A/N:

In case of any miss-understanding the age of consent in the UK is 16.

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Chapter Warning:

This takes off after immediately the last chapter so there's quite a bit of angst.

There's quite a bit of bad language too.

And at the end there's a nice bit of porn ;)

Chapter Four – Brendan Brady.

Oh God Steven.

"That's what small-fry get when they cross Mr Fox. A nice speedball," Foxy's lackey laughs as he kicks at Steven like you would a dog who'd given up hope.

Fuck he's had a cocktail of Heroin and Crack.

"He's still chasing the dragon." The thug explains the high, "but it shouldn't be long before the come down. It's been over 2 hours."

As I look at Steven his eyes momentarily focus on me but then he's back to wherever his brain has taken him – I can barely stand it.

"Right, then what?"

"Boss said to let him come down and, as soon as he's nearly with it, he needs mainlining again."

Fuck the bastard is letting him come down and then injecting him again.

"The lay-outs over there." He says nodding over to the small coffee table which has a tourniquet and five syringes full of light brown liquid.

There's three used syringes as well. That's enough to cause serious withdrawals. I try to think clearly for minute. Shit that means the bastard's had him here between six and eighteen hours!

"Are you sure Mr Fox wants you to take over?" he asks.

He looks at me suspiciously, as well he might. You know, Foxy doesn't give people jobs without explaining the minutia, doesn't want anything lost in translation, or his lackeys thinking they have minds of their own – never has done.

"What do you think?" I say. "Do you think I would come all the way down here just for fun?"

"Yeah ok. I will leave you to it. Boss says when you've used up all the Hype's to chuck him out somewhere."

Fuck they were actually planning to use all those syringes then just leave him somewhere. That's exactly what he did to Cameron. My mate Walker's little brother. One of the lads. Foxy got them some gear to sell but the little twirp deliberately screwed him over - selling gear for more than agreed and taking the extra cut. You know he always thought he was more important than he was. But to Foxy he was just another pubescent dope pusher, and he has an abundance of those at his disposal. To make sure everyone understood he proved his point and sorted it. In the way he's sorting Steven now. Walker couldn't protect Cameron. He's stuck in that hospice in a complete vegetative state. Walker took me to see him once. It was like he was trapped inside his own body. Unable to communicate or respond to anything or anyone.

But now's not the time to think about that – I need to get to Steven.

I listen out to make sure the man has gone.

"Steven… Steven!" I shout at him and gently shake him.

"Braaa-deeey?" He slurs at me…trying to focus his eyes.

"Steven! Come on focus we have to go," I say, knowing it won't be long before baldy phones Foxy or gets to the club.

I try to get him to stand but he says "diz….dizzy" and suddenly vomits. Then continues to dry heave. I don't know how long he's been kept here. I doubt he's had much to eat or drink lately. I sit him down on a chair and manage to find a glass in the kitchen and get him some water.

He drinks a little, although it mostly goes over him. He is so out of it. With two hands on his waist, I manage to get him to his feet and out the door. I have a quick look to check Foxy or his minions aren't about. Fuck we've got twelve flights of stairs to get down!

"I'm going to have to carry ye, Steven."

I fling him over my shoulder and take the stairs as quickly as possible. Course it's difficult - he's a dead weight and doesn't seem very responsive. I get to the car and place him in the passenger seat and put the seatbelt on before running round and getting in. I drive home well over the speed limit. Checking in the rear view mirror for anyone following.

I pull into the driveway and fling my door open, running round to the passenger side. I open the door and pick Steven up in my arms.

"Brady?" he looks at me seemingly a bit more alert.

The boys are away on a school trip for the weekend so I take him inside and sit him on the sofa. He looks at me as though he has no idea where he is or where he's been. He's shifty and restless, his eyes are darting from me to the window and he's wringing his hands together. I try to explain a bit of what happened but he suddenly seems fatigued and drowsy again so I lay him down and he drifts. This cycle of restlessness and fatigue continues for another hour. This is the start of the come down.

He seems a bit less drowsy now but still pale and he's started sweating, you know? He is complaining of cramps in his limbs and feels nauseous. I try and get him to sip some water, it's what he needs, but he shakes his head and stares out the window.

"I remember what 'appened." He says whilst absent mindly scratching his arms, "I went to collect more gear off Mr Fox when his sidekicks grabbed me. I tried to get away, I kicked out but they were too strong. Mr Fox said this is what 'appens when I don't pay up."

"They shoved me in the back of a car and took me to that flat," the scratching becomes more frantic. "Then…then they…one held me down while the other injected with some shit. I was proper struggling, I really was, but they shot it in an' I just felt this rush and me body went all jelly like," The scratching gets worse…he's bleeding now.

"Steven!" I grab his hands. "Stop it! Stop it! Look what you are doing!" He tries to escape my grasp. "Steven, look at me," I say gently and look into those eyes.

Fuck he's beautiful.

He looks at his arms and then up at me "I can't stop. It feels like 'undreds of insects are crawling under my skin. Brendan! Please, what's 'appening to me?!"

"Shh, calm down. It's just the come down from that crap they gave you. It's ok. Shh"

He suddenly jumps and wraps his arms around my neck and buries his face into my shoulder and sobs. Violently sobs you know, I can feel the tremors jerking through his body and the tears soaking my shirt. My hands are flaccid by my side but as I feel my heart rate increase and my feelings for this boy heighten, I wrap my arms round him and hold him close. Just hold him and stroke the back of his neck, soothing him.

***S&B***

The sobs eventually subside. He doesn't withdraw from my embrace. When he's back with me he says he needs to go home for Leah and Lucas. But he can't go anywhere can he? Not in the state he's in. I'm definitely not sending him back to his Mum. Christ, she doesn't look after him when he's messing about with these men that he likes – she's not going to support him through this is she? Anyway she won't support him the way I can. So I tell him I'll sort it, call in a favour. He protests - says he's fine, he's so stubborn, this boy, but I manage to talk him round.

When he finally agrees I tell him, "Leah and Lucas are lucky to have you."

He smirks a little, shakes his head and says, "they not got one lucky bone in their bodies."

I start to ask what he means but he asks for a shower, so when he's in there I make a call. Jen - she still owes me from that stuff with Housten way back. I tell Jen to go to the house, act like she's new to the area and looking for a friend. Be all charming to Steven's Mum and stay there to keep an eye on the twins. You know there's this sort of satisfaction over the idea of manipulating Pauline – yeah it's perverse but some people just don't deserve to be parents.

He comes down from the shower hair still damp, fringe sticking to his forehead, nothing but a small towel wrapped round his waist. I can't stop from looking him up and down, and you wouldn't either. But he catches my gaze with a reminder of what's been through. Now is not the time.

"Er," he says. He blushes a little – Lord he's adorable when he does that! "I was wondering if you have anything I could wear, like. Me other clothes got sick on 'em aint it"

Inwardly I shake my head at myself, he's so, so young, these feelings I have for him aren't right. But we both know I don't have the slightest control.

"I'm sure we can find something."

He follows me upstairs and I find the smallest t shirt I have and some joggers. But even with the waist tie pulled right in they look massive on him, he looks so small.

Looking at him looking so innocent I can't wrap my head around the events of the last twenty four hours – how much he's been through. Jesus, he doesn't deserve any of this.

Yeah, you can still see the small puncture mark on his left arm.

We sit in the lounge and he folds himself up into me, like he thinks he knows he's safe with me. And for the next twenty four hours I will do whatever it takes to keep him under my guard. He will remain in my protection. He deserves at least that.

Tucked up into me he asks me what's going to happen so I detail the comedown and withdrawal.

"You're going to feel anxious and scared and these feelings will be heightened. You're going to get angry. With me. With everything. And you're probably not going to be aware of most of it. And you need me here to take it. I'm going to be here to remind you it will end. That you will get past it. And it will be tough but," I angle his face to look at me as I make him a promise, "we will get through it."

"We?"

"Yes, Steven. We." I promise him, "this isn't something you can do on your own. I promise I won't stop protecting you."

He smiles at me, but you can see he's still scared. He doesn't deserve this, any of this. He's going to endure so much pain and so much confusion and I would do anything to take the bullet for him.

***S&B***

He's agitated. Moving swiftly about the room, pacing up and down, down and up. It's like he's waiting for something but he can't remember what.

He hits the wall for the second time and groans.

"God I'm so fucking tired!"

"Come and sit down," I say, keeping my voice calm.

"That's not going to help anything is it? They're still gonna get me."

He's paranoid and frantic; yeah he's on the long way down now.

"No-one's gonna get you here Steven, I promise."

He looks at me, long and hard, like he's sussing out whether he can believe me. But then he turns away from me. His whole body starts shaking. And when he turns back tears blink from behind those eyelashes. There's something about his openness that is…No, I know now is not the time to think he looks beautiful.

"I'm dead scared," he tells me, like he feels so vulnerable.

I nod – I hope he sees it as supportive. "That'll be the drugs leaving your system."

"The drugs?!" He asks incredulously, "Yeah nowt but the drugs innit? Fuck's sake Brady, you act like you know sometimes and then-" and then he starts hitting the wall with both fists - pounding it and pounding it. And his words are no longer coherent because he's sobbing.

I'm with him in a moment. Stand with my front pressed into his back, grab his wrists away from the wall. I just hold him. And feel his entire body cave into mine.

"Sssh," I breathe.

He responds to me easily – you know, like a kid who's been picked up after a fall. He's so young.

We stand together for a while, the world's getting darker.

He's so skinny. I can feel everything he is against me, you know, all his ligaments and tendons. There's this big bit of tension running all the way down his back and I think about how he was sat on that warehouse floor, his head lolled and uncomfortable. I can't stop thinking about how long he was there, how long he would have been there if I hadn't found him…

He doesn't have the faintest idea what he's getting himself in for, with Foxy or with me. I can't work out how to keep him under protection whilst staying away. Lord knows I can't let him stay, but what would he go back to if I send him home?

I try to leave him be but he just clings onto me.

I swear to you that I'll think about these things in the morning but he needs me now.

"I can't – breathe," He tells me.

He starts to cough erratically, you know like he's choking. I stroke his back, I tell him it's alright, and keep telling him until I feel him relax.

"There's something I can do to help you relax, Steven, but you're gonna have to trust me, OK?"

His whole body tenses like he knows he shouldn't trust anyone, least of all me.

There was one thing Eileen always used to do if I'd had a hard day or the nightmares were back. It always worked and I think I got some good tips from her. It might work, and I'm running out of options.

"Do you think you can do that?"

With my head on his shoulder I feel him swallow hard and then he just nods once.

"Take your top off."

I feel the words coat between us. Even with my mind on what I meant the air suddenly gets clogged and I start to feel like I'm the one who can't breathe. His body goes all slack in my arms like he's just giving in. His spine remains ridged.

He turns around but stays pressed against me, and then his mouth is searching for mine.

"What are you doing?"

"Can't we kiss first?" He says with a tone like he's pleading, "and then I'll do proper anything."

"I'm not going to have sex with you Steven!"

His face blanches, his eyes widen like he's shocked. And then he blinks slow and heavy a couple of times – like he can relax now. Like he can breathe now that promise is between us.

Jesus! What sort of life has this lad had if the first thing he thinks of is sex? And even if he didn't want it he would just let himself go there, be used like that? What's happened to him? I get this urge in me to protect him, save him, although I still don't really know what's going on here, I know I will always keep him under my protection.

I press my fingers through his hair, trail his cheek bone with my thumb, trying to soothe these scars underneath. His hand folds into my own and he's smiling at me then, blue eyes clear and sparkling, like he trusts me. It's as if for the first time today he's feeling something other than despair and manic desperation.

Yet there is still that knot of tension in his spine.

"We could…" He tells me, his eyes speaking of low light promises, mutual desire. Like he wants this too. "You know, if you want..."

God how I 'want'.

"Maybe one day, but not tonight. I'm just going to help you relax. But you need to take off your clothes."

He looks down at himself, the way he fits in my t-shirt and trackies. God he's cute when he smiles like that.

"Your clothes," he points out.

"OK take off my clothes," I laugh slightly.

He reaches up for the buttons of my shirt. I know, I should have known he was going to do that. I trap his hands with my own, prevent his movements.

"Steven," I say, warning him.

And he almost - sighs. He looks up at my mouth and this smile turns his lips like he's thinking about consolation. He just looks at me for a while, a long while.

Then his eyes are on the floor as he steps back and starts stripping. I feel a puff of air leave my lungs - I hadn't bargained on the self-control this will take.

"What are you going to do to me?"

"I'm going to give you a massage."

A few minutes later he's laying out on my sheepskin rug by the fire, dressed only in his black boxers. His entire body is open to me, his arms stretched above his head, his fingers flexing into the corners of the rug. My hands work the tension at the base of his back and his moans keep coming like a tune.

I've explored his back from the dip of his shoulder bones, to the base of his tail bone and he's purely relaxed now.

His body responds to every touch from my fingers, and I know that's less to do with Eileen's book and more to do with us. And I know I shouldn't let it go this far, but there's still a part of me that thinks this is purely innocent. The lies we tell ourselves are always the strongest.

He looks almost golden, you know, as the dim light highlights every shape. It's all I can do to keep my mind from every memory we've ever made. I start to feel like he's not the only one who's vulnerable right now.

I breathe long and steady as my hands go lower, right by the waistband of those shorts.

He flips his head around and gives me that smile, the one that speaks of sassy remarks and cheeky memories. I feel my heart rush, and run my fingers through his hair, turning him back around.

"Ssh," I order.

He huffs in amusement. And then there's a long slow whimper as I trace up his spine. And it's like that noise travels straight from his lips and right through me, tightens something within me.

I close my eyes and I feel him dipping and bending beneath me. His whole body moving. I open to investigate his movements and realise what he's doing.

Jesus.

His face, tilted towards the fire, shows a play of tension and desire.

"Steven!"

He's getting himself off on the roughness of the rug.

He opens an eye and sees me watching, flips around quickly. He looks down at himself - his hardness. Y'know invitingly, like he's all for me. And you have no idea how much I want him. But I can't take him when it'll just be a reaction to the drugs. His other men may not have minded what he thought about it, what they meant to him, but I only ever want to be his sharpest fantasy.

"I'm not going to have sex with you Steven," I remind him.

I know he's so strung out he won't even remember it in the morning.

"I thought you said you wanted to help."

"I do, I am, but not like this, you don't need help like this."

"You're always on about what I need, like you know what's best for me or sommit, well I'll show you what I need…" He says and he's lowering the waistband of those boxers and then he's right before me, the evidence of how much he wants me, how badly he wants my help.

He's so hard, harder than I've ever seen him and God he looks magnificent. But I know that's the drugs too. The intoxication makes everything just that little bit more sharp. This massage was the worst idea of my life. He's never going to get to sleep now.

He's so fucking beautiful. All I can think is he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen, and I know, OK, I know - I'm in far too deep. On instinct I reach out and touch him, run my thumb up the underside of his cock and he arches into me. As he does so his body shakes and he collapses down onto the rug. His eyes close and he laughs, manically, like he's still high.

I can't do this.

He knows the moment I'm stood up over him, his eyes open with a glare. He looks at me like I'm evil, he can't see that leaving is the right thing to do. He looks at me like I'm weak, but this is the strongest I've ever had to be.

I have no words for him as I turn on my heel.

"Brady, please?" He whines like walking away is the worst thing I could ever do, like he'd feel rejected forever. And I can't let that happen can I?

But I'm not about to take him when he can't ask for it. So my desperate mind latches to the only thing I can offer. No, honestly I don't know how this is going to make him feel when he's back with me in the morning, but it can't be as bad as rejection, or as confusing as sex.

"I'm not going to have sex with you Steven," and he closes his eyes and groans, "I have another idea though."

I sit down on the couch in front of him.

"If. You. Want," I put so much emphasis on those words because this has to be all about him. "I can watch, and get off too. If you want."

As soon as I've spoken his smile grows so wide like all he needed was to know I wasn't immune to him. All he needed were the promises that whenever I see him, or hear him, or touch him I will always feel. As if there's any other way.

He stares at me. His eyes shine as I pull down my zip. He bites his lip and nods quickly, that look that heats through me. I take myself up and over the top of my suit trousers, remember what he said before about my suits, and leave nothing but my cock exposed.

He takes off his boxers and sits entirely bare on my sheepskin rug.

"What do you want me to do?" He asks, his voice slow.

Fuck, "you want me to tell you?"

And he nods.

***S&B***

It lasts all of five minutes, for both of us. He's pulled so taut it's easy to push him into the abyss and as he comes, back arching, toes curling, face flushing, screaming, it's the most incredible thing I've ever seen. He is the most incredible thing.

We clean ourselves up. Then he lies back and just watches me.

"Thank you," he says eventually.

And that word feels precious, like there's an honesty he's found with me that he hasn't with anyone else. I know, I do have to ask him about his others, I have to find out what's happened to him, why he lets himself be used so readily, so nastily. I can't do that today though, not with the day he's had. I have one mission tonight - to keep the monsters at bay. Tonight is when I keep him protected.

As the day gets later there's this feint smile on his beautiful lips, they keep twitching to let out a small sigh. You know he just looks stunning.

He runs a hand up over his shoulder, and without thinking I realise I've done the same - touching myself in the same way. And there's not a breaths touch between us, but these movements we make feel like a hug.