It was raining when Ste left the hotel. He hadn't brought an umbrella, but he didn't wait for the weather to clear, didn't want to risk Brendan following him outside. He put his hood up and entered the downpour, letting the rainwater mix with his tears so that when people in the street looked at him, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference.
He couldn't forget Brendan's face, the way he'd looked at him. The mask had slipped and for a second he'd seen everything that Brendan was feeling. It looked like devastation. Looked like he was losing everything, that Ste's words had broken him.
Good. Ste kicked an empty can that was on the pavement, needed to get rid of some of the angry energy that was running through him. He wanted Brendan to suffer. Wanted him to know that Ste had suffered worse, that he was the one who was left behind. That he'd put everything on the line, again, only for Brendan to reject him, play games with him.
He wasn't even entirely sure that Brendan would be with him if he left Doug. He might have the best intentions, but how long would he stick around for this time? A week, a month - maybe a few years if Ste was lucky? Before he grew tired of him, or got involved in something dodgy again, or someone new came to rip their lives apart. And Ste would have to start over, would be a miracle if he even knew how.
He fumbled for some change to pay for his bus fare, sitting at the back, as far away as he could to anyone else. His body ached: his back from where Brendan had shoved him backwards onto the bed, and his hips from where Brendan had grasped them as Ste had straddled his lap. It had felt satisfying before, a testament of what Brendan had done to him, but now it was a reminder of everything he'd done wrong that night. How he'd let another man touch him, and now he was making his way back to his home, back to the man that he should of been with.
Doug rushed to the door when he got back. Ste avoided his eyes, hadn't even realised how wet he'd got until Doug took him into the living room, sitting him on the sofa and putting the heating on, bringing him some new clothes to change into.
"You should have called me. I could have picked you up."
"Don't worry," Ste mumbled, and he looked up when Doug made no movement to leave the room.
"What, you're not going to change in front of me?" There was amusement in his voice, but his eyes didn't match up.
Ste couldn't get undressed, didn't want Doug to see the marks on his body. There was evidence of Brendan everywhere.
"Could you do me a favour?" More manipulation.
"Sure." Doug's desperation to make him happy was even worse. He was trying so hard, so hard that it made it painful.
"Can you put on the kettle? I could really do with a cup of tea."
He used the distraction to go to the bedroom, quickly getting changed into fresh clothes, throwing his tracksuit bottoms and t-shirt into the wash. He could smell Brendan on them.
They sat in front of the television, clutching steaming hot mugs of tea to warm them. When Ste heard his phone vibrating, he left it.
"Don't you want to get that?" Doug said.
"No." Ste put a hand on his knee, squeezing. "I'd rather be with you."
::::::
The only trace of Ste that was left was the fading imprint in the bed, the dent in the mattress from where he'd spread himself out.
Brendan touched the spot; ran his hand over it and remembered the way the boy had looked at him, like these two years had meant nothing - like nothing had ever changed.
He'd ruined it. Made Ste hate him.
He tried his phone, kept trying until he'd called five times and it went straight to voicemail. It wouldn't take Ste long to get back to the village. He could already be at home with Doug. He wondered if Ste would fuck him, would do it to get back at him. Wondered whether Doug would smell him on his skin, would see the marks that Brendan created. Perhaps he wouldn't care: perhaps having Ste in any capacity was better than not having him at all.
Brendan started to pack up his things. It was pathetic how few belongings he had - a single suitcase to his name. He had a few photographs of his kids, and one of Ste, frayed around the edges from two years of smoothing his thumb over it. He'd come close to tearing it up, because looking at it everyday was akin to torture. But something had always stopped him. It had been all he'd had left.
When he collected everything, he tried Ste again. Left a message, wanted to say something clever, something meaningful, something that would make an impact. Something that wold make him understand that he wasn't using him. That this, all of this, had been real.
"I love you." He choked around the words. It used to be impossible to say it, but now it was impossible not to. He wanted to say more - wanted to tell him that he was going to leave, going to do what Ste wanted, but it felt too much like an ultimatum, a way of pressurising him into choosing. He'd leave quietly: go back to Dublin, see his kids. Let Ste live the life that he deserved.
::::::
He couldn't sleep that night. He thought about going into the spare room instead, but it would only make Doug think that he'd done something wrong, put more distance between them. He'd yawned loudly when they'd climbed into bed, pretending that he was too tired for sex. Doug had cuddled up to him, and Ste had held him, had kissed against his skin and tried to repair the damage he'd done. It felt hollow. Cruel.
He looked at the time on his phone and saw a message flashing there, a voicemail.
It was from him.
The humiliation still felt raw. He'd been ready to give Brendan everything - his entire life in his hands. He could still feel the memories, could taste how Brendan had tasted two years ago, could remember how bitter the wind had been against his skin in Dublin before Brendan had made him warm again.
He uncurled Doug from around him, wondered how he could manage to hold on so tightly even in sleep, like he thought he'd already lost him.
He locked himself in the bathroom, sitting in the darkness. He couldn't risk Doug finding him, didn't know what to tell him if he did.
He had done this when Rae died. Had listened to the message on her answer machine in a loop, had listened to it so much that soon it didn't sound like a person's voice anymore. He'd been as alone back then as he was now, and he drew his knees inwards, hugging them to his body as he closed his eyes shut in the pitch blackness, Brendan's voice ringing in his ears. He sounded like his Brendan: stripped back, none of the bullshit. None of the games. The side that only Ste got to see.
I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.
::::::
"I've got to leave."
Doug had stopped in the middle of the kitchen. He looked like he had frozen in place, an unmoving statue.
"Where are you going? The shops? Leave it till tomorrow. Stay."
There was something behind his voice. Something that hurt to hear.
"No." Ste stood up straight, didn't want to be leaning against the counter for this. He almost told Doug to sit down, but that's what you say when someone's died, wasn't it?
"I've got to leave, Doug. I'm leaving you."
Doug laughed shakily - disbelief, Ste guessed.
"What are you talking about?" Doug still had his pajamas on, and Ste wondered if he could hit pause to this, at least do him the decency of saying this when he was dressed.
But he couldn't, could he? This kind of thing couldn't wait.
"This. I'm...I'm going."
Doug drew his arms around him, looked like he was shivering. Ste had been like that when he'd been waiting outside Chez Chez two years ago, not knowing whether Brendan was alive or dead inside. Him in there, that's my life. There had been that lingering coldness that he'd felt in his bones.
Ste stepped forward, extending his hands. When Doug recoiled, so did he. Felt like he was recoiling against everything he was damaging.
But he wasn't taking it back.
"It's because of him, isn't it? He's back?"
Ste nodded, eyes to the floor.
"Have you been in touch with him all this time?"
"Yes."
"Have you slept with him?"
"No. I nearly did."
He didn't want to give the details, felt like he'd said too much already, but he'd want to know if the situation was reversed. The fantasies he'd create in place of the truth would be worse.
Doug was quieter than Ste had imagined. He waited for the screaming to start, waited for Doug to start throwing things at him, like something out of a kitchen sink drama. He wanted that - had always wanted it with Amy too. Any lingering resentment that she felt after their arguments had scared him more than the idea of her rage.
"Does he want you back?" There was a mocking edge there. A why would he?
"I don't know." Suddenly it didn't feel important - wasn't about whether Brendan wanted him back. He could have left already, could have gone to Ireland. Ste could never hear from him again, and he'd still be saying this. He couldn't go back to his life before - couldn't be with Doug, couldn't sleep in the same bed with him, couldn't plan for their future now that he'd seen Brendan.
Whether Brendan wanted him or not, Ste would always want him.
"That's Brendan, isn't it? He comes back, says a few nice words, makes a few promises. Then you don't hear from him for two years."
"He had his reasons." He never thought he'd be defending him. Never thought that all those letters and attempts to visit would come to this - he had his reasons.
"Like what?"
Like he doesn't believe he deserves to be loved. Like he doesn't believe that anyone could ever want him. He was trying to protect me, in his own fucked up, Brendan Brady way. His dad took out the heart of him, destroyed everything, made him believe he wasn't normal -
Ste moved into the living room, picking up the suitcase that he'd packed. Doug's lips parted when he saw it. He'd been gone a few hours, and Ste had used that time. Hadn't slept in days, had been running on empty, but had found strength from somewhere. Had gone from room to room, grabbing the necessities until he felt ready.
"I'm gonna stay at Tony's. Give you some time to get your things together."
"That's really good of you."
"Doug -"
"No, really. You're ending our marriage, you're choosing a murderer over me - again - but hey, at least you're letting me pack my belongings together before you kick me out."
Ste took it. Stood and took it. Knew that he deserved it. This is what he wanted: needed to be beat down, needed to feel the consequences. Needed to know that it was worth it.
It still was. And it still would be, again and again.
"Does Amy know?"
Doug read the answer on his face.
"Of course not. She'd never let you see the kids again, would she?"
"Probably not." Ste locked his lips together, had to because they were trembling.
"You're choosing him over them?"
Ste said nothing. This was the choice he'd made: this marriage, this man. Nothing else.
"So all that stuff about the doors - if I was behind one, and so was he."
"Doug." His voice was soft. Pleading. "You're the person I want to want. I wish more than anything that I could feel -"
"You know what? You stay here." Doug grabbed his jacket, didn't seem to care that his pajama bottoms showed through. He ignored Ste's protests, hurriedly pulling on his shoes.
When he left, Ste somehow felt less alone than before. Like the dust was beginning to clear.
::::::
Mitzeee visits from America, bringing the world's entire contents of alcohol with her.
"Jesus, Anne. You know the boy can't hold his booze." They both look at Ste, dancing on the sofa, seems to have adopted an Irish singing voice in his drunken state. He keeps beckoning for Brendan to join him, and there's something alluring - there shouldn't be, but there is - about his attempts at fuck me eyes and a single finger outstretched, trying to pull Brendan towards him.
"He's having fun, isn't he?
Brendan grunts, can't deny that.
"Anyway, if I'd left it up to you you wouldn't have even celebrated your engagement." She clutches onto his arm, has had one too many herself, the rosy flush to her cheeks and unfocused eyes giving her away.
"That's not true." He doesn't tell her about his plans to tell Ste out one evening, and watch the boy's eyes light up as he takes in the surroundings of an expensive restaurant, the likes of which he's never stepped into before. They'll end the night back at a hotel - not the kind where they first fucked in when Brendan returned. Somewhere better. Somewhere worthy of him.
"Brendan, it's Katy Perry!" Ste's slurring, shaking his hips to the music. It's not that song, but it's enough to spark memories.
Brendan smiles, and Mitzeee sees. The next minute she's cooing over him like he's a baby. Fuck.
"You two are so sweet."
"No." He shakes his head emphatically. "No."
"I'm coming to the wedding, right?" She's got her pout on.
"It's gonna be small -"
She holds a hand up, silencing his protests. Ste ignores them both, top riding up as he dances. It's distracting. Brendan's mouth is around the rim of his glass, not swallowing, just looking. Watching the boy as an inch of his tattoo's revealed.
He loves Mitzeee, but he wants her gone.
"I'm coming." She says it firmly, eyeing him warily, waiting for him to argue.
"Okay." It might not be so bad, having her there with them. She's come to mean something, not just to him but to the both of them - stopped them falling apart. Jesus, he'd considered fucking Kevin before she'd intervened. Kevin.
"Aw, he'd look precious in a dress." Her eyes are on Ste. Brendan nearly spits his drink out.
"He's not my wife."
Ste seems to have heard. He grabs the bottle of champagne before Brendan can stop him, swigging it back, frown on his face.
"I ain't his wife."
Mitzeee smirks.
::::::
Brendan tries to remove Ste's clothes, put him to bed. Problem is, he's not exactly coordinated himself.
He giggles. Ste will tease him for it in the morning, you giggled, Bren. I heard you, but for now he lets it pass, back falling against the mattress of the bed.
His hand goes straight to his cock. Dirty bastard.
"It was a good night, weren't it?" He's smiling as he fists his dick, looks angelic from the waist up.
"Yeah." Brendan licks into his mouth, feels it open for him. It feels like they're fucking, this thing they do with their tongues. He wonders if Ste will try it at their wedding. Wonders if they'll get thrown out for it.
"What do you want, Steven?" There's frustration there: the boy can't make up his mind. When he's made himself hard, his hands travel over Brendan's shirt. When he gets that open, they close over his nipples, toying with them, making Brendan's eyes dark. Then his hands are on Brendan's groin, his arse, gripping him through the material of his jeans.
"Get your pants off."
Brendan doesn't know whether to do this when the boy's barely conscious. He doesn't want Ste to fall asleep on him mid-fuck. Doesn't exactly do wonders for a man's ego.
But he's fumbling with the button on Brendan's pants, and Brendan can see his tongue. He removes Ste's hands. It's quicker that way, and now he's naked, and Ste's fingers are against his pubic hair, tugging lightly. Tugging in the way that Brendan likes to be hurt.
When he's between Brendan's thighs, he begins to bite. Bites into the skin, his body golden in the light from the room. Brendan doesn't know what he's going to do - doesn't know whether he's going to suck him off, or whether he's going to go in with his fingers.
He does neither. Brendan feels his tongue instead.
He must be hot, and tight. He wonders if this feels as good for Ste as it does for him, when it's his tongue in Ste's hole, the feel of pushing past muscle, unresisting at first before it turns loose under his attention. They never talked about this the first time they did it. Never discussed whether this was okay. He'd woken one night, long before he'd ever told the boy he loved him, and found the sheets tangled near the bottom of the bed, Ste's hair ruffled, his eyes hidden, only the crown of his head visible. He'd been opening Brendan up - must have not had a clue, but was mimicking what Brendan had done to him.
He'd let him. It had felt good, and right, and it had stopped the storm in his head.
Brendan wraps his legs around Ste's neck, loves the intimacy of it. Loves how less than an hour ago, Ste was tasting cheap larger on his tongue, and now he's tasting him. Loves that no matter who he's been with, nothing has been like this. It can't have been, Brendan feels it. Knows that for both of them, this is all there is.
They're too drunk for sex, too sleepy. There's time tomorrow. Ste seems to realise it, not making an attempt to move things forward. Not making an attempt to move at all. His jaw must ache, and his tongue must be numb, but he doesn't stop until Brendan tells him to, stroking his dick until he's ready, telling Ste to close his lips around him and swallow his come until he's empty.
The boy makes a satisfied noise, could be a sigh. He crawls up Brendan's body, and he's hard, but when Brendan tries to wrap his hand around his erection, he brushes him off.
"Tomorrow." His eyes are heavy, and he's asleep within seconds.
Brendan isn't tired, not anymore. It's easier like this, to think that he could say all the things he wants to say when Ste's asleep. He strokes his hair, holding him and kissing against his cheek.
The lies have him in a noose. They unravel in the dark, spilling from his lips.