needs to be inside of him and none of the rest of it fucking matters anymore. It's real now, he knows it's real, and he can't wait any longer; can't torture himself any more.
Brendan needs him, needs him now.
"Have you -"
"No," comes Steven's reply, but it's not stopping him, he's rising up, moving away from Brendan's fingers and positioning himself above his cock ready to grind down over him and take it all.
"Steven -"
"Just do it -"
"Not without -"
"Just do it -"
"I won't hurt you, Steven -"
He looks straight in his eyes then – sees the need and the desperation and the rage, and it's all pouring out of him, all the years of hurt, of heartbreak, of anger and pain - and it's all there in his eyes, tearing into him, ripping up his heart and he knows, he knows in that moment what he's done to the boy, what he's put him through and he needs to show him, show him it all meant something.
It's dangerous, and it's reckless, and he knows it is but he can't not, he can't move away from this now, can't break this up after all this time, with all this pain that's seeping through the both of them, knowing the only thing to fix them is each other. He quickly remembers the box of condoms and lube he had kept in the drawer of the coffee table all those years ago, hopes they're still there as he leans forward, holding Steven's body close as he pulls the drawer open and there they are. He fervently tears the box open, ripping the foil and rolling it quickly over himself. Steven's lowering himself down within seconds, wincing back the heat of it but there's something else behind his eyes too, there's that hunger and that passion that he had never been able to resist, never been able to get enough of, his insatiable appetite for this boy making him desperate and hasty and completely hopeless to resist.
"Just fuck me, Brendan."
And he does, his words a warning, a threat that without it he might not live and Brendan can't be responsible for that.
It's quick, their separation from each other making the moment heated and dripping with need and with lust and neither of them can hold out, Steven grinding down on him repeatedly and it's fucking electric, it's more than his body can handle, more than his head can deal with and he knows there can be nothing for him after this – there's nothing that can compare to this. He'll spend the rest of his life protecting this boy, protecting what they have between each other because there's no way they can spend another second out of each others company. After this, he's going to lock Steven into his life and never let him leave.
Brendan comes first, blinded by the sensation, the memories of what he's missed for all these years washing over him, lifting him higher than he thought he would ever feel again. He looks at the boy, watches his face light up as he continues to ride him, and it's seconds, just seconds before his eyes are rolling back, the air surrounding them filling with the sounds of his pleasure, the moans and the fuck-yes of Steven's orgasm. Brendan's never forgotten how fucking beautiful he sounds when he comes. The memory of it had echoed around his cell for the past four years, and to hear it now in the flesh, echoing through the four walls of this flat - it's life-affirming.
This place where it had all started all those years ago - with a bottle of whiskey, and a busman's holiday, and Steven's tongue as he'd joked about Jacqui, and Faithless Insomnia, and Steven's courage to take the bait in that moment. From then to now, this boy had been all he could see.
They shift around, Brendan pulling out of him, bodies heaving with the rush of it, hearts beating fast and chests pounding, panting for breath as Brendan turns to lie on the couch on his back, head against the armrest, and Steven settles down on top of him, still naked, still wet with the after effects of their reunion, with the aftershock of them having brought each other back to life.
Brendan's weaker now, weaker than he had been before because his body hadn't been ready for that; but somehow he feels stronger than he can remember feeling in years. Everything's back in its right place. The world seems good again. The light is flooding through the windows and his mind is filled only with dreams of a future he can picture now without reservation. He's got Steven back, and life is worth living once more.
The only thing to pierce the blissful moment of their post-coital haze is the buzzing of Steven's phone on the coffee table again. He pulls away slightly to reach for it, but Brendan pulls him back instinctively, wrapping his arms around him tighter than before. Steven doesn't question it, relaxing his head back down into that place between Brendan's chest and his neck which had been carved out especially for Steven all those years ago.
"I'll need to call him," Steven mutters, breath whisping against the short hairs on Brendan's chest and sending a tickling sensation through his whole body.
Brendan grunts in response, his body spent now, too exhausted to ask him why.
"I'll need to tell him it's over," Steven continues, his words filling Brendan with warmth, a smile creeping over his lips, the sensation feeling strange to him after so long, "I'll need to tell him this is it now. It's you and me."
"You and me," Brendan replies, didn't mean it as a question but he realises it comes out sounding like one.
"You and me." Steven replies with conviction.
Brendan sighs as the sincerity of his words catch in his chest.
He isn't in the shadows any longer. All that surrounds him now is light and life. Steven's light. Steven's life.
It's him and Steven now.
Forever.