Brendan pushes him against the wall, hikes Ste's leg up roughly, pressing his crotch heatedly against the boy's thigh. Ste can feel him everywhere: hard, warm, unapologetic. He's missed this. He's missed being handled like this, like he's not something delicate and broken. He'd forgotten how Brendan knows him better than anyone else; knows what he likes, how he needs to be touched.
He barely recognises the sounds he's making. He sounds helpless, but he's not - he feels stronger than he has in a long time, and he matches Brendan movement for movement, biting into his shoulder and emitting the kind of groan from Brendan that Ste feels possessive of. He wants to be the only one who ever hears that sound.
They move to the bed, and when Brendan shoves him against it Ste expects to feel pain, to feel the ache from the impact, but there's nothing. He jolts from the surprise of it, from the unexpectedness - why isn't he hurting? - but he recovers a moment later when his attention fixes on Brendan, on his hands undoing the buttons of his shirt, exposing the wiry hair on his chest, the ink of his tattoos being revealed as his clothes land on the floor in a heap.
Brendan takes everything off. The cuff on his wrist. His socks. The large cross necklace that lies close to his heart. There's a confidence to him that Ste's never seen before, not with anyone. And fuck, it doesn't take a genius to work out why he possesses it. Everything looks sculptured but alive, human - something that Ste can touch.
"I want you."
He cringes internally at his own words, feels like a swooning schoolgirl, but Brendan's mouth softens, and the smile he emits tells Ste that it's okay. It's all going to be okay.
"Show me how much." Brendan's voice shouldn't be capable of sounding like velvet, not when it so often sounds like a growl, all roughness and hard edges.
Ste sits back on his heels, sparing a glance at his own body, waiting to feel disgusted. He holds his hands before him, eyes on his wrists.
"Something wrong, Steven?"
Ste shakes his head, trying to clear it. There's nothing wrong - that's the problem. No sign of the marks that Warren left behind. He could have sworn they were there hours before, close to fading but still leaving a muddy looking bruise.
His skin's clean now. It looks new.
"Where did..." He mumbles, wonders if Brendan will laugh at him if he questions it.
"You're perfect."
Ste meets his eyes, doesn't think that anyones ever looked at him the way Brendan is now. It feels like a responsibility, someone loving him this much.
Brendan doesn't wait for Ste to come to him. The bed dips lightly when Brendan crawls towards him, all that muscle and power, and Ste thinks he'll take it slow, that he'll be careful, but he isn't. He doesn't want it that way today.
He's in with his fingers, just a quick coat of spit before they enter him, rubbing against his prostate and making Ste sink back against the pillow. He closes his eyes, but Brendan's voice interrupts the calming blankness of his thoughts.
"Look at me."
Ste's eyelashes flutter, and he's looking at a sea of blue, his legs curling around Brendan's waist, watching the way that Brendan shivers when he rubs his foot against the curve of his arse.
He doesn't know how many fingers Brendan adds. It feels impossible that he can do this at all, but all of this is impossible. Brendan Brady shouldn't have chosen him to begin with.
When Brendan tries to go in with his dick, Ste gets his fingers back where he wants them to be.
"Do it again."
He waits for Brendan to tease him, but he doesn't.
"Here." He holds out his hand, and Ste can taste himself on his fingers as he coats him from nail to knuckle. He can see the excitement in Brendan's eyes as he does it.
He needs something to hold onto. Something to steady him. He puts a hand on Brendan's chest, watches colour wash over Brendan's face as he realises how fast Ste can feel his heart beating.
"Wait."
Ste takes hold of Brendan's hand, turning the wrist.
There's nothing there either. No mark. No bruise.
"You alright?" Brendan sweeps back Ste's hair, his thumb tracing a path down the boy's cheek.
"Yeah. Don't worry. It's nothing."
It's nothing.
The worry doesn't leave him until he's filled with Brendan's fingers. He can't think of anything after that: he feels like he's floating, and his grip on Brendan's chest turns into something painful, something that makes Brendan cry out, but he doesn't tell him to stop. Something about it amazes Brendan. The idea that something can hurt but it can be something he wants.
"Ride me."
"What?" Ste can't concentrate. He feels dazed, and he's close to coming, and the withdraw of Brendan's fingers feels like the worst kind of torture.
"Ride me." It's not a question, and Brendan lifts Ste up, weightless in his arms, and maneuvers him until he's fully seated in his lap, the head of his cock grazing Ste's rim, teasing him before it enters him.
Brendan reaches out as Ste begins to move his hips shallowly, and Ste thinks he's going to kiss him. He leans forward to reciprocate, but Brendan wraps a hand around the cross necklace that's lying on Ste's chest.
Ste doesn't remember Brendan putting it on him.
"Mine." He kisses it, and Ste falters, his movements slowing.
"Brendan -"
He understands then. Brendan looks up at him through dark eyes, and Ste sees his lips settle around a ring that's attached to the cross.
"You're mine, Steven. Forever."
Ste wakes from the dream in a hospital bed, and tries not to let Brendan see that he's crying.
Brendan helps him to wash the blood away.
He knows that the nurses will be in soon, prodding and poking and touching. They only backed off earlier because the boy was sleeping, and Brendan had almost wanted to call them back in, had been alarmed by Ste's tears and distress that he'd hastily tried to disguise when he'd woken. He imagines the way the boy will shrink from their touch. He won't want that, won't want strangers hands over him.
Brendan takes him to the bathroom, ignoring the eyes that are on them. He can see Tony standing at the reception area, has stayed despite all the chaos surrounding them. Ste raises his hand shakily, giving a half hearted attempt at a wave that Tony returns, and there's sympathy and sadness in his eyes. Brendan's seen too much of it today.
Ste watches as Brendan turns on the taps of the sink, gently guiding his hands underneath. The water feels like it's stinging his skin, and he can't understand it - there's only blood there, no open wounds. Brendan looks at him in concern, changing the temperature of the water, but Ste still winces.
"We need to find whoever did this. Tell Tony." He's been like this for the last ten minutes, speaking in barely formed sentences, his voice sounding unlike his own.
"That's not important now," Brendan dismisses, can only concentrate on making Ste look better. He feels helpless: perhaps if the boy looks like nothing's different, then nothing will be.
"It is!" It's as though Ste desperately wants to be angry but hasn't got the fight. His voice wavers as he trails off, and his hands flop uselessly, only washing the last traces of the blood away with Brendan's help.
"Whoever did it could try and frame us. Someone might think it was you."
"What difference does it make? I'm in here for life."
"No." Ste shakes his head, his eyes red rimmed. "No. You're getting out. We're gonna find a way, find a way to be together. Don't laugh at me!"
Brendan hadn't even realised he'd been doing it.
"I'm not laughing at you. I'm..." He doesn't know. Doesn't know how to explain that he hates Ste's naivety almost as much as he loves it.
The boy releases himself from Brendan's hold, hastily drying his hands off on the towel and rushing to the door. Brendan blocks him with a hand against it before he can step outside.
"Don't do anything stupid."
"I'm not doing anything."
"I know you." He tries to get Ste to look at him, sighing when the boy turns his face away. "You didn't do this."
"I wanted it though, didn't I?"
"Wanting it isn't the same as doing it. Jesus Steven, if you go out there and tell Tony you did it, the courts, the coppers - they're all dumb enough to believe you. You had blood all over you. It doesn't take much. And what happens then? Amy, your kids - they're practically babies. They need you."
"And I need you."
"Grow up."
Ste's mouth opens. Brendan feels like he's hit him, but he can't stop - will say anything if it means that Ste's safe.
"This is the rest of your life we're talking about. You'll forget about me in a couple of years."
"Stop saying that." Ste hammers against the door, his knuckles banging against the wood hard enough to hurt. "I'm never gonna forget you."
"How many times have you thought you've been in love?" Brendan closes his eyes, feels like he's hurting himself by imagining Ste's past: the people he was with, the people who will get to be with him when Brendan can't be.
"Maybe I believed it, but -"
"Exactly."
"But I never. Before you, I never... me and Amy, that's the closest I've got."
"It's gonna be cosy, isn't it? You and her, sharing a place together when you get back. Raising the kids. May as well go that extra mile, make it official. Get back together." He's meant to sound composed. Isn't supposed to let the bitter sting show.
"Or what about that pretty little girlfriend of yours? Rae, wasn't it?"
"Stop it. I'm gay - Amy knows it, and you know it."
"Noah then? Or someone else? Someone you meet at one of those clubs you go to?"
Ste shoves him square in the chest. Brendan reels back, and braces himself for the boy to make his escape; to use the opportunity to push him aside and run from the hospital.
He doesn't move. Just stares at Brendan, his chest hitching as he lets his anger grow.
"You don't trust me. You think I'm some kind of whore - is that it?"
Brendan shakes his head, tries to step closer. Another shove.
"You've doubted me from the beginning. And I bet you doubt me now, don't you? You still think that it was me, that I killed them? You think I'm a liar?"
"No." The boy's not a killer. If he'd done this, he'd be in a worse state than the one he's in.
"Then why won't you listen to me?"
This time when Brendan comes closer, Ste doesn't push him away. He cradles Brendan's head with his hands, and it's wrong, it's all wrong: Brendan should be the one supporting him, holding him up.
"I've told you a million times, in a million different ways. When will you start realising that it's you I love? That it's you I want?"
"I could say that same thing to you," Brendan says gruffly, doesn't think he's ever seen Ste believe that he's worthy of anything. It's even in the way the boy walks - head lowered, permanent pout in place, feet scuffling against the floor. He doesn't believe he means a damn thing to anyone.
Ste lets out a choked laugh. "Maybe we're as bad as each other."
Brendan leans forward and kisses him, doesn't care if he risks making the boy angrier by doing it. He needs the contact, and Ste yields the way he always does, with a kind of trust that makes Brendan feel like he's lighting up from the inside.
Every time Brendan thinks he's lost him - said the wrong thing, done the wrong thing - he's still here.
"We've got to stop doing this, you know?" Ste speaks into his shoulder as he lays his head there.
"I know." He's beginning to understand it more and more. This thing they have, it's not going to go away.
"All these arguments..."
"It's what we do, isn't it?"
"Even after everything that's happened today?"
"Especially after everything that's happened today. I need something that's normal."
He laughs at himself - when did being with a man become normal? Two men dying in here - that became his normality.
He pulls away from Ste, does so with the kind of reluctance that makes the boy blush at the attention; Brendan's hand remains on his waist, and he cups Ste's chin to make him look at him.
"Time to go."
"What about the nurses? They're gonna want to see me. And the police -"
"No one's gonna touch you, Steven. No one's gonna do anything to you."
The prison feels like a ghost town when they walk back.
It's only because of Tony that they manage to leave the hospital wing. The nurses hover around Ste, eyes inspecting every inch of skin, and they look at Brendan with mistrust, as though he's the one whose put him here. Their unspoken accusation makes him feel guilty, and he mumbles his thanks to Tony when he bides them time, granting them a night alone before the questions start tomorrow.
"Maybe I should call Jim." It's the first thing Ste says as they walk down the near deserted corridors. Everyones been locked up for the evening, and Brendan can hear banging coming from behind the doors. It doesn't faze him: it feels like scenery now, blending into the background.
"You don't need a lawyer. You haven't done anything wrong."
"Yeah, but he told me to call him if I needed anything."
"Browning used to tell me the exact same thing. Know where that's got me, Steven? Nowhere. Lawyers don't do a fucking thing."
"Jim's okay," Ste says, feels defensive. "You'd like him."
Brendan grunts. He walks purposefully when they go past Ste's cell, ignoring the boy's look of confusion.
"Bren?" Ste stops in the hallway, and Brendan knows what's coming. Wishes it wasn't.
"You're sleeping with me tonight. Come on."
"I can't. Tony told us, remember? And we're in enough shit as it is."
"I'm not leaving you alone."
"There's no danger now. Warren and Silas are gone. There's gonna be tons of security everywhere, isn't there?"
Brendan can't believe they're gone. Won't believe it until he sees their bodies.
"And what if you disappear again? You said you'd never leave last time." It feels permanently etched into his brain: waking up, and the terror burning in him like a hole in his chest at finding Ste missing.
"I won't. That was...it was stupid. I won't do it again."
"Douglas can't protect you like I can." He feels embarrassed, feels so fucking pathetic for caring this much. Even if the boy's safe with him, he can imagine Doug whispering lies into his ear, turning Ste against him. It wouldn't matter if Doug had been with him the entire time that Warren and Silas had been killed. He'd still believe that Brendan had done it.
He can see the stubbornness in Ste's eyes. Nothing's going to change his mind.
We've got to stop doing this.
Taking a breath, Brendan walks into Ste's cell without knocking, the boy running behind him.
"Brendan, don't -"
"Here's what you're gonna do."
Douglas is leaning against the wall across from him, his eyes alert and curious as Brendan begins talking, his gaze travelling between the two men.
"Listening, Dougie?"
"Yes," Doug says, a touch of irritation to his tone, feels like fuck you should be added to the end of the sentence.
"Good. Just checking. Steven's gonna stay here tonight, and you're not going to sleep, okay?"
When Doug opens his mouth to argue back, Brendan shuts him up, raising his hand and going shhhhhh so loudly that it sounds like he's shouting.
"You're going to sit up and watch him all night, got it?"
"Brendan, you can't do this." There's anger again in Ste's voice, and Brendan loves him for it, but he doesn't want to hear it. Not now. Not over this.
"I don't care if your eyelids are fucking bleeding. You're gonna watch him all night, make sure that nothing happens to him."
"They lock the fucking doors. Who's gonna get in?" Ste mutters behind him.
Brendan ignores him. He gives Doug a perfected glance that never fails to intimidate the kid. Brendan can already see the beads of sweat breaking out across his forehead.
"It's fine, Ste. Really. I'm not even tired. I'll stay up."
"Good lad." Brendan reaches out, ruffling Doug's hair and making the boy scowl.
Brendan walks back over to the door, can feel the heat of Ste's gaze on him, knows how he's itching to cause a scene. Brendan's just glad that he's feeling something again: the emptiness scared him more than anything else.
"And where are you going?" Ste crosses his arms, turning his nose up to him. Brendan would laugh in different circumstances.
"To talk to your friend Ethan."
"About what?" Ste eyes him suspiciously.
"I want to know how long he's been lying to us. How long he's been planning to kill Warren for." He says it quietly enough for Doug not to hear, however hard he's straining to.
"You think he did it?"
"He's the only one with a motive."
"Bren, you've got to leave all that motive crap to the police. We don't know anything."
"So you want me to sit back and wait for the police to cock it up like they do with everything else? People reported Danny Houston to them months before Vincent died. Fucking months, Steven. They didn't give a flying fuck. Maybe they wanted him to do something. Wanted to make their little lives more interesting. Give them something to talk about."
"Maybe things have changed."
"Nothing's changed. Nothing ever changed until you came here. I'm not going to wait around for them to accuse the wrong man."
Ste moves closer, lowering his voice. "But he's your friend too."
"I don't have friends. They want you in for questioning tomorrow, Steven. If it's a choice between you and him, then it's always going to be you. It's going to be you every time."