A/N:

A massive thank you to everyone who took the time to respond to our last chapter, as always amazing to hear everyone's theories – everyone's so different I hope we hit a happy medium! I hope we keep everyone guessing :D

Maybe a little naughty in saying this, but an extra special thank you to our guest Lola who responded not once but twice to the last chapter (in the same day) and as a guest we couldn't thank you in a pm but it means so much to us that you'd been thinking about our little plot enough to come and revisit! You're a star.

As always wonderfully beta'd by the beautiful and cleaver Kabr.

Away-ness again means the next bit won't be posted till 4/6 sorry to keep you all waiting! We'll try to get you at least two bits that week to make up!

There was a typo in chapter 14 (i.e. the date of the flashback in accordance with their ages etc.) I've changed it now – sorry if it's confusing! But obviously as Brendan is in his thirties he was in his teens in the 80s!

Chapter Warnings:

Erm this is a pretty mild chapter after those last ones, but obviously still with smut and angst.

Chapter Nineteen - Brendan Brady.

1985.

Katy and Brendan are 16, Trevor is 25.

I stare at my reflection in Trevor's bathroom mirror, the running water playing the melody of disgust washing from my skin. My finger's knuckle-white grip onto the sink and tap a dysfunctional bass.

Katy's earlier parting shot hums in high-pitched staccato from my memory, "Bren, look I know things haven't been great with us for a while, but I know today's…"

"Today's what Katy?" I asked; I kinda just needed someone to say it you know? It started last week - Ethan was laughing about some crap thing his Dad did, took one look at me and shut up. He don't get that a Dad like he was talking about is something I've never had, not a year ago, not ever.

"Well it's been a year today hasn't it, since-"

"Since what?"

"You're making this hard on everybody mate," Ethan butted in, with his arm protectively around Katy's shoulders.

"I'm making this hard on everybody? I am? I'm sorry was he your father? Did you even know him?"

"OK take it easy, Brendan," Ethan got defensive but I wouldn't say the rest anyway – it's all locked away, Warren gave me a pretty sturdy padlock for those thoughts.

"I just wanted to say I'm here for you, if you need to y'know," Katy continued. "So… don't do anything….stupid. Right. Fine. See ya."

She would define this as stupid. Me stood here, in this bathroom, this is stupid – and the progression of events that led me here she would definitely call stupid.

Trevor Royle is a drug lord, well not really a drug lord, more like the drug lord. He's good looking in this devil may care sort of way. Most importantly he's looked at me like he'd like me to suck his dick ever since we met through his sort of business partner; my guardian - Warren Fox. I invited myself to Trevor's house - one intention clear, i.e. to get my brains, my bones and my memories fucked out of me hard and preferably through the arse. So why am I stood in the bathroom then? Sensible question, worthless answer. Because I'm stupid. Because I couldn't go through with it. Which is ridiculous, because it's been a year and I've enough alcohol and other shit in my system to forget my own name, and it's Trevor fucking Royle. But see the problem is I still wasn't able to get rid of the smell and face and voice of Seamus. I can't stop hearing that last sentence he will ever say to me. Because today is the day when it's been a year.

When the memories disperse, my cock's still making a valiant effort at being hard - on a mission to finally blow its load. My brain's clearly still not told it there's something wrong with today. Trevor, well let's just say he comes with a reputation so if my brain and my cock could communicate they'd have a pretty good night.

And the thing is I wanted to. I've really, really wanted to, for like a while now. And before I had to run in here and chuck it all up I really thought I was going to – I was going to have sex, sort of for the first time. Trevor's hand was on my arse, the other on the lube, his cock dangling hard right in front of my mouth. I wouldn't have set this whole thing up if I didn't want him to fuck me. And I did, I wanted him to fuck me. My cock leaps as if to say past tense is useless - I want him to fuck me. I can do this.

I drink a load from the tap - get rid of the taste of vomit; clear my thoughts from Katy; splash a load onto my face, cool my red cheeks and stinging eyes. Opening the door shows me Trevor - still sat on the bed, shirt off as I left him. He's looking impatient until he sees me, looks in my eyes and knows he's gonna get to fuck a sixteen year old arse – a sixteen year old arse he thinks is innocent.

But the problem is even when it's invisible you don't forget the ugly inside you. The more screwed up paths you take the more locks get put on that monster's cage – and in the end are you locking him away, or locking him in?

***M&K***

Present

"Jesus Steven, this isn't about me, I don't want you doing anything you don't – Fuck!"

Even when I'm talking Steven's smiling like there's no one in his entire universe like me. Like I make him feel things he's never felt for anyone else. Like I show him who he is and how powerful he can be. And then he's on his knees in front of me and he's sliding the condom on me in the way that only he knows how, talented tongue and those fucking lips everywhere. And I'm losing my mind, and my control is fraying but his eyes are smiling at me like that is the intended effect, like he wants me to lose it for him. There's been a volcano growling within me since last night almost ready to erupt and I'm so close to giving it all to him now. So close. I can feel the way he'd swallow when I'd come down his throat, feel the willing heat of those tight lips. Uh!

But then he moves back – pounces like a cat to the bed, and just sits, legs spread, cock hard and anticipating and waiting for me. So fucking beautiful, tanned skin, parted lips, ruffled hair. God I need to fuck him. He's made it my only impulse.

He smiles, his legs kicking the side of the bed like he's won something. Like this is a game and he's the winner, but that's not what's happening here.

"That's not how this works Steven, you're mine do you hear me?"

Possession - it's an instinct when you've lived a life like mine. When things get taken away from you in the blink of an eye you hold on to everything you can get. And he's giving me this. He's giving me himself. He's fought to release this part of me that's just impulse and reaction and sheer physical need. He smiles at me when I talk and his need for me is so blatant it stains the air. I'm over with him quickly, sleekly, he moves back but I'm stronger, I can control him, own him. And he needs to be owned, he's asked for it. I shove him down into the bed.

"I know what you want and I'm in control," I breathe – I'm so fucking high there's no turning back now. "Do you need to be taught another lesson?"

Does he say no? I'm not sure. If he does I miss it. In the shuffle of the bedclothes and the rush of blood pounding in my head I miss his simple whimper. If I feel him tremble I put it down to the heat rushing through him.

"You've asked for it Steven, I'm gonna fuck you now, I'm gonna fuck you so hard it feels like your minds splitting in two."

"NO!" I hear it this time.

I hear it and I can feel his body tense with it. His skin that was hard and wild and flushed is cold and clammy, sweaty, tensed. And he's shaking, impulsively. Trembling like that little boy who lost himself on the roof terrace last night. In the blink of an eye and the flick of a thumb my wild, challenging, passionate lover has turned into this little boy who's been left tarnished by the world. What the fuck have I done?

Guilt turns my stomach.

I stroke a hand down his back and he whimpers then. The worst sort of whimper possible. The whimper of a child being hurt. I'm hurting him.

He collapses onto the bed. I want nothing more than to hold him. But that four letter 'R' word battles about in my brain and I start to forget when this stopped being consensual.

"Hey, hey, it's OK, it's OK," I whisper not sure if the soothing words are for him or the untameable guilt inside me.

But eventually, when the tears subside, I feel him sniff and he moves into me. He presses his head into my chest, nuzzling closer like he's trying to hide. His body showing me he hasn't lost his trust in me. I place an arm over his back and he sighs, comfortably.

"It's OK," I tell him, pressing my lips into his hair. "It's OK."

I'm not even sure if he hears me. He's not here now – he's in the scarred shadows of his soul. We stay in silence, my hand strokes down his spine, and back up, shoulder to the curve of his lower back, nothing like before, just the embrace of protection.

I've scared people in bed before. I've gone too far in dominance and watched men's souls flash in their eyes as they fear for their safety. Back when I was exploring sex and everything it could mean, Vincent and I stretched the barriers of consent. At the end, when things got sour and he came back to me more than he should, I petrified him. But this is something else. I haven't scared Steven, these aren't the signs of my welts – this is the result of someone else.

There has only been one time in my life with any similarities. Our positions are mirrored now; it's me who's stepped into the shoes of the confused older man holding the frame of a child who has been used too much.

It takes Steven a good ten minutes to come back to me. I would think he had fallen asleep if I couldn't feel his rapid unsteady breathes echoing against me. They steady eventually, and then he looks up at me, framing eyelashes laced with tears. He blinks slowly and I know the word that he's forming.

"Don't," I tell him, pressing my fingers to his lips, "don't you dare apologise, Steven, you have nothing to be sorry for."

His eyelashes draw together, eyes narrow minutely, cutely - like he didn't know I can hear all the words in his head. And he nods, just once.

Then his eyes lower, run up my body.

"We could…" those eyelashes are flirting now, but I shake my head.

"Not now," I whisper, knowing the mistake Trevor made with me can't be replicated. I won't form another monster like me. I press my lips to his sweetly, just once, so he knows this isn't rejection. "We will again but not for a while."

He nods then those eyelashes blink slowly, I feel his shoulders hunch - defensive.

"Bren, I can't – I don't even want-" he starts to say, his words jumbled and difficult.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to." I say and those blue eyes sparkle now that he knows I can read him. "I will be here when you're ready, OK?"

He nods again, and I kiss his warming cheek. He attempts a smile and then as though he knows he doesn't need to, he stops, forgetting his mask. He just takes my arm and wraps it around himself like a comfort blanket.

***M&K***

After forsaking the condom for the soft cotton of our boxers, I wrap the other side of the duvet around us. We just lay together, cocooned together. My fingers pushing from the jut of that perfect cheekbone and up through his hair. There's silence, that comforting type of silence. I need nothing other than this, my boy next to me, warming against me, relaxed and protected.

We barely move, bar one moment when he nuzzles into my chest, and smiles to himself, and says, "I can hear your heart."

Then, a while later, just as my mind is shutting off, his foot makes its way up between my legs, his knee nudging towards my groin.

"Steven."

"Is a while up yet?" He beams, that cheeky beam, there's still greyness in his eyes though – a tinge to the perfect blue. I'm not going to take him till he's ready to be given.

"Steven."

He nods, his lips squeezing together, disappointed for me, or him, or both.

"OK," he says.

I take hold of his jaw, bring his ear up to my mouth and I whisper deep into him, "so fecking beautiful."

He blushes and smiles, and we're exactly how we should be. His fingers map over my chin, spreading across the bottom of my tash like he's measuring it.

"You should go," he whispers.

I laugh, "you kicking me out of my own bed cos I'm refusing to have sex with you?!"

He feigns mild offence - hitting my arm as his lips form a perfect circle. "Yeah cos I'm the one that proper wanted it…" he laughs and adds, "you were proper turned on, looked like you hadn't had sex for weeks!"

"I haven't," I tell him and his laugh stops and he looks in my eyes and knows exactly what I mean. I haven't had sex since we said goodbye.

The sparkle in his blue eyes shows me clearly how much that means. But he quickly covers it with sass and a blush.

"What not enough-" I don't let him finish the sentence – I know his defence now.

"Plenty of opportunity, plenty of men, I've not been interested," I say, I keep my voice clear, needing him to know.

His eyes reach for mine again and sparkle a blue I've not seen, as he contemplates the idea he might be worth being faithful for.

He bites his lip, closes his eyes and asks, "don't? I mean I get it if you…but-"

"I won't," I promise him - there is no other man I want to be with.

He brings our lips together, kisses me forcefully and passionately, leaving his mark on me. I don't let it scare me, the intensity of this, I need him to know he's beautiful – I need to battle our monsters for us. We're in our cocoon now.

He presses his forehead to my chin as he pulls away, says, "you have to go cos it's Christmas Day."

"Shit!" I'd completely forgotten.

***M&K***

As he kicks me out of bed he gives me a lasting kiss that's like a spell - causes my thoughts to trail onto him at every red light, and makes me want to turn around at every bend. It's one thirty by the time I arrive at home. I promised Chez I'd be eleven at the latest. The new red bike I bought Paddy is already set up in the drive way, I'm the worst sort of father. I let myself in and there's voices coming from the lounge so I pause to listen, you get cautious when you live the life I have.

"You're a good friend but you don't have to pretend you liked him," Cheryl is saying, "it's just whoever he was to the outside world, he was a really good Dad, he never left us waiting till one on Christmas day, sometimes I wonder how he made a son who is so selfish." I feel her words snarl at my soul, a comparison of fathering skills leaves a lot lacking - Cheryl's father Seamus Brady was nothing at all like mine.

"What is it you guys say?" The other voice asks – fuck it's Warren, I should have known he'd weasel into our family Christmas, I wonder how long he's been here for, staining the air like our family's special brand of pollution. "Something about fathers and sons and inequity?"

'The son shall not bear the iniquity of the father, neither shall the father bear the iniquity of the son…yeah - I wonder what Paddy and Deccy will grow up to think.'

It hurts to hear my failures as a father called out so distinctly, especially to the man who has changed my life. There is so much I would have done if it wasn't for the role Warren shaped me into. When Trevor died sixteen years ago Warren needed a business partner. I was living with Foxy, working with Foxy, keeping all Foxy's secrets – I was the obvious choice regardless of any hopes or plans or dreams of my own. I was star struck, in awe and indebted. I was seventeen and I'd just lost the man I was fucking, my mind was a mess and you don't say no to men like Warren Fox. And he's done so many things to make sure I can never say no again.

"They'll be good men, they've had strong women looking after them, like Eileen and Lynsey," a shiver passes up my soul. "…and you."

"You think I'm enough for them?" My sister asks.

"You're enough for any man Cheryl," he answers, voice low and leering.

I feel my fingers clench into my sides, this perverted dance has been going on between them for years. It doesn't matter how many noble Nate's or gormless Gilly's Chez ends up with she will always go back to the first man who broke her heart. He has that much control.

"Daddy! Daddy!" I hear a little voice behind me and turn around to see my youngest running towards me with arms out stretched.

"Hey little man!" I say, lifting him into my arms.

The moment I do I forget all about my history of regrets and misdemeanours – it's funny how your world feels complete when you hold a part of you in your arms.

"Were you a good boy this year?"

"Yes, I did try and Santa said I have been. To say thank you he bought me a new pair of trainers with heels that light up, and a 'Where's Wally' collection, and a book with drum music, and fifteen games for the xbox."

"Fif-teen?!" I say, mock surprise – the only reason he got fifteen was because I didn't know which one he'd like most, because I barely know him, I've spent no time in my son's eight year old world.

"Hmmhmmm, though Declan says I'm not allowed to play them on his xbox," Paddy says giving his older brother an exaggerated pout.

"Hey put Mr Sulkinson away," I say, wobbling his bottom lip, "and we'll see if we can convince Dec to change his mind later yeah?"

"He won't," my youngest continues to sulk but he can't stop laughing as I tickle his chin.

I put Paddy down and step towards my eldest.

Dec's a little too old for hugs from his old man, but I might get lucky – it is Christmas after all.

"Hey, Dec."

"Dad," Dec nods in my general direction.

He barely looks at me, suspicious of the man he might see. I feel the presence of Chez' words again as I realise my ten year old son already knows me well enough not to place trust in me. But before I have time to say anything else, Cheryl's calling me.

"Brendan, finally!" She says as she walks with Warren towards the hall.

I wrap an arm around her shoulder, kiss her cheek, "merry Christmas sis!"

She remains immobile, her voice stained with disgust, "just in time for the service at St Pauls, missed a lovely morning service though."

***M&K***

Attending two services was Eileen's tradition. She used to say Chester was a big community and we needed to make a good impression with everyone. I think what she really meant was the more people witnessing prayers for my soul was a good thing. Before I met her there was nothing I feared more than looking inside myself, but she made me honest, solved my cryptic puzzles and fought for my soul. I'm not a good man, but she bought me light.

I hope she's proud that we keep her memory in these behavioural patterns. This year we sit in one of the front pews. Somehow Warren, who doesn't possess any sort of faith is still with us.

Memories of Steven: everything I've ever done for him and felt for him abound in this place of worship. It may not have been me that led him to terror this morning, but the fear was caused by me. If I'd looked after him, protected him, he wouldn't have experienced whatever hell he's been through and barely survived. He would be as perfect and as wild and as relaxed as that week he spent in my home. My worst fear is I may be too late to save him now. Paddy half reclines onto my lap as if to remind me it is not only Steven I've let down.

The people I care about get hurt, they get ground down until there's nothing left. Saint Michael should strike me down to hell fire this very day, keep them safe and rid them of the devil. They're better off without me. But I have to believe there is some good in me, I have to find the way of protecting the people I love – it is all I've ever wanted to do. For Eileen's sake I need to keep the light within me shining.

"Sit up, little man." I whisper to my youngest, as the choir sing.

"You looked sad, I wanted to give you a hug," Paddy whispers back.

"Thank you mate, I'm OK."

I have learned that God's love in us is steadfast and he does not repay us in accordance with our inequities but Steven does not deserve this torture, I know clearly that he is being sacrificed for my lesson. So this year I don't only pray for my and my family's soul, but for Steven's. I ask God for a sign that I should stay with him because he is a boy and I'm a Roman Catholic man who commits abominations. He's seventeen and I'm more powerful in every aspect. He's unprotected and I work for Warren Fox. He's scarred and I'm the only one who cocoons him. I'm weak and I think we may have found love - useless, immoral, decadent love.

I dissolve into my fears and illicit dreams and spend too long praying. I don't notice when the church empties - I'm in a private communion with my personal Jesus. It's Dec's hand on my shoulder that brings me back to reality.

"Come on Dad, everyone is hungry."

***M&K***

Christmas dinner is the usual, too much turkey, too much alcohol, too much of a drunk Cheryl and a leeching Warren. One of these days I may ban him from our Christmases – yeah I know, it would never be that easy.

Cheryl and Warren start to clear the table and I manage to convince Dec to let Paddy play on the Xbox. It's easily if painfully done with the promise that Dec can disappear to see his girlfriend for a few hours. Warren cheers him on, loans him some aftershave.

"She'll wanna smell all of you wearing that."

Cheryl giggles at a line she would whack any other man for.

I wait till Dec has left the room and warn Warren, "my son is ten years old!"

He shrugs like it's nothing and we have a silent communication of all the things we agreed to never tell Cheryl.

Dec leaves in skinny jeans and a t-shirt, hair ruffled - first date material. As he leaves I can picture so clearly a five year old Deccy in his first school uniform as me and Eileen take photos and pretend we're not crying with pride. My youngest is jumping up and down on the kinnect like a gymnast and I swear it was yesterday that I was teaching him to walk. They're growing up every time I blink and I'm missing their whole childhood. I can almost hear what Eileen would make of my timing this morning, she'd say 'you shouldn't be so hard on yourself,' whilst giving me a look that said she expected better – it was more grounding than anything, that look.

I smile at those memories of my dear wife, when out of nowhere I see the way Steven looked at me last night when I needed to go and seek revenge. There are very few people who can look at me as though they're communicating with my soul.

I grab a few bowls from the table and take them into the kitchen, walk straight into my sister standing far too close to that man. She jumps away from him like a schoolgirl been caught, he gives me the look of an older man gaining control.

"So have fun last night?" Warren asks me, "you ran off pretty sharpish."

As she hears Warren's words Cheryl inspects me, like she can see the tracks of my life.

"Yeah one of the lads was having some trouble at the club, you know how it is," I nod as though it's easy to work for Warren, like he's protective of us all. Whilst knowing exactly what he'd do if one of his lads was in trouble, knowing what happened to Cam, what almost happened to Steven.

He squeezes his lips together like he's formulating, and says, "wouldn't have thought anyone was working on Christmas eve."

"We were," I tell him and he nods silently.

We have an unspoken agreement that we won't let Chez know any of our dealings outside of The Loft, the high class nightclub.

"Doesn't explain where you were this morning though Bren," my sister says, "the boys really missed you, you were the first thing Paddy asked for."

"First?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at her.

"OK, second, first was…the stocking." We both say it at the same time and share our first genuine smile.

She stops for a moment and steps into my embrace. I feel Warren get restless behind us, but she cups my cheeks and I smile into the fond eyes of my sister. We're in the tender embrace of our family.

"I was worried about you, love."

"Sorry," I say, looking sheepish.

"You've taken it hard this year," she whispers, looking at me with sympathy for my grief. How can I tell her that I was really spending the night with a boy who might mean more than the woman I married?

Steven is the first person who's broken into my heart since I boarded it up and locked it away – it was destined to be a worn out wreck forever but he's taking up squatters rights in it, he has no idea how dangerous he's being.

Almost like we have some form of telepathy my phone starts ringing on the table, and Warren announces with twisted glee that it's 'that Steven'.

I step away from Cheryl flip my thumb over the ignore button on my phone and face another wave of the scorn of Cheryl.

"That that boy who turned up here?" She asks.

"Yeah."

"I thought he was a babysitter?" She speaks the title like she barely believes it herself.

After Eileen, let's just say I had a form of grief management which involved teenage babysitters. Cheryl warned me out of it, and employed the sister of our childhood friend as a nanny.

"He is…that's all he is." I say, and that's the first time it hurts to lie. "I was trying to arrange us a sit for New Years Eve, so we could go somewhere, if you like."

"Oh Bren that would be wonderful!" Chez sings, the sure way to get her to forget about misdemeanour – mention a possible party. "Oh you never guess who's going to be back in town? Lynsey's brother – Eoghan! You remember? We should find out where he's going."

Oh God.

***M&K***

I leave quite soon after, a hug for the members of my family and a nod to the man who's not. I say I have work to do and I might not be back till tomorrow, I get away with it, with Cheryl all a flutter about potential new year's plans and Paddy barely lifting his head from his kinnect. I speed all the way to the flat, I just need to see Steven. I don't even have the excuse that I think he's unsafe, or facing any imminent danger. I've just missed him.

He's in the kitchen as I walk through. Dressed more respectably in a shirt and a pair of ill-fitting jeans that are too big and slopped at the hips, we'll get him some new clothes soon.

"Hey," he's smiling at me, "making tea you want some?"

I'm over with him in a second, in his personal space because I need each sense to be focused on him, dissolve the deprivation of him. I can't stop smiling at him, looking at those lips and he laughs cutely at my presence.

"Hello," he whispers, and I can hear a faint trail of desire in his voice.

"Alright?"

He nods and leans even closer towards me. He bites his lip and tilts his head that way that makes me want to explore the contours of his throat.

"Had a good day?" He asks.

"Yeah, yeah it was good."

"Kids happy?"

"Yeah," I smile, he has such a big heart, "Chez had a little too much to drink, as did Foxy" it was a casual comment but the latter name feels like it has been tugged out of me, he's not been mentioned between us for months.

The name twists between us and I feel Steven's smile catch, not obviously, I think his scars may only be evident to someone like me.

"OK?" I ask him.

He just nods.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have-"

He shakes his head quickly like he's clearing a blocking thought and says in a low voice almost like he's asking about a conspiracy, "eat a lot of turkey?"

He's changing the subject - I let him.

"Yeah and roast potatoes."

"Hmmm," he smiles and if it's if he cleanses the moment from the trace of my stupid words – such is the power of his smile.

"And stuffing."

His, "hmmm!" sounds almost decadent.

"And sprouts."

"Ick!" He says grinning from ear to ear and wrinkling that cute little nose of his. "Get any more ties?!"

He winks and there's nothing now but us, I laugh freely.

"Some socks."

"Hmmm, lovely, will have to see those later, innit?"

"And some boxers."

I can practically see his eyes change to desperate desire. I know we need to take things slowly, but fuck. I'm like a kid taken to a candy store and told only to look.

We just look at each other, his eyes trail over my skin and I feel it.

"You gonna kiss me then or what?" He asks, his voice all sorts of irresistible cockiness, and I'm not going to resist an order so simple.

"Merry Christmas, Steven," I whisper, before brushing my lips with his.

My kiss is controlled as soft and slow, parted lips and a hint of tongue. It's a greeting. His is harder, he sucks my tongue into his mouth, trails his fingers through my hair, pulling me closer. His is the first moan. It's a plea. I step into him, box him into the counter, push my body against his and make him pant. I grab hold of his collar, undo the first button.

He says, "no."

Jesus, I'm such a bastard. I can't believe I pushed him again.

"Sorry," I say, stepping back immediately, but his hands wrap my hips, he doesn't let me go far.

He's smiling.

"No, no it's not that innit? We have company, though."

"What?"

"Some bloke, that's what I tried to call you about, got stuck in the rain so I let him have a shower, I hope that's OK?"

"You let a stranger into my home?!" I ask, incredulously.

"No, he's not a stranger, well least he says he knows you, says he's a mate, I got him to describe this house and he got it dead on."

I can hear the panic in his voice, so I press my hand to his face, let him know it's OK. If my Steven is safe then everything's OK.

"What's his name, Steven?"

"Simon, I think, Simon Walker?"