He covers up. Borrows Doug's dressing gown and secures it tightly around himself, over his bare chest and covering his boxer shorts. Self consciousness grips him; he hasn't been this thin for a long time, and he's still covered by the marks that Warren left. With the large sleeves of the gown, it's easier to cover them.
Steven tries to drown out the sound of Brendan manipulating Darren. It's a change that he still can't completely get used to, the difference between the Brendan who he's alone with and the one who twists things to his own advantage. He could protest against it, but the need to spend the night with him wins out.
When Brendan closes the door on Osborne, he leans agains the wall and stares at Steven expectantly. Still waiting for his answer.
"I can't do it to them." It's a mumble, torn out of him reluctantly.
"Amy and the kids," Brendan says, not a question but an observation. Steven's relieved that he doesn't let any satisfaction show through. This is difficult enough without having to deal with Brendan's sense of victory.
"I saw them. Amy brought me pictures. And..."
He doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want Brendan to know how much what he said has affected him, doesn't want him to mistake it for pity.
"What you said...I hear you crying sometimes, you know. Especially when I first came here, and we were sharing a cell. And I heard you...saying things. I didn't realise what it meant at the time, not till you told me about your dad. But now..." Now I do.
"Then you'll know that I don't want that kind of life for you, Steven," Brendan says, voice constricted. "Even if you hate me for it."
"I don't hate you, it's just - it's alright for you, isn't it? You can say goodbye, it doesn't matter to you - but what about me? I'm going to be on the outside, thinking about all the men you're going to be fucking."
Brendan walks towards him, eyes dark. "Seriously? Do you hear yourself right now? It doesn't matter to me? Jesus, boy - you said it yourself, you're gonna be on the outside. I'm going to be here for the rest of my life without you."
"Are you honestly telling me that you won't find someone else? That you won't trade me in for a newer model?" Steven asks sceptically. "We haven't had sex since Warren raped me."
There's anger in Brendan's eyes now. He looks insulted. "Why won't you realise - it doesn't make any difference who I'm with, or what I do, or how many times you sleep with me. This is still going to be the most real, fucked up, best thing that's ever happened to me."
"See, you're not denying it," Steven cries out, doesn't feel comforted by Brendan's words, all sounds like a speech designed to lie to him, to temporarily get him to play by his rules.
He flinches when Brendan places his hands on his shoulders, and the older man immediately takes them off, face distorted.
"I'm sorry." He stares down at the floor, previous determination gone.
"No, I'm..." Steven makes an attempt to get Brendan to touch him again, but the Irishman's hands flop uselessly at his sides, refusing to let Steven guide him. "It's not you, it's...after Warren..." He tries to explain, words tangled and pulse juddering.
He takes a breath to steady himself.
"You're going to forget me."
"I could never."
"In a month, a year -"
"Never."
Steven stares into Brendan's eyes imploringly, can see the way the man's reluctant to look back, afraid that he'll break.
"I don't believe that when I walk out of those gates, you'll still let me in. That you're not going to just forget about me, like Macca -"
"You're not Macca," Brendan says firmly. "I love you."
Steven closes his eyes, breathes it in. He's loved.
"Then stay with me. Don't shut me out. Let me visit."
He can see Brendan deliberating, knows how close he is, how much he wants to say yes. Steven steps closer, can feel the heat radiating off his body and uses it to his advantage: he knows that heat is for him. He places a hand on Brendan's chest, laying it there and letting them both get used to the feel of it again. He had felt less exposed when they'd showered together; something about the nakedness of them both had made him calm, and he'd let the water wash away the dirt that Warren had left behind.
In the cold and dankness of the cell, nothing feels clean.
"All those other men I could meet - it's pointless. It's impossible without you."
Brendan nods gently, still not moving away from Steven's touch. "I feel the same, but -"
Steven kisses him to stop his words, feeling the familiar sensation of stubble swiping against his lips. He remembers that initial surprise at how soft it is, ghosting down Steven's entire body, creating a path that ended at his groin. He needs to feel that again.
"Steven, is this is because of what you said - I don't expect -"
"Don't say anything." Steven tugs at Brendan's shirt, desperately fumbling with the buttons, clumsy in his movements. He feels out of practice, like he can't remember the steps.
He doesn't want Brendan to see the shake to his hands.
"Steven." He speaks his name softly, as though he's something delicate. It makes the boy feel worse.
"Stop trying to be so...so..." He struggles for the right word. "So nice."
Brendan laughs in disbelief, and Steven knows how crazy it sounds, isn't sure that he can explain it.
"Sorry, I'll be horrible to you then shall I?"
"Just don't...don't be gentle with me. Don't try and protect me all the time. I can take it." To emphasise his point, Steven pulls at his shirt buttons so harshly that they rip, and he finally gets to the exposed skin underneath, raking his hands through the hair on Brendan's chest, a savagery to his actions.
"Maybe I'm ready now. For this, for...us."
Brendan feels a rising anticipation in his bones that he tries to numb. It doesn't feel fair to be excited about this, not after what's happened. He isn't even sure if he feels ready; he fears most of all that if he fucks Steven then he'll feel like he's violating him. That all he'll see will be that day in the library, and Warren and the fear of what he was about to do to the helpless, bound boy lying on the floor.
"Steven..."
There's a desperation to the boy's kisses when their mouths meet. It scares Brendan, makes him breathless as he's pushed backwards against the wall, touch firm and frantic. They've been hungry for each other before, but there's something about this that alarms him, and when he pushes Steven away he tries to be as gentle as possible, doesn't want the boy to confuse it for rejection.
But he's wounded. It's in his eyes now, his pupils large and ringed with sadness, his hand drawing back from where it had been secured on Brendan's face, pulling him closer.
"You don't fancy me anymore."
"Don't be ridiculous." It comes out more stinging then he intends, and Steven looks like he's reeling. "I always want you."
"You did," Steven corrects, full of bitterness and fire."Now I'm just used goods, aren't I? Something that Warren chewed up and spat out."
"Stop." Brendan can see what he's doing, and he's determined to not let it work. He won't be coerced into sleeping with the boy just to disprove his point.
He wants to take his time on this. Wants to do it right.
"Please. I need to be..." Steven trails away helplessly, doesn't seem entirely sure of what he needs. His anger gives way to something else, and Brendan knows what it is; he'd experienced it himself when he'd first moved out of home, the need to be touched and taken, to seek out the evidence that he was someone who was capable of being wanted.
"If we're doing this, we're doing this properly. I'm not going to take advantage." He feels foolish saying it - they're together. They belong to each other. But there's something about this that unsettles him, makes him feel like Steven wouldn't feel any comfort from it afterwards.
Steven's almost delirious now, cheeks a bright pink, growing hard in his trousers. Brendan looks away, doesn't think he can control his own reactions if he sees how the boy's coming apart. Very little is stopping him from climbing on top of Steven on the bed and pinning him to the mattress, tenderness be damned.
He goes over to the CD player. There's something unbearably sentimental about providing a soundtrack for what they're about to do, and it isn't lost on Brendan. But they can't exist in the silence anymore. They need noise and animation and life.
He presses play, turning round to see Steven's reaction as the music fills the room. The boy rolls his eyes, looking at him with a kind of fond exasperation which Brendan doesn't know what to do with.
No one's ever looked at him like that before. It feels like something he needs to protect.
No matter what may be the style or season, I know your love will always see me through
I love you for a hundred, thousand reasons, but most of all I love you because you're you.
"Want to dance, Steven?"
"You what?" The boy laughs, and it eases the nervousness within Brendan. At least he hasn't said no, not yet.
"You, me..." Brendan holds out a hand precariously, is ready to withdraw it if there's even a hint of rejection on Steven's face.
Embarrassment floods through him. He doesn't dance. Not ever.
Steven know this. "You want us to dance? You - Brendan Brady?"
"It's a limited time offer kind of thing. About to expire in five seconds. Five, four, three -"
"Alright, alright!" Steven takes hold of his hand. He sighs, but Brendan doesn't miss the smile forming on his face, breaking through the fear that had been present moments before.
He almost feels disappointed that Steven's said yes. Almost, but not quite. Fuck the shame. Fuck how he's going to make a fool of himself. If he's going to lose this boy in seven days, then he's going to make sure they have something to remember.
I love you because my heart is lighter every time I'm walking by your side
I love you because the future's brighter
"I think this is the first song by this guy that doesn't make me want to kill myself."
"Oi," Brendan says, pretending to be affronted. He doesn't let Steven know that there's something wonderfully familiar about the way he insults his music, something that reminds him of their first few weeks together.
"Everything else is so depressing. You need a bit of...a bit of light, Brendan." Steven's eyes are soft as he stares up at him, Brendan attempting to sway him in time to the music.
"You're locked up for five years, you don't tend to see a lot of light."
He closes his eyes, feeling Steven rather than seeing him. The boy's lips ghost across his neck, barely there. The warmth is there though; Brendan can feel it in his hands and underneath the fabric of his clothes.
"You think it's so easy for me," he murmurs, partly hoping that he'll be so quiet that Steven won't be able to hear. "You think I'll be able to just forget about you."
"Won't you?"
The disbelief kills Brendan. Steven still doesn't know. Still doesn't have a clue.
"You'll move on quicker than I will," he says solemnly, holding Steven tighter.
"No." He sounds insulted, defensive. "Never."
Brendan can imagine him shaking his head, his eyebrows furrowed together, his mouth a sharp line of annoyance.
He doesn't want to push it, imagines the silence that will await him if Steven realises that he's right, that the future that he'll have - a partner, a home, his kids - doesn't include him. Steven opens his mouth, and Brendan can already predict the argument that's about to form.
"Don't," he whispers, pressing his cheek against Steven's, feeling his own stubble glide against the contrasting softness. "Let's just stay like this for a while."
No matter what the world may say about me, I know your heart will always be true
I love you for the way you never doubt me, but most of all I love you because you're you.
"You're a right soppy git, aren't you? Listening to this."
"Shhh," Brendan cuts through, saying it more to avoid humiliation than because Steven's wrong: maybe he is like that, and he never realised.
Steven rests his head against Brendan's shoulder, and they settle into a rhythm of sorts. Neither of them share a musical bone in their body, and Steven laughs that booming laugh of his when he steps on Brendan's feet several times, before Brendan lifts him effortlessly off the ground by the waist, twirling the boy in the air and making him laugh louder, stronger.
They get an audience. Officers who do the regular checks and whose eyes widen when they discover a new sight greeting them; Brendan Brady, dancing. He watches out of the corner of his eyes as several of the men gather at the door. He can see them sniggering.
He ignores them. Closes his eyes and holds Steven tighter, the boy holding him just as hard. It feels raw in places; when Steven runs his hands through Brendan's hair, he winces when he can feel the bruise that Warren inflicted. Steven's tiny in his arms, clothes barely filling him. But there's that curious strength which is always present, even when the boy feels at his weakest.
Brendan feels a cold air settle around him, realises that Steven's begun to pull up his t-shirt, hands grabbing greedily at the back of it, his palms touching the flesh there, eagerness making him abandon any attempt to be led around the room by Brendan.
He doesn't protest this time. Something about the way Steven's looking at him tells him not to, that it would do more harm than good. His eyes are begging: heal me.
His expression turns to one of palpable relief when he sees Brendan giving in. Their lips find each other, feeling like a familiar comfort which they've gone too long without. Brendan doesn't feel like he's kissed Steven, properly kissed him in weeks. Everything's been too plagued by worry - the threat of things that are beyond their control.
He's got seven days left to protect Steven. Seven days to make sure that no one hurts him, that he gets out of this place alive.
Seven days left to kiss him.
They don't stop when the music does. Brendan keeps his hands by his side until Steven pleads with him not to; when the boy's breath is hot in his ear, touch me, please, and Brendan stops being unsure. He helps Steven with the button on his trousers, recognising the boy's need for Brendan to be the one who's naked first this time.
He asks along the way, needs to know if he's sure.
"Yes." Steven drags it out, not hiding his urgency, lips parted and hands fumbling to get Brendan's zipper down.
Brendan's cheeks are hollow with the sensation that he's holding in a breath, that he's afraid to release one. Steven's masochistic attempt to sleep with him after the rape had felt different. He hadn't entertained the idea of going through with it. The boy's actions are full of intent now, but he's not numb anymore. It feels more dangerous.
When he reaches for Brendan's dick and holds him in his palm, he leans his forehead against Brendan's bare chest and Brendan listens as he tries to calm himself down, tries to get used to the feel of it without having images of another man, another room, another time.
"It's okay if -"
"I can do this." His voice is small but insistent, and Brendan feels a surge of pride for him.
Brendan waits, trying not to move, not to act. If Steven can't go through with this, then he doesn't want the boy to feel guilty. Brendan can live like this for the rest of the life, exactly like this. Having Steven with him is enough.
He feels goosebumps form when Steven begins to stroke him. His touch is light, barely there, but it makes Brendan bite his lip, a moan fighting for release. He's never been with someone who knows exactly how to handle his body. He wants to lie back against the bed and close his eyes, give in to that feeling, but he settles for gently placing his hand on Steven's shoulder, squeezing in encouragement.
He's going to come already, can feel it coursing through his body, and Steven senses it, eyes on Brendan.
"Do you want me to..."
"No." He shakes his head; he wants to come inside the boy, wants them to come together at the same time like they used to. Needs to feel that connection.
Steven's right. He is a soppy git.
"Are you sure?" He doesn't care how many times he's asked.
Steven's eyes are warm. "I'm sure."
Brendan carries him to bed.