Ste's never seen him like this before. Brendan's sitting on the floor of his cell, head between his hands as he takes deep breaths which do nothing to dispel his anxiety. The moment that they'd left the canteen Brendan hadn't stopped walking until they'd reached the safety of the room, ignoring Ste struggling in his arms, trying to go back.
This isn't like Brendan. He never runs from anything.
Ste looks down at him, anger rising in him steadily like a ticking time bomb. He's not sure whether it's Brendan that he's mad at or the whole fucking situation. He wants to release it somehow, all the pent up rage that he's been holding onto for too long. He's masked his fear about Warren's return, placing it away in a corner of his mind that he tried not to have access to.
Seeing him in the dining room had brought it all back to him with alarming intensity; the memory of seeing Warren raping Ethan pressing down on Ste, embedded under his skin. He hates the scene that he caused, hates how the tray had slipped from his hands without being able to control it.
Maybe if he'd just stayed calm, hadn't alerted all the other men to their presence then he wouldn't have transferred that nervous energy onto Brendan, and he wouldn't have dragged him from the room.
"What were you thinking?" He's shouting, directing his helplessness at Brendan, the man staring up at him with exhausted, shrunken eyes. "Running away like that, that's not going to make Warren think you're guilty at all, is it?"
Ste's already staring at the door, wondering how long it will take until Warren comes to find them, the man certain now that he knows who was responsible for the attack. Ste's frustration only grows when Brendan remains silent, hugging his knees to his chest, drawing his body further in, a defensive gesture that's so unlike the Brendan that he knows, the man who commands a room when he walks into it, the man who runs this place like it's his kingdom.
"Brendan, did you hear me?" He knows he did, of course he did, but Ste needs answers, something that he can hold onto. "We just showed him that we're afraid, that we've done something wrong."
He hears his voice then, low and broken, barely a whisper.
"I would have killed him, Steven. If I'd stayed there any longer...I would have killed him."
"No you wouldn't," Ste says, only half sure because the Brendan in his head isn't a murderer, isn't the monster that he thinks he is. But he knows that truth lies there, had seen the way that Brendan had moved him out of reach, not only to ensure his safety but to be closer to Warren, close enough to attack.
"For the first time I've got something to lose." Brendan's eyes are on the floor, his shoulders hunched as though it hurts to speak these words, hurts to vocalise such raw need for another person. "I could either stay there and kill him, or come back here with you."
Ste leans against the wall, pressing his forehead onto it, desperately trying to drum something into himself with each touch of his skin against the cold plaster. He needs to find something that'll make this right, can't be living in this world where Brendan's talking about blood being shed and lives being expelled like it's nothing, like it doesn't matter and it doesn't mean a damn thing.
"It's all going to end, isn't it?
Ste breaks from his reverie, the sheer sorrow of Brendan's voice feeling like a stabbing, aching pain in his chest.
"What?"
"You and me," Brendan mumbles into his knees, mouth rubbing against the material of his trousers. "It's never going to stop. Warren...I'm not sure I can make it stop."
Ste can't stand it any longer. He crouches down and lays a hand on Brendan's shoulder, has an overwhelming instinct to hold him.
"Brendan..." he begins, but Brendan shrugs him off, rising from his sitting position and moving away from the proximity of Ste's hands and touch. Ste realises with a shuddering breath that Brendan's crying. It startles him, the shock of it making his hands still in mid air, useless. It hurts to see someone so strong crumbling before him, tears cascading down Brendan's cheeks, the Irishman not even attempting to hide them or look away. He's wearing his pain openly now, almost daring Ste to leave him for it, to see his true nature and reject it.
Ste's not going anywhere.
"Brendan, please." It comes out as a desperate begging plea. He can cope with anything but Brendan shutting him out, and he makes a frantic attempt to move closer to the man and try to reach him by whatever means possible, his hands grappling to touch Brendan's face, his arms, his chest. The Irishman fights him off, letting out a strangled no as though it's choking him.
"I deserve this, Steven." He's spitting now, his words violently torn from him, and Ste can't bear to look at how much Brendan hates himself, desires nothing more than to make him see how much he loves him, how he would do anything for him. When Brendan gets like this it feels impossible to reach him. He doesn't want to be reached, wants to revel in the darkness because it's something familiar; however much it torments him he knows what it is, knows what's it's like to experience.
"This is my punishment, isn't it? For all the things I've done. I lose the one thing that I..."
Brendan staggers around the room, emotion making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Ste barely manages to keep up, trying to follow the man and make sure that he doesn't fall like he looks so in danger of doing. He can barely make sense of his words, disjointed and spoken through heaving breaths, diluted by tears and angry sobs. Brendan's completely out of control and Ste needs to anchor him back to reality, needs him present and here with him.
Before he can even consider the insanity of what he's about to do, he grabs the nearest CD he can find, one of Brendan's Johnny Cash albums. He discards the case and positions the disc next to his arm, swallowing back his trepidation and watching as Brendan freezes, his eyes travelling between Ste and the object, his tears drying on his face.
"Steven, what are you doing?" He holds his hands up as though Ste's pointing a loaded weapon in his direction.
"If you don't stop and listen to me then I swear I'll do it." To emphasise his point he presses the sharp edge of the CD against his skin, digging it into his flesh.
Brendan begins to shake, his lips parted in shock.
"Put it down."
"Not until you listen to me."
Brendan's face is beginning to shine with sweat, his skin so white that it's almost transparent.
"Please stop."
Ste releases his grip on the disc but continues to hold it over himself. He can tell that his drastic measure has scared the man, but he needs to get through to him, and he doesn't think anything else will suffice.
"You don't deserve this." He says it with all the authority that he possesses. "You don't deserve any of this, and we're going to make it right. You're not going to lose me."
Brendan still doesn't get it, is muttering about God and hell and what he did to his own father, you can't stay with me Steven, it's not safe, I'm not safe, and Ste forgets about his foolish and reckless method to get Brendan's attention, needing to make a connection that currently feels severed. He throws the disc to the side and pulls Brendan into his arms, his hold suffocating, trying to give Brendan all the strength that he has. He can feel the older man's warm and salty tears against his cheek, and Ste turns his mouth to the side, removing them with his lips until there's not a single trace of them remaining.
Brendan's breath is hot in his ear, fucking stupid thing to do Steven, could have cut yourself, could have got hurt and then where the fuck would we be, you're not just thinking for yourself anymore. Ste wants to laugh at the hypocritical nature of the man, to tell him that that's his entire point. Brendan can't just start talking about losing him, because the loss weighs heavily on both their sides.
But he can't speak, can't concentrate on anything other than Brendan's arms around him, solid and so wonderfully safe. Tears still threaten to resume their path down Brendan's cheek but he seems less afraid now, back where Ste can reach him.
He wrangles between their bodies for Brendan's belt, cursing the man for continuing to wear one and make it that much harder to discard his clothes to get to the bare skin underneath. Brendan looks dazed, stupefied before he understands what Ste's doing, and then he's helping him, taking the belt and roughly throwing it to the floor when it's off, lifting up Ste's polo shirt and grazing his hands over his nipples, Ste pulling the man's trousers down.
He wants to stop Brendan from feeling like this, needs to stitch him back together piece by piece, calming the tumult and the blame that's sparking inside his head that makes Brendan believe that he's wrong. As Ste's hands work at Brendan's shirt buttons he wonders if he's taking advantage; Brendan's eyes are blank and impassive. It makes Ste want to bite down on his shoulder, trying to rouse him from his tormented daydream.
But Brendan's hands are assured and firm as they draw Ste closer, raking over his back and down his tracksuit bottoms, clenching the cheeks of his arse and emitting a soft groan from the boy's lips. Every movement and action is tender and gentle, and Ste loves it, loves how Brendan touches him and strokes his skin like he's rediscovering every inch of his body, the crevices and the parts reserved only for him.
But it's not enough today. Ste wants something more, something that'll make them momentarily forget the past and replace their minds with nothing but each other. He wants Brendan's hands in his hair, his groin rubbing harshly against his cock, his elbows keeping Ste down on the bed, unable to wrangle free from his hold. He trusts Brendan explicitly, nothing able to break that.
Ste gasps into his mouth when Brendan's hand strays down towards his hole, a single finger smoothing along his entrance. He fights to keep a whine of disappointment from escaping his mouth when Brendan doesn't press any deeper, his actions still restrained and frustratingly light, the merest of touches and not what he craves.
It's not working. He's trying to bring Brendan back to him but even now he's remote, his skin cold and the fervour that normally overtakes him when they're together like this vacant, replaced with Warren and Seamus and every other man whose ever made him feel weak.
"Don't you want this?" He asks, stuttering over his words and revealing the startling vulnerability underneath, because it's still impossible that he should be wanted this much by anyone. Ste's terrified of hearing the answer, of hearing some form of reluctance.
"Of course." Brendan sounds pained that he's even uttered those words, but Ste can't feel relief, just lets Brendan knows that he's hard by grinding his thigh in between the man's legs, willing for him to do something about it.
"Then show me, please."
Brendan lets out a ragged breath and his next command is laced with raw desire. There's too much distance between them, and they need to knock down those walls together.
"Take off your trousers, Steven."
Ste fumbles at them eagerly, almost tripping over in his haste to get them off, over his ankles and onto the floor. When Brendan's gaze flickers over him he doesn't contain his lust, a peek of his tongue appearing between his lips, and Ste doesn't have to look down at the man to know that he's half way there himself, a semi beginning to form in his boxers.
He wants to be bold. To capture Brendan's full attention and make him want him as ardently as he ever has. To replace the darkness with the light.
Ste gets a condom out of the drawer, but he doesn't turn around as he removes his boxers. There's silence behind him, the room alive with tension and the spark of anticipation. It's crackling in the air and Ste takes full advantage of it, bending over as his remaining clothes are stripped from him, the soft mounds of his arse cheeks and his pink, hair scattered hole on display.
It has the desired effect, and he feels Brendan's touch on his spine, running downwards towards his arse. When he turns round the Irishman's inches away from him, and their lips almost ghost together, warm, sweet air passing between them when they breathe. Brendan's eyelashes look more elongated that Ste's ever seen them, darkened by the tears which look close to reforming.
He can hardly bear to look at them. He kisses softly against his eyelids, transferring Brendan's tears onto his lips. He wishes that it was enough to make him heal. Brendan's still looks too detached, and it's with force that Ste pushes him down onto the bed, trying to do anything that'll make an impact and get through to his fragmented mind.
He can't let any ideas start to form in Brendan's head about giving him up. Ste's actions are intended to distract, anything to bring Brendan pleasure to replace the pain. When Brendan's lying against the pillow Ste crawls down his body, grasping the older man's cock in his palm before guiding it into his mouth. He registers the way that Brendan tips his head back slightly, legs twitching and stomach muscles clenching, and tries to believe that this is enough to make him come back to him, closing a door momentarily on everything else that's invading his mind.
Ste's never sucked off anyone like this before, never taken them down so deep and moved so fast. There's a frenzied desperation to his actions, needs to bring Brendan to a climax and keep the threat of Warren out of the room, not allowing his presence to reach them here, the vivid images of him surrounding them. He can hear Brendan gasping above him, feel his hand stroking the strands of his hair, grasping it tighter when Ste's lips hit against the base.
Just as Ste feels the familiar signs of Brendan's orgasm, a hand taps against his shoulder. He looks up through hooded eyes, mouth unmoving on Brendan's dick, keeping it warm and wet for him.
"I don't want to come in your mouth. Come here."
Ste releases his dick and kisses along Brendan's stomach, the disappointment giving way to the knowledge of what's to come, watching as Brendan reaches over and starts taking the wrapper off the condom, snaking a hand down between their bodies and putting it on.
They don't stop, can't stop touching because everything feels too precarious, too delicate, and if they stop then they might not ever start again, might allow everything to come between them and create an everlasting distance.
Ste can feel the shudders going through Brendan's body, feels like heaving sobs but he's not crying now; it's the after effect of his tears.
It takes Ste less than twenty seconds to disentangle himself, moving from the bed to put on a Johnny Cash CD, the same one that he'd been threatening to slice himself open with moments before. Brendan stares at him hungrily when he walks towards him again, music now flooding the room. He knows the intention, knows that this is the boy's way of telling him that he wants it hard and fast, needing the music to drown out their sounds.
When Brendan climbs on top of him on the bed, Ste licks across the man's jaw, commanding in a breathy whisper, "do whatever you want to me."
Brendan leans back, confusion and a spark of fear clouding his features. Ste thought this was what he wanted, thought that he'd relish having any form of control. It's who Brendan is, what he does, but in the face of so much power he suddenly looks startled by it, unsure.
Ste props himself up on his elbows. "Please, Brendan. I mean it, do whatever you want."
Brendan strokes along Ste's neck with his fingers, movements light and barely there. He looks almost fascinated, staring in wonderment at what Ste's offering him.
"What do you mean?"
Ste doesn't admit that he's not even sure what he means, just knows that he needs something, something to get Brendan present in the room with him, to stop the helplessness from leeching through. He's scared that asking him to go to Des was a bad idea; it seems to have opened a window into his past that was unexamined before, and now the defenses are crumbling around him.
"Just...here." Ste picks up his jumper from the floor, offering it to Brendan and lying close to the head of the bed. "Tie me." He remembers the glint of excitement in Brendan's eyes when he'd gagged him. The Irishman had felt in control then, had felt safe because he was leading, and Ste desperately needs him to feel like that again.
There's doubt in Brendan's eyes. "Steven..."
"I want you to," he reassures, and he feels his cock twitch in response. It thrills him, being dominated so completely by Brendan.
Brendan stares down at the jumper. "If you're sure."
Ste nods eagerly, wetting his lips. Brendan leans over him and slowly begins to tie his right arm to the railing of the bed. His actions are hesitant and fleeting at first, as though he's afraid of applying too much pressure, of hurting him. It's only when he stares down at Ste's groin that his expression begins to clear, his anxiety giving way to confidence, his hold on Ste becoming more firm.
"This is doing it for you?" He asks, observing the precome that's pooled at the slit of Ste's cock, how he's rock solid.
Ste doesn't reply with words, just arches into the touch when Brendan gives his cock long, spine tingling strokes. He gets lost to the feel of it, body tensing in frustration when Brendan removes his hand to tie up Ste's other arm.
"Is it too tight?"
"No."
It would take a fair amount of effort to get off the bed from the knots that Brendan's created, but there's no one else that he'd rather be at the mercy of.
Brendan leans back on his knees to survey Ste, and he feels a hint of self consciousness spread through him, being so under inspection like this. He's grown more comfortable with his own body since he met Brendan, but there's still that remnant of doubt in his mind, that voice that says that he's not good enough, that his features are too feminine, too delicate, too unconventional. It's as though Brendan's trying to challenge this theory, staring Ste down until he begins to feel like someone who people could want to look at, that he's worth something.
Brendan runs his hands along Ste's stretched arms, then begins kissing along the skin there, right from his shoulders to his hands, taking Ste's palm and laying soft kisses there. The prickle of his moustache would make Ste laugh if he wasn't so turned on. There's something about this, something dark and twisted and raw and vulnerable about being trapped here, spread out before Brendan like a prize.
Ste longs for him to increase the frequency of his kisses and caresses. As he can't move his arms he uses the rest of his body to coax and encourage and seduce. He rocks his arse in Brendan's direction, trying to prop it enough in the air to tempt Brendan and make him explore it with his fingers and tongue, before replacing them with his cock. He's so close to it that he can almost feel Brendan inside him, can recall the vivid memories of that first initial push as Brendan breaches his ring, Ste's hole feeling like it's spasming around the sheer size of the man and the fact that he's being invaded so completely.
"Fuck me." He wants to slick his hand with spit, wants it around Brendan's cock. Even though he knows it's futile he still tries to struggle, pulling on the ties and making the railings clatter.
Brendan watches with dark eyes, and just when Ste doesn't think he can take it any more the man leans over his naked body so that they're chest to chest, sweat sliding between them. Ste's eyes are driven closed by Brendan's kisses and he begins to forget about the ache settling around his arms from having them stretched above his head. Brendan's lips are distracting him, the soft pressure from his mouth moving against his.
He's vaguely aware of Brendan reaching between their bodies to line up his cock, and Ste breathes through the sting as his hole is driven into, gasping into Brendan's mouth and releasing a guttural groan. He wraps his legs around the man's waist, drawing him closer towards him, hands finding their way to Brendan's arse, a silent plea for Brendan to go in deeper.
Their noises are barely heard, muffled by the music, the twang of country and sixties rock and roll, and all that Ste can feel is Brendan. He tries to fuck into the man from below, lifting his hips and rotating them, but then he remembers that this was meant to be about Brendan, that Ste wanted to relinquish the reins and let this be up to him - the pace, the intensity, the dominance.
But once his movements shudder to a halt he feels wetness around his ear, and Brendan's voice whispering avidly.
"Do that again."
Ste raises his hips, matching Brendan's thrusts with his own skilled movements, milking Brendan's dick inside his arse until the Irishman's gripping his fingernails into the flesh of Ste's arms, creating marks which will take longer to heal than the ones that the jumper binding him will.
Ste's aware of movement outside, thinks for one horrifying moment that Warren's come to find them, but it's Darren. Ste's eyes widen as he sees the officer peer through the window, doing his routine checks. There's both surprise and the lack of it, the lack because because Darren's seen Brendan with men before, had been privy to Brendan and Vinnie's meetings, but he's still witnessing the sight of two men fucking, and he blinks several times before giving Ste a look of pure embarrassment, scuttling away before Brendan can follow Ste's line of sight.
Ste shuts his eyes, fighting through the shame that's come from being so exposed, so on display. He needs things to be different, needs to feel normal and to make this normal, not something that other people can play witness to, as though it's their right to invade his privacy and have access to such a personal moment. He wants to be able to close the door on them, to lock everyone else out and for it to just be him and Brendan. He could never get used to this way of life, knows that Brendan only has because he has to. There's no other choice.
"Are you okay?"
Brendan's noticed his distance, the man's thrusts becoming slower as fear sparks through him - is this what the boy wants? - but Ste pulls Brendan towards him with his legs, trying to reassure him.
"Untie me."
"What? But I thought you said -"
"I know what I said. But I want to come when I'm touching you. Everywhere."
Brendan's hands fumble around the knots in the jumper, struggling in his haste to get Ste free. When his arms are no longer bound he takes Brendan's face in his hands, tucking him into the crook of his neck while Brendan works them both to orgasm. Ste rakes his hands down Brendan's back, his release almost violent when it comes, his spunk spilling against his stomach and Brendan's.
He's come hands free, again, nothing more than Brendan's dick inside him to make him climax. He can hear the approval in Brendan's tone, "good boy", the only words that he manages before he collapses onto Ste, sucking lazy kisses against his neck, his dick still in him.
They keep their legs intertwined, enjoying the warmth and the feeling of being connected that's attached to it. But Ste can sense it, the dread and the panic creeping back in now that they're not lost to what their bodies can do to each other. It's dangerous when the distraction's not there. Ste can't regulate his thoughts, can't stop imagining Warren's face and the injuries that Brendan inflected on him. He can't understand if he's meant to feel an ounce of sympathy or guilt, and he understands even less why he doesn't. He'd started thinking it in the canteen, a gnawing thought that wouldn't leave him: he wishes that Brendan had killed Warren.
He knows what Amy would say to that, knows how she'd look at him. She'd think that prison has changed him, making him into someone not dissimilar to the men in here. Perhaps she's right. He'd never asked Brendan to implicitly hurt Warren, but when he found out what he'd done he hadn't considered ending things. Fuck, a part of him had even been pleased that Brendan had put an end to Ethan's terror and removed someone who was so poisonous.
What kind of monster does that make him?
Brendan disrupts his thoughts by pulling out and rolling off him, settling next to him on the bed. His cheeks are rosy, his lips rubbed raw by what Ste's done to him. He looks calmer now, and when he closes his eyes it's with an air of peacefulness. It allows Ste that same peace.
"Never do that again, Steven."
Ste's eyes snap open. "What?"
"Threaten to hurt yourself."
It already seems distant, a foolish prank to get Brendan's attention in order to stop him from being so trapped by his own fears.
"I was only messing around."
Brendan stares at him, his expression devoid of humour. "You think that's funny, do you? Acting as if you're going to cut yourself?"
"No, course not." Ste mumbles. "I didn't know what else to do." He looks at the ceiling, trying to avoid Brendan's penetrating gaze. "It's not like you've never done that before."
There's silence, and Ste wonders whether he's gone too far, if Brendan's regretting being with someone who won't let things lie. But a moment later his voice rings out above the music, sharp and clear.
"The mirror thing?"
"Yes. You think it was nice for me to see your hand all fucked up, and knowing that you had to go and see a nurse? That it was bad enough that you had to get help? Do you think that made me feel good, Brendan?"
"I told you, I had to cover my back after what I did to Warren. And I...I was angry."
It sounds like a rare admittance. Ste doesn't look at him, doesn't think that Brendan could be so honest if he wasn't facing away, giving him that freedom to acknowledge that he can't always control his own actions.
"Maybe I was angry too."
"At what?" Brendan asks, surprised. Ste chances a glance at him, seeing how the older man's face is creased with worry.
"At you, for thinking that this...thing between us isn't going to work out. That you're going to lose me."
"That's not what I meant."
"It sounded that way to me."
Brendan sighs, hand covering his face as though he's trying to shrink in on himself, to hide.
"I really fucked up back there with Warren, didn't I? Running away like that."
"There's nothing that we can't fix."
When Brendan speaks his voice is quiet, childlike in its uncertainty, looking at Ste for guidance. "You really think so?"
"Yes. You and me...whatever happens, he's not going to hurt us."
He doesn't know if his words carry weight, if they're enough. But when Brendan rises from the bed and begins to get dressed, there's a looseness in his bones, his fists no longer clenched like he's poised for a fight, an attack against himself.
Ste pull the cover further over himself, settling in to sleep, feeling the wave of tiredness that always washes over him after sex. He opens one eye when he feels a soft mound land on the bed, realising that Brendan's thrown him his socks.
"I'm going to the gym."
"Wasn't that enough for you?" Ste asks, incredulous. He's never liked going to the gym at the best of times, but someone would have to pay him to work out on an exercise machine now. His limbs are begging for rest.
"I've got to keep busy."
He understands it then, understands Brendan's need to be doing something, to keep his mind occupied in order for it not to stray to thoughts of Warren.
"Have fun," Ste mumbles, already beginning to lull into the hazy state between consciousness and sleep.
"Oi, Bambi. You're coming with me."
Ste immediately feels more alert at Brendan's words, the desire to argue sparking in him, making energy course through his body. He sits up in bed, throwing Brendan a disgruntled look.
"You what?"
"That was the deal, remember? Wherever I go, you follow."
"I didn't think you'd take it quite this literally."
"Steven." He can hear the frustration in Brendan's voice, the man staring upwards as though asking God to give him strength.
"It's not up for discussion. If Warren finds you alone in here then he'll see his chance and take it."
"Do you have no confidence at all in my ability to defend myself?"
Brendan's eyes travel across Ste's body, over his bare chest, the soft skin which is smooth in its lack of muscle definition, across to the peek of legs that's hanging out of the cover, their skinniness on display.
"I think you can answer that question yourself."
Ste scowls but does as he's told, leaving the warmth of the bed, the imprint of Brendan's body still visible, a dent in the mattress.
"As long as you don't expect me to do any exercise."
Brendan smirks as he pulls his vest over himself. "I'd never ask that of you, Steven."
The gym's almost empty when they arrive, only a few men running on the treadmill machines. Brendan spooks one of the prisoner's enough to hand over a set of weights, doing nothing more to intimidate than offering his best glare. Ste tuts but lets it slide; there's something undeniably amusing and attractive about seeing Brendan swagger about the place, the entire world at his feet.
Ste sits against the floor and watches as the muscles in Brendan's arms flex every time he lifts the weight. He handles it as though it's nothing, barely a strain. Ste wonders if Brendan became conditioned to accept pain early on in his life, and it no longer hurts him.
"You sure you don't want to try one? Get your first muscle?"
"Fuck off."
Brendan laughs, and Ste feels like he hasn't heard the sound in a thousand years, tries to capture it to memory. Brendan sees him smiling before he can disguise it.
"What?"
Ste shrugs, getting to his feet and standing close to the man, invading his personal space, heat seeming to radiate from him, his chest puffing out as he moves his arms faster around the weight.
"You just look good, that's all."
"Oh yeah?" Brendan asks, voice cocky, lips parted so that Ste can see his tongue. "You're not thinking about getting inappropriate in here, are you?"
Ste stares at him coyly then glances around the room, noticing how there's only one sole man whose managed to stay and brave Brendan, everyone else having made their escape.
"We're almost alone, aren't we?"
He reaches forward and gives Brendan arse a squeeze, half expecting him to panic and drop the weight on his foot, but he doesn't. His hand stills as he leans towards Ste and kisses him, the softness descending into tongues rubbing together and saliva making their mouths messy and obscene, glistening with spit.
"Jesus Steven, do you ever have enough?"
Ste's asked himself that same question, wondered if it's ever possible to grow tired of this. He's beginning to think that he could do it for the rest of his life, and it scares him that he may not get the chance.
He presses his lips against Brendan's exposed tattoo, the large cross that settles around his shoulder.
"I would say get a room, but you already have."
They spring apart at the sound of Warren's voice filling the room, seeming to echo around the walls. Brendan wipes his lips roughly, knowledge seeping through him of what Warren saw. Disgust rises to the surface, bile attacking his taste buds.
Ste steps closer to Brendan instinctively.
"It was a shame that you ran away earlier. I wanted to catch up."
Brendan's expression becomes as solid as marble, his arms crossed and eyes black.
"Not much to talk about, is there? I can't imagine you have much to tell me about when you've been in a coma for months."
Ste tenses, unsure if it's wise to be testing Warren's already thin patience. He sees the man who was exercising behind them walk from the room, eyes downcast as though he's afraid to look. Ste wishes he could join him, but he can't leave Brendan's side, is having to resist standing in front of him as an attempt to shield him from harm, despite the fact that Warren could easily toss him aside like a leaf blowing in the breeze.
"So, Brady's got himself a new boyfriend."
Warren looks Ste up and down, an action that forces Brendan to take a step further towards him, distancing Ste from the man.
"I can't say I'm surprised. Young, fair, skinny - dead ringer for Vinnie, isn't he?" Warren directs at Brendan. "Oops, did I say dead?"
Ste presses a hand against Brendan's chest when he makes a move forward, knuckles straining in their desire to attack. Warren smiles, and it doesn't matter that he's crouched over, bruises covering him and making him weak. Ste's never seen him look more terrifying.
"Don't worry Brendan, I'm sure they'll be another boy for you to fuck when Ste leaves."
It's a sore subject, and Ste's hold on Brendan lessens, hungry for a fight himself. He'd never considered Warren to have even an ounce of intelligence, never thought that he'd be able to recognise their weaknesses and the things that they fear. He looks intent on ripping them apart, piece by piece.
"This is a fascinating conversation, really it is Foxy. But does it have a point?" Brendan drawls, sounding far more collected than Ste knows he is.
Warren stares at the weight that's still in Brendan's hand. "Are you going to drop that thing, or continue to hold it like it's a weapon?"
Brendan stares at it as though that had been his exact plan, but he tentatively lowers it towards the floor, never taking his eyes off Warren.
"Good. Now, where were we?"
"The point of this little exchange," Brendan points out, voice as hard as ice.
"Ah yes. As you know, I've been in hospital after some bastard beat me up. Now that I'm back, I've had a meeting with Tony - he reckons that if we work together, we might be able to find out who did this to me."
Ste tries to remain as still as possible, feeling like any movement will reveal something that he desperately wants to stay hidden.
"We're trying to think about who could hate me enough to do that."
"How long have you got?"
Warren laughs hollowly. "There's really only a handful of people that it could be. It would have to be someone strong enough to be able to beat me into a coma, wouldn't it?"
Brendan shrugs. "Could have been anyone."
"It's not really someone like Silas's style though, is it? He likes killing women. He'd have no use for me."
"Murderers work in mysterious ways, Foxy. Can we move this along? I'm bored."
Warren walks around the room, tracing his hands over the machines. Ste's intensely relieved at the sudden distance.
"You're the eyes and ears of this place, Brendan. I was wondering if you could help to find out who did this to me."