A/N:
You guys! It feels like yesterday that me and Kabr were perfecting our celebratory dances for 100 reviews and now suddenly you all bought us up to 200! You're all so wonderful, and welcome to new faces and some old ones back as well! As I'm always saying loads of reviews make me work extra hard so here's chapter 17 extra early for all you awesome people :D
And as I said in the last chapter this chapter continues on in Brendan's POV – also not a lot happens because the stuff that doesn't happen is important, you'll hopefully see what that means!
Plus we're chucking a name in here who hasn't been mentioned yet, Kabr and I are currently in debate over who it should be he is mentioned again so let us know if you have any strong feelings (he is changeable).
Oh and I heard you all crying out for revenge, and Brendan will want to reap Ste's revenge eventually – but there's someone who let Brendan down first.
Chapter Warnings:
Angst;
Scenes of a sexual nature.
Chapter Seventeen – Brendan Brady
In the hallway I can barely move.
His words shoot through me like a poisonous arrow.
"I know why you don't want me now, you know - It's cos I'm dirt, innit."
It physically hurts when he says things like that – denies himself like that.
I lean my head up against the door, straining myself to think clearly. My blood's still pumping so hard all I want to do is give him what he asked for, but that would be as corrupt as leaving him. He needs to know that he's more than what he thinks he is. More than what Terry and Blake and all those men have shown him he is, more than what I've shown him he is. But I can't be the one to tell him. If he stays with me there's only one eventuality and I can't think about a world that he's not a part of.
I have made a deal with the devil and now I'm a heartless man at worst, and entirely helpless at best.
My knuckles crunch with dried blood – Foxy's small time con's and Blake's. There's too much out there that could damage this beautiful boy and the one thing I can think clearer than anything else is he needs to be kept safe. He needs someone to watch over him.
And there is no-one else.
I push the door ajar and see him standing in the shower. A river of water running down his glowing torso, shining deliciously from his skin. He is so fucking beautiful. My heart's already pumping a corrupt rhythm. I'm unnoticed as he turns towards the water and tilts his head into the flow. I strip slowly and push the door open quietly.
The moment my arm goes around his hip he falls back into me, as my name is whispered from those beautiful lips. His body curves into mine like I'm the only one keeping him upright. I take all his weight, press my chin into his neck and it's then I notice he's been crying. Not sobbing, not deep innocent body trembles as he did before on the roof, and in that room, and weeks back in my bed. But long rivers of tears down those beautiful cheeks. Like these tears are effortless expressions of anguish.
I give him the words he should hear every day.
"You're beautiful, Steven." I promise him and he swallows hard.
"You're beautiful and no matter what you do, no matter what happens to you, you always will be - inside and out." I give power to my words because I want them tattooed on his heart.
"And you're never, ever, gonna be dirt. I don't want you to say that ever again. Do you hear me?" I ask.
He nods, slowly.
He takes a moment as we stand here, a part of each other once more. And then his face turns to mine, his lips plaster to my skin, the stubble of my beard.
"No," I say moving my face away.
"Stop rejecting me," he orders like a plea.
"I'm not rejecting you," I promise. "I'm resisting you." barely!
His lips curve gently, "I don't want you to do that neither, me."
"Do you know why I am?"
I see a million reasons flicker in his eyes, and I see the underlying one that still hasn't gone away – there's still a cell of him that thinks it's because he's unclean.
I need to show him what I see when I look at him. I need him to know he's always the most beautiful boy in the room, and always will be.
"Let me show you," I tell him.
I bend down, pick up the sponge and lather it with the Imperial Leather. It's rose and sandalwood, Lynsey must have left it here the week she stayed with the footballer. The fact that it's hers gives this so much more meaning. She was the person to remind me of the light in me.
I stand up, run the sponge across my boy's tensed shoulders - feel the muscles flex under my touch. I cup against the base of his shoulder blade and push up, circling. I've done this once before of course, but that was before I really knew him. Now I know the scars of his soul this massage has so much more importance.
"What are you doing?" He whispers, his voice barely a breath, his eyelashes fluttering closed.
"I'm gonna bathe you," I tell him.
I continue to wipe the sponge over his back, running down his spine. His head tilts forward and I push up his neck.
I tempt the water against his golden, perfect body - washing away the memories of all those men, leaving him as fresh and as new and as innocent as he always should be. He's mine now. I trail my fingers between his; ease his arm up slowly; stroke the sponge over his skin. The water flows against his slight curvatures, and all the time I'm using my free hand to massage the tension away, allow his body to forget. I strip him clean slowly, polish my diamond in the rough.
I turn him around and run the sponge up over his pecs, along his shoulder bone, I move gently over his throat, cleanse away my own stupidity, my own corruption. He whimpers as I trace over the marks I left on his skin. Before thinking, I move my lips over the bruise that's formed, kiss his skin better like Eileen used to for my boys. A breath shudders through his lips. And I swear under my breath for my infidelity – kisses are for a different time.
I take a step back, but he begs, "don't stop."
His eyes are bright and wide and I can see the perfect eternal innocence in his soul.
"I won't," I promise him.
I bend down, place the sponge on the floor to pick up the shampoo. And then I stand up, scrape his hair, and tend to each strand. I'm careful of the repulsive marks that bastard left on my boy. At first I'm gentle and gradually harder as keens leave his lips. I massage his scalp and feel the tension release.
Finally I turn around, bend down and run the sponge up his thighs, across his arse. Knowing he doesn't see the act as sexual now, knowing he's close to understanding. I clean over his ankles, up his claves and thighs and into the curve of that beautiful arse. I ease him around one final time and he cups his cock, hiding from me, this expression on his face like he's guilty.
"Steven?" I say, raising an eyebrow at him.
He drops his hand and reveals barely a response. I hardly manage to hide the laugh, but he smiles at the mirth in my eyes – he will always know all the thoughts inside me.
"I'm proper trying!" He says "it just..it feels kinda good."
"You're resisting," I tell him, my tone praising him.
I run the sponge quickly over his balls, his cock, causing the tiniest of moans to fall between his lips.
"Good boy."
I stand up and he smiles as he sees I'm in exactly the same state. Of course I am - how can I not react to him?
I push the clean hair back from his eyes, lay my forehead to his. This position that feels like home. He leans a minute fraction closer towards me, I can feel his eyelashes flutter against mine now, and my heart starts to race. A water droplet slides between us, and I reach up to drag it away, my fingers catching the smooth perfect carving of his cheekbones. I catch my breath and all my fucking sense on his beauty. I slide my hand down his cheek, to his jaw and he angles his head to my palm, our noses rubbing together; and I can almost feel the warmth and softness of his mouth against mine, it would take less than a movement for us to be kissing. On impulse my thumb maps that bottom lip, his lips part, his tongue so close to my skin. I can feel him shiver, shivering in the pleasure of us.
But that's not the lesson I'm teaching him is it?
I step back from him, shaking sense back within.
"Bren-" he starts to protest.
But the moment I open my eyes he nods. And although his body's struggling to cool he breathes deep - mastering this skill I've taught him.
I reach behind him and turn the shower off. Step out, quickly tie one of the towels around my waist and beckon him further toward me. I wrap the other over him, dry his skin with fluffy cotton.
"Why have I resisted you, Steven?" I ask, fuck I hope he knows.
His eyes drop down, his eyelashes fluttering, his lips curving into the blush in his cheeks, "because I'm important."
I can't help the thrill that passes through me at the proof that my act has worked. He can see himself differently now I've stripped him bare of his past, bathed his skin in protection. I push the hair back from his eyes, stroke over his face.
"Good bo-" I start to praise him but his finger presses hard against my lips.
"You say things like that and you make it proper impossible, Brady," he warns, laughing.
He removes his finger hesitantly.
He looks down at our matching towels and the weight beneath.
"Though I think you're kinda worse off than me right?" he says indicating how much my towel is tented right now.
He steps closer again, his sweet scent rushing over me. He gives me that look from underneath his eyelashes.
"Are you sure you don't want to?" He asks.
I laugh at him, shake my head and grab him by the hips, firelift him over my shoulder.
"cheeky fecker aren't you?" I say, slapping his arse.
I carry him to bed, to sleep.
***M&K***
He sleeps tucked into my arm as he always used to. He looks peaceful and relaxed - dreams fluttering across the Eden of his face, his eyelashes playing with the twitch of those bee stung lips. God I could watch him for hours – but there's something else I have to do. I lean him back into the bed and climb out. Dress and drive off into the night.
Simon Walker lives in a housing estate in the middle of Chester. The lock on his door is rusty and old. I keep telling him these are things he needs to change. Being the men we are, and even more importantly doing the work he does, safety should be priority. But he thinks he's above protection – like he's the fucking police or something. Anyway these things are to my advantage tonight. As is the fact he lives alone. I put on my black leather gloves, slide the metal release under the lock and let myself in, creep into his house.
The moment I step over the threshold is the moment I start to feel dizzy, lightheaded, a little less like me. I struggle to control the flex of my fingers. I trusted Walker to take care of one of the most precious things in my life and he failed me. He let me fail Steven. The monster I am breeds on the anger inside me.
My legs shake as I walk into his bedroom. Walker looks almost the exact opposite of Steven when he sleeps. His hair messed about over the pillow like it's trying to get away from his head, his features curled like he's disgusted with himself. Straight out on his back. Snoring, loudly.
I press one glove hand down on his forehead, trapping him in place as I pinch his nose, cover his mouth banning him from oxygen.
"Jesus, what the fuck? Brendan!" He moans, choking back to reality.
"I asked you to do one simple thing, Walker, didn't I? One simple thing!"
My hand seeks the warm flesh under his chin, fingers ready to clasp at his jugular in case he needs a warning.
He tries to fight me off so I move my body over him, sitting hunched over his hips. He nods quickly.
"What was it?"
"To, to keep an eye on Ste Hay."
"And what did you do?" I demand.
He sighs deep, "what is it about that boy anyway, eh Brendan?" He asks, "you that desperate for a twink?"
"He's not a twink."
"He's a seventeen year old kid! A scally, council rat who's-"
That's the last thing I remember being said.
***M&K***
Afterwards, I sit on Walker's doorstep. The cold night air whispers into my lungs. My aching, sore muscles tell me that I got revenge.
I order my thoughts into some form of sense. I can feel the way my hand clasped over his face to shut off his blasphemous words. I can see his eyes as he stared at me, clearly frightened but something else in their depth – in my memory the pupils are sparked like fireworks. I can hear his laugh, so I know he taunted me. But I know nothing else at all.
I was not in control of a single thing in that house. I was physically dominant but I had become the monster inside me - I was all his and none of mine.
And I don't remember a thing.
***M&K***
I tiptoe back into my flat, slide into the bedroom. Steven's asleep on his front, spread across the bed – his head rested into my pillow. The duvet's barely covering him, the white linen just draped over that taut arse which is somehow still tanned. He insisted on sleeping in just his boxers like sharing a bed wasn't enough torture. He looks ridiculous – like some sort of model.
There are a few sights I will remember as perfect throughout my lifetime. Katy's eyes as we shared our first kiss. The way Trevor looked as I lay entirely fucked out for the first time. Eileen as she beamed like very pregnant sunrays walking down the aisle. Declan's first step as he held my finger. And this. Seeing Steven like this. It feels like I was always supposed to see this and as I slowly strip down to just my boxers it feels like I've come home to him.
I press my hand to his back, and his skin is ice cold. I pull the duvet up quick, and jump into bed next to him, pull him to me. He doesn't mind being cold when he sleeps but I hate that he does it, I hate that he could ever leave himself unprotected. As I wrap my arms around his hips I feel the flutter of his eyelashes blinking open.
He hums as he settles into my chest.
"Where have you been?" He asks.
I take my thumb and smooth out the worry in his brow.
"I just had to sort something - it's nothing for you to worry about, I promise." His eyes study mine and I know I have to get him to think of something else so I say, "give us a kiss, gizzakiss."
And he beams and presses his lips just once to mine, sweet treasured moment of bliss. He shucks into me. There's silence and it's comfortable now, next to him I can let it happen.
"Bren?"
"Hmmm."
He chews the corner of his lip as he looks at me, like he's covered in uncertainty, I know I shouldn't have left him.
"Do you want me to stay? I mean I can go – you know if-"
Fuck.
"Steven." I rush, clasping his head in my hands, shutting off his words, I can't even think about them. "I'm not letting you out of my sight OK?"
He smirks a little at my insistence, "OK."
Then his eyes darken like he's speaking of a soul shadow.
"Even with-" He looks down at himself, "the illness?"
"Steven, it's chlamydia! It's insignificant," his eyebrows furrow and I correct myself, "that's the wrong word, but it is treatable you know. After Christmas we'll take you to a proper doctor, get the correct drugs and in a couple of years we'll forget you even had it." My impulsive, impudent words are like a magnifying glass for the thought I feared to be true - the certainty that I can't conceive a future without him. Neither of us need to know how deep my feelings go so I backtrack quickly. "What I mean is Chlamydia is curable, what's incurable is-" what? My feelings for you? Societal norms? A life with me?
But he doesn't see the darkness in my soul or doesn't want to. He just leans up, presses his lips to mine briefly, and exhales like he's been holding a breath. There's this adorable smile on his lips and he just makes this all feel normal.
"You're home now," I tell him, stroking his hair back from his face. "Go to sleep OK?"
He settles back into my chest, and then pauses, "you gonna be here when I wake up?"
I press my nose into his hair, breathe him in, and give him my answer, "yeah."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
And he closes his eyes and he's out like a light – like it's with that knowledge that he can drift into dreams. Like he knows I protect him.
My phone vibrates a text on my bedside table
From Walker: Was fun dancing with you, partner.