He's got him on his back, his legs wide open while Brendan surveys what's right in front of him, his lips parted in awe. Ste can hear the sound of his own breathing, the harsh in and out, the panting that only increases when Brendan moves closer to his groin.
The Irishman takes him by surprise by doing something gentle, tender. Exactly the opposite of what Ste had assumed was going to happen in his cell. They have a limited time here, a limited time before Ethan returns, and he'd thought that Brendan would want to rush this, that he'd have his lips around his prominent erection the moment that he wrangled him onto the bed.
His legs open even further, further than Ste's sure is physically possible, the gentle press of Brendan's lips nuzzling against his thigh, coaxing them. He can feel Brendan's tongue swiping along his hairs, making every one feel as though they're standing on end.
He still can't believe his own bravery, that he made Brendan come in a dining room full of other men. He hadn't even cast his eyes adrift to see if anyone had been watching them.
He was too consumed by what he was doing, the way his foot was sliding closer to Brendan's dick, rubbing against the hardness there until he could see the tell tell signs of Brendan's orgasm. He was more self contained than usual, but his facial expressions had given him away, and the muttered expletives under his breath, the near silent fucking hell, Steven.
As they'd walked through the canteen he'd felt a sense of pride wash over him. Power at its finest and strongest. He was constantly aware that Brendan was doing all this because of him, breaking his own boundaries. That when the older man's hands shook slightly when fumbling for the door of the cell, it was because he couldn't wait to get him inside.
They hadn't waited for Brendan to change his stained trousers. He'd pushed Ste onto the bed before he'd even had a chance to undo his jogging bottoms, and Brendan had taken that decision out of his hands, pulling them down from around him fiercely, tugging until they were at the bottom of the bed, disjoined from their owner.
Ste hadn't realised quite how hard he was until he was naked. He'd been so focused on what he'd been doing to Brendan's dick that he'd almost been able to ignore the feeling of his own pressed uncomfortably against his underwear, and he blushed when he saw it curled against his stomach.
Brendan hadn't seemed so surprised. He'd stared down at Ste like this had been exactly what he'd expected, and when his hand reached for him he'd been deliberate in his movements, guiding Ste's cock into his mouth without pause or exploratory kisses. He seemed to sense that this was exactly what Ste wanted and needed.
But after a few initial instances of the head of his cock hitting against Brendan's throat with each back and forth movement, Ste's frustration is growing. Brendan's gone back to slow foreplay, so torturously slow. Ste wants to hit him with the sole of his foot and tell him to put his lips where he needs them the most.
He's beginning to understand that when Brendan's like this, staring at him as if he's high on what Ste's offering him, he can't talk sense into him. Any of his words will be ineffective and weak, because Brendan's in charge right now, and nothing will sway him.
But when someone says no Ste hears yes, and when there's nothing there's everything. He's putting his trust in being the only person that can break through Brendan's rules and his stubborn determination to be the one to set the limits, and it's why his hand begins to wander.
It starts at Brendan's back, gradually wandering down his spine and over the cheeks of his arse. He has to sit up in the bed to reach down further, and it unsettles Brendan, throwing him off the path that his lips had been making across the inside of his legs. He looks up at Ste, and there's curiosity there.
He's waiting with bated breath to see what the boy's about to do to him next.
Ste reaches his target, one of Brendan's many sweet spots, and he pushes in with one finger, no more foreplay, no gentle rub against his hole before entering. He feels the initial resistance of Brendan's inner muscles as they clamp down against the intrusion. It brings to mind brutal, punishing images, images that are increasingly swimming in Ste's head of late, that he desperately wishes he could tear from his mind, removing them permanently.
It makes him think of the man he loves being raped. It makes him expect Brendan to panic, to push him away, to hit him and tell him that no one ever goes there, that his hole is off limits, that the memories are too vivid and burning, and not something that he'll ever be able to overcome.
Ste hadn't realised the full extent of love, how it causes you to feel everything that the person feels, like their experiences are ones that you're living, and the poisonous acts that they had done to them are your own. Every time that Brendan's face looks twisted with emotion, Ste feels that same stab of pain and hurt.
He wants to be able to confront the man that did this to Brendan, to make him pay by whatever means. The fact that Seamus is dead hasn't done anything to weaken this resolve, this desire. He'd go to his grave and spit on it if he could. He's sure that until the day he dies he'll hate him, that he'll dream about all the things that Brendan could have been, the way that he could have known happiness, if only he'd had another father.
"Steven."
Brendan's murmur brings Ste's concentration back into focus, and he attempts to shake the unwanted images from his mind. He doesn't want Seamus to be more of a intruder in their lives than he already is, and he's feeling Brendan fighting against it too, seems to be forcing himself to relax, his hole taking in Ste's finger now in eagerness, allowing for a smooth passage.
When Brendan turns round in the bed, his arse settling close to Ste's lips, the boy smiles. He's managed to coax Brendan into being in one of his favourite positions, and he hasn't even had to say a word.
Brendan finally stops teasing him, and his mouth settles around Ste's cock, his arse propped up, his entrance on display to him. There's a light scattering of hair around his hole, and Ste feels mesmerised by it. He'd never expected to be turned on by something so masculine. It wasn't part of his life a few years ago, but now he can't imagine anything else, can't imagine denying that it makes him feel this good.
Brendan's loose for him now, and he easily slides a finger back into him, hitting against his prostate with each press inside him. It only causes Brendan to take his cock further down his throat, and Ste can feel the almost aggressive way that the man sucks him, his head moving with fervour, his hands gripping against Ste's thighs.
When Ste comes it's sudden, unexpected. He'd prided himself on the ability to last longer, but the sight of Brendan spilling into his trousers in the canteen is still fresh in his mind, and he's so tightly wound, craving the relief. He shouts out as he fills Brendan's mouth, his legs shifting up in the bed from the sensation, the feeling of release.
When Brendan turns to face him Ste's sucking on the same finger that was inside him moments before. His body's stretched out languidly, devoid of energy, his limbs splaying uselessly.
Brendan hasn't swallowed yet, and when he spits onto Ste's stomach the boy cries out in shock, looking down at his own come pooled across his belly button.
"What are you doing?"
He observes with half revulsion, half amazement as Brendan begins to massage his come into Ste's skin, as though it's the cream that he first used on his back all those weeks ago.
It's only when Brendan takes a swipe of Ste's come onto his finger that he realises what he's doing.
"Taste yourself."
"No," Ste says immediately, his voice laced with discomfort. Brendan knows that it's something that he's uneasy with.
"Why not?" Brendan spoons Ste's come into his mouth. "You're delicious."
"Yeah, and you're disgusting." He wrinkles his nose, looking resolutely away.
Brendan chuffs a laugh, and Ste can't help but refocus his eyes on him, can't stand being the subject of ridicule.
"What?" He barks out.
"Steven, you just tasted your finger."
"So?"
"So, that finger was in my arse."
"Your point?" Ste asks petulantly, already mentally planning a trip to the shower to get his stomach clean.
"I think it's a little too late to be squeamish, don't you? The places that you've been..." His gaze is heated, his voice light and playful, but his face anything but. Ste can't look away.
"That's different."
"How?" Brendan looks baffled, and his confusion is making Ste's own argument feel weak, insubstantial.
"Because..." He tries to reach for an answer, preferably one that makes sense. "It's just different," he finishes lamely, and he's not surprised when Brendan only continues to laugh louder.
"Please, explain it to me." Brendan settles back on his arse, his legs crossed in front of him. Ste's given him a semi, and he tries not to look at it, because if he does then he won't be able to think of anything else at all.
"It's different when it's you."
"You taste yourself when we kiss, you know."
Ste fidgets, sensing that Brendan's not going to give up here, and that his own resolve is crumbling.
"Yeah, but..."
"Come on, Steven. Just try." He moves a finger across Ste's stomach again, pooling up the viscous liquid.
"You're proper filthy, you."
"I know. Now try," Brendan says, tongue between his teeth. Fuck, he wants this.
Ste sighs, closing his eyes. Perhaps if he doesn't look at it then it won't seem as unappealing. He opens his mouth, feeling faintly ridiculous as he does so, and waits to gag, to pull away from the taste of himself.
Brendan's finger is gentle when it enters his mouth, and he sucks on it instinctively, before he has time to consider his own reluctance.
He swallows it down in one gulp, and slowly opens his eyes. Brendan's face is inches from his own, but Ste's not afraid. The man's staring at him in fascination, his eyes tracking every line and contour of Ste's face, the slow bob up and down of his Adam's apple as he rids the contents of his mouth.
"Well?" Brendan's accent sounds thickened somehow, and it produces a strange effect in Ste, making his stomach feel as though it's churning. It's a ridiculous reaction, but unavoidable.
"It wasn't too bad," he concedes, and feels oddly liberated, as if yet another barrier has been crossed. "Don't get too excited though, I'm not saying it's going to become a regular event or anything," he continues wryly, already seeing the way that Brendan's eyes have lighted up with his acceptance.
"You say that now, but in a week's time you'll be begging to do that again." The cockiness of the man makes Ste want to throw a pillow at him, but Brendan still has his old one, and it's been so dismantled by Ste biting down on it already that he doesn't think it can take much more.
"Don't think so, Bren."
"Hmmm."
He feels his own resolve lessening by the confidence of Brendan's tone. Ste's aware of how persuasive he can be, and everything they've done together has already been a testament to that.
"Lie down."
"Why? What do you plan on doing to me?" He's not sure whether he's more wary or excited.
"Nothing that you won't like."
"I'll be the judge of that." But he settles back onto the bed, reaching for the covers now that his skin's beginning to cool down from its earlier exertion.
Brendan doesn't give him a chance to hide himself though, snatching the material out of his grasp.
"Er, what are you doing?"
Brendan restrains him with a hand on his shoulder. He seems to be in full alpha male mode, and Ste torn between not wanting to surrender his control, and liking it a hell of a lot.
"Just trust me."
That he's able to do. He wonders if he should feel foolish that he has such belief in the man after everything that he's done, but it seems to be unshakeable.
He feel so relaxed that he's sure he could fall asleep here and now, but Brendan's hands on him are distracting.
"Just close your eyes."
"Easy for you to say, you're not the one having your tummy rubbed."
"It's meant to be calming, Steven." He can hear the smile in Brendan's voice.
"Nothing's ever calming with you," he says teasingly, but he does what he's told, making himself comfortable in the bed and settling into a post coital state.
He should have known that Brendan would leap at the possibility to take advantage of him when he's dozing, and his lips are easily coaxed open, Brendan's finger settling between his teeth. It's difficult to reject him when he's this close, and Ste finds himself swallowing again, the now lukewarm come slipping down his throat.
He wants to scold Brendan, but the finger vacates and re-enters his mouth too quickly for him to pause for breath. He can't believe that he's tasting himself again and again, that Brendan's transferring his come from Ste's stomach to his mouth as though it's nothing more unusual than the breakfast that they were having this morning.
This shouldn't be making him hard, but it is. He wonders when he became as perverse as Brendan. Perhaps he's always been this way, and is only just starting to realise.
"Had enough, Steven?" He sounds immensely satisfied, but Ste's not willing to admit that he was right, and that this is yet another battle that he's won.
"Never wanted it in the first place, me." He doesn't sound quite as convincing as he'd like, and he feels a stirring of disappointment inside him that there's nothing left to taste.
There's definitely something wrong with him.
The pressure of Brendan's finger is replaced by the pressure of his lips, and their kiss is exploratory and slow. Ste can still taste the tang of his come on his tongue, and he knows that Brendan can taste it too. It only seems to make the Irishman want him more, his kisses growing deeper and more probing.
They're never going to leave this room again if Ste doesn't put a stop to this. What's worrying him more is that he doesn't want to. It doesn't feel normal, wanting someone this much. He tries to tell himself that it's because they're still in the honeymoon period, if they're in a relationship at all. They've only just got back together, so maybe that's why they can't stop tearing their clothes off of each other.
But he senses that it's not that. That this is the way it's always going to be with Brendan.
That's if they'll have an always. His release date is looming, and all that Brendan has is an endless expanse of time in this place, stretched before him in weeks, months, years.
"Are you okay?"
He hadn't even realised how cut off he'd been. Brendan's perceptive, and Ste wonders for a moment if the older man can see the thoughts that have entered his mind, clouding and darkening his happiness.
He hopes he's not that transparent. He doesn't want that conversation now, doesn't want it ever. It's a reality that he refuses to deal with.
"Yeah, course."
Brendan doesn't look certain, and Ste leans forward to kiss him, hoping that it'll be enough of a reassurance. When Brendan looks at him again he seems satisfied, for now. When he cups Ste's face it's as though he's got him back from some far away place, from the prison of his own thoughts.
The come from Ste's stomach has all gone, but there are still some faint outlines of the remains, and he pads out of bed, wandering over to the sink. He's aware of Brendan's eyes following him across the room, and feels vaguely self conscious for a moment, his arse on display, his cock now swinging between his legs.
He looks down at himself as he grabs a washcloth. He sees how skinny he is, the fragility of his body. He loves it when Brendan's on top of him, loves the contrasts and the way that Brendan's stronger, bigger. But when he's away from his hold he feels weak again, a natural target for men like Terry and Warren.
"I was thinking..."
That immediately arouses Ste's suspicions. Brendan's not one for pillow talk.
"What?" He says reluctantly, a million different scenarios appearing before his eyes, all of them unpleasant.
"Maybe you could move back here."
He wasn't expecting that, and his hand holding the cloth stills over his skin.
"We've talked about this."
"Yeah, but that was before this. Before...I mean, we're back together now, aren't we?"
He's shocked to hear Brendan put it in those terms. He thought he'd be alone in regarding it as a reunion. At the back of his mind had lurked the fear that Brendan had moved on quickly, hadn't even waited around before he'd replaced him with Kevin.
But then he thought about Brendan catching him with Simon, and he knew that he didn't have the right to take the moral high ground, although fuck, it felt good to sometimes.
"Yeah," he concedes. "But maybe it's too soon. And what about Tony -"
"Let me work on Tony. Just because he didn't say yes the first time..."
"Wait, you went to him and asked?" Ste can't imagine it, can't believe that Brendan could have sat in the governor's office, buried his pride and asked for a transfer.
From the way that Brendan's beginning to colour, he hadn't intended to reveal that fact.
"It was nothing." His voice is far too strained, his words too deliberate for it to be nothing.
"What did he say?" Ste asks curiously. No one ever denies Brendan anything, and he'd imagined Tony to be someone who'd crumble at the first sign of intimidation.
"He can't keep on changing things, it'll cause too much disruption, blah blah blah," Brendan drones, looking decidedly irritated. "It wouldn't take much for me to wear him down."
"Don't go hurting him," Ste says, voice rising. Tony's one of the few people that he feels protective over in this place.
"Who said anything about hurting him?"
"It's what you do, isn't it?" Ste immediately regrets his words when Brendan's face falls, and inwardly curses himself for never monitoring what's about to come out of his mouth. He feels thoughtless.
"Sorry."
"You've got nothing to be sorry for," Brendan says quietly, eyes on the floor. "I'm the one who fucks everything up."
"No, that's not true." Ste reaches out to comfort him, to lay a hand against Brendan's own, but the older man brushes him off and his hands move away, useless.
"I know what you must think of me. The things I've done..."
"No, stop that, right? Don't try and read my mind. That's not what I think at all."
Brendan stares at him levelly then, looking like he's trying to search Ste's eyes. Ste's scared to return the gaze, afraid of giving Brendan's any more ammunition to his theories.
"I think you're scared of me."
Ste jumps in to protest, but Brendan holds up a hand, silencing him.
"Maybe not all of the time, but -"
"No, not any of the time!"
"Steven." Ste can see him struggling with the words, looking like they're being punched out of his chest. "I hurt you. More than once, and in every way that it's possible to be hurt."
"No, not in every way." Ste shakes his head adamantly. This is what hurts, to hear Brendan talk like this, to see him hate himself this much. "You would never do what your dad did. You'd never..."
His lips won't form the words. Can't.
"Maybe not that, but everything else. When you first came here I wasn't exactly...welcoming." He laughs, but it sounds punishing. "You must have thought that God was against you, putting you in a cell with a murderer."
"Brendan, I don't even believe in God."
"You know what I mean."
"Yeah, maybe I was scared, being with someone who'd done what you had." He's willing to admit that, still remembers the early days of his incarceration, and how his mind had conjured up worst case scenarios, mainly consisting of Brendan killing him in his sleep.
It makes him laugh now, thinking of that naive kid who didn't know anything about the man standing before him.
He's determined to convince Brendan that it belongs to a different lifetime. That it's far removed from where they are now.
He takes Brendan's face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.
"I got to know you, and I had nothing to be scared of anymore. What happened with Seamus, it was something you had no control over."
"I didn't have to kill him. Thousands of people have been through what I have, but they don't murder their own father. They don't abandon their kids, they don't deal drugs, they don't -"
"Brendan." Ste's close to knocking his knuckles against the Irishman's head in a vain attempt to try and make some of this knowledge his own. "I don't care about what everyone else does. I care about you, okay? I care about what happens to you. I know you think you're a monster, but I wouldn't love a monster, would I? I wouldn't be sat here, trying to save a man that couldn't be saved."
He can feel something warm and wet against his hand now. Ste's sure that if he licked against it it would taste salty.
He wipes it away, and smooths his thumbs across Brendan's face, over his eyelashes and against the curve of his mouth.
"What if I can't be saved?"
"I guess I'll have to die trying then." Ste laughs, nudging him on the shoulder to signify that he's joking, although he's not entirely sure that he is. He thinks it's feasible - not that Brendan can't be saved, but that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to ensure the man's happiness, even if it's over his own.
Ste knows that he can't allow Seamus to win. That if he does, even for a second, then he's ensured that he's destroyed his son's life, his future, and they'll never be anything brighter than the walls and metal fences that cordon Brendan off from the rest of the world.
It's why Ste risks his next words, even though he knows the damage they could cause.
"I've been looking at...programs here."
Brendan frowns, not yet connecting the dots. Ste fears the moment when he does, when he disentangles himself out from Ste's hold, removing himself from his warmth.
"Courses. Kind of like cooking, but..." But completely unlike it. He's trying to dress it up, to make it sound less painful than it is.
"What do you mean?"
Ste takes a breath, preparing himself for the consequences. He knew when he'd begun searching around, asking questions days ago that Brendan wouldn't like this. That he'd actively fight against it.
He's willing to take that risk.
"Anger management. Counselling."
Brendan rises from the bed and Ste's hands still in midair, feeling the loss of contact.
"I told you -"
"Yeah, but..." He's not sure what he can do to justify this. He can list the positives, the fact that Brendan could finally get help, could learn to control his temper, but it sounds too clinical, too cold. He doesn't want to be someone that Brendan feels distanced from, just another professional who's never been able to help him.
He needs Brendan to understand that this is a journey that he took himself. That he knows exactly how terrifying it is, how it's baring your soul to another person and showing your deepest vulnerabilities.
Most of all, he needs to make Brendan believe that it's worth it.
"I'm not doing it." Brendan's words are firm. They'd be enough to make a man with less courage back down now.
Ste doesn't know whether he's brave or stupid for not relenting.
"There's this man in here Brendan, this therapist -"
"I don't give a fuck. I'm not seeing someone, and talking to them about my dad. I told you that it's something that I'll never do."
"And you think I didn't say the exact same thing, when I first heard about counselling? You think that I wasn't scared?"
"I'm not scared."
Ste laughs disbelievingly. He doesn't care if Brendan's a frightened wreck, if he's shaking in the corner, crying and telling him that he doesn't want to get help. He just wants him to be able to admit it.
"You're terrified, because that's the man that Seamus has made you."
Brendan shakes his head resolutely. Ste has been in this position too many times to be fooled by it. It took Amy countless attempts before he even agreed to step through the door of anger management.
"I told you that I'm not just going to forget about what you did to me," Ste says quietly. It's still hard to think about that night, when he'd felt like he'd lost everything. When Brendan left him with bruises, transferring out of his cell like they'd never been in each others lives at all.
He forces himself to remember, otherwise it's far too easy to pretend that there was nothing wrong with what happened. To feed himself lies that Brendan will never do it again.
"When it happens again, and you hit me next time -"
"It's not going to happen again!" Brendan says, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Ste's not even sure if he believes it.
"When it happens again," he repeats, "I can't just...I can't just forgive you. I can't stay while you hurt us both. And I don't want to ever not love you."
"Steven, I give you my word." It's Brendan's turn to come closer, to put his hands on Ste's face and try to convince him of the strength and truth of his statement.
"Words don't really mean anything."
Brendan's hands fall to his sides once more, and Ste can see the raw, blazing panic in his eyes. The fact that he has so little control over his own actions, and he can't say with conviction that he'll never bruise him again.
"Why are you doing this?" He can see it on Brendan's face, how he honestly believes that Ste's trying to wound him, trying to make him weak.
"Because I want you to get better."
"You make me better. Talking to you." He's desperate now, making a last frantic attempt to convince him to let them stay like this, exactly like this.
"I'm not a therapist, am I? I'm just...me. As much as I love Amy, she couldn't have helped me, not with this. I needed someone who didn't know me, who wasn't so attached."
"So you want me to talk to a complete stranger?" He makes it sound like Ste's offended him, like he's asking him for something crazy, impossible.
"He's meant to be really good, this guy."
Brendan scoffs. "Well of course they're going to say that. Who told you, Tony? He's not going to tell you that his own staff are shit, is he?"
"Just have some faith, won't you?" Ste feels ridiculous for saying it, feels preachy and patronising, especially considering the distinct lack of faith that he's had in his own life.
He can hardly believe it when Brendan doesn't instantly shoot him down.
"This guy's a therapist, yeah? He has the actual qualification?"
"No Bren, he's just some hobo whose wandered off the streets. Of course he's an actual therapist! I talked to Tony about some of his qualifications. Pretty impressive."
"Why would he want to work in a dump like this?"
Ste ignores the negativity. He's starting to sense Brendan's resistance weakening, and he's planning on taking full advantage of that fact.
"Maybe because he wants to help people."
"Hmmm," Brendan replies skeptically. "Isn't there someone else?"
"What do you mean?" He asks, confused now.
"I don't know...a woman or something." His voice is strained, awkward.
Ste could kick himself for failing to understand how uncomfortable this could be, and not just because Brendan would be opening up like that to another person.
He hadn't considered the fact that the therapist's older, potentially old enough to be Brendan's father. That he's a man, and Brendan has never been able to trust another man in his life.
Until now, he hopes.
"I think there's just him." He trails off, wondering if there's anything he can say to make this better, to seem more of a proposition and less of a trap, a torture. "He sounds really nice." It's a weak argument, and he's starting to regret broaching the subject in the first place, wondering if this was a mistake to begin with, and it's opened up a Pandora's box of emotions.
"Please, just try. And not for me, but for yourself."
"But I am doing this for you, aren't I? You're telling me that if I don't go, then I'm going to lose you."
"No, don't paint me out to be the bad guy here!" Ste feels like he's just been accused of trying to emotionally blackmail him, to manipulate him into talking about the childhood that he's been trying to run away from.
But then he remembers how he was like. How it was easier to attack than to accept help.
"I want you to do this because you want to, Brendan."
"I'll never want to do that."
"Really? So you want to continue the way you are? You're not happy. I thought that I could change that, that I could make you be, but no one can do that for another person, can they? You're not even close to dealing with what your dad did to you. Killing him didn't kill everything else."
Brendan looks at him, looks so fragile and young that it takes his breath away.
"You're wiser than you look."
"Does that mean you'll go?"
Brendan sighs, looking exhausted. Less than an hour ago he was smiling, seemed more alive than he is now. Ste feels like he's just switched a light off.
"When is it?"
That's a start. He can work with that. It's something.
"Tomorrow morning."
Brendan raises his eyebrows. "Jesus, you don't hang around, do you? How am I supposed to be ready for then?"
"You don't have to buy a suit and get your tache trimmed. You just turn up."
"How long is it?"
"Fifty minutes."
"Where is it?"
"Why, already planning your escape route are you? Thinking of crawling out through the window?"
"Something like that," Brendan says wryly, and Ste can well imagine it, can picture Brendan excusing himself to go to the toilet and never coming back.
"I've got the room written down. Don't worry, you can come to my cell in the morning before, and we can talk."
Brendan doesn't seem to know whether to be grateful or insulted.
"I don't really talk, Steven."
"Well maybe you're going to have to learn how to. Besides, you're better at it than you think. You haven't run away yet, have you?"
"That's because I'm with you. I feel..." The words get stuck in his throat, and Ste can see him struggling, floundering. "I feel...safe when I'm with you."
The compliment feels like Ste's bathing in warm water, like it's surrounding him and making him light up from the inside.
But this isn't about him.
"It's time to feel safe with someone else too."
"I don't know if I ever can." It's achingly honest, and Ste wants to remind him of just how much he's revealed in this room. How it's possible for him to share these truths with someone else, someone who can help in ways that he can't.
"You'll be okay." He needs Brendan to understand that it's not always going to be this dark, this black and devoid of hope.
"Who am I seeing? Who do you want me to tell my life story to?" His words are light, but there's heaviness behind his tone. Fear.
"His name's Des."
"Short for Desmond?" Brendan immediately questions.
Ste smiles, can't stop himself. "I don't know. You'll have to ask him, won't you?"
"I can hardly wait." He rolls his eyes skywards, but there's something there which gives Ste hope. He can't believe that they've gone from an outright rejection to him agreeing to go, to try. He feels intense satisfaction, feels like half the battle is already won.
When he kisses the Irishman on the forehead, Brendan smiles at him, sheepish grin on his face.
"What exactly was that for?"
"You know."
He can't sleep, and he's always able to sleep with Steven beside him.
Perhaps it's because it's five o'clock in the evening, and his normal sleeping pattern is being compromised. But it's never stopped him before, and he always finds himself in a daze after fucking, like a post coital burn out.
He's wide awake now though, Steven tucked under his arm.
Brendan watches the boy's breaths, sees how peaceful he looks in slumber. He wishes he could be that free, that undisturbed by trouble or worry.
There's always a ticking clock, a mountain of pressure on his shoulders. Steven had begun to unburden his load, but now he's added more to it, and it's under threat of buckling, of rendering him as weak as Seamus had always predicted he'd be.
He's a grown man, but he feels like a child sometimes, and today it's crippling him.
He's not used to being dictated to like this. He'd never imagined agreeing to therapy. He fears the very word, hates it with a vengeance. But he hates the thought of being apart from Steven even more, and this is the deal breaker, the Catch 22.
If he doesn't go and meet Desmond tomorrow, then he'll lose Steven. If he does go, then he'll be humiliated. He'll have to watch as a stranger probes into his life, tries to uncover something that he's worked so hard to keep concealed.
He'd thought that his biggest worry would be Warren, but it's almost seeming like a distant memory now. He's still in the hospital, still away from Steven, but therapy is tomorrow, is looming large and threatening, and it feels unavoidable. He's tried to conjure up ways of not going and lying to Steven about it, perhaps by showing Desmond exactly what he can do to him if he reveals the truth to the boy or to Tony.
But if Steven finds out then he's going to lose him. Whatever he does, he loses.
Brendan pulls him further towards him, and Steven easily settles closer to him, even in sleep. He wonders how the boy can possibly love him after knowing everything that he is, everything that he's done. He keeps on expecting to wake up and for Steven to not be here, to have never been here at all. He doesn't deserve this.
He's reluctant to wake the boy up when an officer knocks for supper. He's aware that Steven could do with a good square meal, especially considering all the weight that he lost when they were apart, weight that he couldn't afford to lose. But the tranquility of the boy's appearance makes him reluctant to shake him, especially when he could be dreaming of a better reality than the one that he exists in.
Brendan needs to get used to being alone. If Steven ever hears about the full extent of his past then he'll want nothing to do with him. Perhaps he'll realise that the abuse was all his fault, just like everyone else did by never saving him.
He walks to the dining room with the officer, leaving the boy in his bed. He's grateful that for a few hours, Steven will be safe from him.