"Please don't start."
"What? Ste, I didn't even say anything."
Ste shuts his eyes, leaning back against the wall of the cell. He feels exhausted, drained, and yet just over an hour ago he'd forgot about the threat of Warren and his nervousness about Amy's impending visit. He'd felt happy.
"You were about to though, weren't you?"
They're trapped in this merry go round that's never ending, Doug always there to witness Brendan's anger, his coldness and detachment. Ste can see why he thinks that they're better off apart, but he's fighting a futile battle. It's not even a question of whether he's going to end things with Brendan.
He's already itching to see the Irishman and make this right somehow. To give him the silent treatment or scream at him, but to ultimately be in a room with him and leave together, no distance separating them. He feels anxiety clawing at him, and he's imagining history repeating itself. Brendan ending things. Brendan hitting him. And Ste still being just as in love with him as ever, and not being able to do a single thing about it.
"How many times have we had this conversation?"
Ste realises that he's not the only one aware of it, of the constant disagreements over Brendan that are clouding the friendship that they've developed, threatening to disband it altogether.
"Maybe if you wouldn't keep on getting at me, and him..." He mumbles, reluctant to turn this into a full blown confrontation, but needing to defend Brendan somehow. He feel as though Doug's attack on the Irishman is an attack on them both.
"This isn't healthy. You and him."
The word strikes a chord, unsettling him. He can't make sense of it, can't even begin to understand what healthy consists of. He never had that with Pauline or Terry, never knew what it was like to be part of something normal. He killed any chance of that when he first hurt Amy.
Wanting someone as desperately as he wants Brendan doesn't feel safe, or sensible. It feels like the most reckless choice he's ever made.
Doug's alighted with bitterness. Ste's sure that highlighting Brendan's limitations has become his favourite pastime, something to while away the time and give him something to believe in. His mouth's spilling it out like acid.
"It just seems like all you ever do is argue, and then have sex. And have sex, and then argue. And then argue while you have sex -"
"Doug!" He struggles to contain the part of himself that acts on instinct when something he cares about is being scrutinised, found lacking. He burns with it, with suppressed anger that he doesn't know how to channel, knowing that Doug's not right, but that he's not entirely wrong either.
Doug moves closer to him and Ste feels blocked into the room, wrapping himself up and making himself small, almost hoping that he'll disappear so that Doug can't tell him this, can't make his and Brendan's relationship vulnerable, shaky in its foundations.
"I can help you." His voice is low, urgent. "When we both get out of here, me and Lynsey can be there for you."
"I've got my family, Doug."
He doesn't need help. He's been surviving his whole life by fending for himself, and there's a niggling feeling inside him that the intention of Doug's help is to keep him away from Brendan, as though he's trying to stop him giving into a craving, a fix. He's making him feel like an addict.
"Ste, think about it -"
They both jump from the sudden crash of the door, and Ste's so alarmed by Brendan's appearance that he forgets to be cold towards him. Sweat is clinging to the man's forehead and he looks frantic and desperate, his chest heaving as though he's been running for miles. He looks at Ste as though as though he's trying to consign his features to memory. The gaze is too much, too intense, and Ste feels a prickle of nervousness take over his previous frustration.
He knows somethings happened. He can feel it.
"What's wrong?" He asks straight away, stepping out from Doug's shadow and moving towards the older man.
"I should go," Doug says, already heading towards the door.
"No. You should be here for this. It involves you too."
Brendan speaks through his panting breaths, too tightly wound to even still for a moment to get his heart rate back to its normal speed. His words are barely stringed together but the weight of them falls heavily on all three men, their reactions immediate and just as frenzied.
"Warren's coming back from hospital tomorrow."
Brendan doesn't take his eyes off him the entire time. His gaze travels across Ste's lashes, over his chest and down to his thighs. Ste doesn't like it, doesn't like how it feels as though Brendan's trying to remember all of him, as though they'll soon be ripped from each other.
"Ethan -" Doug begins, concern for his friend distorting his voice, making it a broken question.
"He doesn't know yet."
Doug knows it falls to him, that he's the one to bear the brunt of responsibility, to be the messenger unless he wants an officer to be the one to break it to the man, no evidence of compassion or empathy in the deliverance of their news. Ste can see him mentally preparing for it already, raking his hands through his head of dark hair, expression littered with tension and the need to get this right. To not leave Ethan any more broken than he already is.
"Who told you this, Brendan?" It's all Ste can say, sounds so fucking unimportant in the face of all this that he doesn't know why it's the first thing out of his mouth, but he can't take the shock of everything else. He needs something simple to cling onto, something away from the horror of what could happen.
"It doesn't matter who told me. We need to start planning for this."
"How?" Ste can't see a way they can possibly prepare or protect themselves. This was the whole reason that he wanted Warren gone in the first place; the man's brutality doesn't have limits. No amount of reasoning with him is going to work.
"Douglas, go and tell Ethan what's happened."
Ste expects Doug to protest against Brendan's orders, but he nods and leaves the room at once, the importance of this outweighing their mutual dislike.
When they're alone Ste's panic only rises. The images in his head are punishing and violent, and he imagines scenarios playing out before him of Warren finding Brendan, and blood being shed. He remembers his reaction at seeing Brendan's hand after he'd smashed it into the mirror. He'd never been squeamish; his upbringing didn't allow that to exist in him. But the sight of the bruises appearing and the blood spilling down his knuckles had connected with something at the heart of him, and if he could have healed Brendan with the power of his lips alone then he would have kissed along every tendon, every inch of skin.
For the first time since he arrived here he feels truly terrified, and it's leeching the hope from him.
Brendan misinterprets his detachment, his lack of speech and warmth.
"I know I'm the last person you want to be talking to right now, but -"
"What can we do? What can we do to keep you safe?"
Brendan stares at him, shocked into silence. He'd been expecting a bitter retort and to be frozen out, not to be an object of Ste's concern.
"Me?" He says, unable to connect with what Ste's telling him, what his worries are centred around. "I'm not worried about me, Steven."
Ste laughs, can't believe that Brendan's still carrying on in this same vein, fucking ridiculous and stupid how someone can be so careless of their own safety, their own awareness of how essential their survival is, essential to him.
"I can look after myself, right? I'm getting out of here soon, you've got to live with him every day."
He can see Brendan's temper rising, terrifying and like an explosion, never knowing where it's going to hit. He paces the room, muttering incoherently under his breath, and Ste would put money on most of it being expletives about him.
"Brendan -"
The older man surges forward, and for one moment Ste's sure that this is it, and he closes his eyes on instinct and turns away, his face screwed up with the expectation of what's to come.
He can feel the grip of Brendan's hands on his arms, can feel the man's harsh breathing, can almost smell his anger. Ste waits, not daring to look.
The hold on him lessens, still there but less firm, less desperate and painful and forceful.
"Steven." It's soft, and it reminds him of when Brendan used to try and wake him in the mornings, his words spoken into his ears, his hands wandering lower down Ste's body to propel him to leave his dream like state and be with him instead. "I'm not going to hit you."
Ste can hear the effort it takes for him to say this, to acknowledge that it's still a possibility, still ever present in the back of Ste's mind. A fear that's there even when the violence isn't. He resists the urge to apologise which claws at him, especially when he opens his eyes and sees the hurt on Brendan's face, the regret.
"It's just...you don't realise, do you? No matter how many times I say it. Warren's going to come after you."
"But why? You're the one who did it," Ste says, whispering it even though no one's around to hear.
"Yeah, exactly. And what's the best revenge? To come after the people that I..." He sighs, taking a breath and inhaling the dusty prison air into his lungs, then out again, looking at Ste the entire time as though he's a puzzle that he can't understand, and that it's killing him.
"That you what?" He can't believe he's doing this now of all times. They've just heard that a rapist and a murderer is returning and is going to make whoever put him in a coma pay, and yet he's staring at Brendan, willing for him to speak the words that he feels like he's been waiting for his entire life.
Brendan reaches out a hand, smoothing his thumb along the corners of Ste's mouth. He flinches, drawing away from the older man's touch. It's still too soon, too raw from their argument, and a part of him is determined to hold onto his belief that he's the one who was wronged.
He can feel Brendan resisting his question, reluctant to answer, and the humiliation makes Ste echo the man's earlier actions, pacing the floor of the cell, his fingers and thumb playing with his lower lip, twisting it and trying to make it hurt, to make it replace the tidal wave of emotion that he's experiencing now. He's desperate to comfort Brendan, to lock them in this room forever and keep him safe, but he doesn't know if Brendan would be safe from him, from what he wants to do to him for forcing him to choose between his children and what they have together.
"What's your plan then?" He asks, voice small and tentative. He's tempted to go straight to the police and ask for their protection. He's prepared to beg for it if that's what it takes.
"You have to stay with me."
"What do you mean?"
"All day, until you leave here. And at night. I'll sort something out with Osborne. I'll go to Tony again if I have to."
Ste laughs, disbelieving. He can't understand how Brendan doesn't see the flaws in this, must be so damn determined to make it work that he's ignoring them completely.
"You can't be with me all the time. It's not possible."
"I'll make it fucking possible."
"And what about if Ethan needs help, or Doug? You can't protect everyone."
Brendan glances at him, gaze tight and eyes burning. "Maybe I don't want to protect everyone. Just you."
Ste wants to deliver a blow to Brendan's head for thinking that he can do this, that he can leave Ethan and Doug to rot and it's okay as long as Ste's safe. He's not the only one of importance here, not the only one who needs to be looked after. It can't be a job for one man either way, can't be up to Brendan to keep them all alive. It's not his responsibility, and no way in hell is Ste going to allow him to place himself under that vulnerable danger.
"Please Steven. Please let me." He looks close to insanity, so fucking desperate to make him agree to this, shaking with the need for it. He sways on the spot, unsure of whether he can step any closer, of whether Ste will let him again. But he can't distance himself, can't stand to not watch over him now that everything's fragile, precarious.
"What do you want me to do?" Ste asks, isn't so sure that he wants to be agreeing to anything when Brendan's like this. He doesn't know how it's possible to trust someone so completely and yet be so incredibly wary of them all at once. He constantly borders on giving his life to Brendan in the palm of his hands, and withdrawing his touch and warmth from the Irishman as though he's going to shatter him into pieces.
"Sleep in my cell tonight."
Ste shakes his head, although God knows it's a tempting thought. Even after the argument they've had that desire hasn't gone away. It's why he wants to resist it, doesn't know if he's strong enough to not have sex with Brendan, and if he does then it's giving into the whole thing all over again. Choosing Brendan over his children with the power of his body.
"Warren's not coming back to prison till tomorrow."
"That could be anytime. Could be four in the morning."
"Brendan, he's going to have a million officers on him. And he's going to be weak from what you did to him, isn't he? He's not going to have it in him to come after someone after that." He can't believe the calmness of his tone, can't understand why Brendan beating a man into a coma isn't affecting him more. He feels heartless, wonders if something in him is deadened, devoid of feeling.
"You don't know Foxy like I do."
Ste senses that he's not going to find a way out of this. Brendan's too agitated, too overcome with worst case scenarios, staring at Ste like he's in danger of disappearing.
"Alright." He relinquishes control. "I'll stay with you."
He sees the relief it brings, the way that it lightens Brendan's load, the man smiling shakily at him in gratitude.
"I'll arrange it with Darren." Brendan moves towards the door, and Ste knows what that arrangement consists of, isn't an idiot. There's only one way that Brendan gets favours in this place, and it doesn't involve saying please and thank you.
"Don't push him too far." He hopes there's enough of a warning in his voice to get through to Brendan. He's fucking terrified that one day the man will take it too far and the staff in this place won't be so accommodating, will be stronger than Brendan's threats and intimidation.
"I know what I'm doing." It's still there between them, the frustration, the push and pull and Brendan's need for him to have faith in him, to tell Amy and to stop flinching every time his hands unexpectedly come near him. It's in every sentence, every word, too much deeper meaning there that it hurts Ste to hear it.
When Brendan's gone Ste only waits a moment or two before leaving the cell, enough time for the older man to have vanished down the hallway. Ste needs something to concentrate on, needs to disband the churning of his mind. His head feels ready to burst with anxiety. If he doesn't get an outlet then he'll follow Brendan and keep an eye on him himself. In every shadow and every corner of the prison he imagines Warren, ready to strike and take Brendan away from him. It's more powerful than his rational thought. His words to Brendan that Warren won't come after any of them is his weakened state is rendered meaningless, secondary to his fears.
He needs to be the strong one for once. The one who holds them all together.
He steadies himself when he reaches Brendan and Ethan's cell, expecting to open the door and be faced with a flood of tears and an expression etched with pain, one that's cordoned off to attempts to comfort and reassure.
The reality is bleaker. More difficult to withstand.
Shock has overtaken Ethan. He's beyond the point of tears, his eyes dry and unseeing. His gaze is blank as he stares ahead at the wall, Doug's hand on his back as it rubs against the material of his t-shirt. The American's fighting for words, struggling for something to say that could carry weight, that could even begin to fix this. When he sees Ste standing in the doorway his eyes are bright with relief, for someone else to carry the burden that binds them all.
Ste feels like he's tiptoeing towards them, not wanting to disturb the grief or add to it. It feels uncomfortably close to home, brimming under the surface for Brendan too, and Ste wonders if this is how the man had felt upon Seamus's return; devoid of all hope with his future scattered on the floor.
He hears himself mumble sorry. It feels inappropriate to be towering above them, but patronising to be crouching on the floor, as though talking to a small child. He settles for joining them on the bed, Ethan sandwiched between both men, Ste's hand settling next to Doug's and trying to heal Ethan through touch alone.
Brendan's leaning against the railings on the upper floor. He feels better like this, looking down at the prison and the other men below, pretending to himself that he has some power here, power which is increasingly slipping from this grasp. He intended to go straight back to Steven, but a quick scan of his cell showed that he's safe with Douglas and Ethan.
From where he is he can keep an eye on the door, with perfect access if Steven steps out from the room. He's sure the boy wouldn't approve of him standing guard like this, but he feels more reassured now that Steven is playing by his rules for the time being, and won't stray from his presence and the safety that it brings.
It's getting to him though, and it hasn't even started. The pressure's mounting, and he needs this time alone just to recuperate and work out how he can have eyes at the back of his head. He knows that Steven's realistic where he's not, that he can't be around him all the time. Even a few seconds away from him could give Warren the opportunity to strike, and then he will of lost everything.
There's an obvious solution, obvious to him. It would get rid of the threat, and perhaps he'd be able to breathe again.
He's killed a man before. He wonders if it really makes that much difference, if once you're tainted by blood on your hands it will be that much worse to add another casualty to the growing list of the people you've hurt. If he kills Warren none will have died who don't deserve to. He's the same breed as Seamus, perhaps not the same kind of monster, but a monster all the same. No one would miss him.
He could get a weapon easily. Even one of the pool cues would suffice. It would be hard to hide one from the guards to get it back to his cell; it's not exactly something he can stick down the front of his shirt. But if he can destroy the CCTV tapes of Warren's attack then anything's possible. It's merely a matter of planning ahead, of having someone to watch his back.
That's where the true problem lies. He has no one. He can't tell Steven about this, can't risk the horror on his face and the boy's desperate attempts to talk him out of it. Sometimes Brendan worries that behind the smiles and the kisses and the feel of Steven's body is the realisation that he's sleeping with a murderer, with damaged goods. Once was unforgivable to begin with, but twice is asking the boy to believe in his humanity when he's only showing him the destruction he can cause, the darkness that lurks underneath. He's terrified that it can't be altered through time or therapy, that it can't even be altered through love, the one thing that he knows should rock the foundations of his brutality.
The only person who wants Warren dead just as much as he does is Ethan. Brendan can already predict the man's uncertainty, his agreement to help him only to pull out at the last second, his fear eclipsing his need for the sweet taste of revenge. He can't take that chance, can't allow Ethan in on his plan only to find out that the man's grassed him up to an officer. Once a copper always a copper.
He doesn't want to ask Douglas, can't think of many things he'd detest more than working alongside him. It makes him laugh darkly, imagining the boy attempting to bring Warren into a headlock, the older man disentangling himself and knocking the American to the floor, him lying there in a crumpled, chino-ed mess. He'd be about as usual as Steven's Leah in a fight, and he's sure she would at least do some damage to Warren's hair from what he's heard about her feistiness.
Time was when the solution would have been clear. He had a partner in crime. Someone who's even less afraid of risks than he is. Rules and boundaries mean nothing to him, and it made him someone exciting to be with, albeit a challenge to survive all the non stop innuendos without injuring him before they'd even got started on the other fucker. The man's body is lithe, flexible. He may not have the muscularity of some of the men in here, but behind his deceptive build he's a fighter; he'd taken out men before with a fly kick to the head and a foot to their balls, rendering them defenseless and open to more pain, to defeat.
That same body's walking towards Brendan now, almost like he senses when he's burning in the man's brain. Brendan looks away, focusing his attention back to the door of the cell, listening intently for any sound of a struggle. He's still expecting Warren to have snuck in early, right under his nose.
He expects the man to move straight past him, but he leans beside him on the railing. Brendan stiffens, hoping that if he makes no comment then he'll go away. He'd usually be game for a confrontation, but that all feels like another life now. A life that didn't have Steven under such risk of harm, that didn't have Steven in it at all.
There are more important things than feeling like he's won a fight.
"Warren's back, isn't he?"
Brendan faces him, too shocked to keep up with his silent state.
"Who told you?"
"You just did. You look like a ghost."
Perceptive bastard. Brendan faces in front of him again, unable to read Simon's expression. He doesn't know if the man's triumphant that this is having such an affect on him. Perhaps he thinks that this is what he and Steven are both owed.
"What's the plan then?"
He knows him too well. He can't lie, not when the man's shared the same air as him for the last few years, not when he's witnessed every significant part of Brendan's life in here. He saw him the day Vincent died. Walker had taken him to bed, unable to understand how grief could be dealt with in any other way. He listened to Brendan telling a crying Declan down the phone that he couldn't come and visit, that prison was no place for a boy his age, and to try and forget about him. He saw him the day after he first met Steven, Brendan's eyes vivid and alive for the first time in months, something like hope lighting them.
"I need to be with Steven all the time," he says, voice low. It still feels too personal to express how he feels for the boy out loud, something that he expects Walker to laugh at.
He simply continues to look at him, face devoid of anything that Brendan can understand.
It makes him carry on talking, the words spilling out of his mouth rapidly now, the urgency of the situation making him honest where he'd usually be secretive.
"I've talked to Osborne. He's going to let Steven sleep at mine tonight. Steven's only got over a month left in here. If I just stay by his side then -"
"You're not going to be able to do it," Walker cuts through, his voice sharp and emphatic.
Brendan sneers at him, willing the world to make the man wrong, even when he knows that he's being naive, impractical. But God, he's never wished that he could be right more than he does now.
"You'd love that, wouldn't you?" He accuses, disgust peppering his voice. "Seeing Warren hurt Steven, seeing me lose him."
Walker shakes his head, mechanical but defiant. "No. I wouldn't love that." He's quiet now, sombre.
"Why not?" He'd thought he'd have to look at the smirk of satisfaction appearing on the man's face, would have to contend with Walker teaming up with Warren and trying to add to his downfall.
Walker stares across at the door of the cell that Brendan's been guarding so carefully.
"I care about him."
Brendan feels a swell of anger rise in him.
"You do realise that wanting to get into someone's pants isn't the same as caring about them, right? You do understand that?" He asks incredulously.
Walker looks at him, his eyes shining. "Yes Brendan, I am capable of knowing the difference. And before you start to have a hernia, you don't need to worry. I'm not going to try and steal Ste again."
Brendan scoffs, hands turning white against the railing as he flexes his knuckles. "Good, because your last attempt was just embarrassing."
Walker throws his head back and laughs. It's the same manic sound that has been vacant in Brendan's life since they severed ties. He hasn't missed it, but it's familiar. Strangely comforting, because he knows how to deal with Walker when he's like this, when he sounds like a fucking hyena. What he doesn't know how to deal with is Warren Fox when he's trying to kill the thing that's closest to him.
"Come on, I didn't do too badly. I got to taste his pre come, didn't I?"
Brendan's face contorts. "You disgust me."
"I forget how territorial you are over your boys sometimes."
"Boy," Brendan says before he can stop himself. It's a boy that he's territorial over. There won't be any more.
It's only more ammunition to Walker.
"Wow. You've really got it bad, haven't you? I'm seeing things more clearly now."
"How about I punch you in the eye? Then you won't be seeing things so clearly, will you?"
Walker sighs, as though he's already prepared himself for the aggression. He's unfazed.
"I wouldn't be much use to you then, would I?"
Brendan frowns. He feels like he needs a fucking road map to follow the man sometimes.
"What?"
"You're going to need me to help you," Walker replies, as though it's not even a question.
It's Brendan's turn to laugh.
"You? You think I want you to help me?" He'd rather go to Douglas.
"We both know that there's no one else."
Brendan doesn't know how the man does it, has access to his thoughts like that. Is it because whatever drives him drives Walker too? That's the whole reason that the man's in here, for killing a woman who let his brother down, who didn't give him the justice he deserved.
He knows he'd do the same for Cheryl. For his children.
He's doing all this for Steven now. Putting the boy's safety above his own freedom, his chance of ever getting out of this place. If he kills Warren then he'd looking at another ten year stretch at least. The possibility of him leaving prison in a box is looking more and more likely.
"I'll find a way."
"Do you really want to take that chance? Put Ste at risk because you're too selfish to swallow your pride and let me help?"
"Swallow my pride? Walker, you tried to screw me over. You used my dad to come between me and Steven. You're acting like you stole the last slice of bacon from me."
He's sure he imagines the flash of guilt that crosses Walker's face. For a man devoid of emotion, he's excellent at pretending he has them sometimes.
"Brendan, I can look after him with you. Whenever you can't be there -"
"I'll always be there," Brendan interrupts firmly.
"Whenever you can't, " Walker reiterates, "I can. Until we work out what to do with Fox, he'll never be alone."
Brendan shakes his head resolutely. "I'm not leaving him with you. You'd throw him to the wolves the first chance you got."
"I told you -"
"What, you care about him?" He says, his voice goading. It bothers him that he wants this to be false more than he wants it to be true. "Stick to Carl, or Kevin, or whatever the fuck his name is. Leave me and Steven out of it."
He doesn't look back as he walks down the hall.
Steven's brushing his teeth in the sink, his mouth a mess of toothpaste. It's giving him a slight appearance of a moustache. Brendan watches him from the bed, Steven only noticing his gaze when he's half way through, his stance becoming self conscious.
He's not self conscious when he speaks though. He's frank, unwilling to mince his words, or unable to. Brendan guesses that his background didn't allow softly spoken requests or polite behaviour. It suits him fine; he likes this Steven. He likes every type of Steven.
"Shit, I have no pajamas! I put my only pair in the wash."
Brendan tries to hide his surprise. He'd expected Steven to sleep naked, or in his boxers if he became cold in the night. He's an idiot. Of course Steven won't want to be that exposed, not when he believed mere hours earlier that Brendan was capable of hitting him.
But it's what he's grown accustomed to, the boy's soft skin on display to him, rubbing up against him as he fights to get comfy in the single bed that they share.
He's scared when he considers that perhaps Steven won't even want to sleep in his bed tonight.
His fears are unfounded when the boy joins him under the covers, keeping the light on. Brendan's wary; he's sure that this means that Steven wants to talk. He keeps his torso covered. He doesn't want Steven thinking that he expected sex from him, his bare chested appearance contrasting with the boy's clothed upper and lower half.
He can feel the hair on Steven's legs tickling against his own, and it provides some reassurance that the boy's not trying to distance himself from him completely, afraid of his own touch.
"I don't know how to do this. To open up, to talk about...feelings. It scares me."
"Do I scare you?" Steven asks, and it comes so out of the blue that it takes Brendan a moment to respond. Isn't this his question to be asking?
He decides to be honest. It's something he's been trying lately, for Steven's sake, and he prays that the boy won't hate him for it.
"I scare me." Nothing in this world scares him more than himself. The things that he's capable of doing to the people he loves.
He thinks he sees something like acceptance in Steven's face. Understanding. Perhaps Steven knows what it's like to stare at his reflection in the mirror and not like what he sees.
Brendan feels his body move closer, just the smallest amount.
"I am going to tell Amy about us."
Hope blooms. It feels fragile, but beautiful.
"Really?" He wants it to be true. He needs to believe that Steven's not ashamed of the man that he's with.
"I hope you know that she's never going to forgive me."
Steven's voice is light, but there's something there. An undercurrent of something bigger.
"Is it always going to be like this with us?"
He's asked Brendan this question before, and he's still stuck for answers. But he wants that always. He wants to grasp it in his hand and stop it from flying away. The possibility of it. The way that it's giving him a second chance at something, something not without its baggage and its problems, but something that still feels pure. He hasn't ruined it yet.
"I don't know," Brendan answers with a sigh. He can't tell Steven that he's going to change, that seeing Desmond is going to fix him. He broke a vase when he was a boy, a family heirloom. No matter how many times he tried to glue it back together, it was never the same again.
"Because you know what, if it is..."
Brendan expects him to say that he'll have to end things. That Steven can't take years stretched ahead of him of Brendan's moods and temper. His can understand that, even if it makes him want to die.
"I can live with that." He reaches for Brendan's hand underneath the covers and squeezes it, bringing him back to life.
Steven smiles their own private smile, stroking along Brendan's hand like he's something precious.
"I wouldn't for anyone else, it's only because it's you okay?"
This is the time to say it. This is his chance, the moment when Brendan opens his mouth and lets the confession fall from his lips, Steven I love you.
How can he not love the boy and all that he is? The vulnerability there that makes him want to protect him, that speaks of a childhood spent alone and in fear, unloved by those who should have cared for him the most. The strength which burns in Steven's eyes that makes him bolder and braver than Brendan's ever been, that's made him survive in a place like this where lesser men have fallen by the wayside, struggling to exist in the confines of the locked doors and the claustrophobic cells. How could he not love the boy's beauty, the eyelashes that no grown man should possess and that Brendan likes to run his tongue over; the lips which are already puckered in the morning, waiting for a kiss that Brendan doesn't deserve but which he has to claim. How can he not love the way that Steven looks at him, like he can conquer the whole fucking world, that they can do it together. How can he not love the man who knows about what was done to him, who knows what Seamus took and ruined, and still wants to be inside him every night, who grips his body with his hands and draws him closer, no such thing as enough or too much.
But if he tells Steven and the boy leaves him then he'll know what he's taking away. He'll know exactly how it will destroy him.
He kisses against the palm of Steven's hand, whispering "thank you" instead.
It still feels insubstantial next to everything that the boy's given him.
"I'm going to make this right. Everything with Warren, and your family...and me. I'm going to make me right."
"You are right. Just because I want you to get help, it doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you."
He wonders whether Steven realises that this is a feeble argument, that he must be seeing something that should be fixed if he wants him to see a therapist. But the boy's staring at him with such conviction that it's hard to let these doubts grow.
"You can't keep on thinking that you're not normal, Bren."
The nickname makes him smile as he kisses against Steven's knuckles. It sounds natural. Good. He know that he's been forgiven.
"Also, you're not doing a very good job of watching over me, are you?"
Brendan's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me?"
Steven's gestures between them. "There's a lot of space between us, don't you think? Warren could easily sneak in here."
Brendan tuts, exasperated. "Not funny, Steven." The last thing he wants to be thinking about is Foxy featuring in his sex life.
The boy giggles, nonplussed. "I think you should help me to peel off these clothes. Sound good to you?"
He resists the urge to tell Steven exactly how good this sounds, his hands moving deftly to pull his t-shirt off from him, disposing of Steven's boxers and his own fast enough to beat his former personal record.
They don't do anything straight away. Steven's in a strange mood tonight, or perhaps it's strange because Brendan's still so unused to being with someone like this, without the rush and the frantic need to make someone come as soon as possible, then see them leave just as quickly.
Steven lies full length on top of him, Brendan stroking down his back as the boy works himself up to arousal, his cock pressed against their stomachs, his lips ghosting along Brendan's neck. The rest of the time he's almost completely still, and Brendan only knows by the feel and slight sound of Steven's breathing that he's alive at all. He's content like this, in a way that he never knew he could be. There's something peaceful about moving his hands over the boy's smooth and golden back, feeling how skinny and fragile he is, but never forgetting what the boy's capable of doing with his body; the way that he can make Brendan roar like he's not even human.
He almost dozes until hot, sucking kisses are placed on his chest and over his nipples. A hand begins to wrap around his dick, its movements on him making him open his eyes and stare down at what Steven's doing, needing to see this. The boy still appears sleepy himself, his body sluggish, his kisses sparse before they move onto another area of skin, actions designed to make him want to fuck him.
He doesn't need persuasion. Brendan throws the covers off from around them, not wanting anything to be concealed. He bundles Steven into his arms, both of them sitting up in the bed on their knees now. Brendan places his thumbs over Steven's cheeks, cajoling the boy to open his mouth wider and let his tongue roam into its depths. Steven's gathering his energy back, and Brendan allows the boy to manhandle him onto the pillow again, Steven turning around, planting his body in front of Brendan, arse propped before his lips.
Brendan chuffs a laugh, his hand finding the spot between Steven's spine and the beginning of his arse, stroking across it until the boy begins to moan.
"Please."
Perhaps Steven likes begging, because fuck he's good at it. He pitches his voice just right, just the precise amount of desperation and hunger and need for Brendan's dick to be inside of him, until Brendan can't refuse him anything.
"Anything you want, Steven." He means it.
He doesn't feel like experiencing the tight, warm, soft inside of Steven against his fingers today. He wants to taste it. He still has the memory of the shower that they had this morning, and the way that Steven had felt against his tongue as he'd licked him open. It's something that he could get addicted to, something that he already is addicted to.
The boy grips against the end of the bed, his hands moving from the sheets to the frame, giving him something solid to hold onto while Brendan stretches him. Steven's head is hanging down, his neck fully exposed. If Brendan was capable of concentrating on anything other than Steven's entrance then he'd take advantage and bite down on the skin there, making it red and raw.
There's so much pent up frustration in both of them. Brendan can feel it coursing through their bodies, as though they truly believe that if they just kiss and fuck each other hard enough, then everything else will simply cease to exist. He's determined to test that theory, even if the knowledge that everything will still be there in the morning paralyses him afterwards.
Once he's thoroughly wetted Steven's hole he sheathes up and enters the boy in one swift movement. Steven leans forward even further, chewing down on his own damn hand to deal with the way that his body's being invaded. He's whispering things that Brendan has to strain closer to hear, yes, that's it, right there, and Brendan wonders where in the hell the boy learnt this, to be this wanton and adoring and so fucking determined to take what's his.
Brendan closes his eyes, getting lost in the sensations and the sound of Steven coming apart, rocking on all fours and pushing back against Brendan's arse when the Irishman stills in his movements. He's fucking himself on Brendan's cock, and Brendan stops pummelling into his heat just to watch him, just to see how he flexes his arse and groans as he gives himself the pleasure that he believes he deserves, the pleasure that Brendan's regarded as a sin his entire life.
He could try to say it now, again. He could tell Steven that he loves him, and to never leave him. To make him realise how important he is to the world, fucking imperative. But he doesn't want to scare him.
Instead Brendan braces himself, two hands against Steven's back as he builds himself up to orgasm. He howls Steven's name just as loudly as Steven screams his, and when he pulls the boy into his arms it's with the knowledge that he might not be so lucky to have him tomorrow.