With half the lights off the club looked darker inside, it was dead silent too. About five minutes after everyone had left, Brendan came out of his office and walked straight to the bar. He looked around to check for any stragglers before reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the counter. Just as he wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, Ste popped up from behind the bar and surprised Brendan who stepped back and shrieked "Jesus". Ste hadn't been expecting to see anyone in the room now that the front door was locked, so Brendan's voice shocked him and in his hurry to step back he knocked over a bottle of vodka that was sitting on the bar.

And that was how their first interaction had gone, the first words Brendan said to Ste - Jesus.

As they reeled back to reality from the mini heart-attack just now, Brendan sat down at the bar and Ste proceeded to pour him a drink. Brendan hadn't asked and Ste hadn't offered, he just poured. When he put down the glass in front of Brendan, Ste noticed the look of confusion on his face.

"Cheryl asked me to stay back every night to clean up and close. I won't if you don't want me to."

"No. I mean yes, you should. If Cheryl asked."

Brendan handed the glass in front of him and looked down into it. The three fingers of whiskey swirling around the glass as he toyed with it. Ste started cleaning up the mess he had made. Brendan was completely silent as he sipped from his glass. Ste was thinking of something to say but everything he came up with was stupid.

Just when he was about to start talking about the weather to break the thick silence, Brendan cleared his throat and Ste jumped at the sudden noise. He wasn't prepared for the rough heavy drawl that followed, either.

"Ste - is that short for Stephen?"

That took Ste by surprise, no one ever asked him that. Even the people who'd known him for ages just called him Ste because that's what he introduced himself as.

"Yeah, Amy says it sounds more chic than Stephen."

"I find Stephen more elegant. Just rolls off the tongue, Stephen."

Ste didn't particularly like being called Stephen but when Brendan said it, he wanted him to say it over and over again. Wanted to hear him whisper it, yell it, pant around it, choke it out, moan it. There was something different about how he said it, no one said it the way he did. With his deep voice and his rasp whisper and his thick Irish accent.

"Stephen?"

Oh, that was just so-wait did he just hear Brendan say his name or was he imagining him say it.

"Stephen?" He looked at the Irishman who was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah, you can call me that."

"So Stephen, Amy? Is that your girlfriend?"

"No, Amy's me wife. Well, ex-wife."

"I've never heard someone mention their ex-wife without cussing. On good terms then, I take it?"

"Oh yeah, me and Ames are best mates. We do fight now and then but just friendly banter, innit? I gotta live with her, don't I? What about you? Not so good with the ex-wife?"

Brendan looked up sharply at the mention of Eileen. Great, you couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you? Ste thought to himself as soon as he realised what he had said.

"Cheryl mentioned you were having problems with your marriage and you were getting a divorce. Sorry, I shouldn't have said."

"It's okay, my sister has a big mouth."

He hasn't denied or confirmed. But why does it matter if he's married or not. He's definitely into women. He has kids, of course he's into women-wait, what? Why am I thinking about this?

Ste was busy talking to himself as Brendan stared at the occupied barman who was clearly debating something in his mind and then came the pout. Brendan hurriedly got up from the bar and turned his gaze elsewhere.

It was too much to look at the lad pouting, he looked so-gah, adorable. Since when have I found scrawny, ratty barmen adorable? That sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was back and it was getting stronger. He had to distract himself before he did something he'd regret.

Ste stopped day dreaming when he saw Brendan stand up sharply and turn away from him. He thought he had said something wrong and was about to apologize when Brendan turned to him and said, "Well, you have a good night. I'll be in the office if you need anything."

Before Ste could say anything, Brendan put his glass down and walked behind the bar to pick up a bottle from behind Ste. While he was there looking at the bottles, Ste started cleaning up the counter so he wouldn't turn around and touch Brendan or something equally horrific. He could feel Brendan behind him and the long line of heat across his back-he was so close.

Brendan caught a whiff of citrus and scotch as he leaned a little towards Ste. He wasn't even consciously aware what he was doing but the scent brought him back to reality and he swiftly moved away and walked back to his office. As soon as he had his back to Ste and knew the lad couldn't see his face twisted in effort, he exhaled a low moan that he'd been holding in. It came out louder than he had anticipated so he quickened his pace and slammed the door behind him.

Ste had heard a faint moan after Brendan had abruptly left with a bottle in hand towards his office. Or did he? He wasn't really sure of anything anymore, he hadn't been ever since he had laid eyes on Brendan Brady.

Maybe he was the one who had moaned thanks to the lack of personal space whenever the Irishman was around. Either way, he couldn't wait to get out of here and go home where he didn't constantly have to fear about controlling himself. He wiped the counter and took the trash out, with his earphones plugged in so his songs could distract him from a certain Brady.

He was done in about 15 minutes and was going to lock up and leave when he remembered that the club wasn't empty today. He took a deep breath, walked to the office and knocked on the door with anticipation settling deep in his veins. There wasn't a response for a while as he waited with baited breath.

Brendan sighed as he slumped against the door and put the bottle down on his work-table. This was the third time today he has had to walk back to his office because of one employee. He had unintentionally caught a scent of Stephen and that had made him so aroused that he had let a moan escape with the lad in the same room. And he still hadn't calmed down. This was so new and so crazy for him that didn't know how to deal with it. Even the way Stephen said his name in that thick Mancunian accent – Brendunn – made his skin buzz.

Usually he just shut out the things he didn't want to deal with but this was so different. He couldn't decide what he wanted. He wanted to go out and pull Stephen by the hand and drag him into the office. He wanted to push him down onto his work table and take him while he moaned and writhed under him.

And he wanted the scrawny lad to go home so he could work in peace without feeling on edge every second.

He closed his eyes in frustration and dropped into his comfy chair but he couldn't get away from the feeling. Even with his eyes closed, his mind insisted on making him weaker in his resolve to stay away from the lad.

Images of Stephen pushing everything off the table and sending important papers flying as he laid down on the polished wood with that pout on his lips, ran rampant in his mind. He slowly pulled down the zipper with trembling fingers and showed Brendan that he wasn't wearing anything under his Chez-Chez uniform. He had a skinny figure but he was fit - his pale skin a stark contrast to the dark mahogany table that must have been cold to give the lad goose-bumps across his thin chest. He lifted his hand to-knock on the door?!

There was a second knock and Brendan opened his eyes to realise that someone was actually knocking on his office-door and that he had been fantasizing about the only person who was in the club besides him. He cleared his throat and asked person to come in.

Ste had knocked twice and was getting impatient when he heard Brendan's voice. He pushed the door open and spotted the untouched bottle on the table. Brendan was looking down intently at the files spread before him as if he'd never seen anything more important. Ste stood there without a single word pouring out of him so Brendan had to look up him questioningly and when he did Ste noticed how flushed Brendan looked. Like he was having a heart attack or something of the sort - that got him worried.

"Brendan, are you okay?"

Brendan took in a deep breath before nodding his head. "Yeah yeah, I'm okay. It's really warm in here, innit? But I'm good."

"Oh, okay. Well, I just wanted to tell you that I'm finished. I'm heading home but I can stay if you like. I mean if you need help."

He had made it so obvious. 'If you like', what the hell does that even mean? He scolded himself mentally.

Brendan thought back to Stephen lying on the table with his shirt off and writhing around with desperate noises escaping his lips.

"No, there's no need. I got it. You go home. Good Night."

Ste was a bit taken aback by that answer but he was also glad that he could go home and finally be in a stable state of mind as opposed to being helter-skelter here in Brendan's office with all the Brendan-y smells and Brendan-y noises.

"Night." He whispered softly before shutting the door behind him and walking away from the fittest yet most-infuriating man he'd ever met.

Brendan sighed audibly at Ste's departure and opened the bottle of Scotch on the table. He didn't bother looking for a glass and drank straight from the bottle. He needed a lot of relaxing after that encounter, and drinking was the only relaxing he knew of. This lad is trouble, he told himself. But he had a knack for trouble - always had. Question is how much could he handle?