Present Day (Day 1)...
You fall back into the chair behind the desk in the club's office and close your eyes. You could sleep for a week but you can't. You have a mound of paperwork to get through.
When you woke up this morning you had no way of knowing that your life would be turned upside down by lunchtime. With your leukaemia diagnosis and seeing Stephen after all these years looking like he had moved on with a male supermodel, you don't know what to think, what to do.
A part of you just wants to press rewind on your life to a time where everything was beginning to slot into place.
You know exactly when that was. You felt it on a night like so many other nights in the club you used to run; Chez Chez. You spent the night after the club had closed with Stephen. You take your mind back as you rest yourself in the chair...
XOXO
Six years ago...
Closing time is approaching and the punters are getting rowdy as booze and music take hold. Stephen is being jostled as he carries a crate of drinks through to the bar from the top of the stairs that leads to the cellar. He looks harassed and frazzled but when he sees you behind the bar his whole body seems to relax.
He brushes up against you while walking past and gives you a coy smile, eyeing you through his long lashes with a steady stare. Fucking provocative git. You aren't always sure whether he does it on purpose... the silent flirting.
Deliberate or not, it gets you every time. You stop him with a finger on his chest and lean into his ear.
"I want you to stay on. After." Your say. God, you sound desperate. Damn.
He gives you a knowing smile that should annoy you. "Yeah. Sure."
You look around you at the crowd. They aren't paying attention to you and Stephen. Nobody gives two shits about what you do with him. Not really. Even so, you feel slightly exposed.
Your sister grins at you from a corner of the dancefloor and winks. She thinks you can't stay away from Ste. That pisses you off. She would be right but there is a specific reason for asking him to stay back tonight.
Cheryl gave you the idea for what you are going to ask him this morning.
"Bren, why can't you admit that he is your boyfriend? It's been two years and you are so adorable together when you think no one is looking! You should see yourself. I honestly don't know how Ste remains so patient with you. You owe him a big gesture, you know. Something romantic."
You scowled at her because words like romantic and boyfriend were like the sound nails make on a chalk board. Irritating and grating.
Besides, even she has to admit that you have made big steps in the right direction when it comes to being publically demonstrative with Stephen. You would never do this, for example, in the past; skim your fingers up Stephen's torso above the crate of beer bottles, tracking up towards his neck and chin until they leave his skin to settle on his forehead sweeping over it to push his hair up off his face.
His mouth opens to say something then closes again.
"Later." You say then walk away briskly before you do something stupid like kiss him. Here. In the middle of the club. In front of everyone.
The club finally closes for the night and eventually the two of you are left alone. You make your way back upstairs having locked the main doors. The minute you reach the landing he unbuttons his black uniform trousers and begins to take his Chez Chez top off.
"No. Stay dressed." You say.
"Huh?" He looks at you questioningly.
It isn't like you to say 'no' to him getting naked but tonight you don't want to fuck... not straight away, anyway.
There are other things you like about Stephen. You respect him; his work ethic, aspirations, the love he has for his children and Amy. You admire his resilience, strength and determination. You find him funny. He is hot and sexy, highly fuckable.
He is challenging. A handful more often than not. You wouldn't have it any other way. He makes you feel alive with his passion.
You can't get enough of him.
So maybe Cheryl is right. Maybe you need to show him, let him know. Do a grand gesture.
"Is something wrong?" He asks as he smooths his t-shirt back over his slim torso self-consciously.
"No." You say. "I thought we could talk for a bit."
Why are you so nervous? You are a tough guy so man up!
"Talk?" He sounds confused. That fucking irresistible pout is out in full force. "You don't want to have sex?"
You march up to the bar, pick up a bottle of champagne and open it.
"I always want to fuck you, Stephen," you say. You pour the amber liquid into two champagne flutes before carrying them back and passing one to him.
He blushes which you find absurdly appealing given how uninhibited and dirty he can get in bed. Paradoxical shyness.
"Sláinte." You take a big sip of your bubbly while looking at him. You ignore the fact that your hands are shaking.
Brendan Brady doesn't do nerves.
"Sit Stephen."
He does so immediately on one of the sofas and holds his glass tightly in his hands, looking up at you nervously. "You're scaring me, Bren."
"No need to be."
You walk to the club's sound system and put on some music. Al Green. Intimate. Timeless. Setting the mood. Speaking words that you can't make yourself say.
By the time you join Stephen back on the sofa he has downed his glass of alcohol. Dutch courage. He has no idea that you need it more than him right now.
His nose twitches.
"The bubbles are going up me nose, Bren!" He says rubbing it briskly.
Christ.
"Were you drinking on the job?" You ask suspiciously as you identify the signs of mild inebriation in his slightly lazy eyes. You need Stephen to be with it now.
"Just a vodka-coke to unwind... while clearing up. Double. Rhys gave it me." He says and leans in to kiss you softly. His hand touches your chest and strokes it lightly while his lips begin to trace a pattern on your neck. He leans in moulding to you, one of his legs drapes over yours. He bunches your shirt up un-tucking it from your waist.
He is trying it on. The sneaky fucker.
You grab his hand and push him away gently.
"Oh my God! You were being serious!" He groans in frustration. "About the sex thing!"
"Yeah." You say. You clear your throat to get rid of the slight shake in your voice. "I've been thinking..."
Stephen's face drops. "What?"
"Uh." You stare into his worried eyes. You don't want to sound like some love-sick over-attached puppy.
"Have I done something wrong?"
You frown. What gives him that idea?
You shake your head, "I was thinking about how Amy and the kids have moved in with Pete, playing happy families and what not..."
"It's sweet, innit?" He says with a small smile.
"It's something." You roll your eyes.
"Why do you bring it up?"
"I... Uh. You are all alone now... in that house. Must feel too big for you and, uh, your rent... it must be hard to cover."
Jesus, you are acting like a school kid about to ask a crush to the school dance.
"I was going to do more shifts here." He looks confused by the bead of sweat that is developing on your brow. "That's okay, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, course it is but then you wouldn't get to see your kids as much what with all those long days."
"Or I could get a housemate." He smiles broadly at his Eureka moment. "He could help with paying the bills."
"He?" You try to keep the jealousy out of your voice.
"Or she."
No and no, you think. You can see it already; Stephen living with this 'housemate'. He would obviously be a nice looking guy (they seem to collect themselves around Stephen) who would quickly fall into a comfortable pattern of playing house with Stephen; cooking dinner, having a laugh at some programme on the telly, going to the pub for drinks together. Then one day, he would make a move on Stephen and Stephen, taken in by his housemate's charm, would be powerless to resist. Fast forward to a brief chat between the two of you where Stephen would say how things weren't working for him and that maybe you needed to go your separate ways. Then he would walk off into the sunset, hand in hand with his housemate.
"Can't be sure with housemates, Stephen. Letting strangers into your home...risky business... what with your kids' visiting."
"Oh. Um. Yeah. I guess."
You cut to the chase. "Look. My point is that half your things are at my place and you spend more nights at my flat than you do at your place while still paying full rent on your own."
He looks visibly upset. You don't get why.
"I didn't think you minded." He looks down at his empty glass. "Are you saying that you don't want us to hang out as much?"
What?
"No! Booze killing yer grey matter?" You say. "I just think it makes more sense for you to flat share."
"But that is what I said already."
"Flat share." You emphasise as if speaking to someone remedial. "With me."
You hold your breath. Uncertainty creeps in. Not because you regret saying you want him to move in but because you worry he is going to say no. A long silence follows. It extends in front of you like a free fall without a safety net. You don't dare look at Stephen.
This feels like peeling your skin and bones away to leave your heart exposed for a beating if he so wishes.
Suddenly your arms are full of Stephen. He practically climbs you, snaking himself into your lap, straddling you on the sofa, while his arms curl themselves around your shoulders. His lips open against yours almost immediately with a moan that shoots right down to your groin and gets you hard instantly.
You kiss him hard; feeling him respond by creeping even closer to you while you fold him into you.
He pulls away out of breath.
"Wait! You have just asked me to move in, haven't you?" He is smiling like a loon.
You nod and you know you must be grinning like an idiot too. Jesus. You have issues.
"Then, yes! Definitely! I'll move in with you, Brendan." He gushes.
You stare at his animated face. He looks so happy that a part of you feels like bursting his bubble; telling him to rein it in and not get his hopes up because eventually you will fuck this up royally. It is what you do. Ask anyone who has been close to you in the past; Eileen, Vincent, Macca.
You don't warn him away though because you have come to need Stephen in your life. Perhaps it is selfish but you want him in a way that you have never wanted anyone before. You want him right there near you because his absence from your life is something you aren't prepared to deal with.
This... thing... you have with him has to stay, that's the bottom line, but that doesn't mean that things have turned pink and fluffy; roses at anniversaries and 'how was your day, dear.' That is not you. Never will be.
You want him so you practically bruise his mouth with yours with the ferocity of your kiss. You harness strength you didn't know you had to shuffle to the edge of the sofa with him still in your arms and stand up lifting him with you in the process.
He laughs in surprise when you lightly bite his lower pouty lip and he wraps his legs around your waist as your hands cup his buttocks to keep him in your hold. Then you settle him back into the sofa. He reaches up to you but you push him back with a firm hand on his chest and kneel between his spread-eagled legs. Wordlessly, you push his shirt up and run your hands over his defined if slight abdomen. He moans as you lick a path over his belly button and lower.
You tug him closer to you roughly by hooking your fingers into the tops of his trousers and tugging.
You undo his flies and push his underwear down freeing his already erect cock. It is beautiful; thick and firm. The girls in Stephen's life had been fucked by it. You can see how it might do a fine job of it but you can't see a time where you would ever indulge in it in that way. It just isn't you but you love blowing Stephen. He is responsive, keen. Just looking at him makes his cock jerk. You read the heat in his eyes through the fan of lashes that cast a shadow on his cheekbones. He pushes his hips up off the sofa towards you and you grin, lopsidedly, at his urgency.
Your tongue begins a slow journey that starts at the base of his cock to its tip. He throws his head back and groans when you lap at him slowly, working him up to a point of frustration and horniness that would almost definitely lead to a bossy order soon.
"Brendan, suck it." He moans and then adds as an afterthought when you look up at his flushed face, "Please."
You go to town, blowing him until he is a whirl of twitchy body movements, indecipherable horny sounds and urgent encouragements. When you sense the point where he is getting close you stop. This is not how you want it to be tonight. You pull him onto his feet. Before Stephen knows what is what you drape him over the back of the sofa so that he is leaning forward, head down, arse up.
He quickly pushes his trousers down over his butt exposing it to you. You can't help but rub your hands over the round peachy mounds before licking over them. He groans then grabs an arse cheek of his, squeezing it while pushing back towards you; an invitation for you to get to it. You lightly run your thumb over his puckered entrance, just once, to tease.
He whimpers.
You stare down at him. Stephen is gagging for it; head bent over the sofa, long neck leading to a toned bronzed back with the black Chez-Chez t-shirt bunched under his armpits, the slight flare of his hips and the round, firm swell of his arse as it stuck up and out in the air.
You fumble into your wallet and take out a condom. There is no time for foreplay here. You need to dive right in. Now. You undo your suit trousers and pull your cock out, tugging the sheath on quickly. You grab hold of his hips and thrust against him grazing your cock between his arse cheeks. All you need is lube and you are good to go.
Frustrating then that the bottle is in the office. You push away from him but he protests, "It's okay, Bren, just use spit."
Fuck. You nearly come hearing his desperation.
"Don't want to hurt you." You mutter. "And the john could break." You practically ran to fetch the stuff and are back in no time.
Lubed and ready, you push into him too quickly. Stephen gasps from the initial discomfort,
"Fuck, Bren!" He protests and pulls away from you before draping himself back onto the sofa and relaxing again. "Slower."
"Sorry." You whisper. You run your hands down his shoulders and smooth back before grabbing his hips and using them as an anchor to pull him back onto your cock with more control until you are completely buried in him.
"Oh my Go-" Stephen never finishes his sentence as you begin to thrust into him as if it is the last fuck of your life.
You keep the strokes long and deep and the pace merciless. You know that he can take it from those occasions when you hadn't hooked up for some time and both of you were 'climbing-up-the-wall-one-hundred-percent' up for it. Stephen is an animal in bed so you feel like you are the one keeping up during those times.
Tonight you reach a whole new level. The sofa edges away from you under the force of your plunges. Stephen has to grip the back of the sofa to keep his balance. You grab his wrists and hold them firmly against his back with one hand.
Yeah, this is rough sex and you both love it.
Stephen cranes over his shoulder to look at you with glazed eyes that fight to stay open. His pupils are dilated. His mouth is open, gasping. A thin film of sweat covers him. This is how he gets when he is turned on; like he is high on some drug.
You want him present with you so you bite his shoulder hard.
He snaps out of his lusty haze, immediately. "Fuck Bren, that hurt!"
"Barely touched, ye, Stephen. Thought ye liked it a little rough." You growl and kiss him over the bruised skin.
Suddenly you want to feel him; skin on skin, as much of him as you could. You strip out of your suit jacket and shirt. You push your trousers down then lean over him to press your chest flush against his back and wrap one hand around his narrow waist while the other curls around his rigid cock.
You stroke it firmly, hearing him gasp. "You like that?"
"Yeah, I love it." He whispers as he drags his fingers through your hair and pulls you down to a kiss while you rock your pelvis against him steadily.
"I love you, Brendan." He says.
You freeze.
He can't help himself. Stephen always gets like this; overemotional. He blurts those words out so easily and unselfconsciously especially in the last few months. You feel a strange jolt in the pit of your stomach. You want to shout at him to never say them again but you don't because they have an effect on you and your soul.
You feel wanted and needed in a way you never have before meeting Stephen.
Stephen loves you.
Why? What has possessed him to love someone as imperfect as you, someone shady who did him harm before doing him any good? Common sense should tell him that is a stupid thing to do; that this can never end well.
And what does he expect you to do with that information exactly? Declare your undying love for him?
You won't. Ever. What you feel for him is undefinable. A sense of loss when he isn't around. A feeling of comfort and calm when he is. A protectiveness that has no limits. A willingness to cross barriers that you have never crossed before. You feel like a putz sometimes around him. Like you are out of your depth, floundering, not knowing where you are headed because this is uncharted territory. You have never felt like this before for someone else. It makes you feel like an amateur when you have always felt like master and commander.
You don't say you love him because you don't know what love means.
You don't say you love him because you would be marking him with blood. Putting a stain on his existence. You are a parasite in his life, leeching off his feel good factor and buoying yourself up until you leave him a broken shell.
You don't say you love him because it would be opening a portal into a life that you aren't sure you are ready for.
You don't say you love him so his quiet 'I love you' floats between you hopefully strong enough for both of you.
You sense his vulnerability as he looks at you so you embrace him and in your mind you tell him that you think he is the best thing to happen to you in a long time; maybe ever.
But you don't say it.
You quietly order him to,
"Turn over, Stephen. Lie down."
He doesn't even hesitate.
He lies on his back on the sofa and wraps his legs around your waist. You discard the rest of your clothes and look down at him. He pulls you down to him with strong limbs.
"It's okay you know." He whispers with that small smile that tells you he can read your mind and hear your thoughts. "You and me. It's okay."
Shit. This guy is under your skin, running through your mind, tucked in your heart.
You penetrate him again; his eyes and mouth widening, dragging out seductive groan.
You fuck him slowly savouring everything about him; the sounds he makes, his look of abandon, the feel of him around you, tight, warm, deep, accommodating. You could stay in him forever.
You say that out loud at least. It slips out. You grab hold of his hips and he jerks his cock in time with your thrusts, licking his lips to wet them as his panting heats up.
When you cum it is hard. Your eyes snap shut quickly from the power of it. You unload into latex, spasming as you feel Stephen's internal muscles ripple around your still deeply buried cock as he cums at the same time. His sprays all over you and him. The aftershocks almost hurt, they are so violent.
"Fuck." You groan after you body finally begins to relax. You collapse onto him ungracefully and lazily comb through his sweat slicked hair pushing it off his face before resting your arms either side of him, idle. Your face is buried into the crook of his neck and you can see the rapid thud of his heart beat in that vein that is tantalising close to your mouth.
"Alright?" You mumble, not moving.
He nods.
"Yeah."
He runs the heels of his feet over your lower back and butt.
"So when do you want me to move in?"
XOXO
Present Day (Day 1)...
"Dad?"
Your eyes spring open and you blink. You take a moment to get orientated.
You are in VIBE's office at your desk. You must have nodded off after getting back to work after your hospital appointment and lunch with Nicola.
"You okay?"
You stare at your son, your first born, who is standing in the doorway.
"Hey Deccy."
He is helping out at the club during his summer break between his first and second year at University College Dublin. Nineteen now. You could swear you were changing his nappy, reading him bedside stories and kissing his boo-boos better just yesterday.
Your pride for him is unshakable. He looks like you, no doubt. Same colouring, tall, broadening shoulders and unusually deep voice. But his temperament is his mother's. He is a good kid. Sensitive. A carer. He is studying to be a vet. Loves animals. Owns a rescue dog that he pays more attention to than parents do their children. Vegetarian. Seeing the same girl he started seeing when he was in school despite good looks that would entitle him to easily play the field.
You love him with all your heart but you don't get him. You are different people.
Right now he is looking worried so you try to sound awake when you say, "What can I do you for, son?"
"Niks told me about this." He says with a frown.
You straighten up in your seat. Did Nikki spill your diagnosis to your son without your permission?
She. Is. Dead. Meat.
"It's nothing." You say defensively.
"Rubbish. You look knackered, old man. She told me that she has caught you sleeping at the desk a few times."
"That's what she told you?" You breathe a sigh of relief when Declan nods.
You look at the time. 16.18 o'clock. You have managed to kip for two hours. How is that possible?
"Neighbours are keeping me up at night." You say by way of an explanation. You haven't got the strength to tell him the truth right now. That is to come.
"Really?" He says doubtfully.
"Yeah."
"Fucking neighbours!" He grins deciding to believe you.
You smile too.
"I was wondering whether you wanted to come out tonight." He changes subject.
"You aren't working?"
"Night off. Niks said it was cool." He explains. "Basically, Freddie is playing at the Foggy Dew in Temple Bar. I think you'll like it. He is doing an acoustic set so we are all going to support him."
"We?" You raise an eyebrow. You know Freddie. Good kid. Life long friend of your son's.
"Me. Me mates. Aoife."
"Your mother?"
Your son grins. "Nah. You know she can't stand pubs and anyway I think she is going to the theatre with Michael."
You grunt. "I have no patience for tuneless noise, son."
He rolls his eyes at you. He knows you well. You are cantankerous, sure. Abrasive, definitely.
"And what about Paraic?" You add.
"He is sleeping over at a friend's. Mum said she told you." He looks smugly at you. "And Niks said you can have the night off as well so you have no excuses."
He walks up to you and hands you a cheap looking flyer.
"Great." You mumble.
"Nine pm. It'll be a good craic, dad. You need to get out more." He pats you on your back before walking back to the door.
"I get out plenty, son." You lie. "Don't try to teach the master."
He winks at you knowing that he is getting under your skin. "Well then maybe the master could find himself a decent fella to settle down with in his old age. Someone to rub his feet at the end of a long day and take care of him so his son doesn't have to worry so much."
He throws you that lopsided smile of his that everyone says is a carbon copy of yours. Today it carries a tinge of sadness but then it is gone as he closes the door behind him after he leaves.