Notes: I have again made myself a liar - this is not the final part, there is more story to come. I blame my penchant for writing really long sex scenes that eat up my word count ;) I kind of give up guessing how many parts this is going to have at this point. The next chapter might be the last, it might not.
Word Count ~ 8700
He frames the scene in his head.
Terry Hay, scrabbling up to full height in the centre of the lounge, dark eyes like sharp, broken off pieces of flint. Pauline in the corner, crying, wailing, red eyes and trembling lips.
And Steven.
Steven pressed back against the wall, bruised and bleeding, mouth parted and blankly staring ahead, palms spread into the surface at his back, chest a heaving rise and fall.
Time's a slow and grinding crawl, his head a crowded mess, a cacophony of white noise and red rage. He's a singular purpose, a bullet with a target, an eight year old boy playing God with the bugs and praying every day for a bigger magnifying glass for a bigger monster. He can't do a damn thing about that eight year old little boy now but the cracks Terry's broken wide open in Steven still bleed with a light worth saving.
Terry lunges for him again, swings for his face and misses, barely, draft of it fresh and cool across his skin. He lets Terry come a few more times, wild and flailing, no balance, wearing himself out on rage fumes, not enough to get another hit in. Pauline's screaming now, stop, stop it, but Steven's still silent, still staring.
Brendan steps forward into the wide open space of Terry's posture, grips the material of his jumper before he can get his hands up to block, throws him against the wall opposite his son and pushes his body weight against the length of him.
"Get the fuck off me."
"Get off you? I'm gonna kill you," and he pulls back a fist, about the throw it forward with as much weight as he can harness but there's a slender hand curled over his wrist.
"No, Brendan - " He turns at that voice, shaky but firm, and Steven's right there at his side. "Don't, he's not worth it."
It stills him instantly, clears his thoughts like a fresh breeze clearing fog, and Steven's right, Terry's not important. There's only one thing important in this room and this isn't how he shows Steven how much he's worth.
Brendan drops him, backs up, puts one arm out in front of Steven like a shield and says steadily, "we're going."
"You're goin' nowhere with my son," Terry snarls, lunges forward but Brendan gets his palm against his chest and shoves him back, keeps his hand out in case he comes back. "You want me to call the fucking police? Tell 'em all about our Ste's been gettin' up to with his pervert teacher?"
"Steven," He blindly grabs out, doesn't dare take his eyes away from Terry and Steven's fingers curl over his own and he grips, tight. "Come on."
"You'll be locked up for this! They'll throw you in prison!"
Brendan pushes Steven back, away, towards the door, then steps forward, squares right up to Terry, so close he can feel the heat of Terry's anger bleeding through his clothes, and says in a low growl,"you do that, Terry, go right ahead. I will gladly see you there."
It strikes a nerve, hits something that shows through Terry's anger, some kind of sense and he seems to lessen, some of the tension falling back and creating a gap like Terry's shrinking away from him. It gives him the space he needs to hustle Steven out of the house.
Neither Terry nor Pauline tries to stop them again.
Out on the path, cool night air and smell of clear ozone and touching frost, Steven staggers, puts his hands on his knees and chokes some terrible, heaving sob. He's not crying, there's no tears, just the sound of him trying not to fall apart. Brendan rubs a palm across his back, doesn't ask if he's okay, it's obvious he isn't and he won't patronise Steven like that, won't make him feel any more vulnerable than he already feels.
"He said he was gonna call the police," he strains out, high and cracking.
"He won't."
"You could go to prison for this - never should 'ave text you - I'm goin' back inside, I'll just sort it - "
Brendan ducks down, grips Steven's shoulders and pulls him up to look him in the eye. "He won't call the police, Steven. He's just kicked seven bells out of you, nobody's got proof we've done anything wrong, I'm guessin' Terry's got a police record anyway?" Steven nods slowly. "Right, then. He won't call the police. I promise."
Steven bites his lip, breathes deep through his nose and seems to pull himself together, still shaking, still bright behind the eyes, but he's okay and that's all that matters.
Everything else they'll deal with.
By the time he's gotten Steven up to his flat he's gone quiet.
Brendan directs him to the sofa and he sits staring at the coffee table.
"D'you, umm, want a cuppa tea?" he asks awkwardly and Steven doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Brendan's about to repeat the question when he finally shakes himself, corner of his mouth turning up as he does a sarcastic sort of eye roll and peers up at Brendan wryly. It breaks through the tension and Brendan scoffs, hunches down in front of him. "Yeah, okay, smart-arse. That's what people do, isn't it? Offer tea in times of crisis." He puts his fingers to Steven's chin and angles his face up to the soft glow of the corner lamp, throws dancing shadows over the marks on his skin. "What happened?"
"We got home from the school on Wednesday and nothing, he just told me to get out of his sight. Then I was going out Thursday morning and he just lost it and wouldn't let me leave. We 'ad this massive slangin' match and he said I was never goin' back to school, that I better get myself down the job centre, just - screamin' at each other. Then he said - " Steven pauses, looks away from him. "He said your boyfriend's not 'ere to protect you, now and just started laying into me."
"Jesus," he has to swallow to keep the taste of burning bile out of his throat. "You should of got in touch sooner, why didn't you?"
"I thought he'd get over it and he did for a bit; he went out and I thought it were done with. Then he came back rotten drunk and it just started all over again."
He itches to touch so badly his fingers ache but he can't, everything feels too precarious now. Steven's too vulnerable and Brendan's responsibility in what's happened to him weighs heavy on his position as well as their relationship - their whatever. "I'm guessin' it's not just your face he had a pop at?"
"Tryin' to get my clothes off already, eh?"
"Come on, I got better lines than that. Give me some credit, Steven." Steven breathes a laugh, just nods, nothing more. "D'you need anything? Painkillers?"
"No, I'm alright," and Brendan tries to argue but Steven puts a hand on his shoulder and the words catch in his throat with how just that soft touch alone makes his stomach jolt and loop out and down and around like he's on a rollercoaster. "Brendan, I'm fine. I'm not being stubborn," and he knows Brendan too well, clearly, can read his fucking mind apparently. "I won't say no to that cuppa, though."
"Biccie?"
Steven laughs. "No, tah. My stomach's in knots."
"It's okay, Steven. I told you, there's no way Terry's stupid enough to phone the police."
"It's not that, it's - " He cuts off, fiddles with his bottom lip. "I know I shouldn't care, I know she doesn't care about me but - "
"Your mum?" Brendan asks softly and he nods. "Course you can care, she's your mum." Steven looks down and Brendan bites the bullet, slides a hand around his jaw, fingers on warm skin, close and intimate. "She does care; sometimes people they - they just get to a point where they can't show it anymore. Doesn't mean they're heartless just that they're too messed up to do anything about it. You can't help her, Steven. Only person who can help her now is her."
"I might text her or summat, tell her I'll talk to her when Terry's calmed down."
"You do what you need to do, Steven. I'm here, whatever."
He stands, slips his fingers from Steven's face but can't resist the trail of his fingertips and Steven catches his hand. Brendan pulls him up from the sofa easily and they're so close it crashes home like a ringing gong that Steven's in his damn flat.
"Hiya," Steven says softly and smiles and it's so disarming he's caught completely off-guard by it, kind of wants to wrap his arms tight around Steven and do something weird like ruffle his hair and then stick his tongue down his throat.
Instead he says, "hey," back because he's feeling cute as fuck and he can't help himself.
Steven makes him feel so young and so old at the same time, makes him feel swollen to bursting with a light he didn't know he had in him and it sends him crazy and makes him wonder if maybe crazy's always been the game, it just took Steven to make him see it.
He's laughing softly and Steven's curious. "I used to do really stupid things, used to get myself in all these crazy situations. I thought I'd turned over a new page or something, put all that insane stuff behind me, but - here you are."
"Used to be a trouble maker, did you?"
"You wouldn't have liked me back then." He gestures for Steven to follow him to the kitchen where he fills the kettle, switches it to boil. "I wasn't a nice bloke."
Steven hoists himself up onto Brendan's kitchen worktop like there's nothing at all rude about doing that in someone else's home and it's so fucking endearing, makes him look so in place against the backdrop of Brendan's life. "I gathered as much."
It's his turn to be curious. "Yeah?"
"The way you went for Terry tonight was pretty vicious."
"I used to be just like him, used to think I could control a person with my fists." He doesn't know why he's telling Steven this but it doesn't seem to matter, he's still perched there on the counter, still listening intently. "I had a lot of anger and it used to just - " He gestures, hand pushing out from his chest, asks, "y'know?" and Steven nods.
"Yeah, I know. Who was it? Who made you like that?"
The ease with which he says, "my dad," frightens him.
"He gave you those scars?"
"He gave me a few. Most of 'em don't show, though."
Steven smiles wryly and nods again, the unspoken understanding like a cool balm in the face of such a weighty subject. It's the kind of thing he appreciates, no dramatic but ultimately hollow sentiments, no barrage of over-bearing concern. It is what it is and, sadly, Steven knows that.
"You wasn't really gonna kill Terry, was you?
"I don't even know, I just - saw red."
"Thanks."
He turns from the cups and tea and sugar, looks up at Steven on the counter. "You don't have to thank me. I didn't come so you'd thank me, I came 'cause - " and then he can't finish that sentence.
But of course Steven wants an answer. "Because what?"
Good question. Because he hates bullies like Terry? Because he knows what fear like that can do to a person? Because he cares about this boy? No, not a boy, definitely not a boy. Brendan's seen enough of him to know he's no boy. He's been through too much for Brendan to patronise him with that label.
He's so lost in his own thoughts he doesn't realise he's got his hands under Steven's hoodie and t-shirt until there's warm, shivering skin against his palms and fingers and it's too hard to let go.
Apparently he said that out loud because Steven's leaning into him, pressing close and murmuring, "I don't want you to let go," against his jaw and it's too much, here in the space between Steven's spread thighs and if he doesn't move away then there's not a damn thing in the Universe save a fucking asteroid that's going to stop him from taking what he's craved for weeks.
"Steven," and he pulls back to look Steven in the eye and fuck he should not have done that.
"Don't start," Steven interrupts. "I want it, I want you to f - "
He blurts out, "Steven!" through gritted teeth, all frayed around the edges like he's already unravelling. "Don't - don't say it." Why is he doing this, just why? He's a damn saint, he deserves a fucking medal and a song in his honour. "You've had a bad night, your head's a mess - "
"What are you, a psychology teacher? Fuckin' hell," Steven interrupts in exasperation and the next words he punctuates with a low and slow, rough drawl. "I just want you to fuck me, or is that too much to ask?"
There he goes, knowing just how to push Brendan's buttons, get him so riled up he can't think straight, and he breathes a low growl, grips his fingers into Steven's lower back and pulls him to the edge of the counter. Steven butts up against him with a soft ugh, clamps his legs around Brendan's body and his hands around Brendan's shoulders, and Brendan can feel him go hard against his stomach.
"You sure that's what you want, Steven?" he whispers against Steven's lips, soft and plush under his own, parting over Brendan's bottom lip and sucking lightly. "I don't know if you're ready, is all."
"I'm not a virgin, you know."
"You ever had a cock in your arse?" Steven smirks. "No? Then for the sake of this conversation, you're a virgin."
"Fine," Steven hums, tips his head but they don't kiss, just the warm, hovering touch of his mouth. "Tell me what to expect, then."
A shiver dances and skitters under Brendan's skin and he starts talking, a low, quiet rumble. "First, I gotta get you ready."
"How?"
Brendan drags one flat palm up the sweat-slickening skin of Steven's back then rakes two fingernails lightly down his spine. He arches under it, mouth falling open in a gasp. "With my fingers. Or - " and fuck the idea hits him like a sack of cement and he takes Steven's bottom lip into his mouth, wets it with a slow lick. "With my tongue."
He hears the click of Steven's throat as he swallows thickly, feels the blood rush as he goes completely hard between the tight press of their bodies and he's not far behind, himself.
"Are you serious?"
He's fucking dizzy on the tiny space of recycled, too-warm air between them. "Why, you like the sound of that? My tongue on your hole?" Steven arches against him again, makes a sound that shoots straight to Brendan's dick like a heated bullet, a high, extraordinary moan and he wants it again, wants it forever. He tangles a hand through Steven's hair, pulls him back to look at him properly. "Wanna see how good it feels?"
"God, yeah - "
"Slick you up 'til I can get my fingers in?" Steven nods, mouth parted, breathe beating out of him and he takes a hand down between them, spreads a palm over Steven's dick, stiff through the denim of his jeans. "Find that sensitive little spot inside you and see what we can do with it?"
Steven's eyes flutter, throat bobbing, fine flush of colour across his cheeks, perfect picture of something he wants to fucking ruin. He used to enjoy taking men's virginities, twisted as it was, and he hasn't felt so inclined for a long time. Tonight, though, he's going to revel in it.
He gets an arm at Steven's back, a hand under one leg, and hauls him off the counter and Steven's with him straight away, quick to grip him tight, push himself up, roll and grind of his hips and Brendan slams him against the kitchen wall, grins wide and gets one in return, filthy curl of his lips that he wants to taste so he does, slants his mouth over Steven's and licks inside, deep and wet; so damn sweet, Brendan can't wait to taste the rest of him.
He trips on his way into the lounge, half drops Steven who laughs, high and loud, before he nearly goes over. Brendan grips his hips and spins him, ends up sprawled over him on the sofa, one knee digging into the cushions, one thigh snug up between Steven's legs and he's hot and breathless, arching up where Brendan presses down into another slick kiss.
Steven's fingers fumble at his buttons and Brendan unzips his hoodie, wrestles both open blind because he can't take his tongue out of Steven's mouth long enough to look what he's doing and as long as he touches skin soon, he doesn't much care how he gets Steven out of his clothes. He leans back, shucks his shirt off his shoulders, slips fingers under Steven's t-shirt and pulls it up and off, gets his palms on Steven's warm belly and chest and feels the desperate rise and fall of it and it hits him, what they're about to do, when he fucking sees the bruises.
Two solid, black circles, one purpling, yellow at the edges. One low on his ribs, the other two close, side by side to the left of his belly button. He reaches to touch like he's moving in slow motion.
"Don't - "
Steven covers himself with his hands, can't look Brendan in the eye, and Brendan's frozen still for half a minute, cold horror leeching through him like slick, toxic sludge in his veins.
I'm gonna kill you.
No, Brendan, don't -
He's gripping both of Steven's hands before he plans to move, tangling their fingers together and pulling, sliding them up and into the sofa cushions at his sides. He slips to the floor between Steven's spread legs, knees hitting the carpet, and dips his head, chases the warmth of Steven's skin with his mouth, presses his lips and tongue over the dark marks like he's trying to absorb the blows. Steven's gaze is back on him and he peers up and feels words bubbling up through his throat.
"I'm still gonna fuck you."
"Yeah?"
"You bet your sweet arse, I am."
Steven smiles, breathes a laugh, tension dissolved and muscles under his hands gone shaking eager instead of wary and Brendan kisses him lower, nuzzles against his belly, drags his lips down and sucks kisses from one side of his waistband to the other while he works Steven's button and zip.
"Think I like the look of you on your knees."
"Yeah?" Brendan asks in a low hum, vibration of it though his lips and into Steven's body, fingers plucking away the elastic of Steven's boxers as his mouth starts to water.
"With no shirt on."
"Oh, yeah, obviously."
"You know I've not seen you completely naked, yet."
"True," he murmurs, tongues against the material over Steven's dick. "That your way of tellin' me to strip?"
"Mmm-maybe."
"Steven, Steven, Steven." He can see the spark in Steven's eyes, still coiled and hesitant. "Whatever you want me to do - " Brendan sucks, wet and sloppy, against the head of his dick through his boxers, pulls the material away and down and flicks his tongue against salt-bitter, flushed skin. "All you have to do is say." Steven's hips lift, mouth parting, Brendan's hot breath on his already over-heated flesh. "Anything you want." He flattens his tongue, shakes his head slowly, lazy drag of soft wet, dips lower until he can lick all the way from base to tip. "It's my pleasure."
He feels Steven's hand pull from his own and slide down to cup his jaw, his thumb pressing in at the corner of his mouth.
Steven's wide open when he says, steady and sure, "strip," and it hits Brendan low, being told what to do like this.
He plants his hands on the sofa cushions, arches and drags his body against Steven's as he pushes himself to stand and Steven comes with him, sits up at the edge of the seat as Brendan fiddles with his belt, looks him dead in the eye and smiles. The metal clatters, leather slips against his fingers, soft and visceral like skin, all his senses tuned and hyper-aware under Steven's attention.
Steven licks his bottom lip, eager as sin, so he hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls until his trousers and boxers fall enough for him to step out of them and kick them back. His skin pricks in goosebumps all over, cool air and Steven's intense focus like a physical thing crawling across his body.
He's never had a man completely naked in from of him before and it shows.
He raises his hands and touches, scratches his fingernails against Brendan's thighs and scrapes up through the hair on his legs right up to close around his hips. His throat dips when he swallows, ragged breath that Brendan can feel puffing out of him and then lips against the top of his thigh, right under his hip and his shaking hands are suddenly tangled tight in Steven's hair in how much he didn't fucking expect that to happen. It doesn't faze Steven, in fact he hardly seems to notice, soft hum vibrating against his stomach as Steven nuzzles his nose, scrapes his teeth and sucks sloppy kisses up and up, stands with it until he's licking at Brendan's collar bone and throat, pleased little sounds as he trails a path to Brendan's ear.
"Fuckin' hell," he murmurs and Brendan tips his head back at the soft drag of Steven's lips across his jaw.
"You like?"
Steven nods and can't stop touching him, hands and mouth and physically his whole body, pressing in close against him. Brendan holds his hips lightly and lets him, fucking revels in it and he's never really let men touch him like this before; he's never much wanted them to. Now, though - now he can't get enough of Steven's eager, greedy handling. He's like that with Steven - desperate for more and everything. Just as eager, just as greedy.
Steven kisses him, slow and deep, and Brendan can feel how much he's trembling all up his front. He pulls back, tips his forehead against Steven's then ducks down, wraps Steven back up in his arms and lifts him just a few inches off the floor. He laughs and clings tight to Brendan's shoulders and Brendan walks them into the hall to his bedroom door.
"Give the door a kick," he says and Steven does, bends his leg and shoves the door open so hard it bounces back. "I said give it a kick not bust it off it's hinges."
"Don't know me own strength, me," Steven murmurs through a smile and Brendan kisses him, carries him over the doorway and kicks the door back shut, maybe, possibly, a bit too hard as well. "Put the light on."
"Yeah?"
"I wanna see everything."
Jesus.
He flicks the switch then gets the back of Steven's legs to the side of the bed, plants one knee against the mattress and swoops low, spreading Steven back against the sheets and leaning over him.
The thought occurs to him, suddenly and painfully now they're actually here, that he's got one of his students splayed out on his bed like a private feast. It should horrify him but it doesn't, nothing with sense can touch him right now, he's too lost and he'd fucking known this boy was bad news from the start, look what Steven's done to him. His precisely aimed smile, the dark intent in his eyes, his greedy hands, everything; Brendan's been bloody addled. What chance did he have against all of this?
"You got magical powers or something?" he finds himself asking, fingers pulling at the waistband of Steven's jeans and Steven looks at him like he's lost it.
"Yeah, I'm Harry Potter."
"Funny."
He yanks hard, gets the jeans and boxers over his arse and Steven arching back on the mattress with a breathless laugh. "I'm hilarious."
"You're infuriating."
"But - " Steven drawls and it's a really question.
Brendan wrestles him out of the denim, tosses it to the side and kneels up astride Steven's knees like some Roman emperor gazing out over his empire. But - but what? But I lo-like you anyway? But I -
No.
He really is losing it.
"But you're naked so - I can look past it."
Bruises, yes, but inches and inches of honey-warm skin, slender and lean and dick flushed and curving up against his stomach, looks like he should be in an issue of Gay Times or something, the idea of other men's eyes on him, other guys getting to see this - his throat tightens up, makes him feel prickly with aversion.
"Oh, you're so charmin'."
"Charmed the pants off you, didn't I?"
Brendan grins at him, feels suddenly giddy, reckless, like he's already breaking every rule in the book here, why the fuck not do it with abandon. He leans down, pulls Steven into his arms and rolls him over into the middle of the bed to the sound of his surprised, high-pitched squeak. He gets on top of him, leans back on one elbow, doesn't want to break the boy, not like that anyway, and settles in between his thighs and fuck it feels good, the clinging drag of his cock rubbing up into the V of Steven's hip. He does it again, slides one knee up the mattress for more leverage, up under Steven's leg which closes around his hips, and grinds Steven down, hard.
He throws his head back, gasps a low noise, arches his hips up against Brendan's weight and the tight friction feels hot and heavy. Brendan kisses his throat and jaw, rolls his hips, feels the slow build of pressure start to bloom and spread, makes his fingers itch and his stomach flutter.
Makes his tongue feel thick in his mouth.
Brendan breathes, "turn over," and Steven swallows, pulls in breath through his parted lips. He helps with a hand on his shoulder, gets his legs spread so he can settle in between them, more skin, more bruises, smooth arch of Steven's spine and that dip at the bottom of his back that Brendan's so fucking obsessed with; so much in front of him to play with he feels spoiled for choice.
He runs both palms up, presses the heels of his hands in hard to feel the mold of Steven's muscles, scrapes his nails to make Steven's skin prick up in goosebumps. He rests his weight on his hands against the mattress, plasters his body to Steven's back and nuzzles the side of his throat, presses his tongue flat under Steven's ear and swipes it in slow, lazy circles. From here he can reach the bedside drawer and he does, roots his hand inside it for the lube and condoms.
"Remember what I said I was gonna do to you?"
"Y-yeah - "
"You're thinkin' about it right now, aren't you?" He sucks softly, flicks his tongue. "How it's gonna feel?" Steven nods, makes a sweet little noise, desperate and breathy and he gets his hands on what he's looking for, tosses the stuff quickly down the bed. "It's gonna make you feel like you wanna come. It's gonna make your dick harder than it's ever been. You're gonna be beggin' me to fuck you when I'm done, that is - " he sucks kisses down over Steven's shoulder, across the smooth skin to between his shoulder blades, " - if you can even still make words by then."
"Ohm'God," is the reply he gets so it looks like it's already working, Steven's body the most responsive he's ever had, just shameless the way he wants and wants Brendan to seeexactly how much, unabashed and obviously desperate.
Steven's skin tastes so fucking sweet under his mouth, shivers against his lips and tongue as he slips a wet trail down his spine, into that dip where he scrapes his teeth, drags his lips, sucks and licks like he's trying to devour. His hand closes around Steven's hip, thumb fitting perfectly into the soft dimple of Steven's skin above the curve of his arse like that tiny space was carved out for him alone to touch.
He remembers bright pink handprints and how Brendan's slapping palm had gotten Steven hard and he grins and bites against one cheek, gives Steven a light smack that gets him barking a laugh. Brendan savours the moment, grips his hands into giving flesh and parts it, opens up Steven's pink hole to the air of the room and sees the shudder go up his body, blows cool air from his pursed lips across him to get him squirming.
For the sake of his own safety, he presses down his hands firmly with his weight, the boy is really fucking responsive, then he leans in close and licks a slow stripe from top to bottom. Steven jerks and arches against him, chokes out a curse, and he goes again, licks him, wet and sloppy and doesn't stop, drags his tongue soft then rough, hard focus on all those sensitive nerve endings then sucking kisses, deep until he's right in there, until Steven opens up under his tongue and he can push the tip inside.
Steven's moaning litany turns into a harsh cry, a ragged fuck, oh my - fuck - and it spurs him on, deeper, slow and heavy thrust in and out and he lets Steven move with hit, lets him arch back, try to get more, it's fucking astonishing, beautiful how wild he is, doesn't know what he wants, just wants Brendan to keep making him feel good.
His muscles are straining under Brendan's hands and he's pretty sure he's got Steven right on the edge, rubbing his dick against the sheets under him, Brendan fucking him with his tongue, so he stills Steven with an arm around his hips, and drags him up to his knees, dick heavy and so fucking hard between his spread thighs. He uncaps the lube and spreads it over his fingers, drags through the spit that's gathering slick against his chin and presses against Steven's hole with his fingertip.
"You okay?" he has to ask and Steven rolls his head on his folded arms, looks back over his shoulder and nods, eyes dark as slate and bright as diamonds, just as sharp the way that gaze cuts right through his desperately itching skin.
That's all he needs and he pushes the slippery tip inside, already loose from his tongue. Steven tenses but doesn't seize and Brendan strokes his back, slides all the way in smoothly, hot gripping muscles around his finger sending sparks straight to his dick. He moves, in and out, slow rub to make space, croons low words so good, Steven, s'gonna feel good, I promise and Steven breathes, gasps and sighs until Brendan adds another finger, pushes both in and twists them with purpose, reaches and curls them down until he finds what he's looking for.
Steven moans, thighs tensing, back arching and Brendan asks, "feel good?" and gets a soft, breathy yeah in return so he fucks Steven with his fingers, slow but firm, makes sure to get his prostate on every push. He dips his head, flicks his tongue alongside the digits, licks a wet path down over Steven's balls and sucks on the velvet-soft skin, Steven's voice a growing litany until he's whimpering.
"You want me to fuck you, Steven?"
"God, yes, please, please, Brendan," it's almost too much, soft, pleading voice and fuck Steven's so hard, burning hot and practically lit up with sparks shocking against Brendan's skin.
He finds the condom, rips it open and rolls it down one handed, pulls his fingers free and considers Steven; he's quite a picture, arse in the air, spine curved, slicked up and open-ready and Brendan wants to see his face but for now he'll make do. He pours out more lube, covers himself from base to tip, lines up and pushes gently. The sight of Steven taking him in, the feel of him opening up and clinging, gripping, so fucking tight, so fucking accommodating, he needs to stop, needs to give himself a minute to regain his composure, needs to give Steven a minute to breathe but it seems he doesn't even want that.
"Don't stop, d-don't," so he doesn't, slides, painfully slow, inch by inch, until he's pressed flush against Steven's body. "Jesus - " and Brendan's inclined to agree, shaking already, doesn't know which way's up or down. "Come 'ere, Brendan," Steven whispers and he goes, just like that, like Steven's voice alone is enough to bend his will.
He's careful, slides his hands against the sheets up and up, under Steven's folded arms and over his wrists and hands to tangle their fingers together, his chest and stomach moulded against Steven's back. He presses a kiss to the back of Steven's neck, drags his lips across his prickling skin, his jaw, until Steven turns his head and catches his mouth in an uncoordinated kiss, just a mesh of lips and tongue and gasping breath.
"Does it hurt?"
"A bit." Brendan nods, leans his forehead against Steven's temple and rolls his his hips ever so slightly, just an inch in and out, Steven's fingers curling tight on his own, his eyes fluttering shut, smudge of pretty black against his cheeks and the next thing out of his mouth is, "Brendan," so reverent Brendan's heart leaps, tries to claw its way out of his chest, through his ribcage and skin and muscle and into Steven's own through his fucking spine. "It's okay, fuck me, I want you to, I want it - "
So he does, pulls out slow and pushes in even slower, gets used to the almost suffocating tightness, the stifling heat, the too much of Steven's willing body letting him in, letting him have this. He builds a rhythm, pushes deeper when Steven starts to arch back, fucks him slow and steady, kisses his lips and cheek and throat, sweat slick skin of his body sticking where they touch, everything damp and hot and close, hazy with intimacy, thick with sensation.
He untangles one hand, palms Steven's shoulder and back, strokes his ribs, fingers playing in the ridges under his skin, his side and hip and the swell of his arse, lightly touches where Brendan sinks into him over and over and feels the part of giving muscles. It's addictive, intoxicating, something he's simultaneously desperate to have until he tires of it and terrified that he never will. He slides his hand over Steven's hip, fingertips brushing up against his dick.
"Fuck, you're hard," and he fucking is, completely, painfully so and Brendan curls his fingers tight around him, strokes a slow rhythm with his thrusting hips. Steven's got no words for him, just incoherent whimpers, ragged cries like he's dying and Brendan wants to see his face, can't tamp down that urge when everything else is simmering so close to the surface. "Over."
He flips Steven onto his back and kneels between his spread legs, looks into his face and the part of his mouth when he looks back. Brendan runs his palms up Steven's thighs and can't help but blurt out, "fucking state of you," because he is a state, splayed and hard and flushed peach-pink, hair a blond mess, eyes liquid dark and focused heat - he's obscene and Brendan tells him so and watches him flush further under the praise.
He hooks his legs over Brendan's hips and catches him off guard, drags him closer roughly and Brendan falls over him with a laugh.
"Pushy bottom," he murmurs against Steven's mouth.
"You're not done with me yet, sir," and there it is again, fucking shiver zipping up his spine like a live wire.
"No, I ain't, boy," Brendan tells him in a low growl, can't help the way his voice catches around the words. He positions himself again, knees under him, hands against the mattress at Steven's sides, and slides home, one rough jolt that sends Steven sliding up the mattress. "Not even close, gonna make you scream."
Steven's fingers grip into his shoulders, his heel pressing into his back, and Brendan fucks him until he arches and tenses right up, moans, "oh, God," and he makes sure to hit him right there on every thrust until he's squeezing his eyes shut and offering the sweet arch of his neck to Brendan's watering mouth. He drags his lips and scrapes his teeth, leans his forehead against Steven's collarbone and breathes ragged against his sweat damp skin, completely high off the noises spilling from Steven's throat.
It's close to what he wants, the high cries and clenching muscles, Steven's fingers in his hair, digging and pulling like he's got no control over it, like he's trying to drag Brendan closer even though it's impossible, but not quite, not yet. He can see the steady dribble of pre-come leaking from Steven's cock and he takes his weight on one hand, slides his other up over Steven's stomach, through the stick white, slicks up his palm with it and wraps it around the hard flesh gently.
"How bad d'you wanna come, Steven?" he breathes roughly, nuzzles against Steven's jaw until he looks into Brendan's eyes, intense and focused because Brendan's his whole fucking world right now.
Steven whispers a broken plea, "please."
"Tell me," and he tightens his hand, strips Steven's dick, fucks him harder and he's not on a power trip here, he wants to know so desperately he can almost taste it thick and heavy on his tongue. "First time gettin' fucked, you like it?"
"Ye-yeah - oh, fuck," Steven's back curves off the bed, tight bow of tension and Brendan knows he's close and thank fuck for that because he's about to combust, Steven's tight, relentlessly gripping muscles too good to reign in his control. "Bren - don't stop - "
He curls his body over Steven's to get at his lips, licks between them, rough and desperate and messy, no finesse, just the dragging, wet heat of tongues and spit and gasping breath.
"Promise I won't. Come on, Steven," he grinds out, feels his orgasm building, searing, ringing like an alarm bell through his veins, under his skin, through his fucking bones. "Scream for me."
And Steven does, grips the back of his neck and digs fingernails into his back hard enough he feels his skin pop, tips his face against Brendan's jaw and cries out long and loud, high and fucking beautiful. He's lost to Brendan's body, shaking, arching, clinging so tight, come spilling over Brendan's fingers and slicking up his slip-slide over Steven's dick. He screams until he's cracking, sound like a sob choking out of him, breath he can't catch stuttering and beating against Brendan's face and it's enough to see and hear him like this, like Brendan's just taken him that fucking high, but the feeling of Steven's muscles fluttering around his cock is the last straw he can carry before he's burying inside Steven as deep as he can get and coming with a low moan and the earth splitting and shattering beneath them.
He's twisted inside out, a raging tide crashing up through his blood washing his vision in red and burning heat, so bright he can hardly stand it. His muscles ache from the force of it and he knows, vaguely and somewhere intangible through his muddled thoughts, that it's never been this good before. Steven's hands are gentle in his hair and he's shivering from too much sensation, sagging heavy over Steven's body, sweat-sticking and too-warm.
"Oh, God," he groans, one last shudder wracking painfully through his abused muscles. "Oh." Breath. "God."
Steven nods against him and hums in agreement. He's shaking, breath puffing against Brendan's hair and he has to look at what he's done.
What he's done.
Slept with a student, a vulnerable one nonetheless, taken his virginity, stripped him down in a million different ways and exposed his body and his bruises to Brendan's eyes and mouth and hands. Steven's - laughing, suddenly.
"What're you chucklin' at?" he asks and his voice is a wreck but not more than Steven is, when he does look.
He's flushed pink, blond hair a dishevelled mess, eyes shining bright and lips red and spit-damp and parted in a smile, one arm thrown haphazardly above his head on the pillows and his other hand playing over the tattoo on Brendan's arm.
"What if you've ruined me for other men?"
"Oh, charming," he scoffs. "I break you in and you've already got your greedy eyes on the lookout."
"Just gettin' ready for when you've had enough of me, that's all," Steven says through a smile and it's warm enough, a little joking, not at all bitter but he's all soft insecurities and need for some kind of assurance.
Steven's already prepared for some indeterminate, future rejection and Brendan should be glad. It should ease the awkward, jarring strain across his heart. He isn't and it doesn't and what does that mean? What words can he give Steven when he barely has any sense left for himself.
"Yeah, well, don't go gettin' too excited. I'm not done with you," and the word yet sticks in his throat and he can't even force it out.
Steven smiles wider, flushes deeper and flicks his gaze away in such an obvious tell of his emotions. Half the time he's as locked down as a death row prisoner and the other half he wears his heart on his sleeve so glaring that Brendan could read it in the dark.
He's got enough strength back in his body to pull himself loose from Steven with an uncomfortable rush of cold. He ties the condom off and tosses it somewhere towards the bin, doesn't much matter where it landed, he feels too nicely fucked to care, and rolls off Steven to settle in next to him, splayed out on his back.
Steven shifts on the mattress, winces and pulls faces that make him laugh.
"Sore?"
"A bit."
"I can always rub something on it tomorrow."
He grips Steven's arm and drags him half over his body, wraps him up and holds him close. Another thing he doesn't really do, intimacy, cuddling. Fucking hell. Yet, here he is, Steven against him, warm and sweet and safe and it's so good he could gorge on it to bursting if he let himself.
"I don't even wanna think about tomorrow," Steven sighs and he's suddenly cold all over with curiosity.
"You want me to take you back home?"
Steven looks up at him from his chest. "Well, I can't stay 'ere all weekend, can I?"
"Can't you?" Fuck, the hope on Steven's face is enough to choke him. "I wouldn't feel right about leavin' you there, Steven," and then he bites the bullet and just does it, just says what he's thinking, "anyway, I wouldn't sleep if you went home. I'd only worry about you."
"Okay then," Steven murmurs softly. "I'll just text my mum tomorrow and tell her I'm alright."
"Good." He dips down, kisses Steven's forehead and pulls the duvet over them. "Pull that string, up there."
Steven plants a palm on his chest and uses him as leverage to reach up and tug the light out. He settles back in Brendan's arms, effortless fit like he's already moulded in the right shape. Or maybe it's the other way around; maybe Brendan's always had that space carved out there and waiting to be filled.
Fucking soppy thoughts, now? He's clearly, finally shagged his brains loose.
"So, we're spending the weekend together - "
"Go to sleep."
Steven chuckles against his collarbone, rubs his nose and lips there and makes Brendan shiver with a soft, sucking kiss.
Spending the weekend together. What the fuck is he thinking? He can't blame it on his dick - not right now anyway. He can't blame it on booze. He'd plead insanity but he feels fairly calm. Steven's in his bed, in his arms, constantly in his thoughts and under his skin.
He's running dry on excuses.
" - no I'm not tellin' you where I am."
Brendan yawns, stretches out his abused muscles against the kitchen counter and tries to think back to the last time he's had so much sex in such a short period of time.
Might never have happened.
Huh.
"No, I've told you, why would he 'ave me stayin' over at his house? Mum, I'm fine, don't worry about me, okay? I'll see you when I see you. Course I'll ring. Mum - " Steven's voice carries from the living room but he's not bothered about being heard or he'd have gone outside. Brendan stirs milk into hot black coffee and inhales the bitter steam and tries not to feel like he's eavesdropping. "Has he hurt you?" His hand closes in on the spoon handle but it's anger he can't channel into anything in particular so he tries to let it go. "I don't know why you don't just - fine, you know what, fine. Do what you want, I'll talk to you later."
Steven appears in the doorway, fingers raking through his hair and wearing nothing but his grey jogging bottoms.
Brendan vaguely remembers saying he'd fetch him a spare t-shirt.
Oops.
"She okay?"
"Says she is," Steven sighs, holds out a hand for one of the mugs. "Hard as nails, that woman."
"What about you?"
Steven looks down into his coffee and smiles, soft and shy. "I'm fine."
He looks young like this, half naked and rumpled and genuinely bashful, even in the face of everything he's done in the last twelve hours. "Well, yeah, obviously," Brendan scoffs. "But I meant everything else? We don't exactly have a plan here, y'know?"
Steven shrugs. "Wing it?"
"Wing it - "
"We've done alright so far."
"Yeah, if by alright you mean you gettin' beat up and me potentially losing my job - "
"No, you were right; mum says Terry hasn't mentioned the police again."
"That's not what I'm talkin' about," Brendan admits reluctantly. He didn't want to burden Steven with this but there's too much at stake not to. "Eoghan - Mr Nolan, he knows. Well, he thinks he knows but it might not matter if he's got proof or not. He can make it sound as bad as he wants and around about now he hates my guts so - "
Steven goes wide-eyed. "So he's gonna tell someone?"
"I don't know," he says honestly. "He wants - he wants favours," and he can't do it, can't tell Steven what Eoghan wants, it's bad enough laying this on him. "Wants me on side. I really didn't wanna worry you with this, okay? But I had to, I need you to be more careful around Will."
"It's Will that's said summat?" Steven asks and now he's angry, free hand balled into a fist and the boy sparks like lightning his temper turns that suddenly.
"Steven - "
"I should of known he'd keep tryin' to get at me and he's too much of a coward to come lookin' for a proper fight."
"Hey! Whatever you're thinking right now, just stop," Brendan snaps. "Don't touch him, don't even talk to him. If you can go as far as pretending he doesn't exist, that would be great."
"Why should I when he's been shoutin' his mouth off like that?"
"And how would kickin' his teeth in help, huh?"
"It'd help me."
"This isn't funny, Steven, I'm serious. Don't go near him," but Steven rolls his eyes, gets that look about him like he's completely impenetrable and Brendan feels it bubbling up like a geyser, shit, he can't clamp down on it, it's too strong, "can't you just drop it for once? For us?" and there is it.
There. It. Is.
The words and the way he says them, the desperate way he says us, all the weight he throws behind that one already loaded word.
He wants the ground to open up and swallow him.
If nothing else, it knocks the wind out of Steven's sails and leaves him gawping and at least that's amusing; funnier than the feeling of having his skin sliced down the length of his body and torn wide open, guts spilling out everywhere and his nice and tender insides exposed to the judgement of his kitchen furniture.
The silence is too thick and Brendan turns and slumps over the counter, elbows against the top and forehead against the top cabinets which are, thankfully, cool.
He almost jumps when Steven drapes himself up his back, weight slouching against him and arms folded over his shoulder blades, lips pressing into the top of his spine.
Steven mumbles softly, "okay," and Brendan swells with so much fucking fondness he could claw his own eyes out.
Okay, just like that. Okay, for us. Steven being agreeable without a fuss because Brendan said the right thing and, "good," is all he says further on the subject because when he can't be sure he won't say something else dangerously right, it's just best not to talk.
"How are you gonna deal with Mr Nolan?"
"I'm gonna stay on his good side for the next four weeks," but that's not guaranteed to work; for all he knows, Eoghan is already writing up the report that's going to drop him in a whole world of pain.
"Except you're about as stubborn as you say I am."
Steven's warm words soak through his skin and he chuckles and finds the tension across his shoulders easing up. "Well, I got more self control than you."
"Yeah, it shows. I mean, you've only fucked me three times already since I got 'ere."
Brendan turns quickly, unbalances Steven and catches him with two firm hands on his hips. "I coulda fucked you twice that, Steven. Didn't want you to get too sore."
"Then maybe you could show me something else?"
Steven's getting hard against his hip and fucking eighteen year olds; Brendan's got almost ten years on him but it's like he's suddenly regressed in Steven's presence. He doesn't know if it's that stubbornness Steven's talking about or if Steven really does just drive him that crazy and half out of his mind with all the things Brendan wants to do to him.
He wants to see Steven undone over and over and over again until he never recovers, until he walks around day in day out looking like he looks right now.
"Whatever you wanna try, Steven. I'm your man."
Steven breathes, "everything," against Brendan's mouth and he doesn't doubt it, Steven really does want it all.
He digs his fingers into pliant skin, inhales soap and shampoo and the lingering, faint smell of sex and thinks he hadn't intended to leave the flat today, anyway, so it's a good job.
He thinks that despite the fact he's pretty sure what Steven's asking for is much more than sex.
