The Reunion Chapter 18: The Reunion Brendan 4, a hollyoaks fanfic

Present Day (Day 4)...

You feel okay physically when you wake up so you decide to go into work. You know that there is a private event at VIBE in the evening and when you call Nikki she seems on top of it so you go to THE ELECTRIC instead.

It feels good to be back at work. You have a word with your bouncers about some trouble at the doors yesterday. The head barman informs you of a new drink on the market that he thinks is worth stocking. You speak to one of the domestics about the blocked toilet in the ladies bathrooms. You tell your regular handyman to do a couple of small jobs.

Then you go to the office.

With no distraction your mind wanders.

Six years have gone by without seeing Stephen and then suddenly there he was, like a bright flash of light in your life once again. When he told you that he had been with his Scottish boyfriend for five years you realised how your nearly two year relationship with him is insignificant and unimportant in comparison especially when you factor in how it was marred by violence at either end; from you at the beginning and Warren and his crony at the end.

Your relationship with Stephen was nothing but dangerous for him. You knew that. That is why you severed all ties with him in the end. The lad deserved more than you could offer him. You were smart enough to realise that. No wonder he moved on quickly after you left and never looked back.

Brendan,

All this is finally behind me,

Now you know that when he wrote that just a few months after the kidnapping he had already found the man that was to become his significant other.

Five fucking years.

It must be the real deal.

'Say hi to your boyfriend for me.' You had said to him yesterday, consumed with jealousy.

'What's the point?' He had replied with a steady, dead tone. 'He doesn't know you. You are in my past.'

He was only stating the obvious but it still stung. Perhaps it hurt because while for him you're nothing but a memory, you still feel him present in your life; there just under the surface of your consciousness as your biggest regret.

You fucked everything up as you should have known you would when you first got together with him. You weren't designed for relationships.

XOXO

Eight years ago...

You have met Stephen a couple of times since you got to Hollyoaks a month ago. Cheryl has hired him to cater for her new club's opening night although his regular day job is as sous-chef at a local restaurant. You have barely exchanged glances with him never mind words. He is too unremarkable to register on your radar.

That changes on the opening night of Chez Chez.

You are doing what needs to be done in the name of keeping up appearances; flirting shamelessly with a bevy of long-legged, fake breasted, over-tanned, extension-wearing girls that litter the club. Your reputation as a lady's man has built up nicely in the village and you want to make sure your deception is alive and kicking. You target two of the easiest looking chicks and take them to the office for some harmless necking and a grope so that they will have something tangible to tell their friends. You leave them there for a couple of minutes and go to the bar. You need Dutch courage to follow through on touching soft female tissues, inhaling sickly perfumes and tasting the artificiality of painted lips. It isn't repulsive exactly but the whole experience is like eating dust. Not exciting. Not fulfilling. Not enticing. Preferably avoided.

You do it to hide your true desires. There's an example. The bloke in the corner of the dance floor. The one chatting to his friends but giving you the eye. He is in a simple brown t-shirt and blue jeans covering toned lean muscles. No bells and whistles. No fakery. Just a nice face, killer smile and hot body. You know a little necking and a grope with him would get the juices flowing, so to speak.

But you would never approach him. You would never let your urges get the better of you so close to home. Not in your sister's club. Not with people you know close by. You aren't stupid. You don't want people finding out about what you do and thinking you are queer. You are not. That is why you have to keep it a secret. They wouldn't understand that it is about relieving an unwanted itch once in a while...

It is while you are on your way back to the office, buzzing on four consecutive shots of whisky that Stephen saunters up to you, freshly fired and newly unemployed due to his own duplicitous actions. His slim frame is swamped by an ugly black tracksuit. He has that cocky air that comes with youthful naiveté.

He blocks your way.

"I saw you steal two bottles of your sister's champagne and take them into the office. We had them at Il Gnosh. They sell for at least hundred quid a pop."

His cheeks are flushed with adrenalin and his lips are full and pouty. Huh. How come you didn't notice that before? He has a cute face if angular. Nice energy. Limber looking body. Interesting. Definitely.

He steps into your personal space, toe to toe, in a manner that is designed to elicit fear. You smile. You don't feel threatened but you do feel that itch when you smell him, cheap aftershave and all and feel his body heat radiate to you.

His stance is determined, staring at you with piercing blue eyes under a fan of long dark lashes. His bottom jaw juts out like he means business.

"Yeah and I doubt very much that she'd like to hear that you have been using her office to pull the local tottie."

The kid thinks he can blackmail you. He obviously doesn't know you. You determine that he is a bit of a scally. Breadline fodder. Looks like he could be trouble. Cute trouble. Very cute.

He is young though. Maybe eighteen, nineteen? Old enough to get past security but still too young, as in 'he-could-be-more-trouble-than-he-is-worth-because-teens-always-bring-emotional-drama-and-you-are-too-old-for-that-shit'. You shouldn't go messing with him.

You give him a cold smile. "You reckon I care what you think, kiddo?"

"No. No but I do know that you care what your sister thinks." His smile is smug. "So what positions have you got? You know anything to keep my mouth shut."

The kid's got balls and passion by the truckload. You'll give him that. And that Mancunian accent is strangely endearing.

Whatever. You are the alpha male, not him. The little fucker needs to be taught a lesson on who's boss... so you thump him so that he is knocked out cold.

There. Lesson delivered. It's a shame that you are still left with that itch. That fucking irrepressible itch.

The next day you go to Cheryl.

"Hey sis, we need a barman, don't we?"

"You got someone in mind?"

"That kid..." You act like you are wracking your brain to remember his name but he is crystal clear in your mind. "...Stephen."

She looks thoughtful. "Has he got any experience? He seems a little green."

You shrug. "I'll train him."

Stephen arrives on his first day of work with the enthusiasm of a puppy dog, keen to impress and please you, the bruise from your fist gracing his cheek.

"Thanks, Brendan." He says at one point while you show him how to change a beer barrel. "I promise you won't regret this."

You take in his eager face. "Make sure I don't."

He smiles so you smile back. Who said a little slap did anyone any harm? It seems to have done Stephen a world of good.

He's chatty, that's for sure. Talks more in a minute than you do in a day. After a month working at the club you have found out quite a lot about him.

He is estranged from his parents having come to Hollyoaks when he was fifteen. A year later, he was sentenced to six months in a young offender's facility for crimes surrounding a car he had stolen. But he seems to have turned his life around over the last 2 years.

"I were dead stupid. Wasn't thinking properly, was I?"

He has a very close relationship with a girl called Amy. You can't wrap your head around it.

"She's ace! We went out but, like, that's in the past. Now we are bessie mates!"

Bessie mates with a twist. She is the mother of his children.

"Well Leah isn't mine by blood but she is dead cute and I have been her dad since she was five months old so..."

"But Lucas is yours?"

"Yeah."

"With Amy?"

"Yes. Duh!" The kids are clearly his pride and joy and you can relate to that.

"And you all live together."

"Um hum." He nods. "I'm a great dad, me."

"So, do you ever get tempted to take a walk down memory lane. Relight that fire with the missus. Get nasty and make another little Hay monster?"

He scrunches up his face in distaste. "Ew! No! Don't be weird. I don't think of her like that no more!"

Interesting reaction.

Interesting grin. Those lips. They are made for sinning. This stupid itch is doing your head in but you know you can't risk it with this lad. So that night you wander into Chester town. You can't have Stephen. No big deal.

As they say, there are plenty more fish in the sea.

You micromanage him at work; singling him out and nitpicking at everything he does. It is unfair because he is easily the best barman at the club and one of the best you have ever worked with. You are strict because it justifies your compulsion to track him with your eyes.

You corner him for the nth time during a busy club night.

"Oi, Stephen. The crates? It would be nice if it was some time today. Tick tock."

The line of customers in front of him at the bar are five people deep and he is rushing around taking orders, getting drinks, making cocktails and ringing up bills. He stops rushing to whine at you,

"Brendan! It's been dead busy up here. I haven't had the chance to go down the cellar. Get Rhys or Jamil to do it or something. They've still got two hours on the clock."

"I asked you an hour ago."

"But you always ask me to do it! Jamil's only ever had to do it once!" He looks at his watch. 02.05. He pouts. That pout... "And my shift is over."

"You think I'm being unfair?"

He doesn't say anything but his expression screams 'yes'.

You find yourself smiling and leaning over the counter to get closer to him,

"It's because I think you are the best employee we have on staff, Stephen."

His face lights up. "Really?"

"Yeah. And I thought you would do your old boss a favour."

"You're not old." He grins back.

"I'm thirty-two." You raise an eyebrow at him.

His grin broadens. "So? Like, I think you're in good shape. You know?" A blush graces his cheeks.

"Flattery, young Stephen, will get you everywhere."

He goes down to the cellar wordlessly. It takes him six trips to carry the heavy crates up to the bar then he restocks the bar. He didn't need to put the drinks away. He has gone the extra mile as usual.

Once he is done, he throws a quick look in your direction then grabs his coat and makes his way through the crowd towards the stairs to leave.

You feel compelled to follow after him and catch him on the stairs. "Stephen!"

He looks up at you apprehensively.

"Brendan, I really have to go now." He says tiredly. "Tomorrow it's my turn to get the kids to nursery, I mean, today. I really need a few hours' kip before the early start."

You look at the time. 02.55. The kid has over-timed by nearly an hour and not asked for overtime pay.

"Here." You put three twenty pound notes into his palm, have a think, and then give him another.

"What's that for?" He stares at the cash and then at you; surprise brightening up his face.

"Loyalty bonus." You say. "You did good, Stephen."

He blushes. "Ta."

He grins and you want to punch or kiss him in equal measure. You do neither. There are punters everywhere. So you pat his cheek firmly and say,

"Good. See you tomorrow."

You spin on your heal and walk briskly back up the stairs to the office.

He comes up to you on a quiet weekday afternoon two months into the job. He is all shy and hesitant, pulling at his sleeves nervously.

"So Brendan?"

"Yep." You listen to him with half an ear while checking the daily invoices at the bar.

"I don't suppose you have time to trial out a new DJ. It's for a mate of mine, Rae."

The way he says the name, lightly and breathlessly, makes you stop what you are doing and pay attention.

"She has been out of the picture for a while. But she is back in, if you know what I mean."

He smiles.

Shit.

You know what he means and you don't like it one bit. Who the fuck is this Rae? And why, with all the verbal nonsense that he throws your way on a daily basis, did he fail to mention her before today?

Your eyes shift to the stairs and land on a slip of a girl; blond with a high ponytail, large hoop earrings and angelic childlike face. She barely looks old enough to be weaned off the breast never mind DJ at a club.

You want to push her down the stairs.

"I see what you mean." You say raising an eyebrow at her. Rae needs to be taken out of the picture. You don't like the way Stephen looks at her. "Okay, let's see what she's got."

You listen to her spin some tracks. Stephen gets worked up to a dancing frenzy listening to her. He shakes his thing like there is no tomorrow glancing towards you with a smile as if encouraging you to join him on the empty dance floor. You don't. Instead you indicate her to kill the track.

She isn't bad. In fact, her mixing is flawless but her music is a bad fit for the club and more to the point you don't want her anywhere near Stephen.

"You were great!" He gushes at her. "Weren't she?" He looks at you.

"No." You say bluntly and proceed to trash her skills until she storms off angrily and he gets into a huff with you.

You tell him he should thank you.

"And how do you work that out?"

"She is only sniffing around so that she can get a gig."

"No, right. That's not Rae, though."

"Don't be a mug all your life, Stephen." You tug at the sides of his black jumper and run your hands down the fabric so that your knuckles graze down his front. He follows your movement curiously so you move your hands away. "She's trash. You can do better than that. Yeah?"

Despite your cautionary advice he goes on a date with her behind your back. He doesn't even have the decency to look apologetic about it when you catch him in the act. It enrages you. There is a possessiveness you feel towards Stephen that you didn't realise you had.

Why is he fucking up the equilibrium? Things were fine before Rae came along.

You plan to get rid of her again. This time you frame Stephen so that she catches him in a compromising lip-lock with a girl you hired to seduce him at the club. It works. Rae feels cheated and runs off.

With the wannabe DJ out of the picture you see Stephen with new eyes. Every time he talks to someone you watch for signs of chemistry. Are they trying it on with him? Is he trying it on with them? What's to stop him from hooking up with anyone he likes?

He could be anyone's. That thought is unpalatable. It leaves you only one option; to make him yours.

There are things in the way of having your way with him. At the top of the list is getting him to tune into the fact that it's going to happen. You wonder whether he has ever done anything with a man before. A gut feeling tells you that he would go there if gently coaxed.

There are other challenges. Your reservations about mixing work and play are still there but you ignore them. You are a man at the end of the day; led by your stomach and cock. Also, Rae reappears like a recurring, unwanted adolescent spot. According to Stephen they have 'talked about things' and are 'going to make a go of things' but are 'taking it slow'.

Then there is Macca. Your wife's nephew. The guy you have fucked once or five times. Maybe more. He made himself painfully available when you were in a period of carnal draught. He provided the warm friction you needed to achieve release when you needed but things got messy. He started talking about feelings so you beat him up to shut him up. Then you started fucking him again until your wife caught you in bed with him.

Messy.

That is why you left Ireland and why you punch Macca straight into a hospital bed when he decides to come to the village to declare his undying love for you. The guy never learns.

You hope that Stephen gets the score the way Macca probably never will. You really don't want to have to sort the bartender out if he falls out of line. You like him, if truth be told. He is sound as a pound and it helps that he is alright looking, too.

You put work into getting to the point of scratching that itch with Stephen.

You invite him to a poker night. "Are Rhys and Jacqui coming, too?" He asks.

"Do you want to come or not?" You reply.

You bring him along to a couple of casino nights. You do closed door stock checks with him after lockdown and you share a drink or two. You give him rides home. You make him cups of tea during his breaks. You have a laugh with him. You even give him a sizeable cash loan to pay for Amy's first few months of college.

Weeks pass and you want to scream in frustration because, despite all your efforts, you are nowhere near getting into his pants.

That's not to say he is cold towards you. Quite the opposite. He seems to hover around you. It is obvious that he enjoys your company and there are times when you think there is more; like when he blushes at your benign compliments or asks details about your occasional 'dates' with women in the village. You detect his thinly veiled jealousy.

But he doesn't make a move and he has to be the one to try it on first. You conclude that he is either playing you, not reading your signs, in denial or straighter than a ruler. There is only one thing for it; get him drunk and alone. You aren't going to maul him but they do say 'in vino veritas'. Alcohol has a tendency to loosen the subconscious free of its restraints. He might show you his true colours and if he doesn't react the way you want him to, you are going to stop this game of cat and mouse.

It has gone on long enough as it is and it is becoming more trouble than it's worth. Why are you bothering so much for a scrawy little gobby townie with a nice arse and wicked smile?

Guys like Stephen are ten a penny.

Your boozy night with him begins as a night out and ends as a night in at your place.

You continue to ply him with your tipple of choice, Irish whisky, and he sings like a bird about everything on his mind. He mentions how he thought that you hated him at first but that now he feels like things are different.

"Sometimes I don't think of you as my boss anymore." He slurs.

"No?"

"Well, you don't hang around with Rhys like this... or Jacqui. But Jacqui is a bit different because you and her were like-"

He sticks his tongue out at you and wiggles it around making obscene tonguing sounds. Jacqui is one of the other bartenders at the club. You may have played a game of tongue tennis with her, all in the name of show. You had forgotten about it, the way you had forgotten to keep up your 'womanising' ways recently. Trying to get with Stephen has taken up all of your time.

He is so close to you now, teasing you unknowingly with that wet wriggling tongue. If only he could do that same action but on your...

"Well, maybe I like you more than Rhys." You say deliberately.

Something springs into his eyes as he scans your face at point blank range.

"Yeah?" He stares at you, pupils dilating, a blush covering his cheeks.

"Yeah." You say. "And with Jacqui. It was nothing."

Your gaze drops to his lips involuntarily. His blush deepens and he moves away and shakes his head to sober up. His eyes are sluggish and you realise that you too are a little drunk. You are dropping your guard. You've got to be careful not to fuck this up. You cannot make the first move. It could spell big trouble if Stephen turned out to be a solid zero on the Kinsey scale and he pushes you off him in disgust. He could tell everyone.

He drones on a mile a minute. Fuck knows what he is saying but when you see him smile, you smile too. You look down at the rest of him. The lad has made an effort tonight and dressed up in what you suspect is his Sunday best. The wedge of skin peeking through his neck is lightly tanned and the vein there flutters like a trapped butterfly.

"-I never feel up for it anymore."

Your ears prick up as you tune into what he is saying.

"Up for it?" You ask although you suspect you know what he means.

"Well tonight I was feeling up for it!" He emphasises the words leaving no confusion as to their meaning. The lad is horny. "Do you know what I mean?"

You stare at those lips of his. The potential... "Yeah. Yeah me too."

"And it's a shame." He sighs.

"A shame?"

"Yeah." He turns on the sofa to face you. His knee brushes against your thigh and he studies you as if not sure how to say what he wants to say next. "We are friends now, yeah?"

"S'pose." That's one way to define it. "Yes."

His eyes widen and he smiles briefly. "Like, you aren't going to have a go at me at work no more, are you?"

"Was I making your life a misery?"

"I thought you were never going to give me a break." He whispers. You feel his warm breath on your lips.

"Maybe you proved yourself." You whisper back. "Did yourself proud."

"Have I?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks." He says softly.

You hold your breath as his eyes migrate down to look at your lips.

Fucking kiss me already, you think, because at any moment you are going to snog the living daylights out of the kid and that would be catastrophic.

He takes in a sharp breath in then crushes his lips to yours.

You expect it to be just a quick benign peck but he tumbles on you, circling his arms around your shoulders, pulling himself flush with you while his tongue tries to burrow into your mouth. It is as if he has been craving this for months and knows this is what you have wanted for weeks.

Before you are tempted to rip his clothes off and have your wicked way with him, you push him off you and he falls to the floor with a thud. He blinks up at you, shocked at his own actions.

You stand up and, with revulsion etched on your face, you rub your mouth with the back of your hand.

"What do you think you are doing?" You ask angrily.

This way he feels like the pervert, the deviant; not you.

"Sorry." He says, flustered. He runs out of your flat in embarrassment.

Your blood is pumping. You feel a rush through your entire being that pools in your groin as you stare through the open door of your flat.

Fucking high five.

Stephen wants you. You want him. You can finally scratch that itch... and all from a position of control.

You are surprised at how sexually naive Stephen is for a guy who has had sex with at least a couple of girls and fathered a son. You discover this the first time you do it with him in the cellar of Chez Chez the day after your kiss.

You tell him to go and fetch some crates then follow him, locking you both in the damp dimly lit room. You approach him. He is uncertain around you after your reaction to his advances last night. The poor lad doesn't know what you want so he backs away from you using the crate in his hands as a physical barrier.

You take it off him, put it to one side and trap him against a pillar.

He is close and your body responds to his tantalising proximity.

You kiss him lightly then smile at him. He looks baffled for a second searching your face for answers to his questions. Then passion takes over and he kisses you back ferociously. You would like to say you take your time but the truth is weeks of pent up frustration have made you impatient. You encourage him out of his clothes. You are surprised he goes with it but then that's horny adolescence for you.

He has the decency to go red when he realises he is butt naked in front of you when you are still fully clothed. He shivers under your gaze and covers his groins with both hands.

"Um." He keeps his eyes firmly on the ground.

You touch him, covering his body with yours, running your hands over his back and buttocks pushing him to you so the rigid length of his cock presses against your thigh. He automatically wraps his arms around your waist and smiles at you, coy. He is so turned on already and you haven't done anything yet. You kiss him again because you can and because his lips are to die for.

He giggles when your mouth begins a journey down his neck, across his collar bone. You lift his arm and burrow your face into his armpit. He laughs even harder and pushes you off him.

"Tickles!" He gasps.

Fucking hell.

You kiss him to shut him up and drag your hands down his body to grip his hips. He gasps again but this time out of arousal when one of your hands boldly grasps his cock and pumps it teasingly. He is baffled by your forwardness,

"Oh!"

Your willingness to touch every part of him, finding no part unworthy of exploration, makes him blush. You drop to your knees. He looks like he is going to bolt but you grip him and lightly swipe your tongue over the underside of his cock; a preview of what is to come. Unsurprisingly, he stays put.

"Oh, wow!" He moans when you take him into your mouth. His cock is a pleasant surprise, thick and generous. You deep-throat him and he practically shouts the club down with every dive of his cock down your pipe.

You lift off him and growl, "Shut the fuck up, Stephen! I'm going deaf here."

His screams become muted moans as he bites hard on his lower lip. He cums so violently that a spot of it lands on your red shirt.

Fucking great. You rub it off.

He doesn't last long. That's youth for you. He has a sated expression, closed eyes and blissful smile. The lad can barely stand up straight. He will learn to hold out longer next time. You'll make sure of it. But for today you are fascinated by how present, responsive and uninhibited he is. Stephen is going to be fun to play with that's for sure.

He looks down at you in wonder while rubbing his face. "That were mad, Bren! Wow!"

You stand up wordlessly. What the fuck were those girls doing to him? Clearly, not enough. Your effort was adequate at best. The boy might have died of pleasure if you had brought your A game.

"I aim to please."

You then push him down onto his knees, release your cock and push it towards him.

He looks up at you shyly so you stroke his cheek in encouragement. He grips the base of your cock, seeking your approval with a glance before flicking his tongue out to hesitantly lick it like a faddy eater trying some new exotic food for the first time. He licks his lips and smiles as if it has passed his palate test then tries to imitate the moves you used on him moments ago.

He isn't fantastic but you don't expect perfection on his first attempt. Your cock has a close encounter with one of his incisors but he does a commendable job otherwise. He gets a gold star for effort. His mouth is warm, sleek and accommodating. He creates a perfect seal and vacuum which is admirable. He palms what he is unable to get into his throat in his hand, fisting it in time with his tongue swirls and head bobbing. He tries to mix it up as best he can. Eventually he groans loudly when he tastes your precum and the vibration radiates through your cock.

You hold his head to your groin and feel his throat tighten around you as he gags. You release streams of cum into his mouth grunting hoarsely as you orgasm. He automatically swallows and looks up at you as you come off your high. The little git looks dead smug that he has managed to get you off. It is as if he has had an epiphany. The lad didn't know it could be so good.

He will flip out when he realises this is just the tip of the iceberg.

You pull him into a kiss but he stops you. "No. That's well weird, you know, after..."

He points in the general direction of your now flaccid cock and licks his lips. He is worried about sharing a cummy kiss. You laugh gently at him. He is kind of cute being all coy and shy. So you help him to his feet, grab the back of his head and whisper,

"No. It's fucking hot," before pulling him into a hard kiss, tasting yourself on him.

The first time you fuck him is part hilarious, part frustrating, part what the fuck. You are at his place lying naked in his bed in broad daylight. Stephen is dosing having been subjected to one of your premier league blow jobs. The kind that turns legs into jelly. With time, you will become familiar with his post-coital somnolence. Sex takes it out of him.

"It's not going to happen, Brendan." He says sluggishly as he shuffles in his sleep giving you a hard slap in the chest as you lie next to him.

Ouch. What is he dreaming about? You wonder.

You flip him onto his front and he mumbles incoherently then goes back to sleep while hugging a pillow. You trace your fingertips over his back which glows golden in the sun that shines through his bedroom's window.

Stephen is the perfect twink; slim but robust. Not hairy but it is body hair where it matters; a light brown on his pits, groin and treasure trail. You like how it contrasts with your dark more pronounced courser body hair. When you get to his arse you lightly caress it and then kiss and bite each cheek.

That wakes him up.

"Oi." He mumbles.

You ignore him when he wriggles his bum to displace you. You use both hands to keep him still and part his buttocks to reveal his tight pink untapped hole.

He cranes his neck to peer at you.

You are kneeling upright over his legs. "Can I help you?" You ask innocently.

"What are you doing?"

"Research."

He blushes. "Um. No."

You imitate his hesitation. "Um. Yeah."

"I've never done that before." He says softly. "It's not going to happen, Brendan."

You smirk. Those the words he mumbled in his sleep a few minutes ago. So that is what he was dreaming about when he smacked you while sleeping; trying to avoid being fucked.

How pointless. It's inevitable.

"You never bartended before either. Look how well that worked out for you." You give him a big goofy grin and he grins back. "And all because you had a great teacher..."

You raise a cheeky eyebrow at him. He stares at you for a long moment.

"Okay." He says eventually and relaxes back into the bed. His tousled hair catches the light as he runs a nervous hand through it. "Just, you know, don't do anything sudden."

That's it. Just like that. Consent. The lad is amazing, you think and suppress the over sentimental thought immediately.

You settle more comfortably over him and begin a trail of kisses down his back. Stephen groans and hugs his pillow, arching up to your touch as you make your way down to his butt. You pull his hips up so that his arse is in the air tempting you with its smooth firmness.

"I think you are going to like this." You whisper thickly. You blow over his hole and he shudders.

"Don't lie. It's going to hurt." He replies bluntly and you have to stop yourself from laughing.

You slowly run one hand over him and he rocks his butt up to you rather than pull away, the wanton hussy. He wants this. He is just nervous.

His cock is rock hard but it doesn't hold your interest right now.

Your tongue swipes over his hole and he gasps. You lap at him almost teasingly with barely any pressure until he is writhing under you, pushing up to you and trying to get his hand to your head to encourage you closer. So you oblige and up the pressure. He moans encouragingly rotating his hips rhythmically against your lips and tongue.

He wants to get fucked. His brain just doesn't compute it yet because he has never been there before.

"Please, Brendan!" He whines when you pull away to look at his gleaming wet arse hole.

"Please what?" You ask, horny as fuck and ready to dive right in.

He looks back at you in confusion. His face says, 'How should I know? I'm new at this.'

You hold his gaze while your wet fingers glide over him.

"This?" You whisper.

He sighs and rocks up against them so you pour a generous amount of lube onto him and slowly coax a finger in.

He clamps down against it, hard.

Fucking ouch. He is really tight.

"No." He hisses. He looks nervous all of a sudden. The shock of being penetrated for the first time is overwhelming. "Take it out."

"Out?"

Shit. Really? Maybe this is too soon for him.

You begin to pull out slowly.

He sighs then he groans like a kitten's satisfied purr in his chest.

Then he pushes back up onto you. "Wait! Yes!"

"Yes?" You pull it out completely, confused.

"I mean, don't stop." He moans, "You can do it again but slowly." He whispers.

You feel him relax every muscle of his being so you gently try again and slowly fuck him with a single finger.

Fucking hell, this is going to be a long night, you think. He can't make his mind up what he wants as his mind battles the urge of his body. You are all too familiar with that struggle.

Any doubts that you may have had that this is not his first time are gone. Nothing has been up the lad's arse before.

His eyes roll back in his head. "Yes, Bren!"

When you add two more fingers to the first, one at a time, his indecision comes into play again. He tenses up, panics, then relaxes and enjoys. The back and forth is exhausting and bewildering to you.

Eventually, after plenty of encouragement and lube he gets into a nice little stride, fucking himself on your fingers; pushing back onto them. Writhing. Moaning. Turning you on. At least he is happy now. More than happy. Time to make you happy too. Your cock is throbbing and ready to go.

You pull your fingers out and Stephen whimpers in disappointment.

"No! What are you doing?"

You quickly slip on a condom and slap his butt soundly. He huffs and pulls away before sticking his arse up at you again. He glances at you and your sheathed cock then buries his face into the pillow.

You press against him and start to push in.

He goes completely still and quiet; his body tense.

"Breathe." You say heatedly.

"Okay." He mumbles into the bedding and exhales loudly. His body relaxes allowing you to bury yourself deeper in him. You take your time. Patience now pays later.

You kiss his shoulder and push until you are all the way in. He breaks into a fast pant and you know he is feeling a sting and burn. You gently run a hand over his back to appease him. It will get better. Stephen reflexively contracts and relaxes around you hissing lightly when you thrust into him. You stop moving. Too soon. He needs to adjust.

His chest and head collapse into the bed, arms splaying to the side, so that only his butt sticks up. You grip his hips tightly and hope he is ready for you to get going soon. You bite your lips to keep composure.

Eventually he must feel something good because he grinds himself back onto you and emits the filthiest groan.

"Alright?" You ask through gritted teeth. Your body screams at you to fuck the shit out of him already.

"Yeah." He whispers and moans into the pillow. "Yeah, I think so."

He reaches for his own hard cock and starts pumping. That is enough encouragement for you to get thrusting slowly. Stephen feels just right around you. Too right. You feel a build up tingle in your balls almost immediately. Too soon. So you count back from a hundred in groups of seven.

You can't go and embarrass yourself by cumming straight away.

You are not one to romanticise a basic physical act but sex with Stephen is incredible. It makes you shudder just thinking about it.

You use his body at will, pleasuring him and yourself through sexual encounters that occur mainly at your homes or the club. You are frantic and rushed one minute then considered and languid the next. It depends on your mood. All you know is that you have a complete inability to control your urges when it comes to him.

You give him nothing but your body, though. You are a miser with your heart and soul. A scrooge. You tell yourself that it is because you aren't a faggot. You convince yourself that Stephen is merely a vector for release like the men before him. Purely physical. Easily replaceable.

He doesn't seem to mind at first. He is just keen to learn the joys of life between the sheets with you and boy is he eager; pillow-biting, toe-curling, arse-baring, dick pumping, moaning, sighing, writhing. You have visions of tying him to your bed so that he can be there at your beck and call; that is how addictive he is.

You get comfortable with the status quo. You beckon. He comes. You fuck. He goes.

But that is all ruined one day right while you are fucking him.

He grips you to him, shaking with need, red and sweaty from exertion and whispers,

"I love you, Brendan!"

You are immediately stunned into inaction then reflex kicks in. You punch him right in the ribs when still balls deep. That is how much his words mess with your mind. The sound of his bones crunching brings tears to your eyes.

Why is he ruining a good thing? Why is he acting like some queer boy? He has to know the rules. If he doesn't then this is what he faces and you hate doing this to him.

Stephen scampers away from you wheezing and grasping his chest. His shock at your act of violence is hard to watch but it is necessary. It is for his own good the way your dad's fists were for yours. They teach.

"Never say that again, you here?" You hiss at him angrily.

He nods briskly, unshed tears glistening his eyeballs. "Sorry."

He gets dressed gingerly.

You reach out to embrace him. You want to hold him because he looks lost and confused.

"No." He cowers from your touch. He whispers, "I'm going."

He avoids you for a week. He doesn't come to work. He ignores your calls. So you finally pay him a visit at home. You want make sure he isn't too hurt. You need him to understand why you did what you did. You want him to come back to you. The club is going to pot without him and so are you. Nothing soft, it is just that you have gotten used to having him around. You try to convince yourself that it is just about sex but it isn't. There is more to it than that but you don't entertain it because you can't become the 'good for nothing faggot' your father predicted all those years ago.

So you bury any 'feelings' you might have deep until you forget about them.

Anyway you somehow persuade Stephen to give things another go. The fool. He should run a mile. You are dangerous with a capital D. Instead he plays a dangerous game of Russian roulette with you. He gets fucked so good he can't walk straight because it when you feel most connected with him. But then, on occasion, he gets beaten so badly he can't walk straight because he forgets that this is a secret affair that is nothing more than an itch to scratch.

You wonder why he stays with you sometimes. You stifle him. You don't give him what he wants. You hurt him occasionally. He never says the words that started the cycle of violence.

'I love you, Brendan'.

He knows how you will react if he does. Broken ribs aren't fun.

Of course he leaves you and you don't even see it coming. No. That's not true. You ignored the signs because it was easier than facing them head on.

You stopped hitting him. You figured that would keep him. You stopped because he stopped getting emotional and because after knocking him about you found you couldn't sleep. You felt like the world was over and you wanted to leech the pain and injury that you caused from him and smear it all over yourself. His physical pain tore you apart.

You should have paid more attention to his emotional pain.

Stephen reaches breaking point because of it.

"I can't do this no more, Bren." He says defeated. "I can't."

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't care about me, do you?"

"Fuck's sake."

His face is red with emotion, his eyes full of unshed tears. "This is what I mean."

"Then why did you bother sticking around this long?" You say.

"Because I loved you but I couldn't even tell you." He shouts in upset. "God, I am such an idiot!"

Loved. The use of the past tense isn't lost on you.

That's why he stayed?

That is why he put up with your shit?

And you repayed him with forced aloofness and secrecy.

"I am leaving you, Bren." He says. "It's over."

You harden up against his words although something shatters in your soul. Your words are caustic. "How does that work exactly? Things can only be over if they started."

You tell yourself it is no big deal that he is gone because things had only ever been purely physical and Stephen was easily replaceable. He must have been brainwashed by words from Rae and Amy, who both know that you are fucking him. They are fantasists who have poisoned his mind with images of date nights, hand holding, dessert sharing and public displays of affection. It isn't long before he finds all of that fluffy stuff with some benign camp gym bunny called Noah.

You hate his new 'boyfriend' with a passion. Seeing him with Stephen is like a direct kick to your balls, painful and unnecessary. He has no right to put his hands on your bartender, whisper into his ear and make him smile.

You are consumed with a level of jealousy that you have never experienced in your life. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. It makes yours go insane. You chip away at their relationship, planting seeds of doubt and driving a wedge between them. Your attack is systematic and unrelenting until it is beyond repair.

Noah is history.

YOu count to ten and then try getting back with Stephen again.

He takes you back quicker but he has terms and conditions. He is tougher and wiser than before, more mature, ready to speak his own mind and challenge you. Ready to walk away if you fuck up again. Zero tolerance. You are intrigued by this man. He reminds you of the feisty Stephen you once knew, right at the beginning. You like it.

But he scares the shit out of you when he begins to tell you, unapologetically and unreservedly, how he feels about you. His eyes challenge you to shut him up. But you don't. You grit your teeth and listen to his words. So sincere. So open. So exposing. So pointless...

'It isn't just when we, you know, um, do it. I love being with you, Bren, like when you joke with me or when we hang out at the club and talk. I like that I can tell you about my kids and my stresses because you understand what I'm going through.'

'I missed you today.'

'I love your smile.'

'I want you to stay tonight.'

'I love you, Brendan.'

He loves you. He still loves you. Why does your breathing seem easier when he says that, for fuck's sake? Your soul is invigorated.

After some time you crave him telling you those words at the end of a long taxing day or when you miss your kids or when you've had a row with your sister or a run in with Foxy. It is a cure all remedy to life's ailments.

You loosen up and change, subconsciously, from the inside out and you know that Stephen is the reason.

You call him to say you want, no, need to see him. You make it your mission to make him laugh so hard that he snorts at the end when he has had a rough day at work. You enjoy teasing him into a full blown pout only to wipe it away with a kiss. You look forward to offering middle-of-the-night critique on his newest culinary invention only to see his face crinkle up with pride and smugness when you say you approve. You have choice words and a ready fist for any bloke or chick who tries it on with him. You are cool with the relaxed and carefree bond he shares with your sons.

When did that happen?

When did Stephen become completely entangled in every part of your life; work, family, social...? You can't see an aspect of your life that isn't touched by him and where you wouldn't miss him.

After nearly two years together many people know about you as a matter of fact (Cheryl, Linsey, Warren, the Chez Chez staff, Pete, your kids, his kids, Eileen, Mitzeee and of course the original two, Amy and Rae). In addition, most of the village speculate that something is going on. It is the worst kept secret in Hollyoaks history. You don't care as much as you thought you would. It is just the way it is. He is the constant itch that you have to scratch; that you can't let go of. Well, maybe not an itch. Something better than an itch. Maybe.

Maybe I should tell him, you think to yourself when he shuffles up to you in the night in his sleep and you curl an arm around him drawing him near. You think about it a lot. I should tell him that I care.

Chez thinks you should and more.

'You are frustrating, Bren. Three little words. That's all. Ste would be made up. You should swallow your pride or bury whatever notion you have that the world will come tumbling down if you say them.'

Amy thinks so too.

'There is nothing worse than saying I love you and not hearing the words back, Bren, especially when it is so obvious that you do love him.'

Of course you don't take their advice.

The thing is you honestly don't know if you love Stephen. What does love mean anyway? It sounds so vague and amorphous. You have never experienced it before. You aren't talking about the love you have for your sister or your children. That love is clear. It is automatic. It is bound by blood. You are talking about the love you are meant to feel for someone who comes into your life and enriches it and you irreversibly.

How do you know if what you are feeling is love?

And if it is who says you are ready to say the words. As irrational as it sounds you do feel like things will change irredeemably if you do; admitting your love for another man will be the final nail in your gay coffin. The prospect makes you feel trapped, not by Stephen but by the label and what it represents. Your enemies will see it as a weakness and your affection for another man, a weapon in their favour. You would be exposed. Stephen could be in danger. Danny Houston reminded you of that and you need Stephen safe. You can't lose him.

So maybe it is better not to think about it and keep it simple. Just accept that you want him in your life and he makes you feel good and you don't particularly like it when he isn't around.

Simple.

One night, at the end of a busy club night you sit him down. You tell him it makes perfect sense for him to move in with you because he is there and you are here and really you should both be here. You crack open a bottle of champagne. Your nervousness is killing you but you don't give that away. You wait for his reply.

He says yes.

XOXO

Present Day (Day 4)...

There is a knock on the office door. It's Cheryl and she has her youngest boy in tow, a sleeping six-month old Alessio.

"Hiya Bren." She says as she drags the pushchair in before her.

"Alright?" You say suspiciously as she takes a seat on the chair opposite the desk. You suspect she has received a tip off about yesterday's supper from Declan. Nosy cow! "Bit soon to take your son clubbing."

She snorts. "Funny."

"What brings you here?" You ask.

"Quick hello." Chez says softly looking at you closely. "You look a right fright, love."

"Thanks sis." You say drily. "Tea?"

You don't wait for her reply as you stand up to turn on the kettle, put teabags into mugs and bring out some biscuits.

She nods and smiles. "I'm just saying. What's happened to my gorgeous brother? You look like you have been run over by a bus and then shot twice. You okay?"

You grunt.

"And you haven't come over in three weeks. We only live down the road. Where are you hiding?"

"I've been busy."

"I popped into VIBE because I thought you might be there. Declan says you haven't been at work for a few days."

"You spying on me?"

"No." She smiles slightly. "My boys miss their uncle."

Cheryl has three boys and she is ten weeks pregnant with her fourth child according to a scan done a few weeks ago. She and that Italian husband of hers seem to be on a mission to double the planet's population.

"And I miss them too. Really I do. Being used as a climbing frame. Having my moustache tugged all day. Being called an incontinence pad."

Seamus, the middle child, calls you Uncle Tena.

She laughs. "I think it's cute."

"Yeah. That's cute."

"Okay, I'll cut to the chase." She goes all business. "I know Stephen is in town and went round to yours last night for supper."

"That Declan." You say without surprise. You pour some boiled water into the mugs and a dash of milk in each. You both like your teas strong so you hand your sister her mug with bag still in and place the biscuit tin on the desk between you.

"How was it?"

"You mean how Stephen and I reacted to seeing each other again?"

"Yeah, I guess."

You eat three biscuits in a row. You are hungry. Stephen's lasagne yesterday was incredible but it met an ugly end just before he left when it became a victim of your nausea. The vomiting was torrential. You covered the fact from him as much as you could with toothpaste, mouthwash and a splash of water to your face before joining him again to say goodbye.

"I kissed him." You confess into your mug. Why the fuck did you say that? You take a deep breath in then out.

"Stephen?"

"No. The other bloke I had over." You say sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes at you. "In front of the boys?"

She leans towards you gripping her mug with both hands.

"No. They left." You shake your head. "Stupid move anyway. Pointless."

"Why do you think you did it then?"

You look at her and decide to be honest. She is the only person in the world who really gets you and knows the most about you anyway.

"I wanted to. Couldn't help myself."

"What did he... I mean, how did he react?"

"Kissed me back." You think back to his clawing hands, insistent lips and acquiescent sighs. "Yeah."

"Jesus, did you sleep with him?"

"No. Taxi came. He left."

Cheryl places a hand on your wrist. "Brendan, please don't get pissy with me but do you think that maybe you still love him?"

You lean back to place your head on your chair's headrest and stare at the ceiling.

"What makes you think I ever loved him, sis?"

"Don't be daft."

"I'm serious, Chez."

She stays quiet for a moment. "Okay. You asked so don't get upset about what I am about to say."

You look at her. "I won't."

"And don't interrupt because I am going to tell you a fairy tale."

"Seriously?" You roll your eyes at her. "I'm forty not four."

"Brendan. Sush. Promise you'll listen."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

She looks horrified at your words.

"Don't say that." She whispers angrily.

"Say what?"

She shakes her head. "Never mind. Let me tell you the story about a King and his Knight."

"Fucking hell." You groan.

Once upon a time there was a boy; I'll call him Prince Brendan, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Brady. His father was King and ruled the land with an iron fist. Since the Prince's birth the King was unduly tough on his son. He never showed he cared and beat Prince Brendan regularly. The reason was that the King knew that his son was different and he wanted to show the boy how to be a 'real man' because what he was wasn't good enough in the King's eyes.

The Prince never felt worthy of his father but made it his aim in life to try and live up to his expectations. He copied the King; walking and talking like him, being like him. Brendan needn't have worried what his father thought, though, for the boy was loyal, strong, handsome and smart. He was ten times the man his father was. You see, the real reason behind the King's actions was jealousy. Brendan's sister, the beautiful Princess Cheryl, saw it.

Unfortunately with time the Prince grew up to be a young man that was just like his father; tough, uncompromising and lacking in mercy.

When the King died and Prince Brendan took the throne, the town people feared him as they had his father. Deep down this saddened the new King but years of acting 'like a real man' like his father had taught him had clouded his judgement.

As time went on there were times when the King feared that the truth would reveal itself. It was just under the surface ready to burst out so he worked even harder to cover it up.

One day His Majesty met Stephen, a squire of the court training to join the knighthood. The young man had remarkable skills with the sword. The King felt a deep and instant connection to him, something he had never felt before. King Brendan didn't understand his emotions but they felt more natural than the hard emotions he acted out every day so expedited the squire's transition into knighthood and Stephen became his right hand man.

Though devoid of an official court title, the Knight was never far from the King's side even when they were fighting against the mighty Kingdom of Fox.

During these battles the King felt immeasurable fear and concern for the young man's wellbeing despite knowing that the Knight was one of his finest. It took everything for King Brendan not to check every inch of the Knight for injury when they returned from battle.

At the end of such a day, Stephen walked into the King's private chambers to report on the details of the day's battle. As the Knight walked in he saw the King in a state of undress. He jumped with surprise at the sight before him and the King quickly covered himself with a gown and commanded the young man to leave in anger and shame.

Stephen, however, disobeyed the King's orders and approached His Majesty cautiously.

The Knight slowly disrobed from his battle-wear to his undershirt and breeches. He smiled then and silently lifted his shirt up revealing his torso. He then turned to face away from the King.

An explosion of feathers burst forth from his back as two large brilliant white wings cut through his skin and spread out wide as if about to take flight before settling down so that the tips skimmed the floor.

He turned back to the King,

"We are alike you and I, Your Majesty." Stephen seemed jubilant; not disgraced or ashamed at all.

The King was shocked. Not only was the Knight he had grown fond of not a real man but Stephen seemed completely unconcerned about the fact.

King Brendan's own jet black wings lightly fluttered with indignation.

"I am a man." He said emphatically, willing his wings to regress into his back as he had trained them to do over the years.

"So am I." Stephen said and smiled. His wings flapped broadly by his side in an elegant display that mesmerised the King.

His Majesty had never dared use his own wings. They hung limply from his back on the few occasions he was alone and allowed them to reveal themselves. In those times he wished he could cut them off but knew, from past experience, that they were tougher and more sensitive than any other part of his body.

"They are nothing to be ashamed of, Sire. It's called Ala. That's Latin for wing. This isn't an abnormality. It is a gift."

Present Day...

"Jesus, sis. Can you get to the point?" Brendan says in exasperation. "I do have other plans this year."

Chez gives you a glare. "The story is the point."

"'Kingdom of Fox'? Really? 'Wings'? Fucking hell."

"Are you going to interrupt me again?"

"No."

"Good. Listen."

The King still felt ashamed about his secret but he admired Stephen who was entirely unselfconscious about his wings.

In the privacy of his chambers the King, following the Knight's gentle coaxing, would allow himself to be as he was born. Stephen would show the King how to move his wings until they grew strong and flapped as powerfully as the Knight's. King Brendan would catch his reflection in his wash basin and wonder at the shine and elegance of his feathers. He would feel pride that his conscious self would try to squash.

During the day, the King would crave those stolen moments with his Knight where he could be who he truly was. Where he could be free of his shackles.

The first night he took flight with Stephen by his side was one he would remember forever. The swell in his heart was unparalleled. He was completely in tune with his body and who he was when the wind hit his face as he sliced through the air. They soared towards the heavens together, a tangle of black and white flutters, only to nosedive towards the sea at the edge of the Kingdom skimming the cool water at speeds the King could only dream about without flight.

"Why can't we be like this always, Sire? Free. Unrestrained. What is the harm? There are other men and women like us but they live in fear because of the rules set by your father and propagated by you. That is why Ala is only done in secret. That is why they are hidden from you tell the masses that it is normal then it will be so."

But the King couldn't change the habits of a lifetime. The ghost of his father haunted him and the constant threat of enemies and the fear that they would be see Ala as a weakness stopped him.

"I think you use excuses, Sire. How does revealing you have Ala make you weaker? I believe it will only make you stronger."

The King considered and considered and considered.

One night, he summoned his trusted Knight to his private chambers.

Without hesitation, once alone they produced their Ala and immediately felt more relaxed. The Knight bowed low and said,

"His Majesty called."

"Yes." The King said. "On the morrow we go into battle for the final time against the Kingdom of Fox. I command you to stay in the castle. I will not have you on the battlefield."

"Sire. I must protest. I am the best swordsman you've got. You need me on that field."

The King took in the determined features of the young man before him. He wanted the Knight safe and unharmed.

"I need you here, Stephen." He pointed at the floor of his inner chambers.

"Sire, every time we go into battle we risk our lives but we do so for King and Kingdom. You yourself stand on the frontline with your men. Who am I to lie softly in the shadows while my King fights?"

"You are my closet friend." The Kings said earnestly. "You are..."

"Then I shall ride by your side as always and if I perish I will die proud to have served you to my dying day."

The King alarmed. "You shall do no such thing, Stephen! Your King will never let you expire for his cause, not while he lives and breathes."

The young man gave his King a wry smile that was wise beyond his years. "You can promise no such thing, sire. To me you are as powerful as the sun yet even it cannot be present to light our paths, warm us and help our harvest grow every moment of the day. It too must rest."

On the day of battle, the King stood in front of his army. His speech was brief; a call to the masses.

"We men of heart! We men of strength! We go forth hopeful and come back victorious!"

The roar of his army was deafening; voices shouted, spears hit against shields and horses neighed.

King Brendan was oblivious to it. His eyes were set on one man alone who stood in the front row of the cacophony, smiling up at him.

The pride that shone from Stephen's eyes gave the King inner strength and clarity of mind. Through the cheers and chants of his subjects he began to take his armour off.

The crowd's noise died down and even Stephen looked at him with surprise. The king fixed his eyes on his Knight and a moment later his large black silky wings sprouted from his back, flapping strongly so that he hovered off the ground for a second before landing softly again.

"This is your King!" He bellowed, revealing his true self to his subjects.

They were all stunned into silence.

After a long pause, Stephen too showed his Ala. He rose to the skies and flew to his King standing by his side. Soon other knights and soldiers showed their wings too. Their cheers were loud and eventually joined by those who didn't have wings. The truth was out.

The King was finally at peace. With his knight by his side and wings on display, he led his army to battle.

Unfortunately, the fight was a bloody one. Both kingdoms lost many of men and women.

The ones left standing fought bitterly to the end.

As dusk drew near and exhaustion set in the King turned to his side. He screamed a cry that could be heard the kingdom over when he witnessed Stephen get knocked off his horse after being stabbed by King Warren's right hand man in his side.

The Knight fell to the floor, his wings springing out instinctively as he hit the ground. He tried to gain flight but Sir John, King Warren's right hand man, jumped on top of him pinning him down. The big brute raised his spear above his head ready for the kill, overpowering the Knight in his injured state.

King Brendan's actions were quick and instinctive. He took flight and swooped towards Sir John and-"

"Stop Cheryl." You say abruptly. "Enough."

Your sister looks at you cautiously.

"Don't mention that bastard's name."

"Who's? John's?"

Your face contorts in pain.

"Sorry." She says.

"I don't want to hear anymore of your story."

She nods. "Okay."

Alessio stirs awake and starts whining from the confusion that is the transition of sleep to wake. You automatically pick him up from his pushchair, pull him onto your chest and rock him. He nuzzles into you and falls back asleep.

Chez says, "My point is that you loved Ste because you saw no end to what you would do to protect him from harm. And because he brought out the real you, Bren, and not by demanding it or coercing you. Maybe love is also when you find someone who makes you soar so that you become something so much better that you could have ever hoped to be and it is because they are right there in your life."

You blink back tears. Fucking emotional sister. Where does she get off having an opinion?

"This is a pointless conversation anyway. He has a fucking boyfriend, sis. Five years together."

"I know." She says. "I know. I'm not saying this is easy and people won't be hurt but you would be daft not to give it a shot. What is the worst that can happen to a big man like you if Ste rejects your advances? You can brush it off and go back to your string of seriously inappropriate twinks."

She looks at you and gives you a small smile.

"Life is too short to live with regret, Bren." She takes the baby out of your hands. "He is staying at the O'Callaghan Davenport, by the way, and he'll be at VIBE tonight."

"How do you know?"

"Your son is a chip off the old block. He has done some digging around."

She places her sleeping son into the pushchair again and then turns to you. There are tears in her eyes that she tries to hide.

"What's up?" You ask. "You aren't going all emo over your brother's tragic love life are you?"

You pull her into your arms and she begins to properly sob, like 'someone has died' type of sobs. That is when it dawns on you.

"She told you." You say numbly.

She sniffs into your shirt and the wetness seeps through the thin material to touch your skin.

She nods and mumbles into your chest. "You should have told me."

She continues to bawl.

"She shouldn't have told you." You say. "It wasn't her place."

"Don't blame Nikki. She is devastated. I caught her crying her eyes out at VIBE. That was shitty of you leaving her alone to grieve without being able to tell anyone."

"Sorry. I was a little busy trying to get my head around the cancer." You say sarcastically.

"We are family. That's what we are here for."

You push her away.

"What do you mean 'we'?"

Your sister stares at you with red shimmery eyes.

"I'm sorry, Bren, but Declan knows, too."