"What are you asking me?"
"You know what I'm asking." Ste leans against the countertop, fingers drumming nervously against it. He never takes his eyes off Brendan, not for a second. He isn't backing down.
"I was in prison for two years. I didn't exactly keep a diary, Steven. I can't remember every single tiny detail."
"Stop." Ste cuts through, sounding exhausting. Looking exhausted. "You always get like this when you don't want to tell me something - you start getting mouthy, defensive."
"You're calling me mouthy?"
"Alright, so I answer back sometimes," Ste concedes, eyes dark. "But I don't lie to you, not anymore. I don't want to have to answer the door to anymore Marcus's."
"I told you, he's just a -"
"What, a council rat in a tracksuit? Like Kevin was?"
That name isn't welcome in this house. They've never talked about him, not since the night that Ste told him that he beat Kevin to a pulp in the club and he left the village. Any mentions of him remind them both of that time. The accusation. The things that it led to.
"How many men did you sleep with in prison?" Ste's voice shakes, and Brendan wants to walk over to him, comfort him, do something. But the boy wants him to talk.
"Four." Brendan remembers the number, remembers it because every single one wasn't Ste.
He sees the dip of Ste's Adam's apple as he swallows, processing the information, eyes on the floor, nodding ever so slightly.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," Brendan continues, seems ridiculous now, too painful to think about. Did he really plan for a life without Ste? Did he really think that he could survive in prison on a thirty year stretch with no contact ever again?
He wouldn't have made it.
"Did you ever have any feelings for...for any of these guys?"
"Never," Brendan says, voice raised. Never. He wants to explain what he did: wants to tell Ste how he chose boys who reminded him of him. Same build, same profile, same hair and eyes, as exact as he could get it. But if he reveals the extent of his actions, of the twisted nature of them, then Ste might lose the love which, by some miracle, he kept hold of in the years since Brendan was gone.
"And Browning?"
"I didn't sleep with him - Jesus, Steven. You think I'd do that after Lynsey -"
"No." Ste almost laughs. "I mean his - what did you call it - accident." Suspicion rolls off his tongue.
Brendan mirrors the boy, fingers on the countertop, fidgeting.
"People get hurt in prison all the time."
"Bit of a coincidence though, don't you think? I tell you that he threatened me, and a couple of weeks later he's in the hospital."
"What are you saying - that I somehow snuck into prison and attacked him?" Brendan looks at him like he's crazy. More lies. But sometimes it's necessary.
"No." The boy looks self conscious, looks like he's doubting himself now. He shouldn't do that: nine times out of ten, he's right. "I thought maybe you hired one of your mates, made them do it."
"Didn't really have any mates in there." Not strictly true, but the less Ste knows the better. Maybe he thought Danny Houston was a once off, something he had to do. Killing for him four times - it makes him sound bloodthirsty. Sick. Depraved.
"And Trevor? He just disappeared -"
"Steven." Brendan makes sure that the boy's not holding a glass, doesn't fancy spending the day cleaning up more fragmented shards from the floor. "I came back here for you. I spent two years with you in my head - it didn't matter who else I was with. It was nothing. This isn't like last time. No one's gonna come between us."
Ste's pupils are large, eyelashes fluttering against Brendan's thumbs when he strokes them. The boy wants to believe him more than anything.
"Let's go back to bed, yeah?" Ste leads the way.
::::::
Marcus is waiting at the club. It didn't take him long to find out who owned the place. He felt a stab of jealousy when he discovered that it's a joint venture - Ste Hay and Brendan Brady.
The boy with the long eyelashes and sulky pout hadn't been lying about the boyfriend part then. They were in this together.
Ste runs up the stairs, spring in his step, the kind that he gets from spending the morning with Brendan's cock inside him. They'd shared a post coital breakfast in bed afterwards, Brendan's eyes following him whenever he'd taken a bite of toast, until he'd given up, plate discarded on the side.
"Have I got crumbs on my mouth or something? Why are you looking at me funny?"
He didn't get much of a chance to continue eating after that. Brendan had other ideas.
Ste halts when he sees the boy sitting on the sofa, the light in Marcus's eyes dimming.
"I thought you were Brendan." He doesn't hide his disappointment.
"Yeah, a lot of people say we look alike."
"Where is he?"
Ste moves closer until he's towering above him. "It's both our days off. I've just come to get a new bottle of lube. He keeps it in our office see, and we've run out."
He's come to get the jacket that he left here last night, but it's worth it for Marcus's reaction. His eyes narrow, hurt flashing across his face.
"I just want to see Brendan."
"You saw him this morning." He remembers having some semblance of patience with Kevin, however small. He'd even liked Macca.
He feels nothing but animosity now. Wants to get rid of this boy. Wants to throw him out onto the streets and never have to see him again.
Wants to do some damage.
"Someone was in the way." Marcus looks him up and down, face contorted like what he's seeing is wrong, disgusting.
Ste's had enough. He grabs the boy by the scruff of his t-shirt, his feet dragging along the floor. He feels an immediate ache in his arms - he's more slight than Marcus, but his anger's giving him strength. He ignores the yelps and protests, not deterred even when he feels nails scrapping across his skin, trying to force Ste to release him.
Ste kicks open the door, doesn't care when he attracts attention from the people outside.
"He doesn't want you." He speaks slowly but loudly, get the fucking message. "He loves me."
It's only when he says it that he realises how true it is.
::::::
Ste was with Doug for two years after Brendan left. Doug moved into the flat, and Ste moved the photographs out - Brendan and the kids, Brendan and himself. Everything that meant something was hidden, leaving space for Ste's new life.
Doug wanted them to share the same computer, thought that it would be more convenient when his laptop broke down.
Ste spent an afternoon on his own going through his hard drive, almost clicking delete only to hover over the files, eyes stinging. There were hundreds of photos stored, ones he'd never got around to printing. A few dozen that he'd taken in Dublin. Others that had been taken during their first and only Christmas together, Brendan sitting between Leah and Lucas on the sofa, the decorative lights bright and sparkling behind them. Brendan looked almost comical in his embarrassment - this was before he'd stopped regarding the kids as strangers, before they became his own.
Most of the photos were private. It had started out innocently enough - a few pictures jokingly taken in the bath, Brendan with a beard created with the lather from the bubbles. Ste lying on the bed in only his boxers, a beaming smile for the camera, Brendan's laughter filthy and happy as he took the pictures.
Soon they weren't wearing anything. They were pictures that kept each other going through the nights spent away from each other, Brendan in the club and Ste at the flat. Brendan would go to the office or the bathroom, give Ste something to think about until his shift ended.
Ste looked over his shoulder as he searched through the photos on the computer. He knew Doug was out, but it didn't stop him from being paranoid: he felt like Doug could see him, that he somehow knew. Sometimes he looked at him as though he thought Ste wasn't really there with him at all.
If Doug saw the photographs then he might leave him, and Ste would be alone again. But deleting them would erase the last traces of Brendan.
Ste hit delete, and tried not to cry.
::::::
Everyone's staring.
Jack. Frankie. Mercedes. Darren's pulling faces that make Brendan want to smack him. He's pretty sure he hears the word cute being used.
Jesus.
He's holding hands with his boyfriend. It's not like a fucking circus has come to town.
Part of him wants to let go, almost does. But then he sees Ste's face, the smile so wide that it looks like it must hurt. And Brendan can't be the one to take it away from him.
"Two pints please."
Jack doesn't mention anything, and Brendan's grateful for that. He frees both his hands to pay for their drinks, ignoring Ste's attempts to buy his own. He thought the boy would be used to this by now. Everywhere they go, Brendan pays. They've got into arguments about it a handful of times, but he always gets his way in the end.
"I'm not your wife, Bren. I do have my own money you know."
"Save it for when we next go to Dublin. Buy yourself a Guinness."
"Er, it's rank that." Then he stops, smiles. Realises that Brendan's talked about a next time.
They sit in a quiet corner so they can hear each other - the pub's full tonight, and they want some privacy.
Brendan never thought he could get used to this, never thought he could enjoy it - just talking. Just watching as Ste listens to him, cares about what he's saying, cares about him.
There's a lot of things he's only just finding out.
"How's Daniel?"
Ste smiles knowingly. It's an effort for Brendan - takes a good deal of willpower to even ask the question. He likes the man. But the story sticks in his head: Ste had taken him back to his flat. They'd almost -
Sometimes Brendan looks at Danny, wonders if the attraction still exists. Watches when he hugs the boy, laughs at his jokes, buys him presents like he's trying to make up for lost time.
He knows that Ste's comfortable around him. That he loves him. Sometimes Brendan sits in silence as they talk, wonders if he could have had that too if Seamus had been a different man.
The hardest part is that he'll never know.
"He's alright. He says hello."
Brendan sips at his beer, lips lingering on the rim of the glass.
"Really?" He feels touched. It's strange.
"Yeah." Ste nods, knows that Brendan's first thought is that he's lying to him, won't let him believe that. "And Peri keeps asking if you still have the beard." The boy reaches out, fingers feeling the rough hair, looks almost mesmerised doing it.
Brendan likes Peri. She reminds him of Ste: she's not afraid to speak back to him.
"Why?"
"Cos she's seen pictures of you without it. She wants to know what the tache is like."
Brendan runs his hand over the beard. "Do you think I should shave it?"
"I don't know. It would be weird, wouldn't it? Not to have all that stubble rash all over me anymore." The boy nearly splutters over his drink at his own words.
"I seem to remember you still having lots even with this thing," Brendan says softly, finger following the curve of his moustache, not as defined when surrounded by the rest of his facial hair.
Ste smiles, looking caught in a memory, only shaken from it when Darren approaches their table, food in hand.
"Ta." Ste pops a chip in his mouth before the plate even reaches the table. "Wait - we haven't done a cheers, Bren."
Brendan sighs but indulges the boy, raising his glass and clinking it against Ste's.
The smile he gets is worth it. So is watching the boy eat - ever since Brendan's returned, he's put some weight back on, started to fill his clothes again instead of the tracksuits hanging off him, revealing his former protruding ribs.
He's happy. It radiates off him, and Brendan thinks he might be able to forgive himself one day, if he can make that happiness last.
::::::
Brendan starts to believe that his warning has had the desired effect, and Skunk's gone.
He relaxes. Settles back into a pattern, a routine. Takings at the club are up - something that he puts down to the new menu they have, centered around Ste's cooking. They're able to hire more staff, and it means that he and Ste get to have more nights off.
He stops looking over his shoulder. Stops waiting to be blackmailed. Even when he runs into Doug in the street, he doesn't feel a sinking in his stomach, not in the way he used to. They walk past each other, eyes down, no snide comments. Brendan thinks he owes him that much - he did take Ste from him. Twice.
He can start planning for the future for the first time, finally thinks that he might have one. He's financially secure. Amy trusts him with the kids. Declan and Padraig are starting to let him back into their lives again, and Eileen's even exchanging more than two sentences with him at a time.
Things are coming together. He thinks about the life that he had before he went to prison, and one thing sticks out - something that he wanted to do, that he was robbed of.
He wants to make Ste his. Officially. He wants to marry him.
It's a fleeting thought at first, comes to him in the early hours sometimes, one arm curled around Ste in bed, the boy sleeping peacefully beside him. It's not just enough, this life that they have - it's everything. But boyfriend is beginning to sound insubstantial for what they are. Partner sounds too formal, too clinical, too cold.
Husband. Yeah, he could get used to that.
Sometimes he wonders what he's become. He gets a moment of searing hatred for what he is, what he's turned into. It's fast and painful and he hears his father's voice, knows how much he'd despise him for what he's contemplating. Then he reminds himself: Seamus is dead. The old Brendan's dead. This is who he is now, and that moment in the deli that he shared with Ste two years ago - we're like an old married couple, wouldn't be so bad - it's fresh in his mind. He wants it.
He goes into town, is shifty when Ste asks to come with him.
"I need to get some new trackies, don't I?" He's already putting on his trainers, grabbing his umbrella to face the rain outside.
"Don't you have enough already? You could open your own sports shop." Truth is, Brendan likes him in them - reminds him of when they first met, and the boy had a sweeping fringe and more of an attitude than Brendan could handle.
"I'm not asking you to pay for them, if that's what you're thinking."
Brendan's persuasive when he wants to be. He doesn't give Ste time to react, just kisses around his earlobe, hand snaking into the boy's boxer shorts. They stand in the hallway, rain lashing outside, the weather cold, Brendan's hand moving frantically. Ste's breath is hot on his neck as he leans against him, and he doesn't question him, doesn't ask Brendan where all this has come from. He's used to it now, the spontaneity. They both are.
"Fuck." A laugh escapes from his throat, braying and delicious.
Brendan doesn't stop until his hand is full of Ste's come. He walks to the sink afterwards, washing his hands while Ste lies agains the stairs, pulling up his trousers and catching his breath.
He looks up at Brendan through his lashes when he joins him again. Then he shuffles forward on the carpet, unzipping Brendan's jeans, lips parting.
Brendan wants to. Really fucking wants to. Wants nothing more than to feel Ste's mouth around him. But if he doesn't leave now then the boy will find some way of joining him, and his plan will be fucked.
"Later." Brendan kisses him, lips lingering for longer than he intends. He laughs at Ste's evident disappointment. "I'll be back soon."
The image of Ste waiting for him on the carpet, mouth still open, makes Brendan race to his car, determined to be back as quickly as possible.
When he makes it into town, he heads straight to the various jewellers, but nothing seems right. The rings are all too showy, all diamonds and rubies shining brightly behind the glass. It's the kind of thing that he'd have considered buying Eileen. They're not for a man.
It's only when he's about to give up that he finds it. It's the plainest one he's seen - a gold band. He can imagine Ste wearing it.
Brendan buys it before he can change his mind, and races back home for Ste to finish what they started.
::::::
He's not normal.
That's what a parent tells Brendan at the gates of Lucas's school.
You're off your head, mate. You need help.
He's had help. Has had two years of help. It's changed him, made him control his temper - all that count to twenty shit, it works.
But some things can't change.
He finds Lucas crying in the playground after school, his knee grazed and bloodied. There are tears streaking down his face, and Brendan holds him while he cries against his chest, his small body heaving in his arms.
He doesn't tell him to stop crying. Doesn't tell him to be a man, or any of the things his father would have said. He rubs his back, lets him get it all out, kissing his hair.
"Who did this?"
Lucas points to a boy across the playground. He looks frightened when he sees Brendan. There must be something about his expression, about his eyes.
He takes Lucas's hand, charging over to the boy, feeling like blood's roaring in his ears. He doesn't hit him. You don't hit children. They have to be protected.
But when the boy's mother finds them he's shouting at him, voice raised more than he'd like. All Brendan can feel is Lucas's hand in his, fragile and warm and alive. All he can hear is the sound of his sobs.
Ste's boy. His boy.
He apologises to the woman, does it because he knows that Lucas is bound to tell Ste, and he doesn't want to seem like even more of a dick than he already is. Doesn't want anyone to make an official complaint against him.
And he knows she's right: he's not normal. Not when it comes to Ste.
