I'm going on holiday to Australia tomorrow so I won't update until sometime in early May. Therefore, loooooong chapter to keep this fic going until then!

Happy Easter Everyone!

Ste was the first into the car. He slid quickly into the back seats, feeling pretty strange wearing Doug's clothes. They were just slightly uncomfortable and itchy, but he felt sort of invincible in them, like maybe he was worth something.

'Hello Steven,' Brendan said calmly. Ste jumped and looked up. He caught Brendan's gaze in the rear-view mirror, he was staring at Ste so hard that Ste felt like he could barely catch his own breath.

'Silence, is it?' Brendan continued, not relenting his stare for even a moment. 'Your mama never teach you any manners?'

'Not really,' Ste answered a little sullenly. His mum hadn't taught him anything except how to steal something big from a supermarket without anyone realising.

'Then I guess you'll need someone else to teach you,' Brendan said. 'I can teach you manners, Steven. We'll start with please, as in: please give it to me Brendan.'

'Give what?'

'When the time comes,' he said, voice low, so Ste found himself straining to hear, 'you'll know. And afterwards, we'll work on "thank you Brendan".'

Something in the base of Ste's gut twisted uncomfortably and he felt his cheeks blush a little. Everything Brendan said felt like a threat and like flirting and Ste didn't know which he wanted least. He was glad when Joel finally opened the door and got in beside him.

'Evening,' Brendan said easily.

'Evening,' Joel nodded back. He didn't even seem flustered by Brendan's proximity and Ste wished he could learn to be that cool. He'd turned himself into a pathetic mess in the few moments he'd been alone with the man.

Joel had refused to wear Doug's clothes, but Ste noticed he'd dug out some pretty skinny jeans and a simple black top, which he'd paired his with his customary leather jacket. Mickey got in next, just as out of place now that he was smartened up in Doug's clothes. He stank the car out with aftershave too.

'Mick, what do you smell like?' Joel smirked.

'We're going to a bar, innit. I might get lucky.'

'You know that O'Shaughnessy's place is a gay bar, eh?' Joel asked, not really bothering to hide his laughter.

'What!' the Londoner yelled. 'Crap, I used my best aftershave,' he groaned.

'Your best?' Brendan looked slightly disgusted, but the comment was lost in the chaos as Mickey began trying to rub the scent on his face and neck onto Joel's jacket and Joel just tried to whack him back.

'Cut it out,' Brendan warned quickly. Everyone stopped. 'You're all posing at rent boys anyway,' he continued as Doug finally got into the front seat. 'So you're all on the pull.' Ste knew he was losing the plot, but he felt like Brendan's eyes were back on him, pinning him to the seat like shackles. He shook himself free of the feeling and tried to relax. It was difficult, driving with Brendan was nerve-racking; no one wanted to say the wrong thing.

The car was silent and all Ste could think about was that he was going to a gay bar and was dressed as a rent boy and had no obvious part in Brendan's drug-stealing plan. What was Brendan going to expect him to do?

The bouncer outside the idiotically named "Pen15" bar had greeted Brendan like an old friend, shaken his hand and let him and the four boys skip the long queue, with a lot of grumbling from the waiting line of catty queers.

'Nice group tonight,' the other bouncer nodded approvingly as they went past, his eyes falling mainly on Joel. Ste glanced around at the group. He understood why Brendan had chosen this group of lads now. They were all slight, the kind of young boys that disgusting, old homos would letch all over, but they were all different too. Doug was that kind of la-di-da exotic American, Joel was the tough guy all leather jackets and cigarettes, Mickey had a real boyish look to him, he could have probably snuck into The Vamps, especially now his hair was washed and slightly fluffy. And Ste? Well … he was the other one.

As soon as they were through the door, Brendan gathered them around and ran through the plan.

'The safe is in the office,' he said quickly. 'I'll get the key, Joel, you come around in about ten and I'll pass it to you.'

'Okay,' he nodded.

'You two,' he turned to Doug and Mickey, 'get lost in the crowd for a while, Joel will find you when he has the key.' They nodded too. 'Oh, and lads, remember,' he straightened up a little. 'You're rent boys, act like it.'

The three rushed off and Ste was very aware that he was now alone with Brendan Brady and worse than that, he was alone with Brendan Brady in a gay bar and he had no idea what was expected of him or what Brendan was going to ask him to do.

'Don't look so scared,' Brendan muttered in his ear. 'Come on, I'll get you a drink, help you relax. Beer?'

Ste just nodded. It felt a bit like drowning. He was being blinded by the club's lights, knocked sideways by noise of Cheryl Cole coming through the speakers, and choked by the amount of cologne. There were men everywhere. It was surreal how often he was finding himself in that situation these days and he felt glad for those brief moments he shared with Rae, when things were normal.

'Here.' Brendan pushed the beer into his trembling hand apparently when you're name's Brendan Brady, you don't wait to be served. 'You need to stop shaking, Steven,' he warned. 'You won't be able to do your job otherwise.'

'Job?' Ste gulped, trying not to come across too nervous. He was glad that the loud music was forcing him to yell. It stopped him from sounding timid and weak.

'Keys to the office,' Brendan replied. 'You need to get them from O'Shaughnessy.'

'I thought I was just the "other one",' Ste shouted back. 'Joel's the thief, remember.'

'I remember everything, Steven,' Brendan promised. 'And I don't miss anything either, stealing my BMW keys from Foxy, returning them into Macca's pocket … very clever. Very clever.'

Ste was glad for the dim light so that Brendan couldn't see him blushing, couldn't see the panic tearing through his veins. But Brendan didn't seem angry.

'I admire balls like yours, Steven,' he mumbled, his lips so close to Ste's ear that Ste could feel his moustache tickling the side of his face. 'And creativity. Loosening the lid of the salt shaker, causing the fight, I saw it all. Stroke of genius. Stroke … of … genius.' He punctuated the words by running the back of his forefinger down Ste's arm. Ste was sure someone significant must have been watching them. Everything was a show with Brendan, Ste had learned that from when Lawrence had had his plan ripped to pieces in front of the whole zone. 'I need you to be that creative again, Steven,' he continued, flipping Ste easily so that his back was pressed against Brendan's front. He was pinned like a prisoner against Brendan. It felt uncomfortably comfortable being pressed to the older man like this. 'See him,' the voice was almost soft as it was shouted over the music and into his ear, 'the guy in the jeans and jacket, with the weird hair-do trying to cover up the receding hairline.' Ste just nodded. He was pretty hard to miss in a club of young adults with better fashion sense than Doug.

'That's O'Shaughnessy,' Brendan explained. 'He's got the keys to the office in the back pocket of his jeans.' Ste looked at the jeans, they were about two sizes too small for the man, there was no way he was getting his hand in that pocket unnoticed. He was about the protest the job, but Brendan just mumbled:

'Be creative.' And pushed him towards his target. Ste felt oddly cold and alone without Brendan wrapped around him. He'd almost felt protected. That was something he'd never felt before. He'd always been the one protecting or being rejected.

O'Shaughnessy was stood near the other bar. There were two bars in the club, one for standard drinks the other exclusively for cocktails. O'Shaughnessy was ordering himself a cocktail, a pink one with an umbrella and a straw. Ste was reminded of Brendan mentioning that he was a cliché.

Ste looked the guy up and down and tried to take him in. He was a confident gue and he was older than Ste, a lot older. Ste felt sure this would be the kind of man who'd want to feel like he was in charge, feel like a hero. If Ste was going to get O'Shaughnessy, it was going to have to seem like O'Shaughnessy's idea, so he didn't march over and whispering something lewd in the club managers's ear; he could have, he had plenty of ideas thanks to Larry. But instead he sidled up next to him and hoped that in the huge crowd of men, O'Shaughnessy might notice him; or at least the version of him that was about to start a damsel in distress routine.

'What's your cheapest cocktail?' he asked the man behind the bar. All the barmen at the cocktail bar were wearing skimpy green speedos as part of their uniform, showing off their bronzed chest and cheese grater abs. It was kind of intimidating and repulsive, but mainly it just made Ste feel like he needed to go to the gym.

'The Screaming Orgasm,' the guy replied, lifting his eyebrows flirtatiously.

'Great, give us one of them,' Ste nodded. It didn't take too long to make, and Ste was quite pleased to see that it wasn't pink or purple or some other embarrassingly queer colour. It was white with a stirrer. It could have been Baileys.

'How much?'

'€8.30.'

'How much!' Ste cried, only just managing to keep a straight face when he heard the irish mispronunciation of "thirty". 'I only brought a five, didn't I?'

'Not my problem, sure,' the bartender shrugged, taking the drink back.

'No, wait, wait.' Ste began to search his pockets. It was all for show, he didn't have any money. There was no need for it on The Estate. He was just really hoping that sooner rather than later O'Shaughnessy might step in and save the day. And that was exactly what happened.

'Ah,' he sulked. 'I don't have it.'

'Maybe you should buy yourself a nice, free, water then,' the bartender suggested, making a real show of pouring the drink away.

'Oh, Marky,' O'Shaughnessy chimed in with a thick Irish accent. 'You shouldn't have done that. Make another one.'

'But….'

'Make him another, Mark,' O'Shaughnessy insisted. 'I won't see our young friend here leave this club without having a Screaming Orgasm … or two.' Ste forced himself to act shy at the innuendo and he was overly grateful when the drink arrived.

'Don't mention it,' O'Shaughnessy schmoozed. 'Being in your company is worth the price of the drink … and then some.'

'But what about me,' Ste said. He could be slimy too when needed, when he was being watched and tested by Brendan. 'I get a free drink and I get to be the most admired guy in the room.'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, everyone wants to be talking to you,' Ste said, downing his drink and leaning forward to whisper in O'Shaughnessy's ear. 'But only I get to.' He nipped gently at the O'Shaughnessy's earlobe and found himself being shoved away quickly. Dammit! He'd gone in too strong.

'I don't get it,' O'Shaughnessy said, plucked eyebrows furrowing as he called for another round with nothing more than a hand gesture. Maybe he hadn't gone in too strong then. 'Why would a guy as pretty as you want anything to do with an old fart like me, eh?'

'Protection,' Ste said easily, sliding his way back towards the club owner. 'Power,' he added, running his hands over the straining shirt buttons. 'You've got this suave kind of danger about you, and I want to be at your side. I want people to stare at me and think: he must be important him, if that guy picked him.' Ste didn't know where the words were coming from, but they were easy lies to tell. They seemed almost practised on his own tongue, honest somehow.

'Here,' O'Shaughnessy pushed the drink into Ste's hands and he downed it immediately, slamming the glass back onto the counter and practically crawling over the club owner, burying his face in his neck and kissing and sucking beneath the collar. It was disgusting, he smelt of sweat and unwashed clothes, his hair was greasy and oily against his cheek and he tasted like he'd had missed a bit in the shower.

'You carry on like this,' O'Shaughnessy said, flirting in the most boring, predictable way Ste had ever imagined. 'And you'll be having a screaming orgasm of your own.' Ste shuddered at the thought. This was almost as bad as Lawrence, worse even because he'd initiated this. There'd be no complaining if things went bad somehow and he ended up at O'Shaughnessy's place. There'd be no explaining away the reason he wasn't really into it. But O'Shaughnessy clearly took the shudder as a positive reaction and Ste found himself dreading what he knew had to come next. There was only one natural progression from all this over the top flirting and neck sucking, especially as Ste still hadn't had chance to dip his hand in O'Shaughnessy's back pocket.

Dammit! He thought, but it was happening before he had chance to stop it, and he crashed his mouth over O'Shaughnessy. It was weird kissing a man, not horrible just weird. It took him back to the time he'd been with on the run in Manky Manchester Street with Callum, although he had to put more effort into this one, but it was the same kind of "weird but not horrible" feeling he got then too. It didn't feel wrong, it just didn't quite feel right. Kissing Rae felt right, it was thrilling. Though perhaps not as thrilling as allowing his hand to slip to O'Shaughnessy's arse and massage the key free from his pocket.

It didn't take long for him to be dangling the key from his finger and even less time before someone was sliding the key loose. He opened one eye to check it was Brendan. Satisfied he began to slow the kiss, but he needn't have bothered, because next second he felt O'Shaughnessy being pulled away from him and the scolding voice of Brendan said:

'There you are Steven, I've been looking for you. Your client's arrived.'

O'Shaughnessy turned in anger towards the intruder, but his face softened into a false kind of friendly when he saw Brendan.

'Brady,' he beamed, and they shook hands the way old friend's do, other hand gripping the forearm. 'How are you? It's been a while, hasn't it?'

'I'm here sometimes, with my boys,' Brendan shrugged, wrapping an arm around Ste's shoulder and pulling him into his side. Ste couldn't help notice how good Brendan smelt. He'd have to try and find out what kind of aftershave he used.

'Oh, he's one of yours.' O'Shaughnessy said, running a fat, hairy finger down Ste's front. 'I've got to say, your particular brand of council trash is getting more and more refined every day, Brady.'

'We aim to please,' Brendan smiled, waving his hands about like a magician. Always a show. 'Which is why we have to be going. This one's been sold for the night.'

Ste panicked. He looked up at his boss, he was all chin and moustache from this angle. He had this charming kind of smile, stretching his lips thin. He seemed totally in control, and Ste couldn't even begin to guess whether or not he really had been "sold for the night". He didn't think he'd put it past the man.

'You can do a favour for an old friend, can't ye Brady?' O'Shaughnessy laughed. It was forced, even Ste knew that.

'I can do a favour for a few pictures of the renaissance era.'

'Fifties!' O'Shaughnessy exclaimed. 'How many?'

Ste was pretty sure the two Irish men were talking a different language now. His brain was foggy with thoughts of how good Brendan smelt and how strong and calm he seemed, and how expensive his suit looked and how Ste hoped to be like him when he was a bit older and a lot smarter. Or maybe the fog was the three screaming orgasms he'd drunk in the last ten minutes. Whatever it was, he wasn't on his guard. He would probably have missed Joel sneaking up behind Brendan to take the office keys from him if Brendan hadn't suddenly pushed him to arm's length. They were both staring at him now. He felt like one of those mannequins in shop windows, only he wasn't selling a product; he was selling himself.

'My other client's giving me four.'

'€200?'

They were talking money. Well, this foreign Euro crap meant nothing to Ste. They may as well have been asking how many sequins he was worth. O'Shaughnessy looked Ste up and down and Ste could feel him making decisions, adding something up in his head trying to put a price on his body. He felt cheap and worthless. Brendan was just scratching his chin coolly.

'I can do more,' O'Shaughnessy said. He fished into his back pocket and Ste held his breath. He was going to notice the missing keys. But he didn't. He just pulled free a wallet and opened it up. There was so much cash! Notes and notes, crushed together like the pages of a book and in the good old days in Chester, he'd have started making plans around how to steal that money. But this was Ireland and things were different now.

'€250,' he offered, pulling a few amber notes free and passing them to Brendan.

'I told you,' Brendan said firmly. 'He's already got a client.'

'€300,' O'Shaughnessy said quickly. 'Come on, Brady. Ye got yer price for yer boy.'

'To let down another client, to lose his business. It's worth more than €300, O'Shaughnessy, you know that. I'm trying to earn a living.' Brendan didn't falter in delivery, but Ste noticed his eyes flick away for just a split second. He followed the direction of the glance and saw Joel, Mickey and Doug leaving the office and closing the door behind them. The job was done, they had the drugs.

'But for an old pal,' O'Shaughnessy suggested, giving Brendan a forced, friendly thump on the arm.

'Next time, maybe.' Brendan looked at his watch. It was a clever move, distracted O'Shaughnessy's attention for just long enough for Joel to slip the keys into Brendan's other hand. 'I'll keep him just for you,' he promised. Then he reached over and grabbed Ste's hand. To a bystander, it would look like he was trying to pull him away, but Ste just panicked because he felt Brendan push the office keys into his palm. He hadn't counted on this. He hadn't come up with a way to put the keys back, especially now that Brendan had destroyed any chance of him throwing himself at O'Shaughnessy unsuspiciously. Besides, Brendan was still dragging him through the crowd. Thankfully, O'Shaughnessy was following. Ste could feel the hot panting on the back of his neck, smell the fruity cocktail mixed with cigarettes on his breath. It was horrible and then he was pulled into the cold air of an Irish Winter night. There was rain in the air, but it would be strange if there wasn't.

Ste shuddered dramatically and stopped abruptly, making sure O'Shaughnessy bumped into him. He moved towards the man.

'You're warm,' he mumbled, leaning his head back against the club owner's shoulder, snuggling into the man's front. He had a bit of a belly, like maybe he was a few months pregnant and it meant the Ste had to arch his back backwards slightly to achieve the desired effect, but O'Shaughnessy didn't seem to notice, he just ran a hand up Ste's bare arms. It didn't feel too bad, he was drunk now and he was feeling flirty and easy. He'd always been easy when he was drunk.

'You're cold, boy. Here.' O'Shaughnessy slipped his own jacket off and placed it around Ste's shoulders. 'A boy as pretty as you should be treated right.'

'You'd know how to do that,' Ste tried to smile in a way he thought might be sexy. It seemed to work, O'Shaughnessy was fixated on his lips. Ste didn't want to think what the guy might be envisaging, he just took the opportunity to slip the office keys into the pocket of the suit jacket he was now wearing.

'I'd treat you right,' O'Shaughnessy agreed, taking Ste's face in his hand, running the pad of his thumb hard over Ste's lips so he could feel the dirt from O'Shaughnessy's hand pressing on his teeth. 'And then I'd treat you so wrong. And you'd love it. Beg me for more and beg me to stop.'

'Don't stop,' Ste muttered, opening his mouth and sucking his thumb. It tasted like tobacco and other things that were diluted by the amount of alcohol on his tongue.

'You're a little slut, expensive little slut.'

'Be worth every penny,' Ste said easily. And something in his drunken brain reminded him about Euros and he fumbled his correction: 'Every cent, every euro, every … summat.'

O'Shaughnessy just smiled a bit. His grip on Ste's face seemed to be getting harder. It was like he was trying to move the skin around on his face, map out the exact and definite shape of his skull. It wasn't comfortable. He felt less human by the second. He was glad when he finally felt a hand on his shoulder, found himself being torn free from the club owners grip.

'Enough,' Brendan said firmly, pushing Ste towards the car, stripping him of the jacket as he went and passing it back to O'Shaughnessy in one perfectly fluid movement. 'That's all you get without paying.'

'You can't do that to me Brady,' O'Shaughnessy said angrily. 'I want him.'

'You can't have him.'

'I want one of them.' The two Irishmen seemed to be having a stare off. Ste's face was aching from the way it had been held and he could see in his reflection in the blacked out windows of the BMW that he had a few finger shaped blotches marked onto his face. He looked ugly and worthless. His hair was out of place, his clothes were ill-fitting and misshapen from the way Brendan had dragged him through the club and because he was taller than Doug anyway.

'You owe me one of them, Brady!' O'Shaughnessy was angry now. He was squaring up to Brendan, bodyguards tensing at the door of the club. Brendan couldn't take on all of them, and Ste could almost see him realising that Ste, Doug, Mickey and Joel weren't exactly the four lads you'd chose to back you up in a fight.

'Fine,' Brendan said quietly. 'You can have one.' He opened the back door and said calmly: 'Douglass…. Get out.' Doug got out nervously. Ste still hadn't managed to make it into the car. He was lying awkwardly against the side of the car. He couldn't quite work out the complicated handle of the car door, but he couldn't quite figure out how his legs were supposed to hold him up so car doors were the least of his worries.

'Here you are,' Brendan grabbed Doug by the shoulder and pushed him towards O'Shaughnessy. 'All yours, €150.'

'I thought €100 was the average?'

'American,' Brendan shrugged.

'Fine,' O'Shaughnessy scowled, pulling the money from his wallet and punching it into Brendan's chest. 'Pick him up in the morning.' Then he grabbed Doug by the scruff of his neck. 'With me American boy.' Before marching back into the club.

Ste just lead against the bonnet of the car. It was warm and he felt pretty cosy and sleepy there. He still couldn't quite work out what had happened with O'Shaughnessy. He wasn't sure why he'd suddenly given up on Ste and gone for Doug. It was probably because Doug was American, he was interesting, and he had that accent and those teeth and that viral-like optimism. And Ste was just the other one, with nothing to offer except sullen glares and a deep-seated bitterness about the everything. Well, everything except this bonnet, this bonnet was lovely.

'Come on,' he heard Brendan's voice as the man dragged him away from the warmth.

'No,' he half protested, but he let Brendan drag him to his feet and manoeuvre him until he was sitting in a warm car. It was probably better than the bonnet. He felt kind of sleepy and sick now and he closed his eyes, only vaguely aware of a conversation going on around him and only vaguely responding to it.

'Jesus, Ste, how much did you drink?' Scotland asked, pushing something plastic and bendable into Ste's hand.

'Mmm.'

'Watch he don't vomit, yeah' London agreed. 'Drink your water, man.'

'Has he been spiked?' Scotland.

'He's totally out of it, init.' London.

'He's fine.' Brendan. 'Sit back. I can't drive with you two leaning over the gear stick.'

'Hmmm?' Ste asked. It was meant to be "where's Doug?" but the others were too stupid to understand him. So he kept it simple for them: 'Doug.'

'What's he saying?' London.

'Douglass will be fine, Steven.' Brendan said, and it was accompanied by a weight on his leg. 'Might even enjoy his evening.'

'Won't.' London. 'Ain't no one enjoying sleeping with that.'

'Mmm,' Ste mumbled his agreement.

'Shhh. Drink.' That was Brendan and this time Ste felt something against his numb mouth and he felt water gently lapping at his lips. He opened them and began to drink the water.

EXTRA CHAPTER

Brendan found himself carrying Steven into his living room with the help of Joel. The boy was heavier than he looked, especially as he was just a little too drunk to do anything other than hang there. He didn't look like he was going to pass out anymore though. He was on his third bottle of water, so now all he was saying was:

'Need to pee. Need to pee.'

'Joel, Michael,' Brendan palmed that particular task off on the other boys. 'Take him to the toilet, down the corridor, first door on the right.' They both just nodded, slinging one of Ste's arms around each of them and staggering towards the bathroom.

'You've lost one,' Macca deadpanned. Brendan hadn't really noticed him until now. He was curled up on the black sofa, surrounded by a thick black blanket. He was basically in camouflage, except for his practically luminous face giving him away. 'Didn't you take the cute American boy?'

'He's still working,' Brendan shrugged. 'It's late, shouldn't you be in bed?'

'I was worried about you,' Macca smiled holding his hand out towards Brendan. Brendan went over and took it, perching himself on the wide sofa next to his partner.

'You knew it was low risk.'

'But you came back without one, and another one looks like he's half dead.'

'He just drank too much,' Brendan explained. 'Though perhaps the same could be said of you,' he picked up an empty wine bottle from the floor. 'You know, you're not supposed to drink on your own.'

'So who am I supposed to drink with, huh?' he demanded, entwining their fingers together and using his other hand to draw patterns on the back of Brendan's hand. 'You were out, Warren and Walker hate me. And everyone in the zones is too scared to talk to me in case you get jealous.' Brendan didn't think that was quite the case, but they were scared that Macca would snitch on them. And Macca would snitch, and then he would whine until something was done about it, so they sort of had a point. But Brendan lied, because that was easier:

'I'm sure you could have found someone to hang out with. Most of the boys in Blue Zone are about your age and the straight ones won't be worried about jealousy.'

'You need to try and be less jealous,' Macca concluded. The irony in that sentence was disgusting, seeing as it was jealousy that was behind the fact Macca was sitting on the sofa all night working his way through a bottle of wine alone. But Brendan wanted to get rid of him before the boys returned from the bathroom so he said:

'I'll try.' And: 'Why don't you head up to bed? I'll be there once they've finished in the bathroom.'

'Okay,' Macca agreed, falling heavily against Brendan's cheek and planting a sloppy kiss near his ear. 'Hurry up and join me. Love you.'

'Mm-hmm,' Brendan half agreed, holding onto Macca's arm as he wobbled to his feet and over towards the staircase. He was sure the boy would pass out as soon as he hit the bed, which would be ideal. Brendan had had enough of drunken juveniles this evening.

When the three Blue Zoners finally reappeared, Brendan pushed a bottle of water into Joel's hand and insisted he and Michael take Steven back to Blue Zone as quickly as they could.

'Make sure he drinks it,' Brendan warned.

'Sure,' Joel nodded, but Steven had drunk too much to be as obediant.

'Hey, Brendan,' he said. He was struggling to stand up, but his words were clearer now than they had been in the car. The water was obviously doing some good. 'You shouldn't have done that to Doug, you know.'

'Done what?'

'Sold him to Old Shock-nessy,' he answered. Brendan almost winced at the mutilated Irish surname.

'I told you, he's probably enjoying himself.'

'Nah,' Ste shook his head furiously, so it looked like it might topple off his neck. 'Nah, no way. Old Shock-nessy, he smelt bad, really, really bad.' He gave a sort of giggle-snort that briefly reminded Brendan of Anne, when she made herself laugh. 'And he was hurting my face. He was all….' Steven reached out and grabbed Brendan's face, sloppy fingers landing almost in his eyes and on his lips. '…. And he said he was gonna hurt me.' Joel and Michael gasped and pulled him away quickly, whilst Brendan got out the threat of:

'He was gonna hurt you?'

'He didn't mean it,' Joel said quickly.

'Nah, he didn't mean nothing by it. He's just well drunk, init,' Michael chipped in. Brendan marvelled at how quickly they became brothers in The Estate. How quick they were to step in and defend one another but Steven was doing himself no favours. He was struggling against his friends wise words and continuing his ridiculous rant:

'Doug, right, he did nothing to deserve that. It was your fault.'

Something snapped in Brendan's head. He might be responsible for a lot of people in The Estate, he might take care of their needs and give them a place to stay but he was not to blame for what happened to them. They came to The Estate knowing what kind of place it was, they went on jobs knowing the risks:

'Leave us,' he said sharply, glaring at Joel and Michael.

'But….' Joel began.

'Now!' Brendan yelled. The three lads ahead of him jumped but only two ran away, one just staggered about still trying to remember how to stand up straight. He was too drunk. Brendan knew that by now. Unless Steven had never drunk a drop of alcohol in his life before, then the lad had definitely been spiked by O'Shaughnessy and that only made Brendan want to make the guy pay. And he would pay, but that would have to wait, because right now, he was itching to hear what Steven had to say for himself. Drunk, stupid, needed to find some kind of filter for his mouth, Steven.

'My fault?' he questioned, when he heard the front door click shut. 'Care to elaborate … Steven.' He was walking towards the lad, and Steven was instinctively stumbling backwards. He was less forthcoming with his words now he was alone.

'That's not what I meant.' He was backtracking. And Brendan could see the pure, unadulterated fear in his eyes when he realised he'd backed himself up against the wall. He was sobering up with every single one of Brendan's steps towards him.

'J-just….' Nerves were affecting his words. Brendan liked that. He was back in control. 'Should have been me, shouldn't it? That were my mess. I caused it.' Brendan was so close to Steven now he could smell his cheap aftershave, mixed with nervous sweat and the smell of the cocktail he'd been drinking.

'You almost sound jealous, Steven. You ain't queer, are you?'

'N-no,' Steven answered, but he seemed less confident every single second. They were barely inches apart now. Steven had had to move his head to the side to stop their noses from touching and his face was screwed up with something that wasn't quite fear. 'I'm proper straight, me.'

'You sure?' Brendan lifted one finger and traced a line from Steven's temple over his cheekbone and finishing at his chin, toying with him. ''Cause I ain't never seen a straight boy kiss a man like you kissed O'Shaughnessy.'

Steven shuddered and blushed violently and that answered almost every question Brendan hadn't realised he'd been asking himself since the first time he'd seen Steven, kicking a rock around outside his house in a scruffy old tracksuit.

'Acting, weren't I?' Ste managed to whisper.

'Were you?'

'Y-yeah,' he insisted weakly. 'Just trying to do a good job.

'So, if I kissed you now, you wouldn't enjoy that?' Even Brendan wasn't sure how far he was going to push this. He knew how drunk Steven was, and he knew that the boy still believed himself when he insisted he was straight. But on the other hand, Brendan understood all too well why O'Shaughnessy had wanted Steven so badly, hadn't that been one of the reasons he'd chosen Steven in the first place.

''Course I wouldn't,' Steven said. But:

'You don't sound too confident Steven.'

Brendan reached up and pinched Steven's chin between his thumb and forefinger forcing him to turn around, forcing him to look at him.

Ste's eyes were brighter blue than Brendan had realised. His cheekbones were more protruding than he'd noticed, his ears were a little too big, but it all kind of worked and the defiant-nerves, were kind of a turn-on too. But Brendan found his attention drawn to the boy's lips; plump and soft and blushing pink. He'd known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wanted Steven from the second he'd seen him take those key's from Warren's pocket. But Brendan was the first to admit (or be told by Anne) that he had a thing for the pretty council rat boy and plenty of those went through The Estate catching his attention for a second. This was the only one who'd held his attention for a whole evening, excluding Macca ... of course. But then, most of his thoughts excluded Macca.

It wasn't Brendan. It was all Steven. The kiss, when it happened. It was all Steven. Brendan may have forced them to look at each other. He may have had them breathing the same air, but Steven was the one who made the move. He was the one who slid his hand to the back of Brendan's neck. He was the one who closed the gap between them. He was the one who flicked his tongue over Brendan's lips.

Brendan didn't respond. Instead, he put a hand on Steven's chest and pushed him back against the wall.

'Interesting,' he smirked, and panic seemed to strike Steven like a lightning bolt. He didn't look as drunk anymore.

'No,' he said quickly, shaking his head and pushing Brendan to arm's length. 'No, no. That were … that were….' This was going to be good. 'That were just an accident.'

'An accident?' Brendan tried not to laugh.

'I didn't.' He shook his head, looking at the floor. 'I've never.' He ran a hand over his face, pulling his face into a weird shape for a second. 'I'm ain't gay,' he insisted.

'Well don't let the evidence distract you from your lies Steven.'

'Nah, right,' Steven was looking at him now. And this time he was angry, furious even. 'That, that just then. That was you.'

'I didn't do anything,' Brendan remained calm. This was fun, watching Steven fight and argue with himself internally. He was enjoying this almost as much as he'd enjoyed watching Joel, Michael and Doug take a few kilograms of cocaine from O'Shaughnessy's cupboard. And he'd enjoyed that almost as much as he'd enjoyed finding out that, if he wanted, he could have Steven Hay bent over and begging for it at the click of his fingers.

'You're messing with me head,' Steven accused.

'I'm not sure I like the way you keep blaming me for things, Steven. Douglass, you kissing me. It's all on you Steven. Whatever happens to Douglass, whatever's going on in here.' He pushed his finger hard into Steven's forehead. 'It's on you, boy.'

'No,' Steven's face began to crumple. His eyes screwed up as few droplets of salty water leaked from them. 'I didn't mean to.'

'To what?'

'To get Doug in trouble. To kiss you. It was…. I was….'

'Drunk,' Brendan offered him the get out clause he was looking for.

'Exactly,' he sniffed, drying his dampening cheeks with his forearm. 'It won't happen again.'

'What won't?'

'Any of it. It won't.' He sniffed again, his eyes flicking up at Brendan and away quickly again. It was like he was scared of looking for too long. 'I'm sorry, Brendan. I don't know why… I mean, I think I just wanted you to like me, you know. You're like king here, I think I just wanted you to notice I existed.' He looked up. Brendan gazed back, not allowing any of his thoughts to show on his face. Steven looked away again quickly, this was becoming faintly annoying. 'I'm sorry,' he mumbled.

'That's okay,' Brendan said, cupping Steven's cheek and helping him to wipe away the few stray tears he'd missed. 'It's okay. Now, you just go back to your home, and I'll come up with a way for you to make it up to me. How does that sound?'

Steven nodded. He couldn't quite stop his tears enough to get out any more words, so Brendan just pushed him towards the BMW and dropped him back to Blue Zone.

Thanks for reading. I hope those of you who wanted a little more Stendan interaction are satisfied!