Any tiredness that Brendan had felt evaporates in a instant, and he rises out of bed, slinging his jacket over his arms and making his way over towards Ethan.
He watches as the man continues to heave his guts out. The officer that's delivered the news is staring away from the bucket, clearly unsympathetic, and Brendan feels anger rising in him at this place, that the people here don't even have the decency to show a touch of humanity when it matters the most.
"I'll take care of this," he nods to the officer, and the man stares at him coldly, questioning his authority.
Brendan knows he has more than anyone in this goddamn place, that people respect and fear him more than the staff, and after a moment the officer seems to understand this too, and reluctantly makes his way out of the cell.
Brendan crouches down besides Ethan, murmuring into his ear "it's okay, it's okay" while he continues to be sick. The man breaks off, staring back at him in shock. Never once has Brendan reached out to him like this, but he remembers what it's like, finding out that someone from your past is coming back, the person who shaped your entire future, and there's nowhere to run.
It takes Ethan a few more minutes before he's finished, and he lies sprawled next to the bucket, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. He looks as pale as anyone that Brendan's ever seen, and it's a stark reminder of what his own face must have been like when Seamus had returned.
It's like looking into a mirror.
"I thought it was over." It sounds like a distant murmur, like the man's still dazed.
Brendan looks across at him from where he's leaning against the wall. He doesn't know what to say, what could possibly be fitting words in a situation like this.
He wonders what he wished that someone had said to him.
He remembers wanting comfort, wanting someone to tell him that everything would be okay. But at the same time he didn't want to be patronised, lied to.
"What exactly were you told?"
"That he woke up in the middle of the night." Ethan looks at the floor, looks like he's not truly seeing anything at all, like he's already floated away from his body. "I thought he wouldn't...I thought maybe you'd done enough damage to kill him."
Brendan says nothing, doesn't want to slip up here and admit to his part in Warren's hospitalisation. He can never be too sure of who's listening, even with the door closed. He feels like he's being constantly inspected, that there are cameras everywhere, and people waiting for him to admit his guilt in everything he's ever done.
"It's going to start all over again, isn't it?" Ethan's increasingly panicking now, looking like he's close to ridding more of the contents of his stomach into the bucket. "He's going to come back, and he's going to hurt me again."
"Shhhh," Brendan interrupts. He needs time to think. He can't let these ideas form in the man's mind, can't let him think that this is his death sentence now.
There's always a way out.
"Just because Foxy's woken up, it doesn't mean that he's coming back straight away."
Ethan stares at him as if he's speaking another language. He looks angry, and Brendan gives him a free pass this time. He reckons he has every right to be murderous, even if it's being directed at him.
"He's going to come back one day though, Brendan."
Brendan had prepared for this, hadn't hit Warren with the intention to kill, although he can't say he would have minded if that had been the resolution. Warren is a parasite, a drip of poison, and the world would be better off without him.
"He'll need time to recover though, won't he?" God knows he's never been one to search for silver linings, but he's trying desperately to now. "You don't just recover after a day from a coma," he continues, manic laughter springing from his lips.
He's not entirely sure what does happens after a coma, doesn't know if any of Warren's memories about who attacked him will come back to him, if Brendan fucked up and wasn't careful enough in disguising himself.
He can see that his words have an effect on Ethan, however minuscule. He's staring at Brendan as though he could have all the answers, like he's relying on him to calm him down.
Brendan's trying to convince them both here, because if Warren's coming back to prison today then he's never been more unprepared in his life. He's already frantically running through the safety measures he needs to put in place, and one face keeps on appearing before him. One boy.
"So you think he won't be back for a while?" There's a trace of hope in Ethan's voice now.
Brendan closes his eyes, tries to summon the strength to be the strong one, to forget about his own fears like he's always done.
He moves away from the wall, and puts a hand on Ethan's shoulder, trying to reassure him further. The man flinches the smallest amount, and the action isn't lost on him. Brendan withdraws the touch immediately, wondering how he could be so completely careless. Of course the man won't want to be touched. The rape's still raw in his mind.
"I'll fix this," he says, as though there's anything he can do, as though he has the power to control everything and bend life to his will.
But Ethan's looking at him like he believes he can, and perhaps that's enough.
Brendan quickly gets dressed, putting his jeans hurriedly over the top of his boxers. When he moves towards the door, Ethan rises from the floor, and his eyes look frightened, lost.
"Where are you going?"
"To find Steven."
"I'll come with you. I want to speak to Doug."
When Brendan hesitates Ethan looks into his eyes imploringly. "Please. I don't want to be alone right now."
Brendan nods, and they close the door of the cell behind them as they make their way down the corridor.
Brendan knows that the news has spread, can tell the minute he walks from the room. The atmosphere is uneasy, tense. He can see prisoners talking in whispers to each other, their expressions strained, their faces clouded over with worry.
The freedom which momentarily settled during Warren's absence is gone, and it does nothing to ease Ethan's own frightened mind. He seems to shrink besides Brendan as they make their way down to Steven and Douglas, reduced to the almost childlike figure that he used to be.
It produces a sickness in Brendan, makes him crave Steven, his words and his body, and the calm that he can offer him. It's the first time that he feels relieved that the boy knows about Seamus. He doesn't have to lie or hide the source of his discomfort, and his footsteps are quick as he anticipates seeing him again.
The door of their cell is already open, and they're both sitting on their beds, in the middle of what looks like a heated conversation when Brendan and Ethan reach them.
"You've heard?" Brendan asks, but there's no real need for the question, because he knows from their faces that they already know the details.
Brendan wishes that he could smooth over the lines from Steven's face, to make him look like he did yesterday, when happiness seemed to radiate off him in waves.
The boy nods, and he moves off the bed into Brendan's arms. Brendan's shocked by the action, his arms splayed out before him uselessly. Holding Steven last night was one thing, but they were on their own then. He considers shrugging him off for appearances sake, but Douglas and Ethan aren't even concentrating on them, are standing beside each other now and talking frantically.
Brendan's arms slowly move to wrap around Steven. He's tempted to close his eyes but he refrains. He doesn't want to romanticise this further, although it's increasingly becoming a battle with himself that he's not winning. Every time that he tells himself that he won't go further with the boy, he breaks his own rules. He distantly remembers the time when this was meant to be something to make his sentence go quicker, a casual fuck.
It's laughable considering what it's become.
He feels the boy's words spoken against his neck.
"What are we going to do?"
Brendan releases Steven from his arms. He needs to make this very clear, to make Steven understand how it's going to be from now on.
"We're not going to do anything. I'm going to deal with this."
Steven looks confused, disgruntled. Brendan can already see the counter argument rising in him, the instinct to fight back.
He's not going to give him the chance.
"You're going to stay out of this. When Fox returns you won't see him, won't talk to him, won't even look at him."
Despite his best efforts Steven manages to get a word in, can never resist being a difficult fucker.
"No, but I need to look after you -"
Brendan laughs. Steven, look after him? That's not what this is about. That's his job, his job to make sure that the boy is safe.
"Leave the big boys to play their own games, yeah?"
Steven's anger only increases. "No, don't be like that. Don't you dare be like that with me."
Brendan looks across at Douglas and Ethan again to see if they've noticed the boy's insolent tone. He's grateful when he sees that they're still too immersed in their own conversation, must be pretty damn important for Douglas to miss out on the opportunity to tell him how he's mistreating Steven, to ask him what he's done wrong this time.
"Be like what?" He hisses.
"Pushing me out, thinking that I'm not capable of dealing with this."
"Jesus." He doesn't understand why the boy has to have a retort for everything.
In one fluid motion he takes Steven by the arm, and moves them both outside the cell. He wants some privacy for this.
"Brendan, what are you -"
Brendan silences him the best way he knows how. Steven's lips resist initially, and his mouth stays closed, shut. Access denied.
But Brendan coaxes it open, smoothing against Steven's cheeks with his thumbs. The boy's mouth grows more relaxed, and he slips his tongue in alongside Brendan's.
The night spent away from each other had felt long, like it had lasted an age, even in sleep. Brendan intends to make up for it now, and kissing this boy has its own particular rewards. The way Steven moans into his mouth is affirming, and for the first time this morning Brendan feels like Warren's not even a threat. Nothing can touch them when they're together.
Steven's still pouting when they break apart, and Brendan smiles at the sight.
"That wasn't fair. You can't keep on doing things like that just to get me to shut up."
"Really? I didn't hear you complaining when my tongue was in your mouth."
But he knows that Steven has a point. As much as it's an escape, it's only a distraction for so long. They can't hide out forever, and now that Brendan's eyes are open again he takes in his surroundings, the heavy doors and the uniformed officers.
When he's with Steven, it's easy to believe that they're somewhere else entirely.
"I meant what I said. You're not going near Warren. He's my problem to deal with."
Problem is the operative word. Brendan can already tell that he'll be a pain in his arse, a thorn in his side. The sooner he disposes of him for good, the better.
Steven doesn't seem as reassured by this as Brendan would like.
"You're not going to go near him, are you?"
"Of course I am." he says, thinking that it would have been obvious. "He's going to come straight for me."
Steven grips onto the front of Brendan's shirt, his hold tight. "No, but he...he doesn't know you had anything to do with the attack, does he?"
"Foxy's stupid, but he's not that stupid."
Steven looks around the corridor like he's searching for answers.
"I know! Can't we just blame it on Walker?"
Brendan's laughter only increases when he realises that Steven isn't joking.
"Steven Hay, you little bastard." He feels proud.
"It's not like he doesn't deserve it."
"While that's true, Warren's not going to buy it. I think me blaming Walker might make him just a little bit suspicious."
He admires the boy for trying to dig for a solution, but this is his mess to clean up, and it's going to take more than pinning the blame on someone else.
He rests his forehead against Steven's when he sees the concern that's still in his eyes.
"Look on the bright side. Foxy's carrying around a few extra pounds, so he's slower than me."
Steven lets out one of his booming laughs, the kind that Brendan's mentally filed under donkey noises in his head.
"How the hell is that looking on the bright side? He could just...I don't know, sit on you."
Brendan frowns. He wasn't expecting that image, nor did he want it.
"The only person who's going to be sitting on me is you, Steven." He says it with a growl to make his message clear, and by the way that the boy's eyes travel down to his lips, he's sure that Steven's thinking about it vividly.
"I wish we could...you know." The boy raises his eyebrows. "Now." Then he shakes his head. "That's really selfish, isn't it? I mean after everything that's happened, and what Ethan's going through..."
"Yeah. Selfish," Brendan says softly, landing a blow on Steven's arse at the same time.
The boy lets out an ow, looking over his shoulder as if he can view the imprint already settling on his arse through his clothing. He's wearing a pair of tracksuit bottoms, and it's tempting for Brendan to push him against the wall and stick his hand down them.
Brendan makes do with another kiss instead, teeth scraping over lips, his hand moving roughly through Steven's hair.
"We really shouldn't," Steven whispers, and the sound of him breathing heavily against Brendan's mouth is divine.
"Why not? I'm allowed to do this with my -" Brendan breaks off, mouth snapping shut, staring at Steven uneasily.
Steven's eyes dance, looking like someone's shining a bright light into him. He's almost too beautiful sometimes.
"Your what?" It's tentative, unsure, but with a unmistakable sense of hope lingering.
"Nothing." Brendan shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought that was roaming there moments before.
He doesn't know when he became so fucking sentimental, but it needs to stop.
It's only then that he realises that Steven backed them against the wall, and Brendan's pressed there, the boy's hands possessively lying flat against his open chest, against the hair that covers him.
He'd been so caught up in kissing him that he hadn't even noticed. Steven's crotch is flush against him, temptingly close, and it would be so easy to reach a hand down and carry out his earlier desire.
It's only when Brendan sees Simon walking down the corridor towards them that he abandons the idea, and gently pushes Steven away. He keeps close to him though, remaining watchful, his eyes flittering between them both.
Walker's smiling as though he's just won a ticket out of this place.
"Good morning gentleman. Lovely day today, isn't it?" He sniffs the air like he's trying to smell for flowers.
Brendan doesn't buy it, never does feel at ease when Walker's this carefree, bright as fucking sunshine. It puts him on edge, makes him feel like a bomb's about to go off.
He doesn't like explosions as much as he used to.
"Does this conversation have a point, or..."
Brendan loves it when Steven's this feisty. Frustratingly, he can tell that Walker loves it too.
"That's no way to speak to me, darling. I only came by to say hello. What are you two up to?"
"I'm just showing Steven the sights," Brendan says, full of false cheer, looking around them as though they're in a palace and not a prison.
"Your sights, from the looks of things."
Brendan sees Steven make a move to confront the man, but he holds him back. Walker's harmless compared to what they have to deal with now.
"What are you so happy about anyway?" Steven asks, his voice aggressive where his fists aren't.
"That's kind of you to ask," Walker says, leaning back absently on the railings, staring at his nails. "Here's my recipe for happiness: number one, a morning fuck."
Steven and Brendan stare at him expectantly, but silence follows.
"What happened to number two? Is that it?" Steven questions petulantly.
"Yes, that's pretty much all of it."
"Well if you don't mind, I'm going to go and have some breakfast. That's if I can still stomach it after hearing about your sex life."
Steven strokes along Brendan's back, giving him a parting glance before he goes down the stairs. It looks like a warning, keep out of trouble, and Brendan's never been able to promise that.
He feels like he's already doomed to failure before the boy's crown of golden hair is even out of sight.
"He looks fucked."
Brendan trains his eyes back on Simon again, narrowing under his gaze.
"Excuse me?"
"He looks like he's been fucked," Walker repeats, slowly this time, drawling it.
Brendan moves closer towards him, the man's breath in his face. He has the strong inclination to start pulling on Walker's long hair and use it to drag him over the railings and onto the floor below, but that's not his style. It's too much like a cat fight.
And he reminds himself that he can't afford to lose his temper anymore.
"Don't ever say that about him again."
He tries to move past, but Walker blocks him.
"You should be grateful that I'm being so nice. Do you think Warren's going to be as polite when he comes back?"
"That's not my problem." But they both know it is.
"I think he'll be very interested to see how close you've become to the boy."
"Are you threatening him?" Brendan's hands feel like they're spasming, are dangerously close to making Walker stop talking permanently.
But the sincerity of the man's words shock him, still him.
"No. No, I'm not. I don't want Ste hurt."
Brendan regards him through curious, questioning eyes. He's known Walker for years, but he's like a puzzle that Brendan can never completely unravel. Sometimes he questions whether the man's capable of feeling anything, but if he's faking this care towards Steven then he's the mastermind of this entire place, because Brendan believes him.
A nagging desire gnaws away at him violently. He itches to bury his pride and ask for Walker's help, to make sure that Steven's kept safe. Two bodies looking after him are better than one, and he can hardly rely on Douglas to keep the boy in one piece, not when he looks like he's never had a bicep in his life.
He dares to ask the question that won't leave his mind, that seems content in torturing him.
"Why did you do it?"
Walker asks him to elaborate, but Brendan thinks he already realises exactly what he's asking him. They've been friends long enough to read each others signals.
"Everything with my dad. Why?"
It's humiliating to voice it out loud. He can hardly bare to look at the man, can't stomach the knowledge that Walker knows what was done to him.
He's surprised when Walker has the audacity to look guilty. He's not reveling in this like Brendan would have expected. He thought he'd rub salt into the wound at every opportunity.
"I told you, I never wanted to go that far."
Brendan laughs, the hollowness feeling like it's choking him. "You seemed to be having a pretty good time to me. Coming between me and Steven, fucking everything up."
"You know how much I love playing games." But there's not the usual joy in Walker's eyes, not the light teasing tone of his voice.
Brendan chances a glance at him, trying to believe that he has nothing to be ashamed of here, that he didn't do anything wrong. That this was because of Seamus. He realies how shaky his belief is, that he's still waiting for someone to tell him that he deserved this.
He feels weak, and he hates that feeling more than anything in the world, desperately wants to draw it from himself and destroy it by whatever means.
"This...friend of yours, that you had told me about. Who went through...who went through it too. Is he someone in here?"
Walker's face tenses, and just as he parts his lips, looks like he's about to say something, they're interrupted by Darren.
Brendan curses him internally. Osborne's already taken his money just so he could have one night with Steven, and now he's stumbling across private conversations.
He seems to read the atmosphere between the two men, and doesn't try to lighten the mood and crack an anecdote like he normally does. He tells them that the canteen will be closing soon, and Brendan shoves past Walker, not wanting to make his way down the stairs with him.
He gains ground on him, breaking out into a sprint of sorts, and when he looks back he sees he's far enough away from him to feel like he can breathe again, the shame and humiliation becoming numbed.
When he sees Steven standing in the queue, any thoughts of violence that he had leave him. It feels as though he can physically sense it rising from his body, and for the second time he joins Steven at his table, feeling as though this is where he belongs.
"Your little friends not joining us then?" Brendan asks, looking around the room for Ethan and Douglas.
He sees the eyes of the other prisoners staring back at him, curiosity etched upon their faces. They're still not used to this, aren't familiar with seeing Brendan abandon his usual routine and way of life, sitting opposite Steven like it's the most natural thing in the world.
Brendan doesn't break eye contact with them, staring them down until they look away into their bowls, trying to pretend that they weren't being nosy and judgmental .
"I guess they're still upstairs, talking. I hope Ethan's okay."
He wants to tell Steven that it's not wise to become this attached to people, that he's been here for less than three months and he already cares about the other men far more than he should.
But he can't help but admire him for it. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and Brendan thinks it's a lot braver than shutting everyone out, closing the blinds over yourself until no one can have access. He's well aware that if he tells Steven to stop trusting people so easily, then that includes himself too, and he's not ready to lose the boy. He'll never be ready.
"What's wrong?" Steven's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "You've got that constipated look on your face."
"You say the nicest things, Steven. Classy fella, you."
The boy smiles around his spoon, milk from his cereal trickling down his chin. Brendan misses his chance to lean over and lick it up with his tongue when Steven brushes it away with the back of his hand.
"I'm serious though. What's wrong? Are you thinking about Warren again?"
He's barely stopped thinking about it since it happened.
"No. I was just thinking about what I'm going to do to you later on."
Steven cocks his head to the side, eyes knowing.
"I can tell when you're lying, you know."
"How?" He asks, disarmed. He hadn't expected the boy to be this determined, this eager to want to know what's going through his mind.
"You get all twitchy." Steven holds his hands up and starts imitating him, hands and fingers moving erratically.
Brendan shakes his head slowly, trying to be offended instead of amused.
"I do not do that."
"You do," the boy replies emphatically, case closed.
Brendan realies he's fighting a losing battle, that Steven is constantly showing that he's smarter than he gives him credit for.
"I'm just...I'm worried about what he's going to do, when he gets back. Who he's going to hurt."
Steven looks down at the table, mouth downturned.
"Ever since I heard the news, I've been thinking about you."
Brendan frowns. "Me?"
"Yeah." The boy lowers his voice. "I mean if he finds out who hurt him, then...what if he comes after you?"
"I'm not worried about myself, Steven."
"Are you insane?" His voice is blunt, loud, and it causes several of the prisoners to look in their direction.
Steven doesn't even look like he's noticed. He's staring at Brendan angrily now, passion lacing his voice.
"This isn't some kind of joke. I've seen the things that Warren can do, and -"
"You think I haven't?" He's seen better than anyone. "I know exactly what Warren's capable of."
"Then why aren't you worried?"
"I am. Just...I'm worried about you," Brendan says quietly.
Steven's eyebrows knit together. He's not getting this, not understanding how he's the one who's most at risk here, because everyone in here knows that the way to hurt someone is to discover their weakness.
"Warren will target the people that I...that I'm closest to."
Saying it out loud only makes it more real. This is why he'd wanted to avoid this conversation. He can already envisage Warren coming after Steven, seeking pleasure in threatening him, playing twisted and sordid games.
"Maybe we should stop this."
Steven shakes out of his momentary daze, looking panicked.
"What are you talking about?" But he already looks like he knows exactly what Brendan's getting at.
"You and me. If Warren comes back and we're apart, then maybe -"
"Shut up."
Brendan's next words die on his lips.
"Steven -"
"No, I'm serious. You better stop that right now, or I swear..."
"What? You swear what?" Brendan's own frustration is rising now. He doesn't understand why Steven has to question him all the time, make everything so fucking difficult. He's trying to do the right thing here.
"I swear I'll try and get bloody revenge on you myself if you do what you're saying."
"I'm not saying anything." It comes out as a mumble, because he is saying something, saying that he wants to quit this thing if it leaves Steven with a better chance of surviving in this place.
"Yes you are. You want to give up on us." Steven's staring at him in disappointment now, and it hurts to look at. Rejecting another person used to be as easy as breathing before.
Brendan tries to reason with him, needs him to understand that he's not doing this out of cruelty, but he senses that the boy won't care about the whys and what for's, that he'll still hear I don't want you in every sentence.
"I just think that you'll be safer."
"We're in prison Brendan, I don't think I'll ever be safe." He's scowling now, seems to be trying to make this deliberately worse, because that's how Brendan likes him the most. Stubborn. Argumentative. Fighting back against him, like no one ever has before.
Brendan's retaliation is weakening. Everything in his body seems to be screaming at him to stay quiet now, that this is the best thing that's ever come into his life, and he's a bastard and an idiot for putting that in jeopardy.
Steven sees the battle raging within him, and only makes it that much stronger. He reaches across the table and strokes a hand down Brendan's face, tracing his lips. Manipulation at its finest.
Brendan feels his lids growing heavy under the touch, and begins to close his eyes. Steven's fingers are soft, impossibly soft, and it's easy to melt under the sensation, to let it drown out everything else.
"This isn't fair," he finds himself whispering. Steven's not even giving him a choice, is resorting to dirty tactics instead. "I don't want anything happening to you." He feels like a hypocrite when he's the one who's done the most damage to the boy, but his desire to keep him intact still exists within him.
"I can't do this without you." For a moment Steven sounds shaky, vulnerable, and Brendan can't help for his attention to be drawn to the years that separate them. But within an instant his voice changes, becoming something that could only be described as enticing.
"Even if you left me, you will come back to me."
Brendan's eyes snap open, and he registers the confidence on the boy's face, the deliberate flutter of his eyelashes.
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I don't think you could stay away."
Brendan doesn't want to admit just how right the boy is.
"What makes you so sure?" He's not denying it though. Not even close.
Steven shrugs, but it's too self aware to be nonchalant. He knows exactly what he's doing here.
"Just a feeling."
It's then that Brendan begins to feel the pressure against his leg, heading towards the direction of his crotch.
His muscles become tense, his legs rigid as he tries to push them tightly together, trapping the boy's foot in the process. Steven doesn't even blink, just reaches forwards and steals a slice of Brendan's toast, nibbling on it and regarding him through dark, lowered eyes.
"What are you doing?" It comes out as hiss, and he tries to dislodge the boy, to prevent his foot from moving any closer towards its target.
"What do you think?" It sounds like a hum, guttural and drawn out.
"Not here."
"Nobody's watching." There are crumbs scattered across the boy's lips, and he licks them off with his tongue. Slowly. Calculating. Like he wants Brendan to rise to it and lick them off for him, biting his lips in the process.
He concentrates on keeping his legs clamped together and his hands on the table, not giving the boy what he wants.
But he's starting to forget why that's not allowed. The gentle rub of Steven's foot against his dick feels achingly good, and he's tempted to sit back and let the boy do exactly what he desires, especially when he's looking at him like nothing would make him happier.
"Steven..." It doesn't come out with the anger that was intended. Brendan registers the frustration leeching through his voice, how his wordless no sounds a lot like a yes.
The boy grabs another slice of toast. He rarely has this big an appetite, but Brendan's noticed that he becomes like this sometimes, like he needs something to satisfy his oral cravings. It's obscene and fucking irresistible, hot.
Steven leans back against his chair, but his foot never loses contact.
"I think you owe me," he says casually, as if what's happening here isn't happening at all. "Talking about us not being together really has a habit of pissing me off, Brendan."
Jesus, Brendan doesn't think he'll ever get over how the boy says his name in that accent of his. It shoots straight to his dick, Brendunnnn.
"I think this is the least you can do to make it up to me, don't you?"
It makes Brendan's skin prickle, feel close to being on fire that this is what the boy considers his reward. That he gets an infinite amount of pleasure from getting Brendan off, making him come.
It makes him feel like he'd be selfish to refuse.
Brendan looks around the dining room, and sure enough, Steven's words are accurate. No one is looking. They're too busy talking about Warren waking up, too busy arguing over who gets the last slice of toast in the queue, because when you're stuck in prison for years, that kind of shit becomes important.
He's pretty sure that even if someone did see Steven trying to make him come through his trousers, no one would bat an eyelid. Brendan's identity in this place is being gay, of fucking anything that moves, and everyone knows that he'll kill you if you dare to draw attention to this fact as though it's something bad.
He brings his chair closer to the table, and looks Steven straight in the eyes.
"You're right. I do owe you."
The boy smiles, because nothing in this life makes him happier than being fucked, and if he can't have Brendan on the table in front of hundreds of other men, then this will have to do.
Brendan frees his legs, releasing the wrung out tension in them, and feels while Steven circles his cock with his foot, his movements light and sparing to begin with. Now that Brendan's given him permission to do this he's teasing, deliberately holding out on him.
He continues to eat Brendan's toast the entire time, biting a crust while the pressure of his actions increase, and his lips are parted, looks like he's giving Brendan a blowjob while he regards him over the table, watching as the older man's arousal grows.
Brendan raises his hand to his face, biting against his knuckles as the boy's foot rubs against his dick again and again. He's dangerously close to letting out everything that he's feeling. He'd been lying the night before when he'd said that only Steven needed a gag. He feels close to the edge, close to revealing the whole thing, letting out an almighty groan, kicking the table out of the way and ridding the boy of his pants and shirt, fucking him on the floor.
"Are you hard?" He mouthes, not daring to risk looking underneath the table to see for himself.
Steven nods and gives that curious smile of his, a hint of shyness that contrasts so starkly with his actions. He can tell that the boy wants to start jerking himself off. His hands are shaking the smallest amount as he holds the toast, and it's not long before he discards it completely, unable to continue any longer on concentrating on anything but this.
Steven's neck is blotched with red, and his leg's moving frantically now, increasing in speed when Brendan mutters fuck under his breath, hadn't thought this through at all, because he's going to come in his trousers, and there's no way he can walk out of this room without anyone noticing that.
He bangs a hand down onto the table, causing the cutlery to jump and lift into the air, ending back onto its former spot with a crash. He can see eyes turn in their direction, is relieved as hell when they turn away again after a moment, no doubt disappointed when a fight doesn't materalise, the only thing to pique their interest.
"Come here."
Brendan can't resist the command, and he leans forward over the table, kissing Steven roughly as the boy doesn't relent in his movements, continuing to rub against him the whole time.
Brendan moans into his mouth, his breathing laboured, the crash of their lips together violent. When he draws back to see the boy's face, he observes the way that his upper lip is reddened by his moustache, and it propels him to come, can't hold out a minute longer when Steven looks this fucking wrecked.
He manages to keep it surprisingly self contained, more quiet than he would have believed possible. The noise is so loud in the dining room that it muffles his grunts, and Steven doesn't take his eyes off him the entire time, his foot still moving against his cock as he ejaculates.
Brendan looks down at his jeans and sees the unsightly stain against them, but he can't bring himself to care. He feels oddly liberated, has never done something like this in his life, and would never have considered it, but he's been able to cross that line with this boy, and he feels giddy, overwhelmed by relief that the world hasn't come to an end.
He can tell that Steven hasn't come. There's no way that the boy would have been able to stay this quiet, and Brendan's desperate to wrap his mouth around his cock, bring him off properly. There's still something that Steven's squeamish about, still something that he sees as dirty, that makes him blush and grow embarrassed, and Brendan wants to overcome that together, to make the boy taste his own come back in the cell.
Brendan offers him his hand, and Steven accepts it immediately, looks immensely pleased with himself at what he just did.
Brendan feels the other mens eyes on them as they walk through the dining room. The officers gazes feel intense at first, make him feel ashamed at being like this, still has a semi in his pants, the boy beside him showing his erection through the material of his jogging bottoms as though he wears it with pride.
It's difficult to hold onto uncertainty and shame when Steven's smiling at him like he's his entire world, when his body's going to be his back in the cell, when he's going to have him sprawled on his bed, languid and available, and Steven loves him.
As they reach the door of the cell, he can see doubt roam in Steven's eyes, and he badly wants to remove it.
"No more of this talk of us not being together, yeah?" He can hear from the boy's voice how important this is to him.
Brendan doesn't answer him a moment, has no idea what's right or what's best here, and he's not sure he's even capable of following it if he did.
He answers Steven with a kiss, and when the boy needs more than this, when he needs firm words and reassurance, he says quietly, "I'll never mention it again," and they go into the room together, closing the door behind them.