A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I'm so happy you're all loving it and it makes it even more fun to write. I hope this update doesn't disappoint! Thanks as ever for all the kind words. I appreciate it.

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Part Seven – Ste

"Does every visit have to turn into some media circus?" Amy said on a humid Sunday when Ste had packed them into his soft-top and driven to Southport. It was a weekend off from the football but photographers and their long-lenses hovered. He just told Amy to block them out as he swept Leah's hair out from her scoop of ice cream.

"I'd thought you'd sorted it before?" Amy stood in the path between the photographers and Lucas. She'd been splashed over the magazines before but when the press gave up on any reunion between her and Ste, they became less interested.

"They're banned from showing their faces," Ste said wiping Leah's mouth as she squealed away. "You're such a mucky-pup you are!" He imagined the pixelated snaps of his family snaps now as the doting father, speculating how the next woman in his life would take on the role of step-mother.

Later on when the kids occupied themselves with crabbing in isolated twinkling rock pools, far and away from the paps, Ste asked of her latest romance which had developed rapidly from dating to proposals. Lee – the sap's name – was a pitifully low budget TV producer on some psychic TV channel but was all too used to "the perils of fame and fortune" or so he'd told Amy when they'd first met. She'd stopped trying to pretend she wasn't THE Amy Barnes who'd been knocked up as a teenager by the man who'd go onto to play for City.

"Well just be careful, alright? That's all I'm saying. You've had enough blokes in the past try and use you for a bit of fame."

She tutted loudly giving him a shove and helping out Lucas with his bucket. "Says you going out with any old thing off the telly!"

"Yeah and you know why."

"Has daddy got a girlfriend?" Leah grinned, twirling on the spot with excitement. Kids talk – that's what they'd decided long ago and it was too dangerous for her to know the truth until she was old enough to handle it.

"Not right now sweetie. Shall we go and look for mermaids?" And like that she was distracted, poking around for Ariel in the seaweed.

On the drive home the kids were zonked, hulked through all emotions from sugar, salt and sun overdose and crashed out asleep. They stopped off on the way for Amy to pick up a petrol station tea and when she returned, blowing on it softly, she stopped Ste through the window masking a grin as he looked at his phone.

"Oh yeah?" She said, slipping into the passenger seat and craning her neck to see before he pushed the phone back into his pocket. She clapped her hands a little. "Have you worked things out with Adam?"

"No!" He whined a like a child, buckling up and pulling back onto the motorway. "It's over, done, finished. I'm well shot."

Amy hummed a little. "He's so lovely. I think you're making a mistake."

"Right, well. It's not up for discussion Ames."

"Because you've got someone else on the go?"

"That's not the reason we broke up."

"But you're seeing someone."

"Yeah."

Seeing someone? He guessed it was called that even when 'seeing' them lately involved being pre-occupied in thought and barely getting any time alone. Brendan's texts fluttered his demeanour like a teenage girl, even if they were the most mundane and scrambled with autocorrect as well as Brendan's odd and dated command of text speak. Of an evening they were littered with his horny ramblings and desperation for a hook-up, ones which weren't cock blocked by managers, agents, coaches, an actual girlfriend and girls on beard duty.

The night together from two weeks ago, rolled into a whole night when Brendan switched off his phone and told reception to ring Eileen with some poor excuse for him that miraculously involved staying away for the night. It had ended in the morning with Ste attempting to make the cut first, figuring he'd save Brendan the awkwardness of having to pretend he meant what he'd said about making their arrangement a regular one in his post-blowjob haze.

He'd been showered, dressed and tying his laces when Brendan perked up from sleep.

"You goin'?" He asked groggily.

Ste laid on the smile. "Thought I'd piss off before you were forced to kick me out." It was easier after a one night stand to take the option away from them and leave before they had the chance to say: Well…that was fun but…

He sat up in bed and Ste looked away to stop reminded himself of being pressed fully against that warm chest of his. "Steven." He crooned his name. "Don't make this into nothing."

Ste shrugged. "It was a good night." His voice gave the mediocre review of five star sex.

"Yeah and 'We should do it again sometime'. How many of those gems are you planning on spinning me this morning? Cut the bullshit."

He stood hands on hips at the foot of the bed and then loosened up realising that he looked like a lecturing wife. "No. You first. I wanna know what last night was to you. Properly."

When he smiled, a real one, it took over his whole face making him look like someone new. "Something I want to do again. With you, obviously. When you're not slagging me off to The Sun or got your arm round some bimbo."

He shook off a reluctant laugh.

"No one else gets an open ticket y'know so you should count yourself lucky."

"Honoured." He was snarky; Brendan liked the sharp attitude. The little flushing thrill he got from Brendan's comment surprised him and he turned from sight.

"You better leave me your number, ain't ringing your agent when I got a boner the size'a your pay cheque."

"Give over. You ain't that big." His tongue stuck out between his teeth. He had the ache to prove he was lying. "Giss ya personal phone then. You got a special code you put next to your shags?"

Brendan chucked him the phone and grumbled at him. "Most of 'em didn't have names let alone phone numbers."

"You're dead romantic you are." Ste said, turning on the phone. "Eighteen missed calls from your girlfriend."

He groaned a bit.

"What are you gonna tell her?" Ste said keying in his number, tongue out for concentration.

"I don't know," Brendan said, flipping the bedcover back and taking the phone off Ste, smiling that he'd entered the number under 'Steven'. "Palm her off with dinner."

Ste stroked his hands up the flank of Brendan's body and told him he better get going.

Since then they'd only managed an all-too-fleeting celebratory fuck when Brendan was still sweaty from a victory against Townhill and had driven straight across the city, post-match interview. Before it, Ste had indulged in a greasy Chinese - he imagined most of his team mates wouldn't dine in less than three Michelin stars these days – feet up on the sofa and lager in hand. He'd only felt the need to drink for comfort that night, not to numb. He hadn't heard from Brendan all day and hadn't expected to - the game took precedent on a Saturday, same for him - but there was that pang of adrenaline when Brendan stepped out on the pitch. For the first time in his life he cheered when United trounced the opposition.

Two hours later when he was deciding between a Danny Dyer movie and an early night, his door buzzed. He was always wary if someone had found their way straight on up without using the intercom as it meant one of his inconsiderate hipster neighbours had been careless enough to let them slip past. He let it buzz twice and then ambled over to the CCTV camera.

Brendan was zipped up in his team tracksuit when he pounced, kicking the door shut with his foot. His kisses felt like a vacuum – all that bodily power and force – and Ste felt empty on his feet, rocking into open mouthed embrace. He smelt of the pitch: misty rain and mud and his skin still thrummed from the roar of the crowd chanting his name.

Fuck, Ste groaned hazily into his mouth before Brendan took his bottom lip and sucked it in, tongues clashing again when Ste whined, slamming hands into his chest. That chest. He could wilt at the thought of it. As they separated, Ste pressed his nose against Brendan's moustache and smiled into him. Some hello. He saw Brendan's gaze flicker across his shoulder, cooing smugly against his ear.

"You've been rewatching my match?"

"The Townhill goalie is proper fit."

Brendan pushed him away with a scoff and unzipped his tracksuit, kit still underneath. Making himself at home then.

"You're not supposed to wear it home y'know." Ste said, resuming his drink and offering Brendan one. "Can't believe you're wearing that in my house! The cheek of it!"

Brendan murmured around the apartment in admiration. "I'll take it off if you want."

"Only if you promise to take a shower." Ste pointed at him like a nag.

"Does it include an appearance from the RAW Water model?"

"What you on about?"

Brendan indicated the framed poster on the wall that he was given by RAW when the commercial launched. One of the black and white ones, pouting with cascading water over erect nipples. He'd heard thousands of girls drink nothing but the stuff these days, drooling over the billboards of his body and getting on buses just because his image was plastered across it and cutting the adverts out of magazines. Brendan bordered on their levels of lust by the way he studied the photograph.

"Bit vain, isn't it? Having that hung on your wall?"

"It was a gift." Ste folded his arms.

"From that fella of yours?" Ste wondered what his tone of voice hinted at.

"From RAW." Ste watched him flick gum around his mouth, eyes transfixed. "You finished? Cos I am standing right here you know."

Brendan cocked his head to the side and sauntered forward, inhaling in study as he thumbed Ste's nipples through his t-shirt. "You've still not congratulated me."

"Was I meant to?" Ste's sarcasm lessened impact when his eyes sunk at the sweet circular motion of Brendan's thumbs. He still wouldn't give him the satisfaction of a compliment about his game. As a footballer he was still a knob. Sure, watching him he felt a clench inside of what seemed to be a schoolboy crush and his thighs in HD brought back exquisite memories, but he was nasty out there on the pitch – selfish. They barely discussed football in texts, unless it was a throwaway comment about training. Even though they shared the same professional world, it was outside the locked door where it couldn't interfere.

"You can make it up to me, Steven." He slipped his hand in Ste's hair and flicked the tips of it in his fingers.

"See, I read your manager's given you a sex ban. Sommit about no distractions. Nothing too strenuous." It had been splashed all over the papers that morning: The WAG ban. No sex for the first two months of the season, something about testosterone and focus. "Wouldn't wanna break that would ya?" Ste scrunched his nose, chin high and defiant in the air.

"No, maybe you're right," Brendan said taking a step back. "Maybe I'll get off then?" He jerked his thumb towards the door.

Ste caught him by the hem of the United kit. "Thought you liked breaking the rules." His finger brushed against the softly haired patch of tummy underneath the shirt and his stomach lurched.

Brendan stepped up close, breath sweet and minty on his lips. "And what rules would those be?"

He hooked his finger into the waistband of Brendan's shorts and chewed on his own bottom lip. He'd never been so obsessed in thought over a bloke before, even with Adam he hadn't been letting thoughts of him chase him around the field.

His eyes sparkled when he teased. "I don't think your manager would be too happy with you copping off with your rival now would 'e?"

"Who says you're my rival?" Brendan had walked him back so they were pressed up against the bathroom doorway now, its frame pressing into Ste's back.

"That's what the papers say," Ste said, laughter breathless as their mouths hovered close like the foreplay to a kiss.

Ste eyed Brendan's tongue as he talked. "Shouldn't believe everything you read. Like you and the Page Three girl up all night."

"You been researching me?"

Brendan's nose nuzzled his. "Keeping an eye on ya."

"Oh yeah?"

His moustache brushed his lip. "Yeah."

"So I'm a distraction?" Ste tutted and the space between them shortened when Brendan leans his arm on the door. His fingers screwed into the sponsors at the front of the shirt and the heat from him radiated to an aching degree that the need to see him naked grew and grew.

Brendan hummed against him in disagreement and traced a pencil thin line with his tongue across the opened arch of Ste's mouth. "Coach comes up to me and says 'Brady I dunno what's got into you, but keep it up. You're on fire'."

Ste dragged his thumb down into Brendan's pubic hair and smiled. He lent into Brendan's mouth and their tongues met silkily, with Brendan's hand behind, opening the door into the bathroom.

Brendan urged Ste into the open shower first, and they fought playfully in the water, Ste shrieking and Brendan pressing him bodily against the tiles. His eyes glazed over with lust, biting down into Ste's shoulder until he'd marked him possessively and coaxed him under the lashing water.

"I want the live show," Brendan said in a purr, stroking his throbbing dick and Ste letting the shower waterfall down his hard nipples, across the head of his cock. He taunted Brendan, teasing out his thirst with a flirtatiously slow drag of his fingertips down his own erection and watching him roll on a condom.

Ste's chest hitched with a violent gasp as Brendan hoisted him and slammed him against the wall, their mouths groaning together and Brendan positioning him awkwardly – all sharp angles rutting against the tiles – his hands tightly gripped into Brendan's wet hair. He jolted in pain at Brendan's first thrust, powered by the wait of weeks' desire, and then knees squeezed around his middle, head thrown back against the tiles and a low moan ripped from his lungs when pleasure thrummed through every fibre. Brendan's dirty mouth was worse than he'd heard in the changing rooms and it made him ripple in nervy laughter, moaning louder when Brendan's paced slowed and ground him into a rhythm that hit his spot every time. He just knew – and Ste didn't know how – exactly the pace to pick up and how to roll his hips until Ste was a hot, cumming mess.

They spread out on the sofa afterwards, dozy in towelling dressing robes with Match of the Day on in the background.

"Why the Park position?" Brendan said, arm around the back of the sofa and eyes locked on Ste.

"It's the only thing I've ever wanted, ever since I was a kid," Ste said, eyes brimming with memories of his childhood, grubbing kneed and thinking of his Michael Own mansion and 2.4 family, not thinking about how he'd never fully quench the happiness those dreams once had. "What about you, what's your big dream?"

Brendan shrugged a little and Ste grew ticklish when his fingers spiralled on his neck. "Dunno really. Just keep playing I guess. I've never thought much about the future. Nothing lasts long in this game, not when you're getting on like me. Maybe managing a team in ten years."

"What about Park?"

"I thought we weren't talking about work."

"You brought it up."

"Because I'm interested in you, Steven. I ain't nosing."

"You're in the running now, though."

"Not outta choice." His knuckles caressed the side of Ste's hair. "I won't take it from you, if that's what you're worried about."

Ste scoffed. "Don't matter anyway, I'm the last player people are talking about these days since you arrived."

Brendan sighed. "It's business. FA politics, managers, bullshit all of it." He drew Ste's face closer. "I know we gotta keep this on a real down low, but fuck if this ain't good. This is the real thing, you know?" He ran the tip of his nose up the length of Ste's.

"You know what would happen if we got caught? It don't even bear thinking about." Ste felt Brendan's hand slide underneath his robe.

"Nobody's watching now."

::: :::

"Are you gonna tell me who it is then?" Amy asked as they pulled up outside her house and the kids dosed in the back.

"No," Ste said, turning of the engine and unlocking the doors as if to signal the end of the conversation. "I've said too much already."

"No you haven't! All you've said is that you're seeing someone."

"It's better if you don't know trust me. It's bad enough with the two of us holding onto the secret without you having to keep it shut 'un all."

Amy helped him unload the car and woke the kids softly before inviting Ste inside for a tea.

"I've gotta head to the gym and try and catch up on the training that I've missed. I'm losing it Ames, at this rate I'm well off my targets."

"Yeah and carrying around this secret can't be helping much either."

It wasn't.

He wasn't just a few setbacks behind on his fitness targets, he was slipping out of step with the rest of his team and not just due to the delay in training from the injury. He felt his grip on the Park position slipping and the shift in his focus slipping to his personal life: Brendan Brady.

Everything about their affair was smearing his sense of identity and it was made even worse when just hours after agreeing to attend a charity event in London with Brendan (the prospect of a hotel away from home lead to a heated phone conversation with Brendan holed up in his car on a motorway services) he read a headline which made his stomach clench and blood clang loudly in his ears.

Double Victory For Brady. Park Bosses Keen and Girlfriend Accepts Proposal!