"Why are you playing incy wincy spider against my back?"
Steven's hands still in their movements.
"I didn't say you could stop. I just asked why," Brendan mumbles sleepily, his eyes fighting for closure once more.
It's easy to feel too old for this with someone as insatiable as Steven. He's worn out.
"To say sorry," Steven says quietly, kissing against Brendan's neck.
"For what?" He's the one who should be apologising everyday that they're together. The past still weighs heavily on his mind, especially when he'd caught snatches of Steven's conversation with Amy.
You were so distant. Like you weren't even here at all.
You've put some of that weight back on.
He'd caused the distance. He'd caused the boy to stop eating. And he doesn't know how to make it better, if it's even something that will ever completely heal in time.
"For the scratches," Steven hums against his back, softly moving his fingers over it again, delicate and light movements that leave Brendan craving more contact.
His back's become a battlefield, a patchwork of red indents from Steven's fingers digging into him when he reaches climax, the boy gripping on for dear life, his hold tight and all encompassing. It's barely something that Brendan notices until afterwards, his pull on Steven's skin just as firm, just as desperate and full of need.
It's only when he looks in the mirror that he sees what the boy's done to him. Together their bodies have become mirror images of each other, not in size or stature but in the scars that line their skin, the bite marks that cover their thighs and buttocks.
"I'm trying to heal you," Steven continues, laying a kiss over the most prominent mark, making Brendan hiss from the soreness before the boy's lips soothe it, removing the pain.
He smiles at Steven's words, arching into the touch and sighing in contentment at the feel of him. The boy's leg is covering his own, poking out from underneath the cover and hanging over the bed. He can feel Steven's cock and balls pressing against him, one arm slung over him while the other resumes its movements down Brendan's back.
Brendan can't remember doing this before, can't remember enjoying someone's company to this extent. He could get used to this, to the lazy mornings, afternoons and evenings spent curled up in bed with Steven, dozing when they're not fucking. He'd made excuses to get Vincent and Macca out from his bed as soon as possible, unable to feel comfortable with the intimacy, of being so close to another man.
But he enjoys it with this boy. He actively finds excuses to seek him out, had pulled him into his cell the minute that visitor's hour was over, closing the door firmly on Ethan's face when he'd tried to come in. Steven had been far too clothed for Brendan's liking, and he'd wrangled him onto the bed, hurriedly ridding him of his tracksuit, planting a pillow under him so his arse was propped up, and going straight in with his tongue.
Steven's cries had been affirming and arousing. Brendan had removed his own clothes, lying down on the bed and rubbing his dick against the mattress in time with every flicker of his tongue in Steven's hole.
He'd growled when Steven had tried to touch his dick, no hands remember, and had smirked in satisfaction when the boy let out a high pitched whine, staring at him with frustration and irritation, but obeying his command.
He lapped at Steven's entrance until it was covered in his salvia and open to him, then maneuvered the boy until he was sitting in his lap, their chests pressed together, their lips close enough for them to kiss until Steven couldn't even concentrate on that anymore. The noises from his mouth surrounded the room, echoing around the walls until Brendan had to bite down on his shoulder to try and hold off his orgasm, otherwise he'd come from the sheer sound of Steven's lust filled shouts.
When he had disentangled himself from Steven's hold the boy had stared at him in shock, his eyes blown wide and his cock pointing skyward. Brendan had got off the bed, had walked backwards towards the wall, his eyes never leaving the boy's.
"Get dressed, Steven."
The boy's frown only grew more prominent. Brendan's confidence in his plan was shaken when he realised that Steven looked hesitant, worried that he'd done something wrong.
"Change of scenery," he said as way of an explanation. He'd wanted to do this for a long time, and he couldn't resist putting in into action now. He'd put on his trousers, not bothering with a shirt, instead covering half of his chest by slinging a towel over his shoulder.
Steven had made a show of it, had huffed and grumbled the entire time that he was getting dressed, hands rubbing against his groin, a fuck you to Brendan's rules, and the Irishman had leaned against the wall watching him, laughing in delight at his annoyance.
"This better be good," the boy warned, and Brendan resisted the urge to ask Steven if it had ever been anything else, knowing that he was already testing his patience.
They'd found Ethan pacing the corridors outside. The colour in his cheeks that had returned since Warren's absence had gone, replaced by his previous ashen appearance. Brendan felt a sting of guilt for exiling him from the room, knowing that it was one of the only places where Ethan felt safe. He carried the threat of Warren's eventual return wherever he went, and Brendan had seen him looking over his shoulder in recent days, as though frantically checking if Warren was behind him, waiting to get him alone and resume their previous agreement.
Ethan had rushed into the cell as soon as he was sure that Brendan and Steven were no longer using it, slamming the door in their faces and continuing to walk up and down inside the room, a nervous energy to his movements.
Steven had stared at him anxiously. "Maybe we should..."
"There's nothing we can do for him." He knew he sounded heartless, but no words of comfort or false promises would ease the dread and panic in Ethan's mind. The anticipation was plaguing the man day and night, the thoughts of what Warren could do to him worse than the reality. Worse because Brendan was sure that Ethan wasn't the one who was going to be in danger. He wouldn't be his target, and it caused Brendan to steer Steven towards the bathroom, wanting to remain close to him at all times.
Ethan hadn't been the only one who'd had nightmares of Warren's return. Every night that he'd had to sleep without Steven he'd seen the face of two men, and didn't know which figure was more terrifying to him. Seamus couldn't hurt him anymore, but the memory of him was vivid, was strong enough to transport him to all those years ago and leave him feeling like that helpless eight year old, left shaking and bleeding in his bed, a part of him feeling broken and irreversibly damaged.
But Warren was a present threat, was alive and more than capable of hurting Steven.
He was sure that he could survive anything as long as Steven was safe, and it was the sight of Warren locking the boy away in a room where he couldn't reach him that had Brendan waking up in sweat stained sheets, his heart pounding and the threat of tears in his eyes.
Fear was seeping into his actions. He kept Steven deliberately beside him the whole time, his eyes barely leaving the boy as Brendan opened the door to the showers and began unbuttoning his pants. It was quiet at this time of day, most people showering in the morning or evening.
Steven shrugged his clothes off again but it was too torturously slow, like a deliberate strip tease. He knew what he was doing, and the look he gave Brendan was confrontational, was intended to provoke and make him restless, his agitation growing from the boy's slow pace.
He gave up any semblance of calm when he could see the outline of Steven's erect cock through his tracksuit bottoms. He was naked now and pushed Steven into a shower cubicle. He locked the door, his fingers immediately reaching for the top of the boy's trousers and removing them in one frenzied action.
Steven wasn't wearing any underwear.
Brendan groaned and took the boy's balls in his palm, fingering the loose sack and watching as Steven leaned forward and attached his lips to Brendan's throat, his teeth nibbling and biting at the exposed skin.
He slicked two fingers up and inserted them into Steven, the pressure and rub of them making the boy shudder in his arms.
"Before was nothing," Brendan whispered, his own words hardly making sense to him, torn from him by his desire at seeing Steven writhe and reach for Brendan's cock between their colliding bodies, stroking him with the harshest intensity. "I'm going to make you come so hard you'll be begging me to stop."
Steven laughed, low and heady and disbelieving. "Stop? Never." He backed Brendan against the tiles and turned on the shower with one swift motion, the water cascading down their backs, wetting their hair while they kissed.
Brendan had grabbed the shower head and sprayed it directly at Steven, laughing when the boy spluttered and yelped at him to cut it out, his long dark lashes more pronounced from the droplets of water running down them, his golden velvet skin growing even warmer from the heat and steam that was filling the cubicle.
"Ask nicely," he teased, not an inch of space between them, toying with the boy by moving his mouth closer as if to kiss him, then denying him his lips at the last second.
"What will you do to me if I do?"
Brendan's tongue peeked out from between his lips. "I'll rim you."
He was sure that he could hear Steven's breathing quickening.
"And if I don't?"
"I'll rim you."
The boy grinned, turning around boldly against the tiles, his face to the side and pressed against them. He reached out behind himself with his arms, spreading the cheeks of his arse open with his hands, exposing his entrance to Brendan, his hole puckered and covered by the hair that Brendan had been dreaming about seeing wet for weeks now.
It was an invitation.
"Go on then."
It was difficult to believe that Steven had never done this before he entered prison. That he hadn't even heard the expression.
Brendan moved the shower head over him, down the boy's back and over his arse. Steven waited patiently, something that was almost uncharacteristic of him. He didn't make any move to stroke his dick, and Brendan knew that he was remembering his earlier challenge of coming from Brendan being inside him alone.
He positioned the water lower, spilling it over Steven's hole, and he felt the boy consciously relax, his arse leaning back even further towards him. A power bottom if ever he saw one.
Once he was thoroughly wet he turned off the water. He felt Steven tense again at what he was about to do. Steven loved having his hole played with, but he could feel it build up in the boy's body beforehand, his need to have Brendan in him and all around him, and knowing that the man loved nothing more than to prolong his pleasure till the last moment, making him desperate enough to plead for it.
"Relax." He lay coaxing kisses down the boy's spine, and he felt Steven's hands grow slack against his arse, instead moving to stroke Brendan's damp hair.
"No," he crooned, repositioning Steven so that his hole was on display to him again. "Stay like that. Just like that."
Steven spread his cheeks wider, mumbling fuck against the tiles as Brendan began to lick around the boy's entrance, circling over the hair that covered it.
The texture of Steven's hair against his tongue had been delicious, and he'd spent longer than he usually did on the area around the boy's hole, driving Steven crazy by lapping at the surface instead of going inside. He was captivated by it, the way that Steven was so smooth, his arse hairless except in this particular spot. He was the sheer definition of a twink in other ways - his slender frame, his boyish looks, his young age - but one look at the hair that covered his groin and legs, and he could have been the most masculine person Brendan had ever met.
He'd tested Steven's capacity to be toyed with beyond his limits. Before he'd put a stop to his teasing and gentle exploration, Steven had turned around, dislodging him and sinking to the floor of the cubicle. Brendan's mind had immediately gone straight to envisaging the boy reaching for his cock. This thought and the shower already becoming like a sauna, hot and damp, was making him feel hazy, his mind overclouded by the smell and the sight and the feel of sex. Of Steven.
Steven didn't make a move to touch him though, and leaned back against the tiles, staring at Brendan through his lashes, skin reddened and almost glowing from the heat.
He reached his hand lower.
"I told you -" Brendan interjected, not wanting the boy to make himself come before he was inside him. He knew that the pleasure would be more heightened if they waited. Fucking Steven after he'd already orgasmed held its own kind of joy and fascination, but his body became more toneless, his movements around Brendan's cock not as controlled and skilled, too overwhelmed by the post coital state that wracked through his body.
"You said not to stroke my cock," the boy retorted back, an edge of dominance and command peppering his voice. "You didn't say I couldn't do this."
Steven had brought his knees up as though to hug them to his chest, spreading them slightly to part the cheeks of his arse without having to separate them with his hands like before.
He sighed as though in appreciation for what he was about to do to himself. Brendan watched, waiting to see if the boy would close his eyes or look at him the entire time.
He sucked in a breath when Steven did the latter, the boy barely seeming to blink initially as a finger went into his hole, then his eyelids becoming lowered when he pushed deeper and deeper inside him.
Brendan didn't like how detached he felt. He felt jealous, of what he didn't know, but he regretted his earlier actions, of making Steven wait for what he wanted. He wanted to be involved in this, and he mimicked Steven's stance, dropping to his knees on the floor and shuffling closer to the boy, close enough to sit beside him, sucking on Steven's earlobe while the boy moistened his lips and fucked himself on his fingers.
The boy was extraordinary. Brendan had slept with men in the past who had done what they thought they should be doing, who had made the noises they thought they should be making, their expressions morphing into what they thought would satisfy him.
Steven had no such self consciousness, no qualms about whether he was too loud or not loud enough, and seemingly no thought about whether he looked desirable. Brendan could almost see a switch flip when Steven was like this. It separated him from the boy that he was in his day to day life, the boy who wore his insecurity so openly at times, and craved protection, who mumbled the name of his mother in his sleep, still craving her approval and acceptance. It was as though sex brought Steven truly alive, and he was able to unchain himself from the shackles that had held him his entire life.
They were the same shackles that had always bound Brendan, that he only felt free of when he was with another person like this. He had once thought that there couldn't be anything better, anything higher than having someone new in his bed every night. Now the thought unsettled him. Anything other than this would feel like a loss.
He'd let Steven revel in the pleasure that he was bringing himself, stroking down his back as the boy worked himself up to four fingers, his cock straining and his balls looking ready for release.
Brendan could almost predict the moment that Steven turned to him and asked him to fuck him.
The boy's voice had become breathless, and he didn't remove his fingers the entire time that he pleaded. His eyes were desperate, persuasive.
Brendan covered himself with the towel as he moved from the cubicle, grabbing a condom from his trouser pocket. It was an unnecessary precaution; everyone who might have come in would have been driven out by Steven's open moans and heated sighs.
It had been problematic at first, trying to place Steven in the position that he wanted due to the size of the cubicle. He'd thought the boy would want to ride him again, but Steven had resisted his attempts to place him on his lap, and Brendan had grown frustrated.
"What do you want, Steven?"
"You know..." The boy nippled on his lip, and Brendan couldn't believe that he was choosing to be coy now of all times. Jesus. There wasn't an inch of Steven's body that he hadn't seen, or a single thing that they hadn't done together, except what Brendan feared the most. The thing that he would never do with another man again, that he hadn't done since the rape stopped.
"Tell me," Brendan pleaded. He'd always done everything in his power to be generous in bed if nowhere else, and there was something attached to these encounters with Steven, something that made this intention even more important. He needed Steven to be happy. He needed to give him whatever he wanted.
"I want you to fuck me," Steven said, still a hint of shyness lacing his voice.
Brendan had smiled, confused. "Isn't that what we always do?" He'd given the boy a suggestive stroke along his thigh, his hands wandering downwards.
"I know, but... " Steven looked like he didn't know how to articulate what we wanted properly, and Brendan tried to remain patient, to not hurry him.
"I mean...I want it...hard. Please. Just give me everything."
Brendan didn't hold back after that. He lay Steven down on the tiles, the boy's legs settling around his shoulders. He swore when the condom slipped from his grasp in the slide of the water.
"Fuck," Steven said, and Brendan could see the tension building up in him. The anticipation. "Go without it," he continued, seeing him struggling.
Brendan ignored him. He was always safe, and when he placed the condom onto his dick he almost gasped with relief. He pushed straight into the boy, unable to forget Steven's demand of wanting it hard. He barely even let Steven move his hips, just trapped his hands onto the floor, covering his own over them, and thrusting into him with more pressure that he'd ever used.
His back had begun to ache, had felt like it was bleeding from Steven's fingernails scrapping over it. He relished it, fucking the boy more forcefully to make him cling and pull and push at him more. Steven was effortlessly bent in half at the hips now, and when Brendan bent down to kiss him he tugged at the boy's lip, eliciting a groan from Steven that he captured to memory.
Steven had warned Brendan seconds before he'd come, allowing the Irishman to crawl down the boy's body, securing his lips around his cock and swallowing him down. He'd nuzzled against Steven's stomach, lying against him and getting relief from the coldness of the shower's tiles.
He'd begun to feel a vibrating sensation, his face rising against Steven's stomach as the boy let out a booming laugh.
Brendan was growing accustomed to this, to the way that Steven became giddy after orgasming. It was a quirk particular to him, one that made it impossible not to respond with a smile of his own. He'd caused that.
The sound was filthy to his ears, and Brendan was still desperate for more. Even kissing helped with this burning hunger, this need, in ways that it never had before. He was sure that he could kiss Steven forever, and it was even more satisfying knowing that the boy could taste himself on his tongue.
He couldn't stop touching him, couldn't seem to go a moment without placing his hands somewhere. Over Steven's cheeks, his thumbs gliding over the skin. Across the tops of his thighs, feeling the surprising strength of the muscle there. Over the foreskin of his cock, rubbing against it and grasping Steven's balls. Eventually his hands would always find their way to his favourite spot, gliding across the smooth globes of his arse, lightly tickling his hole with the tip of a finger.
He had watched as Steven moved from his hold, padding into the changing room outside the cubicle. It left his skin itching, his body permanently unsatisfied, because nothing could ever quite be enough with this boy.
"Let's go back to mine." Steven's face had looked playful, and Brendan got a surreal glimpse of what life could have been like. It was as though Steven was inviting him back to his house, and he was about to meet Amy and the kids.
He shook the thought from his mind, knowing that it would only dampen his good mood. Experiencing happiness in this place was something precious, something that even Brendan didn't want to fuck up. Tomorrow was another therapy session, another day of awaiting Fox's return and sleeping alongside a man who was terrified of his body being invaded again.
If he didn't concentrate on what he had now then he'd go insane. Steven held him back from the darkness.
They'd checked that Douglas wasn't in the cell, their movements become relaxed when it was vacant. They'd collapsed into bed, Brendan removing his clothes again when Steven had protested at seeing his covered form.
Brendan isn't sure how long he'd been asleep when he'd been woken by Steven tracing his hands down his back.
He's reluctant to break the spell, but he can't remove the image from his mind of Steven and Amy hugging as they'd said goodbye. He can't understand how she'd seemed so calm, so accepting of Steven's sexuality and the fact that he's sleeping with a man like him, a man who could destroy him, who's known for doing just that.
He doesn't want to sound like a nagging wife. He keeps his tone neutral, as though the answer doesn't matter half as much to him as it truly does.
"Everything went okay with Amy then?"
Steven is terrible at hiding his discomfort, his hesitancy. Brendan can feel it in his body, his hands on his back stopping in their exploration.
"You didn't tell her, did you?" He feels an overwhelming sense of disappointment, and he knows he has no right to feel it. He still hates talking to Cheryl about who he is, and it's been years since she got the phone call from Eileen, ranting and raving to her about catching him in bed with Macca.
"No, I did." Steven stumbles, his nervousness only growing. Brendan doesn't turn to face him. He doesn't want to make this seem like a confrontation, him against the boy.
He clings onto his words, imagining a world in which someone's actually admitted that they're with him.
"Yeah?" Hope sparks in his voice, and he detests it. It makes him feel vulnerable, weak.
"Yeah, I told her that I'm gay."
Brendan feels his stomach twist. It feels like excitement.
"How did she take it?"
"Really well, actually." He sounds surprised, and Brendan remembers that feeling, how he'd believed that Cheryl would disown him, would judge him and accuse him of going against their distinctly Catholic upbringing.
He tries to avoid asking the more obvious question, but Steven's silence only makes it more difficult to resist speaking his thoughts out loud.
"And how did she take...us?"
He hears Steven shift in the bed. He's further away now, where he can't so easily reach him.
"I'm sorry, I -"
Brendan closes his eyes, not needing to hear the rest. He's vaguely aware of Steven continuing to talk, but the words have no meaning to him. He drowns it out, only hearing the bare minimum, she wouldn't let me see the kids if she knew, she won't understand, maybe they'll be a right time one day.
One day. As though there's a possibility of that when Steven's unable to tell the mother of his children about him.
He gets up from the bed, pulling on his boxer shorts and a t-shirt, only realising when he can't get the blasted thing over his head that he's picked up Steven's by accident.
"Brendan, I said I'm sorry -"
He doesn't want to hear Steven's apologies. It suggests that he's done something wrong, that the boy owes him something.
But Brendan doesn't want to look at him either.
"I know how Amy feels about all this stuff. She hated me enough for shoplifting, let alone... I just want the right time to explain."
Brendan continues to get dressed, his back facing the boy.
"I said I'm sorry - why are you being like this now?"
There's an edge of panic there, and it reminds Brendan of Steven's refusal to let him end things between them weeks ago. As though the boy's terrified that everything's slipping away.
He wants to comfort him, but his instinct is stronger, overruling any sentimentality. Steven should realise how sick he is, how there's a twisted kind of pleasure to be had in shutting people out.
"I'm not going anywhere until we've sorted it out."
He doesn't know why he stays. Perhaps there's a part of him which is as desperate as Steven is to hang onto this, to not lose the best thing that's ever come into his life. He wants the boy to say something that will make this better, that will somehow convince Brendan that they have a future together, even when everything's screaming at him that they don't.
His voice is still reluctant, harsher than the boy deserves. "Okay."
He makes himself face Steven, still keeping his distance while he remains in bed, staring up at Brendan with wide eyes.
He voices the fear that's gnawing at Brendan, that he knows is the deal breaker.
"What if she takes the kids off me?"
"So what's the plan?" There only seems to be one choice, for him to never see him at all.
The boy's growing angry now, and it's replacing his previous fear. Brendan doesn't blame him. He feels angry at himself.
"I just think, maybe in a few months if -"
He doesn't like the if. It's too uncertain, too fragile, too delicate. He wants to wound the boy as much as he's wounding him.
"If what? If I can still stand the sight of your face?"
"If this is still working."
They're both silent. Brendan can see Steven opening his mouth again, and he doesn't know whether the boy wants to take it back or not, or which one is worse. If he doesn't then are his words going to become more vicious, more punishing? Or if he does, will he even mean it, or will he just be saying it to soothe Brendan's fears?
Brendan interrupts him before he can make that choice.
"What do you mean, if this is still working? What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." He's furious now, angered by Brendan trying to force him to decide.
"No." But he does know. He knows exactly, and that's the problem. He hadn't even realised until now that he'd seen no real end to this, no time when he would say goodbye to Steven. He'd started to fool himself that release dates were meaningless, and that something could still exist between them. However strained and unconventional, it was still preferable to nothing, to an empty space between them with no contact, just a fading memory of Steven's face and voice.
His rational thought moments before that Amy doesn't need to know is overtaken by the belief that she does, and desperately.
"Phone her."
Steven stares at him in shock, as though uncertain whether this is a dare or an honest command.
"No. You're not being serious." He looks like he's willing for him not to be.
"If you don't, I will." Fuck, he doesn't even have the number, but he'll find it if he has to.
Steven shakes his head, rejecting his words.
"Fine." Brendan's voice is broken, choked up with emotion. Before he even knows what he's doing he's riffling through Steven's drawers, an invasion of his privacy that he hates himself for, but he can't not look, not search. He knows his chances of finding Amy's details are slim. Steven would have learnt his telephone number off by heart, and he's unsurprised when he finds nothing, just piles of clothes.
Even when he's stopped looking Steven grabs him by the arm, trying to stop this from happening at all.
It's not long before he explodes.
"No. Don't make me choose between you and my kids Brendan, right? Because you will lose, every single time."
You will lose. It's all he can hear. Every single time, like he always has.
He wants to say something equally as stinging, equally as damaging and hurtful, but he hears the sound of the door opening, already knowing who it'll be before he looks. Of course it's him, because of course he has to be here every time he fucks up. He looks like Steven's fucking knight in shining armour in comparison.
"Oh look who it is, it's Dougie," he says acidically, and points between the two men, hand moving from Steven to Douglas. "Tweedle dum, and tweedle dumber."
"I want to be in my room," Douglas says firmly, ignoring the slight. "Preferably without him in it."
Brendan laughs hollowly. The boy can't even say his name, acts like it's poison on his tongue.
He stares at Steven, a last attempt to see if the boy will somehow right all of Brendan's wrongs.
"I'm sorry Brendan. I really wish I could tell Amy, but I can't."
Brendan looks down at the floor, feeling the last vestiges of hope leave his body.
"Do you know what, that's not my fault. And it's not hers either. And if you can't see that, then maybe we're just wasting our time, aren't we?"
He stares between them, the boy who said he loves him and the boy who despises him, who wants him gone. He's not sure there's any difference between them now, and he can see the same anger in Steven's eyes that lie behind Douglas's.
He leaves the room before Steven has the opportunity to break him even more.
Brendan finds her in her classroom, tidying up her paperwork and slinging her bag around her shoulder, about to leave.
He hangs back and tries to disappear into the shadows, reluctant to interrupt her if she's on her way home. He curses the artificial lighting that renders hiding places impossible.
"Brendan?"
He abandons his attempts at camouflage, and steps towards her.
"Hi Lynsey."
He's constantly amazed by her ability to smile at him, even after a day spent teaching men who think that Baz Luhrmann wrote Romeo and Juliet.
"Are you okay?"
She knows him too well. It's rare that he'll wander down this corridor. It reminds him too much of the time he spent at school, his English teacher shouting at him for not doing his homework, ignoring his protests that it was because he couldn't concentrate at home, or at the library. Or anywhere, because everything in his head had been replaced with him.
He shuffles, picking at the peeling paint against the wall until Lynsey tuts at him, dislodging his hand.
She's the only member of staff whose ever been like this with him. Touching him as though he's not contagious.
"You know me. Always dancing, always happy."
She crosses her arms, staring at him challengingly. "Once more with feeling please."
He knows he needs to stop pretending. If he can with anyone, he can with her. He's safe here. It reminds him of being back with Cheryl, only without the weight and expectations of being so closely linked with someone, so closely related. Lynsey doesn't expect anything from him, and he knows she cares, that when she sits back down at her desk, ready to hear him and listen, she's not doing it out of some sense of obligation.
Brendan closes the door behind him, and sits at the desk facing her. He'd usually stumble over his words for half an hour before arriving at the point, but he's tired of hiding. Tired of being dishonest and secretive.
"I've been seeing someone."
"Seeing? You've never said that before."
He knows Lynsey's aware of his past arrangements with Simon and Vincent, that gossip travels fast. She'd tried to confront him once when Vincent had turned up in her classroom rotten drunk, hurling abuse at her before falling unconscious against his desk. He's ashamed of the way he acted back then, how he'd turned to her with cold eyes, devoid of emotion.
He's not my problem.
"This is different. I'm serious about him. Did Douglas tell you about it?"
He realises his mistake the moment that the words leave his mouth. He's never talked about Douglas with Lynsey before, never cottoned on to her that he knows, and he can see the cogs turning in her mind now, the question of whether she's been caught out making her milky complexion burn.
"Why would Doug tell me?"
If he stammers here then he'll give the whole game away.
"He's your pupil," Brendan answers with a shrug, and he watches as bit by bit the anxiety leaves her, and is replaced by something else. Recognition.
"Wait a second. You mean..." A smile starts to form, her mouth agape. "You and Ste Hay?"
Brendan frowns. He'd expected to have to explain, for her to take longer to understand his meaning than this. Perhaps gossip's even more rife than he'd imagined.
She seems to be thinking out loud now. "So that's what he meant."
Brendan feels as though he's missed a step. "What?"
Lynsey looks as though she's said too much. "Nothing, it doesn't matter."
Brendan laughs incredulously. "Come on Lyns, you can't just say that and not finish it! Are you talking about Steven? What did he say?"
"Brendan, he said it to me in confidence."
There's not even a possibility of him letting this go. He needs something to cling onto after his argument with Steven, something solid and concrete which will convince him that they stand a hope in hell of surviving.
Lynsey sees the determination in his eyes.
"You're going to keep on hounding me until I tell you, aren't you?"
He nods, and she sighs and rubs at her temple. "Ste came to me a while back, and told me that there was someone he liked in here, but he wasn't sure whether to act on it because of what they'd done." She looks at him knowingly, and it passes between them. Seamus. The murder. The fact that she'd once told him that she believed that there was more to it, and he's never forgotten it since. Its bound them and made him want to look after her, make sure that she's safe from the Silas's and Warren's of this world. Men who exploit and torture and degrade.
"I didn't realise it was you," she continues.
"What was your advice to him?"
"That sometimes you have to forgive."
Brendan groans, closing his eyes and knocking his fist against his forehead. "I don't deserve you. Or him."
"He seemed pretty smitten to me."
"Yeah, and I just fucked everything up."
"How?"
He's reluctant to repeat the conversation. He already regrets it acutely, can't believe that he was so stupid. He becomes an animal when he's wounded, lashing out just as aggressively, doing anything as a form of self protection. Except it's not protection at all, because he only ends up alone again.
He drums his fingers against the desk in agitation. "I asked him to choose between me and his kids."
He can't bear the way it sounds. He'd die for Declan and Padraig, and he respects Steven for being the kind of person who'd do the same. He's tired of seeing everything as a form of rejection.
"He'll forgive you."
He wishes he had her certainty, would do anything for it.
"Does he know, Brendan? Does he know that you love him?"
Brendan feels like crawling out of his own skin. He fights the urge to run from the room, and forces himself to meet her gaze. To not be the coward that his father always said he was.
"No. No, he doesn't."
He wants to ask how Lynsey knows. He thought he'd done a stellar job of hiding it, of concealing it even from himself.
"You have to tell him."
He looks at this woman, this woman who he met on his first day here, whose seen him when he was carried away by officers and put in the segregation unit for his violence, screaming at the top of his lungs while he was dragged down the hallway. She's never stopped trying to get through to him, even when he deserved it the least. He knows the demand is for his own benefit, and has nothing to do with her. She wants him to tell Steven for him.
Brendan stands up from his seat, walking over to the desk and laying a hand on Lynsey's shoulder. He wants to kiss her, wants to put his arms around her. This doesn't feel enough, not substantial in comparison to everything that she's done for him; how she was the only person who made him feel human when he first came here.
But he knows it's not his place, that he's not allowed, and he redraws his touch, smiling at her and moving to the door.
He's not finished yet though. There's still something plaguing him, still something that's buried itself inside him, and he can't even begin to deal with it until he knows for sure.
"If I ask you something, do you promise to be honest with me?"
"Brendan, you know I can't promise that. I have a confidentiality agreement, and -"
"I know, I know," he says, holding his hands up in defense. "Please, just...I'm asking this for Steven's sake, okay? Because you and me both know that there are certain people in here, and as long as they exist no one will ever be safe. I need to look after him, Lynsey. I need to know when Warren Fox is coming back."
Lynsey avoids his eyes, and he's sure that she's going to tell him that it's not her information to give away.
He sees her considering, deliberating. Fighting with herself.
"He's coming back tomorrow."