Never Got Over You

by twenteseven

AU Stendan. Brendan and Ste were at school together years ago, and had a brief but intense secret fling that neither of them have forgotten. They're both 25 now, and they both seem to have moved on with their lives, until they see each other again for the first time in years, and everything changes. Rated M.

10. Chapter 10

Thank you once again for your reviews :) I apologise a million times over for the wait for this one. I hope you're still reading :)

This is finally the last chapter. I really hope you all like it!

It starts from DOUG's POV btw, I promise it will only be one teeny section from him, but it will then move on to our Brendan and Steven.

10

(Doug)

You knew something was off with Ste. He'd been acting weird all week. For a few weeks, actually.

And then he'd joined that new gym, and he'd started going there at all hours of the day, as if he was on some sort of mission with the place. He'd never been interested in working out until now – his life had always been too hectic to bother with it all beforehand.

It just seemed that lately he'd take any opportunity to get away from you, and the gym was his latest thing.

You couldn't help but be a little suspicious.

So you followed him.

One morning, when he got up ridiculously early, which used to be so uncharacteristic for him, and when he said he was going to the gym again – you followed him. You didn't believe him.

You pretended he hadn't woken you, and when he left, you dressed hurriedly and drove yourself to the gym, and you felt a rush of relief pass through you when you spotted his car on the car park.

You'd been so sure he'd been lying to you – but he really was here.

It settled you slightly, but not enough, so you parked up on the far side of the car park and watched the door, waiting for him, just to be sure.

Not much happened at that time in the morning – the doors hardly ever opened, and the car park was dead – and you almost fell asleep, until you saw movement and it sparked you back into life.

You almost ignored it – the sight of the man leaving the gym, muscular and dangerous looking – until he came closer, and you saw the 'tache on his face, and you recognised him.

He'd been at Riley's wedding.

You thought it too strange a coincidence, so you took note of him – saw his fervent expression, the way anger and bitterness radiated out of him, could almost sense his disturbed aura from where you sat a few metres away. He stayed in his car for a while, and you wondered if he was waiting for someone, until he pulled off in a fury.

Your eyes widened as everything slowed down around you.

You saw Ste – and he was running. Towards the car.

You had visions of his body being flung up in the air, somersaulting over the car as it hit him, leaving him lying helpless on the ground, and your heart lurched into your throat as you nearly called out his name to warn him, to save him – anything.

Only the car didn't hit him. It stopped just in time.

And then Ste was banging on the window, and you wanted to hope he was angry at the 'tache-faced driver for nearly running him over, but you could sense that wasn't it – there was more going on here. He knew the man inside – you could tell from the way he was acting – and a sense of dread flooded through you as you started to build up your assumptions.

He looked desperate – upset, and emotional – and desperate to speak to the guy inside.

Your mind was running away with itself, jumping to conclusions, and you wanted so desperately to believe that Ste wouldn't be lying to you.

The car sped off, and you saw Ste shouting after it and you couldn't hear him, but you saw the look of hope in his eyes when the car stopped dramatically, before spinning away again.

It didn't make any sense to you – none of it.

Ste was running to his car then, and you ducked as he passed by yours, not even recognising your car in the sparsely populated car park. He looked like he had so much more on his mind. He got in his car and raced away, and you tried to follow behind at a distance.

He was difficult to trace – you could hardly call yourself a pro at tailing another car, but Ste was making it impossible with the way he was weaving in and out so furiously, making his way closer to the 'tache man.

After a while you lost his tail – couldn't keep up – and you pulled up at a junction and realised that Ste's car was nowhere to be seen, and you exhaled when you realised the game was lost. And so were you.

You drove around aimlessly, hoping you'd find something you might recognise on the route, and eventually you saw a signpost leading you back to your area of the town, so you followed it.

You drove along slowly, thoughts elsewhere, and you could feel the rage of the driver in the car behind when they overtook as soon as it turned into a dual carriageway, but you didn't care.

You were too lost in confusion about what you'd seen at the gym, about how something just didn't seem right. It was as if you were missing some link between Ste and the man in the car, as if they meant something to one another somehow, and you were too desperate to confront your husband, but well aware you didn't have the strength to do so.

And then you saw them.

On the side of the road – pulled up in a layby – Ste being pushed back by the other guy, up against his car.

Brendan. That was his name.

You remembered.

You'd driven past them, so when you reached the island, you spun all the way around and came back down in the other direction to watch them again.

And as you drove past, you turned your face and watched in horror as Brendan launched at your husband, kissing him, and his efforts were returned just as desperately by the man you share your life with.

And it all fell into place.

His strange behaviour – the way he's been constantly on edge, watching every entrance to every bar you've been in with him since the wedding – it all made sense now.

Your husband has been having an affair.

You felt your heart breaking, and you felt the tears streaming down your face helplessly, and when you'd reached another island again and turned back around to pass the layby a third time, both their cars were gone.

The bottom of your world fell out, and a physical pain ran through you like no other you'd ever felt. The slow realisation crept in that your life as you knew it would never be the same.

You were on the verge of losing everything, and you couldn't bear the thought of it.

You couldn't accept it.

You didn't know what you'd have to come up with, but there was no way you were going to let Ste leave you for another man.

A chill ran through you, and it stopped the tears from falling, and the ice started to cling to your bones as you felt the core of you freezing over, changing, using the pain you felt and morphing it into a thirst for revenge.

Ste would stay in your life – you'd make sure of it. You couldn't sit and watch as he walked away from you; couldn't listen to his words as he told you what he'd done, what a whore he'd been. How he'd fooled you in the worst possible way.

No.

That wouldn't happen.

You turned the ignition on again, and you waited for a moment before you drove off, and your mind flooded with ways you could trap Ste into your life.

And when your phone rang, your day went from bad to worse.

"It's your Dad," you heard your mother say, sounding just as distraught as you felt down the line. "You need to come to the hospital."

-s-

(Brendan)

You're stunned by what Steven is telling you, about Douglas and his father and why it means he's not coming back to you tonight.

He's got to look after his husband.

You spit out at the thought of him.

I can't tell him tonight, Steven's voice down the phone explains to you, and your insides turn at the realisation that you're the other man now – you're the fool that you never thought you'd end up being. You never thought you'd need another man so much that you'd even contemplate having to share him.

I can't tell him when his Dad's in hospital, can I? He's all upset, it's not fair.

You feel like snapping back at him, telling him what's not fair is that you've been deprived of him for so long, and now he's rekindled everything you had, but he's taking it away from you all over again.

You feel like telling him his words are piercing through you, sharper than a dagger.

But you don't say that, because you find an ounce of civility somewhere inside of you, and you grasp onto it with everything you have, for Steven's sake, and you tell him that you'll wait for him.

I promise I'll tell him as soon as I can, Bren.

You hear his promise to you down the phone line, but your cheek is already twitching with regret at what you've let him do to you. The devil inside of you rears his ugly head and laughs at you and your naivety.

Steven's not going to tell Douglas, is he? He's had you, and he can move on from you now, and he's just trying to soften the blow until it all gets forgotten about and you're left alone again without Steven in your life. That's what's going to happen, isn't it?

Of course Steven would change his mind – you were stupid to think he'd do otherwise. It's never as simple as a clean cut and break, it was always going to be messy and complicated when you fell into bed with the love of your life, who happened to be married to another man.

You almost regress back to what you were before – before Steven was back again, before he brought his light and his optimism back into your world – but then he saves you from it.

He saves you from yourself, again.

He saves you with the words that he says to you, time and time again, to make sure that you know – that you can't possibly doubt it.

I love you, Bren. You do know that, yeah?

And you do believe him, despite that devil inside of you, so you tell him yes.

He's got no reason to lie to you now, and you see that, and it helps you to block out those thoughts.

He ends the call, but he asks you if you're OK more than four times before he hangs up, and each time you tell him Yes, but your voice is weaker with each one.

You're not OK. Because you know that Steven will be sleeping next to another man that isn't you tonight, and now that you know he's yours again, you just can't cope with the thought of it.

You retrieve your unopened bottle of Jameson's from the kitchen, and you make your way through to your bedroom, and you sink into your sheets, and you inhale the smell of Steven as it still lingers on them, surrounding yourself with it, and you spend the night in a haze of whiskey and memories of the most bittersweet day of your life.

-s-

It's been two days since you last saw Brendan.

Two days since you betrayed Brendan by coming home to Doug and sharing his bed.

Two days since you last heard his voice or felt the rush of excitement course through you at the feel of his skin against yours.

You couldn't touch him – Douglas, that is, when you returned home that day – you couldn't pretend to him that your marriage was anywhere close to the way that it used to be. But you couldn't leave him, either. Not when his Dad was lying in a hospital bed.

Doug had looked after you before, when you needed him – now was your turn to look after him.

As soon as his Dad woke up though – which the doctors had told you they hoped would be in a week or so, after you'd asked them at every given opportunity, for your own selfish reasons – as soon as he did wake, you'd tell Doug.

You promised Brendan that, and you promised yourself that, too.

You haven't been able to stop the feeling inside of you – the longing for another man that you feel whenever Doug is near – the way you miss Brendan with every second of the day and with every beat in your heart.

You've text him constantly – talked about everything and nothing – and you've called his mobile in the dead of night when the thoughts of his body close against yours have punctuated your sleep pattern, and when he picks up almost instantly you wonder if he's been sat waiting for your call since the last time you spoke to him.

He asks you, every time. How's Herbert?

You hate that you can't ever give him the answer you want to – that Doug's Dad is always still just as comatose as before.

You're counting down the hours – minutes – seconds – until you can give him the answer he wants to hear. Until you can bang on his door and tell him. Tell him you're all his, forever.

You're not sure if Doug has picked up on it. You've tried to be as normal as possible, but every flinch of his movements has you convincing yourself that he knows. He's edgy – nervous, even – when you're around. He seems wound up, frustrated, bitter in a way you don't recognise in him.

You tell Amy, but she reminds you that his Dad is in a coma, and you agree with her that that must be the reason behind his strange behaviour. But you can't shake the feeling that there's more to it. You don't ask him, though, because it feels like some kind of admission – it feels like you're telling him there's something he should be worrying about, and if he knew that then it would defeat the whole purpose of you keeping yourself from Brendan.

But it unnerves you, in a way you can't explain, and you might be many things but what you're not stupid, and you know when something is wrong. You can't quite believe how much your marriage has changed in the space of a month.

You're thinking it all through as you lie in bed, next to Doug, and you sigh at the gentle sound of his breathy snores as he sleeps beside you.

You check your phone, and it's 3am.

Your mind flicks straight to Brendan, and you wonder what he's doing.

You miss him, and staying away from him is killing you.

So you tell him that, in a text message.

I miss u.

You smile to yourself, because you've had to keep up an act around Doug for the past two days, and it feels good to let out a truth amongst all the lies and deceit.

You don't expect a reply, but a second later your phone flashes, and you realise he must be at work still, at the club.

You should come by my club one night then. B

The thought of him in a management role, wandering around in his crisp suit, ordering his staff around, his calm yet powerful presence lingering in every corner of the club – it gets you hot under the collar, and you don't know why.

You think about letting him take you in his office, whilst his empire rages on the other side of the door, and you're semi hardening at the thought of it alone.

His power is so intoxicating, in a way you'd never thought about before.

That a personal invite?

Doug stirs beside you, and you dive your phone under the covers to stop the light from filling the room, and he settles down again.

It's the most personal invite, Steven. The things I'd do to you in this office. B

You swallow down as you read his words, as if Brendan's read your mind, and you feel a flutter in your chest as you fall in love with him for what seems like the millionth time.

You know you'll never stop falling for him.

You glance over at Doug again, and he's facing away from you in the bed, and you pull the covers up close to your face so that you can text whilst hiding the light from your phone beneath the duvet.

Like wot?

Your finger hovers over the send button – it's nothing worse than you've text him before, but it's a whole new level when you're lying in bed with your husband and asking Brendan how he plans to fuck you when he sees you next.

It takes a couple of minutes for his next reply to come through, and you picture him dashing through the club and locking himself away in his office, and it makes you smile that you have so much control over him.

I'd get you out of those clothes first, Steven. Such a shame to hide that body of yours. B

When his reply comes through you can't hide the smile on your face – he makes you feel giddy like a teenage girl all of a sudden, and you're equal parts excited and confused about what the hell it is he could ever see in your skinny frame.

U can take off wot u want ;) but I want u 2 keep ur suit on Mr Brady ;)

You feel yourself hardening at the thought of yourself with him, fully naked, looking up at his suited body as it fucks into you.

Whatever you want, Steven. As long as I can fuck you again. Soon.

You want nothing more, and you take a quick glance to see that Doug is still asleep as you slip a hand down under the duvet and begin to stroke up and down the growing erection in your boxers. You have the sudden need to know exactly where Brendan is – to be able to picture him whilst you touch yourself, so you ask him.

Wher r U now?

His reply is instant.

Club – office. You coming over?

You feel instant guilt for making him think you would be able to drop everything and run to him. Lord knows it's exactly what you want to do right now, but you have to let him down, and it kills you.

Wish I cud Bren but cant. I jst wana pictur u x

His next reply takes a while, and a nagging thought in the back of your head thinks that he's lost interest now he knows there's no way you can go to him tonight. You try to be rational and believe that you mean more to him than that – that Brendan isn't the kind of guy to hang around and be second best with just anybody – so you must mean something to him, surely.

This might help. B

His text makes no sense to you to begin with, but then it's followed up quickly by an image. You smile to yourself, and you check on Doug once more before you click to download the image.

It's exactly what you were hoping it would be.

And Brendan's right – it's definitely going to help you picture him.

He's sitting in the chair in what you assume is his office at the club, and his shirt is unbuttoned all the way down so that it's open, but he's still wearing it alongside his suit jacket. You can still see the contours of his muscles in the strip of skin exposed in between his clothes, and it's almost making you salivate as much as the expression on his face as he stares suggestively into the camera. And all of that is almost as captivating as the full display of all his nine inches, fully erect, standing proud in the front of the shot.

You fling your head back and you muffle a satisfied laugh, careful not to wake Douglas, and you lie there and stare at the picture as you start stroking yourself, in complete mesmerization at the picture of perfection before you. You can't quite believe he's all yours.

And you definitely can't believe he's just sent you a selfie of his cock.

He really didn't seem the type – but you're not complaining.

You take a look at it again – take a deep breath as you remember the way he felt inside of you, the way his body slammed into you and the way your name sounded leaving his lips in the heat of his orgasm.

You're hard and beyond horny before you know it, and you're so tempted to go and see him that you have to spend a good few minutes restraining yourself, talking yourself out of it and reminding yourself that you're a good person, and you're depriving yourself of Brendan for the right reasons.

It's becoming harder and harder for you to accept.

You'll have to settle for this tonight, though – for a sordid exchange of texts and images on your mobile that you keep hidden from your husband beneath the duvet – and once you've finished staring at the picture he's sent you, you realise you've kept him waiting, and now he's checking up on you.

You still there, Steven? B

You smirk, because you think you detect a hint of nervousness in the subtext of that text.

Wish I was there wiv u now after seein that ;)

You're not lying – you're almost up and out of bed and heading his way.

Just wanted to help you picture it is all, Steven. B

Wel it workd ;) Bren ur well fit.

You cringe straight away at what you've said to him – how immature you sound – but you don't care really, because you know it'll make him smile.

Don't go showing it to anyone. Your eyes only, yeah? B

You swallow down as you read his reply, and you feel like screaming it from the rooftops, making sure everybody knows that he's yours.

As if! No1 else gets to see that apart from me ;)

You feel a possessiveness over Brendan that you've never felt with anyone else, and it physically hurts you inside to think that anybody else would be able to touch him.

Good. B

You feel a slight pang of guilt then – feel like you should be in a position where you can give to Brendan everything that he can give to you. You want to be able to send him a picture in return, like you might do if the two of you were a proper couple, but Doug is lying next to you, and there's no way you can take a picture without him noticing.

And it's not exactly like you have any already on your phone – you and Doug have never been that kind of couple.

I will send u 1, jst cant rite now

You send to him, because you need him to know that it's not just going to be one-way traffic between you and Brendan.

It's fine, Steven. I'll see the real thing soon enough, hopefully? B

Damn right he will. You can't keep yourself away from him.

Yeah Bren asap, I wil let u no wen ;)

You're still touching yourself, gently, working your way up and down your length with your dexterous fingers, wishing so much that they were Brendan's skilled hands upon you, and that it was his dick you were working right now.

I'll make it worth the trip, I promise you. B

You have absolutely no doubt that he means that, as well. You want more from him – want to know what he's going to do to you, how he's going to make you fall in love with him all over again, because you know he's got the power to do it, so you ask him.

Wot u got planned 4 me thn? x

You know you sound desperate, wanton, but you're working yourself up with those hands, and you're desperate to picture what he'd be doing to you if he was here with you right now.

I'm gonna undress you and get my teeth into that soft skin of yours

You love it when he bites, little flickers of pain that cause that rush of adrenalin through you, freeing up your senses, melting into his touch.

You're losing the ability to answer him as you build up pressure on yourself, and all you can manage to each of his texts as they come through is a feeble Yeah or an Mmmm or a curse, because you're losing a grip on yourself at the thought of what he's saying he will do to you.

And then I'm gonna tease you, Steven, til you're begging me to let you go

You're struggling now, struggling to keep the movement of your body suppressed so as not to wake Doug, because you want so much to be able to give in to it, to let your body respond as freely and as recklessly as it wants to in response to what Brendan is promising you.

You touching yourself Steven?

You reply to say yes you are, and that you're doing it for him. You hope he knows that it's all for him, from now on. There won't ever be another one after Brendan.

Keep yourself warm for me, Steven. I need to see you soon.

You tell him you need it too, and as you type you're struggling now, with your phone in one hand and your other working your cock into a tortuous rhythm, and you're so close now, and you tell him that, and he latches onto it and vows to push you over the edge that you're balanced on right now.

Gonna tease your cock with my tongue, touch you the way you like it, the way I know you want me to Steven.

The anticipation of it has your body jerking, aching for him, full in the knowledge that Brendan knows how to work you in ways that no other man ever has.

Gonna make you scream my name and beg me to give in to you.

You have to control yourself in order to not do that anyway.

And when you think I'm done I'll fuck you so hard you'll still feel me there the next morning.

And with that you're done – pushed over the edge – and the evidence of it is spilling from you now, pulsing out over your stomach as you lie back and let the wave of your orgasm ride over you.

Brendan knows exactly how to work you. Every single time. He always has.

And you love him for it.

You smile to yourself as you drink in the ultimate release that comes afterwards. You cast a glance in Doug's direction, and feel a wave of relief that he doesn't seem to have stirred with your antics, although how he could have slept through your heavy breathing and frantic tugging at your own cock you have no idea.

You hope he's not just pretending not to notice.

You get your breath back, and you pick up your phone to see Brendan still sending through suggestions as to what he plans to do to you.

Fuck Bren, tht felt so gud

You send it to him, to let him know his mission is complete. You're sated, and satisfied, and desperate for more of him.

You came for me? He asks.

4 u xx

You confirm, and you grab a tissue from the side of your bed to clean up the evidence of his ability to shatter you into pieces.

Your turn to return the favour when I see you next then? B

You won't argue with that.

Deal

I gotta go, Steven. Got work to do. As much as I'd rather sit in here and think about what you must look like right now.

You try not to feel disappointed, because you're all too aware that it's the middle of the night, and you have to be up for work tomorrow anyway.

Ok. C u soon, yeah?

You reply, because you're aching for him now, and you need him to sort you out properly.

The sooner the better, Steven. I'm always ready for you. B

Will c wot I can do. Nite Bren xx

Good night, Steven. B x

You smile and kiss the screen where his 'x' displays, and you roll over and fall asleep, feeling more content that you have done in a very long time.

-s-

It's been three days since you last spoke to Steven.

Three days since you made him come for you with promises of what you had planned for his body.

Three days since you stripped and took a picture of yourself for him whilst the beat of the club pulsed on the other side of the door, and the beat inside your heart and your head pulsed only for Steven, and you had to let him know it.

Three days without calls, without texts.

You'd have given your whole life to have had the boy with you in the flesh that night, riding you in perfect time with the rhythm of the bass that the DJ insisted on pelting out at full volume the other side of the wall.

Three days.

You ache for him.

You're beyond jealous, and you're beyond worried about him, and you're beyond angry that he hasn't even thought to tell you where he is; that he's left you in the dark again; that he hasn't even thought to check in with you to let you know he's alright.

You'd been texting him constantly beforehand, and yet it's been three whole days with nothing.

You think he's chosen Douglas again.

You think he got all he needed from you in the form of the picture you sent him, and that he's gone back to his husband now because he thinks that's where he should be.

You're sure of it – you came to that conclusion when he didn't reply to the three texts you sent him the morning after that conversation with him – and every day without word of him since then has confirmed it for you.

You're feeling the repercussions now of having turned to the bottle in the boy's absence, and you take a seat in your office as the headache begins to overwhelm you, not helped by the continuous beat of life in the nightclub outside your office door.

You can't blame Steven for going back to him. You know you can't offer him the stability that Douglas can, and you realise that what you've always loved about him is the brightness in his life – the way he is kind, and loyal, and decent, and everything else that you will never be. And people like that didn't stay with people like you, did they? And you tried to hate him for being the kind of person that doesn't leave their husband on a whim, but you can't bring yourself to hate any part of that boy.

You love him far too much for that.

But now your world feels dark without him in it, and you can almost feel yourself spiralling even further into the pit of your own dark soul with every second that you don't hear from him.

Whoever said having loved and lost is better than never having loved at all must have been sick in the fucking head. It hurts so much, and it's only because you let Steven in, and now he's run back to his husband, and you feel like you could let yourself hang for the pain that's ever-present in you bones now, without him.

You've resigned yourself to it – have left countless voicemails and sent various degrees of text message over the course of the past few days – and all to no avail. Steven is gone.

You walk out to the bar to pick up another whiskey – hair of the dog – and you're just about to lock yourself away back in your office for a night of self pitying and whiskey, like you have done for the two previous nights, when your attention is caught by one of the doormen on the other side of the room.

You sigh, and with a look of resentment in your eyes you wander through the groups of people and make your way over to the door.

"What?" you ask harshly, and you see the way the other doorman rolls his eyes at your abruptness.

You let it go unnoticed, this time.

"This lads not following the dress code so I said he can't come it, little runt thinks he knows the boss so I thought I'd come get you and let him answer to you instead."

The burly man moves to the side, all cocky and sure of himself, sure he's pulled a fast one on the little trick that's trying to worm his way in. Only when he moves, it's not some council rat in a tracksuit you see behind him.

It's your council rat in a tracksuit.

You see his face, and he looks agitated, and you imagine the feisty side of him and how he must have kicked up a fuss against the doormen – the kind of man that any average person wouldn't dare to mess with – only Steven's not average, not in any way.

He sees you, and suddenly he's smiling, and his whole face lights up at the sight of you, and the look he gives you in that single second suddenly rids you of any doubts you could ever have had about him.

"Tell 'em, Bren," he says, and you spot the confusion on the doormens faces at his over-familiar greeting, and you smile back at him then.

He's here to see you, and he's happy, so you know he's not come to pass on bad news.

He's here for you.

You step forwards, and you look left and right for any sign Douglas, and you don't see him anywhere, so you close the gap between yourself and Steven, and you snake your hand around his neck, and you pull him close to you, and you kiss the very life out of him.

He's shocked for a moment, but he relents quickly, kissing you back with just as much vigour, and you both ignore the wolf whistles and jeers and get-a-room's coming from the revellers stood outside in the queue to get in.

You don't care what they think, not now you've got Steven back with you. Five days out of his company is more than you ever want to endure again, until the day you're in your grave.

You pull your lips away from him, and you turn around to face your doormen, and you take in the look of surprise on both their faces.

They probably didn't even know you were gay.

"This one, he always gets in, and he never pays," you tell them, "You get that?"

They both nod at you, and you don't waste any more time in grabbing Steven by the arm and dragging him through the club, not stopping until you burst through the door of your office, slamming it shut and locking it in one swift motion as you pin the boy back up against the door.

"I'm sorry," he says to you as you lean in to kiss him, and it makes you pause, but you're so hungry for him that you can wait for his explanation as to his whereabouts until after you've taken what you need from him, so you go ahead and push your lips up against his one more time.

He tastes so fucking sweet – sweeter than you can remember – and you hated every second of being apart from him but you're almost glad for it now, because it makes him all the more incredible in this moment.

You lift his t-shirt over his head in one swift movement, and you return your lips to his immediately, feeling the loss of his taste for the half a second you were away from him.

You feel his hands on your shoulders, and they're pushing off your suit jacket, and it drops to the floor, and he's picking at the buttons on your shirt now, and you gasp when you feel his hands against the skin on your chest.

You pull your lips from his, and you open your eyes, and you lean your forehead against his and he looks at you, and his hands continue to trail through the hairs on your chest, and you look into each others eyes for that moment as you both steady yourselves, and you know you'll never be able to live without him.

"Where did you go?" you ask him, and you kiss you him again before he has the chance to answer you, because you need his lips against yours more than you need an explanation right now.

But you let him answer you when he can, because a part of you needs to know why he went quiet on you.

"Nowhere," he explains to you, and he punctuates each word with another kiss against your lips. "My phone broke," he adds, before kissing you again. "I had no way to reach you," kiss, "I came here," kiss, "as soon," kiss, "as I could," kiss.

It's explanation enough for you, for now, because he's half naked in your office and the door is locked and you can't waste any more of this time talking. You press your body up against his and you press your lips against his, slipping your tongue through to open his up for you, and your kiss him then like your whole life depends on it, and you're well aware that it might do.

You feel him hardening against you, and you're so desperate for him, and you run your hands down the length of his exposed torso until you reach his trousers. You slip a finger inside the waistband, trail it around the seam, crossing over his hipbone, and he flinches and laughs into your kiss, telling you you're tickling him. You smile against his lips, and you tell him you know a great cure for being ticklish.

When he genuinely asks you what it is, you loop your thumbs into the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms and pull them down, and you drop to your knees with it, and you take the whole length of his erection from root to tip.

Sure enough, it cures his giggles, and has him exhaling sharply and leaning his head back against the office door, and pleading with you, your name on repeat on the end of his tongue, as you feel the bitter taste of his pre-come on the end of yours.

You want to tease him – want to have him calling out your name even louder than he already is, begging you to give him what he wants, and you know how to work him expertly. You lick a wet trail up the length of his erection, wrap your hand around him and start to stroke him slowly as you let your tongue circle his sensitive tip, sucking against it gently.

Gentle isn't what he wants, though, and you know it already, but even if you didn't you'd be able to tell by the way he's trying to thrust himself forwards into your mouth. You laugh, and it makes you just want to tease him even further, and you do so for a short while, until you look up and you catch his eye, and he's so desperate for you that you can't help but give in to him.

You take the full length of him – root to tip – and you let him thrust in an out of your mouth, and you feel so full of him, and you can feel the clenching of his muscles as he moves from where your hands hold onto his thighs, and then you're pushing him back against the door, and you're doing the movement yourself then, and you're adding the touch of your hands to bring him closer to release, and he's calling your name like he's about to see the edge of glory, and you know now is the time to play with him.

When he's nearly there, nearly reaching that point where he's gyrating his hips with more vigour and calling out your name like you're the god that he worships with all of his being, you pull your mouth away from him, and you hear him whine, and you know you've got him right where you want him.

You spin him around, and you bring a hand up and push against his back, pushing his chest up against the door of your office, and you swipe your tongue between his cheeks and have him shivering with pleasure beneath you.

You reach out to your desk, and you open the drawer hurriedly and pull out a condom and a tube of lube, and without warning you squirt a generous dose against you fingers and push one up into him. He flinches with the coldness of the liquid, and you laugh at him, because you love to see him tortured in these moments, and he shoots you a look that could kill.

You stand up then, and you press your body up against his back, and you work your finger in and out of him, and he's keening into you, working himself back against you as you push another finger up inside of him and open him up for you. You reach around him as he starts to lean back against you, his body weakened by your touch and desperate for the support only you can give him, and you reach around and work your hands up and down his cock in a teasing rhythm. He looks like a hot mess, and you're sure you've overwhelmed his senses, and you only hope it means he won't leave it as long to come back to you next time.

He flings his head back to rest against your shoulder, and you reach down and kiss him, languid, slow, all tongues and saliva and in complete contrast to the quickening rhythm of your fingers inside him and your hands as they work against his cock.

He's groaning for you, and you pull your lips away from him to hear your name upon his lips, and he doesn't disappoint, and he's crying out for you – begging, pleading, stuttering with the sensation of what you're doing to his body – and you're thankful now for the volume of the DJ and the revellers the other side of the office door, drowning out the sound of his screams to anyone other than yourself.

You want to make sure you're the only person to hear Steven screaming this way for as long as you both shall live.

You can sense he's about to come, and you have no intention of letting him do so without you, so you stop your assault on his cock and you pull your fingers from him, and he whimpers with desolation at the loss he feels when you pull away from him, and his body flops forwards against the door, and you see his legs are shaking beneath him.

You quickly tear the foil and roll on the condom, and work a little more lube onto your cock, and then you pull him back against you, and revel in the heat of his body against your own. You push up against him, sensations flooding through your body as you enter him, slowly at first, and then he's pushing himself back against you hurriedly, like he needs you more than he's ever needed anything before in his life.

You thrust into him with a rhythm now, can feel yourself getting close, and you struggle to support the weight of your boy now that he's affecting your senses in the same way you are his, and you pull out for a second to allow yourself to walk backwards and flop down on the sofa.

He whines at the lack of your touch again, but quickly follows you to the sofa and straddles your lap, pulling you to the edge of the seat and wrapping his legs around you as he settles back down on your cock, slowly working himself into a rhythm, locking his hands around the back of your neck and you struggle to ignore the sentimentality of it – the connection he has to you when he's fucking you – how you're both so aware that it's so much more than sex for either of you.

You lean up to kiss his face, and he opens his eyes, and he looks into yours with such intensity as he continues to bounce on your cock that you're sure the proximity of your orgasm is brought on just by the look in his eyes.

"Bren I'm gonna come," he whispers as he pulls your head closer to his, resting his forehead against yours, his eyes staring into yours, and you wish you could snapshot this moment in time, because you don't think you've ever felt as incredible as you do right now.

"Come for me, Steven," you plead with him, and you reach a hand between the two of you to stroke the length of his cock, but his body is jerking with intensity before you have the chance to get a proper handle on him, and he's crying out your name, and he's telling you he loves you, and the sight of him falling apart in front of you at the mercy of you and what you've done to his body has you thrusting up into him with added vigour, letting the fluctuations of his body in its post orgasmic state milk the climax out of you, and within second you're groaning for him and pulling him in closer to you to let him kiss you through your own orgasm, and it's pulsing out of you now, and it's electrifying.

Steven's brought you back to life all over again.

And it feels out of this world.

You're breathless, and so in love with him.

You feel like you could tell him, and you try to.

But you lose your bottle, so instead you let him step off you, and you roll of the condom, tie it and throw it in the bin, and you lie back down on the sofa, and encourage him to lie with you.

You're not ready to be apart from him just yet.

You lie with him on the sofa in your office for over an hour – feel his naked body against your own as he lies on top of you, the music blaring on the other side of the door, his head resting against your chest in the dip of your neck, fitting so perfectly it's almost believable that his body was carved from the other half of yourself, that he was made to fit against you like this.

Like he's the other half of you, making you whole.

The thought fleetingly crosses your mind that you might actually enjoy this part – the part where he's talking to you softly as his fingers tickle the course hairs of your chest – more than you enjoy fucking him senseless.

But that's far too sentimental a thought for someone like yourself to have, surely.

It must be the haze of your orgasm speaking.

You've let him explain to you – believed him when he told you that he'd woken the next morning after your last conversation and his phone screen was smashed, and his phone inexplicably broken, and that he'd had no idea how it had happened, and no way to get in touch with you to let you know. He told you how Doug had stuck to him like a leech whenever he'd tried to leave to come here to speak to you, and you make a joke that he probably overheard your conversation that night and smashed your phone up in the night out of rage, and he laughs at you, but you struggle to find an alternative explanation as to how it could have happened.

And you suspect then that Douglas is on to the two of you.

You don't trust him.

You make a mental note to watch your back where Douglas is concerned. Something tells you not to trust him wholeheartedly like Steven does.

You don't let it bother you though, and for the weeks that follow you learn to get your head around the way things are. It's not perfect, but you've got Steven back, and if you're patient, you'll have him all to yourself soon. He's promised to you that he won't sleep with Douglas anymore, and you can sleep with that knowledge safe in the back of your mind, for now.

And once you get your head around it - once you let yourself believe Steven's promises as he looks into your eyes and drapes them over you time and time again - you begin to get used to the idea that you're his dirty little secret.

A part of you almost starts to enjoy it – the secrecy; the urgency of it all; the sneaking around. It almost feels exciting to you.

If you can manage to block out the image of Steven and Douglas together – of Steven comforting his husband in his hour of need, of sharing his bed with him night after night, of Douglas pawing at your boy like he still has any kind of claim over him – if you can push all of that to the sidelines, and focus on what you get with Steven – it's almost exciting.

You spend the next three weeks constantly checking your phone, smiling involuntarily when you see it flash up with Steven's texts and calls, always in the hope that it will be the day he calls to tell you that Herbert has woken up from his coma and that Douglas is out of your lives for good.

Sometimes you think it feels like that day will never come.

In the mean time, you'll make do with what you've got - stolen moments, secret passageways, sordid text messaging, silent phone calls in the dead of night. You ache for him all the time, and when you see him – on the few occasions he's managed to sneak away and come to the club or to your flat or even to the shower cubicles in the gym again – you revel in the fact that you've stolen him away again, and you feel like the luckiest guy alive.

You lock those moments away inside your heart, and you try to focus on them when you're lying in bed alone at night, pining for Steven.

There's a devil still lurking in the back of your head, though.

It's the same one that's taunted you your whole life, and you've always played the puppet to it's master.

He's telling you that Douglas is the only thing standing in the way of you and your future happiness.

And it's telling you that there's more to Douglas than meets the eye.

Your thought process is starting to spiral, and you're trying to keep a hold on it – trying to focus on the good that Steven brings to your life, and that he makes look so easy – but you're starting to resent the hold that Douglas still has over him.

You try to block out the sound of the devil inside your head, but he's giving you ideas of solutions to your problem that you can't bear to let yourself even contemplate.

You try to block him out, but with each day that passes his voice gets louder, and your resistance gets weaker.

You don't know how long you can hold him off for.

Even for Steven's sake.

-s-

You feel guilty.

You've felt nothing but guilt since the day you fell into bed with Brendan weeks ago.

Only it's not Doug you feel guilt for – it's not the husband who you're walking away from to start a life with another man that you feel guilt for.

It's Brendan.

You feel guilty every time you smile at Doug, and every time you let him kiss you goodnight, because you picture Brendan sitting at home alone, wanting you, kissing nobody but you, and yet here you are with another man in your bed.

The direction of your guilt makes it obvious to you that leaving Doug is the right decision.

You're ashamed of your intolerance to Herb's state of health, and that you use the time that Doug's visiting him to go to the club, or to Brendan's flat, and to let Brendan fuck you senseless.

You don't know if you can wait any longer.

Herb's fine – or he's going to be fine, according to the doctors – and Doug has come to terms with it all now. You feel like the rest of your life is on hold, and you can't bottle it all up inside anymore.

And you're losing sleep every night by staying up to keep Brendan occupied with texts and pictures and promises of how you're going to blow him 'til he can't see straight when you see him next.

You've always had confidence when it comes to giving head.

The thought of Brendan is never far from your mind, and tonight is no different from the others. It's a Tuesday night, and you're sitting watching the soaps with Doug when your phone flashes with a text.

You know who it is without looking, and you try to hide the smile on your face when your hopes are confirmed.

Can you get out? I need to see you. B

There's an edge of seriousness to it, and it gets you worried.

I'll find an excuse. U ok?x

The response takes a few moments, and all kinds of things flash through your mind about what could be worrying him, but you get his reply and a part of you exhales with relief.

I got a massive fucking hard on and you're the only one I know that can deal with it. B

He's just horny, then. The text makes you blush, and you swallow down in anticipation as you type out your reply.

On my way xx

You leave it a couple of minutes, so as to try and make it less obvious to Doug, who no doubt saw you texting. You wrack your brains, desperate to find an excuse to leave the house at 9pm on a Tuesday night.

You use the gym – it's weak, you know, but you're past caring. You need to be with Brendan, and that's the end of it.

"I'm gonna go for a swim I think," you tell Doug, and you see the trepidation in his eyes as he susses you out, and you're more than convinced that he knows something, but he tries to hide it soon enough, and you try to ignore it as best you can.

"I'll see you later," you call out to him as you flee through the door.

You're in too much of a hurry to realise that you've not packed a gym bag, or taken anything with you that would be expected if you were really off for a swim.

You hope Doug didn't notice, but a part of you is sure he probably did.

You drive off quickly, though, making the short trip into town to Brendan's club. You park in the yard – reserved for staff, but you've got special rights – and you lock the car as you leave to find Brendan.

You don't see the car crawling along the kerb outside of the car park. The same one that has followed you all the way here.

You go to make your way up the back entrance of the club, oblivious to the person hot on your tail, and you're about to let yourself in when you feel someone grabbing at your arm, and pulling you backwards.

There's a hand over your mouth, and it's muffling the screams that are trying to escape, trying to call for help, and you feel a panic rise within you. Your heart starts to race, and you're wondering if this night will be your last on earth, and you're trying to think who would be trying to kidnap you like this, and your only thought is with Brendan, and how he'd cope if anything happened to you.

You're pulled backwards towards the alley, and when your captor has dragged you out of the glare of the streetlights and into the shadows, he spins you around and pushes your back against the wall of the alley, and his lips are on yours before you know it, and his hands are running up and down the lengths of your torso, and his warmth is radiating through you, and you could kill him for scaring you like that.

You haven't even opened your eyes, but you know by the taste of him, and you know by the way he kisses you like you're the only thing that matters in the world, and you know by the tickle of his moustache against your top lip. You know that it's Brendan.

You push his shoulders gently, playfully, and he peels his lips away from yours, and he's smiling.

"You bastard," you whisper forcefully at him, and he raises his eyebrows quickly and shoves you back against the wall, his hands smoothing down the front of your t-shirt.

"I was proper scared then, you dick," you scorn him again, but you're incapable of being angry at him when he's looking at you like he is now – like you're the sexiest thing he's ever laid eyes on, and like he might explode if he doesn't get a part of you right now.

He responds to you with just a kiss, a playful peck, nibbling on your bottom lip as he pulls away, and then he stuns you in a way he never has done before.

"I love you," he says.

He follows it with a kiss, and then he says it again.

"I love you."

It leaves you breathless, and he glances into your eyes with a look of knowing – he knows what those words have done to you, and he knows that you thought you might never hear them from him, and he knows that he's made you happier than you thought physically possible.

He doesn't let you respond, though – he lets you linger on the thought instead, his words echoing around your head, slowly convincing yourself you must have imagined them.

He drops to his knees – in this alleyway, in the middle of the village, where anybody could walk down at any moment – and he grabs at your belt buckle, and he has your cock springing free in a matter of seconds.

He doesn't tease you like he usually does – he wets his lips and licks you from root to tip, then he takes you down in one whole mouthful, and you wonder what they hell has happened with Brendan today to lead him to carry out such as assault on your senses – both physical and emotional.

It's heavenly, though, the way he touches you; the way you feel the wetness of his mouth, the constriction of his throat around the tip of your cock; and then he pulls away, and he kisses you, nuzzles the hairs around the base of your cock as he uses his hands, expertly milking pleasure from your body. He seems playful, tonight, and you love him for it, and you let out a satisfied laugh in between the groans he pulls from your body.

He takes that as a hint, and he places his mouth around you again, and you rest your head back against the wall and pant his name on your breath as he draws you closer to the heat of your orgasm.

You hear footsteps at the end of the alley, and you contemplate keeping your eyes closed and ignoring them in the hope that whoever it is will carry on. You don't want anything taking this moment away from you – the moment Brendan Brady told you he loved you, then showed you exactly how much.

But your plan to feign ignorance is thwarted when you hear the one voice you're dreading, the one person you want to hide it all from, and he's stood casting judgement on you from the end of the alleyway.

"You bastards!"

You recognise it instantly, and you jerk your head forwards to let yourself confirm it, and sure enough you see your husband stood at the end of the alley, watching as Brendan frees your cock from his mouth and spins around to face him too.

You fasten your jeans and belt buckle quickly, and want to slap Brendan for the way he licks his lips so arrogantly, just in case Doug had been under any illusions as to what he was interrupting.

Brendan is the first to speak – the shock of it all sticking your tongue to the roof of your mouth and leaving you standing there aghast, gawping at the situation unfolding before you.

You know you should probably feel more panic than you do, though. You realise it's probably the words that are still echoing around inside your head that's stopping the panic from rising. I love you, they say, and they sound divine in that Irish accent too.

"Douglas," Brendan says casually, pulling you from your reverie. "What brings you all this way on a Tuesday evening? You here for 90's night in the club?"

You look at him, and he's smiling, and you feel like slapping some kind of humility into the man.

He seems to be enjoying it, this scandalous position you've both been caught in. You realise it's because it must suit him just fine.

Silence descends over the three of you, and you hope that means Brendan has taken the hint by the look in your eyes, and you're sure you can almost hear Doug's thought process ticking over, working out how he's going to deal with the situation he's walked in on.

"Doug, I'm sorry -" you try, but he doesn't give you a chance to explain yourself.

"Don't fuck with me Ste," Doug screams at you, interrupting your feeble attempt at an apology, and he's suddenly hurtling down the alley towards you.

You hear Brendan laughing beside you, and you shove against him, angrily this time, because his insensitivity clearly holds no barriers.

Before he has chance to react, Doug has reached you, and he's launching himself at you – shoving you, slapping against your chest, words spilling out of him in a fury, a jumbled mess of insults and nonsense and pure hatred. He aims it all at you, and you look over Doug's shoulder as he continues to break down in front of you, and you see Brendan leaning back against the alley, head in his hands.

You focus back to Doug, and he's sobbing now – you see the anger has left him somewhat, replaced with distress, and you plead your apologies to him, and you try to comfort him, but he pushes you away with every effort.

You keep trying, though, because he's still your husband. He's still the man you thought you'd spend forever with up until a few weeks ago, and you're not heartless enough not to care when you see him before you in this mess.

Even if you are heartless enough to feel a little relief that it's all over now.

And eventually, after more screaming and crying and a few more slaps to your chest, he relents. He sags against you, his energy spent, and he lets you wrap your arms around him, and to comfort him.

You catch Brendan's eye over his shoulder again, and you see the rage burning up inside of him, and you wonder how he has the right to feel jealous, or to make you feel bad right now, when he was laughing in Dougs face less than five minutes earlier.

You're still apologising to Doug – not for the way that he's caught you, for the fact that you've lied to him; but you're still sure it's falling on deaf ears. It doesn't stop you though, and suddenly everything you've wanted to explain to him for the past few weeks is tumbling out of you at a rate of knots, and you can't quite stop yourself.

"We didn't plan any of it, I promise, Doug," you explain. "He's the guy I told you about – the guy I knew at school – and I saw him again at the wedding and we just...we just...look, I'm so sorry Doug, ok. We didn't mean to you hurt you -"

"But you DID!" he screams at you, and it's the first time he's spoken in a few minutes, and it shocks you. "You've been fucking him. All this time!"

"Doug -" you try, but he's on to you.

"Go on, try to deny it!" he threatens you, but you have no answer for him. You won't deny it, because you have no intention of pretending you're not in love with Brendan.

"I can't Doug, I'm so -"

"I knew!" he admits, at the top of his lungs. He sees your expression drop, and he laughs because he thinks he has one over on you now. "I've known for weeks, Ste! I saw you together weeks ago!"

It shocks you, and you look over at Brendan, and he's alert again now, and he's looking back at you with the same confused expression that you're sure must be etched into your face.

"What?" you ask Doug, and he takes a step back from you then, and he takes in a sharp breath as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

He starts pacing the alley, widthways, two steps in each direction, and you turn to Brendan and shake your head, because you don't know what he's doing either. He looks like a madman.

"Doug -" you try, but he holds his hand up to you, so you close your mouth. You've protested enough already.

After a few seconds more pacing, Doug finally clear his throat, as if he's worked out what he needs to say now, and he's finally built up the courage to get it out.

He turns towards you, and he smiles so sinisterly, with such evil behind his eyes, that you see a whole new side to the man you married that you hadn't ever seen before.

"You're fucked Ste, you know that?" he says to you, and you're confused. What is he even talking about?

You shake your head at him when he looks you in the eye, signalling your misunderstanding.

He laughs at you is response, and the callousness of it sends a chill through your blood.

"You're pathetic, Ste, you know that -"

"Don't talk to him like that," Brendan interrupts him, defending you, and you can't mask the slight smile at the sight of it.

"Fuck you, Brady," Doug barks, and you realise how unnatural it sounds to hear Doug cursing like that, and you know he must be really hurting.

You wonder if you've created a monster in him.

"Doug, look, why don't we go home and talk about it -" you try to plead with him, but he's having none of it.

"HOME?" he interrupts you, shouting, and then he lets out a chilling laugh that runs through your bones. "Tell me, Ste, did you fuck him in our home?"

You swallow down, and you shake your head, because that's one thing you don't have to lie to him about – Brendan never came to yours. You always went to him,

"Well I don't believe you," Doug says, coldly. "And see, that's why you're fucked, Ste," he starts to explain, and his breathing becomes shorter, and his tone become harsher as he carries on.

"I saw you, weeks ago, on the side of the road, like you didn't care who saw you. The day my Dad went into hospital. He's been out for two weeks, by the way, Ste – you never bothered to visit him and I guessed you might only be staying with me because of pity, so I just forgot to tell you when they released him a couple of weeks back -"

"You what, Doug?" you ask, because it's so out of character for him to be so callous, and because the selfish part of you knows that he's right – pity was the only thing tying you to him since you let Brendan back into your life, and his Dad was the one and only factor in that.

You could have been back with Brendan weeks ago.

You look at Doug's reaction to you interrupting him, and you see some kind of realisation in his eyes that his deepest fears have been realised, and you know that he can see you're about to leave him.

He stiffens himself up, though, before you can tell him that you're sorry, and his face fills with scorn as his voice lowers, and he addresses you once again with a tone of such bitterness and distaste that you question whether he could ever have really loved you, if he could turn on you so easily.

"It hurts when you're lied to, doesn't it Ste?" he spits out at you, and then he laughs, and it's manic, and it's bitter, and you don't recognise him.

"Doug -" you try, but he's got something he needs to tell you, so he interrupts you once more.

He doesn't want your apologies.

"Know what, Ste? I don't want your fucking pity, ok? And I've been busy, too, Ste, whilst you've been out fucking this man," he says, spitting the words out like they're poison on his tongue. "I've been sorting out our legal affairs, Ste. You see, you think you can just walk away from me and that'll be it? Well you're wrong, Ste. If you leave me, you lose everything. It's as simple as that. You should be more careful about what you're signing."

You try to take in what he's telling you, but you're still struggling to correlate the way he's acting with the man that you've spent the past 8 years of your life with. It doesn't make sense to you.

You don't have to question him, though, because Brendan is stepping in, and he's protecting you again in that way that makes your skin shiver with pride.

"What did you say, Douglas?" Brendan asks, and he's closing in on Doug now, and he's almost snarling at him like a rabid dog as he backs him against the wall of the alley, his presence just demanding respect.

You can tell Doug is scared of him – can see the look in his eyes that you can read so well because you've spent eight years of your life reading him – but you can see that he's trying to hide it, too.

"I said," Doug starts, and he coughs when his voice cracks as he tries to match up to Brendan's imposing stature. "I said, he's signed it all over to me, without realising it. And if he wants to keep this fucking empire that we built, together," he spits the word out and looks at you to finish off his sentence, "then he'll have to stay with me, and forget about you, Brendan."

You don't know what to say, and your mind is struggling to keep up with and make sense of what you're hearing.

So you stay silent for a while, and your mouth is still wide open with shock, and you realise that Brendan is staring at you know, and he's waiting for you to react.

He's waiting to find out if you love him enough – if you mean what you've told him and if you mean it enough to lose everything you've got just to be with him.

Because that's what Doug's telling you. If you go with Brendan, you lose everything.

The house, the deli, the restaurants.

Everything.

But it's not even a decision for you, because you know if you stay with Doug, you'll lose Brendan.

And that's worse than losing every material possession and every penny you own.

And it's not even a choice for you anymore.

You're about to tell him – about to reach out to Brendan and to tell Doug that you've already made your decision, and that you made it weeks ago – when you see the pain flash across Brendan's face.

Before you have a chance to tell him, he's shoving Doug away from him, and he's sniffing back his emotions, and he's walking away from you.

And you realise he thinks you've chosen Douglas, because that's how Brendan's mind works. He took your few seconds of silence, and he read into the hesitation, and now he's walking away from you, because he can't stick around to hear you rejecting him. Even if you have no intention of ever doing that.

And you want to call after him, to tell him that he's wrong, but your mouth is still wide open with shock, and the words don't leave you, and he walks away.

You hear Doug laughing next to you, and you want to make him shut up, because how could he honestly think you'd stay with him after he's pulled this stunt.

Only your body gives up on you, and you feel weak at the knees, and you have to steady yourself against the wall of the alley as you watch Brendan's shadow retreat around the corner, and everything is dark again.

-s-

You don't know why you're even surprised.

It was only a matter of time until Steven saw the light, really.

And giving up his husband was one thing, but giving up his entire life – the businesses, the money?

It's too big a sacrifice.

You'd give it all up for him – you know you would – but you've always known you loved him more than he could ever love you. It isn't physically possible for him to love you as much as you love him, you know that.

And so you make the decision easy for him, and you walk away from him, and when you reach the end of the alley, you half hope to hear him calling out your name. But you don't, so you can't let yourself look back at him, can't see him there with Douglas, so you walk away from him, for good.

You only make it a few metres, only just outside of the alley and around to the side of the club before the emotion of it all takes over you, and a cry of anguish escapes your lips in a pitch that you weren't aware it was capable for a human being to reach. Your knees go weak beneath you, and you lean against the wall for support, and your body feels like it's about to give up on you.

This is what it feels like to lose everything you ever believed in.

You try desperately to keep control of yourself, to keep your emotions in check, all too well aware that you have a reputation to uphold; only it all seems so futile now. Without Steven, there's just nothing left to live for.

You're hit with another wave of pain, and you're about to drop to the ground when you feel an arm surrounding you, steadying you, shouldering your pain, and you'd recognise that touch anywhere.

You hope you're not imagining it, but you look up and you see Steven's face looking down at you, and you feel the strength return to your body, but you don't want to let yourself believe it.

He's smiling at you, and you're sure he's not cruel enough to smile if he's about to shatter your world again.

"Bren," he says to you, and his voice sounds muffled, distant, as if you're incapable of focusing on the sound. "Hey, Bren, you ok?" he asks again, and his voice comes into focus in your mind, and you think he's asking the worst question he could. How could you be OK with what's just happened?

You're heavy breathing, and you're stood up straight now with Steven's help, and you lean back against the wall of the club, and he's stood before you, holding your face in his hands, his thumbs along your cheeks.

You bring your hands up to hold his where they touch your face, and you take a good look at him as he stands before you.

He doesn't look like a man who's just lost his entire world.

"Where's Douglas?" you ask, and you steady yourself for his answer.

It's not what you're expecting.

"He's gone, Brendan. Gone," he tells you, and a spark lights up inside of you, and you think it's called hope.

"Gone?" you ask, because you need him to tell you again, for it to sink in.

"I told him to leave, Brendan," he tells you, and he's smiling, and he leans forwards and places a chaste kiss to your lips before he continues. "I told him I didn't care, about the money, about anything, Brendan. I told him I love you, and I told him that I've always loved you, since school. I told him the money would mean nothing if I didn't have you to share it with."

They're the words you'd dared to hope for, and the rush of emotions as they flash through you leave you breathless, and you urge forwards and kiss him, with everything you have, and you wrap your hands around his neck and his body, and you pull him close to you, and it feels like you're finally free; finally happy.

You've got Steven, and he's not going anywhere. He's coming with you, and that's all he'll ever do.

He pulls away from you, and you groan as you feel the loss of his contact, and then you smile when you hear the sound of his laugh close to your face, and it's like honey for your soul.

"As if I could leave ya, Bren," he says to you, and he rests his forehead against yours, and you open your eyes, and you're blown away by his beauty in the moonlight.

"What about your business, the money, your house -"

"It's just money, Bren," he tells you as he cuts you off, "It doesn't matter if I'm left with nothing at all, because if I've got you, I don't need anything else, Brendan. I'll get another job, and I can find somewhere to live, and the car is all mine so he ain't having that. It's you I can't live without now."

You smile at him, and you kiss him again, and you love that you have the freedom to kiss him in public now, because he's all yours.

"You can stay at mine, if you want," you offer him, and you hope if he agrees to it that he'll stay and never leave, and you'll never have to wake up without him for the rest of your days.

And he must read your mind, because he asks you how long he can stay for.

"You don't have to ever leave, Steven," you tell him, and you're slightly nervous for his reaction, but he smiles and kisses you, and you know what that means.

He's moving in with you.

"You sure it isn't going to be too much? Living together straight away?"

You try to not mistake his sensibility for uncertainty, and the look in his eye helps you not to doubt what he's telling you.

"I never want to leave your side, Steven," you tell him, and you feel so exposed to him right now that you know it should feel uncomfortable for you, but for some reason it doesn't, because it's Steven. "Plus if you move in somewhere else you telling me you won't be in my bed every night anyway?"

He laughs at that, and you kiss the smile from his lips, because you want to keep that smile all to yourself.

"Ok then," he agrees when you tear yourself away from him, and your heart swells with excitement.

"Maybe I could branch out to the restaurant trade too, I was thinking of expanding my portfolio," you tell him, and you're only slightly embellishing the truth – you're were going to expand, you just hadn't thought of restaurants, although now you've said it out loud it sounds like the best idea you've ever had. "I'll need a head chef and manager, if you're interested?"

"One step at a time, eh, Bren?" he says to you, and he's laughing, like he might actually consider your offer. "Come on, let's go back to yours," he says, and he steps backwards.

"Ours," you reply, because you can't resist.

You don't think you've ever seen a smile as big as the one he's sporting in the wake of that one little word.

"Ok. Ours, Bren," he says back at you.

He's walking away from you, beckoning you to follow him, and you're not sure if it's the drama of the evening or the thrill of knowing you've got Steven all to yourself now, or if it's something else all together, but you feel brazen, and reckless, and unlike yourself for a fleeting second, and you get the urge to do something you've never done before.

You walk with pace to catch up to him, and when you reach him, you trail your hand down the inside of his arm, and you reach his hand, and you link his fingers in with your own, and you walk alongside him with your hand in his.

You look straight ahead, as if it's nothing to you, and you can't hold back your smile when you see Steven look across at you in the corner of your eye, awestruck. He squeezes your palm, and you squeeze it back, and you walk back to his car in silence.

Nothing needs to be said anymore.

-s-

Brendan's holding your hand, and he's held it all the way back to the car, and your insides are hopping crazy with excitement, and you're trying not to make a big deal out of it, but you're now in a fully fledged relationship with Brendan fucking Brady, and you've got the hand holding to prove it.

And you're moving in with him, too.

Jesus.

What a night.

You reach your car, and you spot the bemused expression on Brendan's face, and you're confused with what he's finding so amusing about the car your own.

"What?" you ask, the feisty side of you rearing it's head as you assume he's got a problem with the car you drive.

"Audi TT?" Brendan asks, like he doesn't already know what model of car it is by looking at it, and you're about to flare up at him when you notice the look of nostalgia taking over your boyfriends face.

He can't possibly remember, surely?

"You always liked these cars," he says, and it knocks you right off your feet.

You can see it clear as day again, now – the day you were out with Brendan, all those years ago, when you were young and naïve and halfway to falling endlessly and irrevocably in love with him, and you took that photograph that you still keep in your wardrobe, even to this day, of him sitting in a car exactly like the one you now own. The very reason you bought this car in the first place.

"You remember?" you ask him, and you're almost scared to hear the answer – afraid that you're asking too much from him to expect him to remember all of it like you do; that it's impossible that he's mulled over every detail in those wilderness years like you did.

"I remember everything, Steven," he tells you, and he walks around to your side of the car to join you, and he wraps his arms around you as he stands there and blinds you with the depth of his love for you. "I remember jumping into a car that looked just like this to impress you, and I remember you taking a picture of me in it, and I remember you saying one day you'd be rich and you'd buy one these cars, and you'd drive us to Blackpool in it, and I remember I looked that night to see how much they cost, because I wanted to save up and to buy you one, but it would have been impossible at that price, and -"

"I've still got that photo, y'know Bren," you interrupt him, because you need him to know that, and you're almost scared to say it, because he'll know then that you've pined after him for all these years, but a part of you needs him to be aware of it.

"Really?" he asks you, eyebrows raised like he genuinely can't believe it.

"Really," you confirm to him, smiling, and then it's spilling out of you, like you've needed to tell him for years how you've felt. "You're the reason I bought this car, too, after that day we spent together, I've thought about it so much over the years. I've thought about everything – remembered every moment we spent together. You have no idea how much time I spent thinking about you all those years we were apart, y'know."

You can see he's taken aback, and you kiss him before he has a chance to laugh at you for letting him in on your secret.

Only, when you part your lips from him, he's not laughing at you, he's smiling.

"I thought you wouldn't remember anything," he says to you, and your heart bursts for him, because you know that feeling too. It's exactly what you were scared of. "I thought it was only me that remembered everything we went through together," he continues, "I was sure you'd forgotten who I was."

You lurch forwards and kiss him again, desperately wanting to show him exactly how much he means to you, exactly why you could never have forgotten him, and he kisses you back like he's trying to do exactly the same to you.

"I thought the same, Bren, I did," you tell him. "And I thought about you, every single day for those years we were apart. I never want to live another day without you knowing exactly how important you are to me."

It feels like relief, the words leaving you for the first time in all those years, Brendan finally knowing exactly what you went through when the two of you were apart, and him understanding it all because he felt exactly the same way.

It's tragic, the time you've wasted apart from each other.

You promise him you'll never let that happen again, for as long as you both shall live.

"I love you, Brendan," you say to him, and you look him in the eye as you do so, because you need him to believe every word.

"I love you, too, Steven," he replies, and you feel a swelling in your chest, and you have to catch your breath because he's just taken it away from you.

"You really do?" you ask him, because it seems too good to be true.

"I always have, Steven," he tells you, and he kisses you as he finishes each sentence. "I should have told you years ago. Letting you go was the worst decision I ever made."

You're blown away by his sentimentality, and you know you'll never be with anyone other than Brendan Brady now – he will always be you first and only true love.

"I love you, Steven," he whispers to you again, and you know you'll never tire of hearing those words.

"I love you, too, Brendan. Always. I never got over you."