Barcelona was amazing. The hotel was amazing. The bellboy, who'd taken their stuff to the room, was amazing. And now they were walking down The Portal de l'Àngel which was, well:

'Amazing.'

'So you've said,' Brendan muttered and when Ste looked over to him, he noticed the man was smiling at him. It seemed genuine and warm, but maybe that was just the effect of seeing some sun for the first time in god knew how long, even if that sun was weak and wintery.

'Are you sure you wanna buy me clothes from here?' Ste asked, glancing at the prices in the nearest shop window. It was all written in foreign and Euros meant nothing to him, but there still seemed to be a lot of numbers after the "€" symbol.

'Well you can't very well go around in a place like this, wearing a thing like that,' Brendan pointed to Ste's tracksuit, 'can you?'

'It is a bit cold actually,' Ste agreed. He hadn't realised that it could be both sunny and cold at the same time. In Chester it had always been grey when it was cold and in Ireland it just rained when it was cold, and when it was warm, and all the time in between.

'Mmm,' Brendan mumbled a half-agreement. 'Here.' Ste felt a big hand reach out and grip his shoulder. 'This shop'll do.'

'Here?' Ste looked up at the shop. It was the poshest place he'd ever seen. Even posher than the big M&S in Chester. 'Are you sure?'

Brendan just nodded, hand still on Ste's shoulder guiding him towards the shop. 'Three days, three outfits. Anything you want. No rules. Well….' Ste glance over his shoulder at him. Brendan seemed younger somehow, less stressed, less under pressure. 'One rule.'

'And what's that?'

'No tracksuits,' and there was almost a laugh in his words, not a put-on maniacal laugh, a genuine little chuckle. And it made Ste grin and say:

'Shut up.'

Before rushing into the shop.

Brendan was interested to see what Steven would pick off the shelves. He had an idea about him. A way he thought the boy might look if money wasn't an obstacle. There was something about his hair, shaved at the sides and almost a quiff on the top that made Brendan think that tracksuits wouldn't really be his outfit of choice if he managed to give a damn about his personal appearance for five seconds – if he was trying to make an effort.

His theory was soon proved correct.

'Right,' Steven's voice came from behind one of the big silk curtains that led off this circular room towards the separate, low lit changing rooms. 'You can't laugh.'

'I won't,' Brendan said, but he wasn't sure that was the truth.

'Promise.'

'Yeah, yeah, yeah,' he dismissed him. It was not for Steven to give him orders. He'd laugh if he bloody wanted to.

The curtain opened and in front of him stood a highly-fashionable, sharp-featured young man with an uncertain smile and a nervous stance. His white trousers were tight and showed off his skinny legs, his white shirt was mostly hidden by the pale blue checked blazer, with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He looked … preppy; like his mother might call all her friends "darling" and like his dad probably liked to hunt pheasants in winter.

Brendan must have been staring because Steven began to squirm uncomfortably.

'What's wrong?' he mumbled, gaze dropping embarrassedly to the golden carpet. 'I think I'd rather you laugh than just-.'

'You look good,' Brendan interrupted.

'Yeah?' he smiled weakly. 'I've got two more outfits. One's a bit more casual, like, and … do you think we'll be going somewhere posh or anything? 'Cause then I might need a suit.'

'You won't need a suit,' Brendan assured him. He was beginning to wonder if Steven would need any clothes on this holiday if he insisted on looking that good.

'Right,' he nodded. 'I'll go and try one of the other outfits on then.'

'Mm-hmm.' Brendan nodded, checking his watch. He didn't actually have any other plans, but it wouldn't do for Steven to think Brendan was happy to sit around and wait for him to change in and out of outfits all day.

Truth was, Brendan had had plenty of experience sitting outside changing rooms for hours on end. It had happened when he'd taken Anne to London, and when he'd taken her to Paris, and Millan. She even managed to get him to sit around in Belfast while she shopped. That had been his penance for making her pretend to be his girlfriend for the tenth year in a row when he visited his sister. This was better. Anne always opened the curtains to reveal a short dress and lots of cleavage which made Brendan feel … nothing. Whereas Steven, well….

'Right, outfit two.' Steven opened up the curtain again. This time it was dark chinos turned up showing of his ankles, and a patterned shirt. 'Good?'

'Good,' Brendan nodded his approval. The last outfit was similar and as Steven wandered around showing off his final choice, Brendan heard himself asking:

'Who helped you pick these?'

'Nobody,' Steven replied, pulling at his scarf and jacket. 'They kept speaking foreign at me so I just picked it meself.' Then he turned to look at Brendan. His third shirt really brought out his eyes, they seemed bluer than ever. 'Look, are you sure about this? 'Cause it's really expensive, this jacket, or at least I think it's expensive.' He squinted at the jacket's tag. 'And I don't wanna, you know….'

But Brendan didn't know, so he waited until Steven finished his sentence:

'I don't wanna owe you.'

'Oh Steven, you don't owe me,' Brendan said calmly, getting to his feet and going to stand behind the boy. He slotted himself behind the smaller man so he could look over his shoulder at the mirror. Staring back were a sophisticated couple; a rich business man and his spoilt toy-boy. 'I give you a home, food, girls, clothes, a trip to Barcelona.' He tilted his head so his lips were close to Steven's cheek. He felt the air between them pulse as Steven tried to repress a shiver. 'I own you.'

He watched mirror-Steven's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed anxiously.

'And now,' he added, running a hand up the side of Steven's shirt, 'I also own your clothes.'

He could hear Steven's uneasy breathing, deep and stuttering.

''Cause I bought them, just for you.'

'Th-thank you,' he stammered. He was starting to turn the palest shade of pink and Brendan couldn't help feel amused. Steven was so easy. He only had to get close and the lad melted into a puddle of useless.

A forced little cough from behind them distracted Brendan from his fun game of Steven-torture.

'Err, are you finish, Senyor i … Senyor?'

'Yes … thank you,' Brendan forced a smile. 'Do I pay the counter?'

'Sí, Senyor,' the assistant nodded.

'Excellent. Steven will wear this outfit out,' Brendan said firmly. 'And,' he marched into the changing room and found the disgusting navy tracksuit crumpled on the floor. He picked it up, holding it at arm's length. Who knew what kind of germs were crawling around on it? And dumped it into the assistant's arms. 'You can put this in a rubbish bag for us to take.'

'Hey,' Steven tried to protest, but something seemed to be choking his usual aggression back a little. 'That's my best tracksuit, that.'

'You have new clothes now,' Brendan insisted. 'Real clothes, clothes that make you seem like you might be able to function in decent society.'

'But-'

'Where do I pay?' Brendan asked the assistant. He was bored now. It was time to leave the shop and do something else.

::

Steven had proved pretty popular around the Eixample region of Barcelona. His coffee had come with extra cream and an extra complimentary biscuit. His tapas had arrived on plates twice as big as everyone else's. And his mangled "grassy-ass" thank-yous were earning him a wink and a smile.

It was Brendan's fault really. He'd chosen to stay in the gay capital of Barcelona. His job was on the other side of the city, but he felt a strange kind of comfortable here and he'd always liked the way the boys stared at him. It had made Anne jealous, it had made Macca jealous. But it seemed Brendan was old news now that Steven had put some shampoo through his hair and donned a pair of chinos. Not that Steven noticed, he just seemed to think that:

'People are dead nice in Barcelona, aren't they?'

'Mmm.'

'See that bloke over there.' He nodded his head towards a man sat a few tables away with a pink cocktail in his hand. He was wearing tight jeans and a thin white shirt that he'd only managed to fasten one button of and he smiled when he saw them looking over.

'He bought me this drink.' Steven put his own cocktail on the table ahead of him. 'I got to the bar and the bartenders stood with it in his hand just waiting for me.' He took a sip and nodded. 'It's nice that. Do you wanna try some?'

'No.'

Steven took another sip and glanced over to the man who'd bought it, pointing to his glass and giving the guy a thumbs up. Brendan just shook his head, smirk spreading over his face. This lad had the potential to be endless fun.

'You'd never get it in England, that,' Steven continued. He was talking a lot, it was probably all the free cocktails. ''Cause we just hate anything foreign, don't we? Like I've only been abroad once, right. Me mum and step-dad took me when I was dead young and we went to the Cost da summut.'

'Costa del Sol,' Brendan guessed. He couldn't help himself.

'That's the one.' He took the strawberry that was decorating his glass off and placed it in his mouth. 'And it was just like being in Blackpool, except warmer … and the sea was blue. Even when we're abroad we've gotta change all the foreign and make it English.'

'Maybe you needed the sophistication of an Irishman to show you the real Spain.'

'Is the Cost de sul in Spain then?'

Brendan didn't even bother to correct his pronunciation this time. He just pursed his lips and nodded.

'Here,' Steven's attention was drawn back to the man with the ill-fitting shirt. 'He keeps looking over. Do you think I should go and say "grassy-ass"? He probably thinks I'm well rude, doesn't he?'

'Probably,' Brendan nodded. 'But I don't think it's your grassy-ass he's after. I think it's just your ass.'

'What are you talking about?' He looked genuinely confused. Damn, he should have just let him go over there.

'He fancies you, Steven.'

Brendan took a long swig of his beer and watched the information sink in. Steven was the kind of person who wore every thought and emotion on his face, telegraphing every feeling to the world.

'No,' he said eventually.

'For God's sake, look at what he's wearing.'

'He's Spanish!'

'Fine,' Brendan shrugged. 'Then you go over there and thank him for that nice, wee, pink cocktail he bought you. See if there isn't a way you can pay him back.'

Steven suddenly stared at the drink like it was poisonous and slid it away from him.

'I don't think I'm thirsty anymore, me.'

'Funny that,' Brendan smirked, looking over his own shoulder to get a better look at the guy. He was a good looking guy, nice abs and bronzed skin, but he was clearly a tool. It couldn't have been more than about 7° or 8° and even though he was under the red glow of the patio heater, it wasn't hot enough for that outfit. Still, Brendan thought had he been here with Anne, he would have sent her away by now and gone over to see what was going to come of the evening. Shame the guy didn't have any kind of interest in him really.

'Do you fancy him?' Steven asked, drawing his attention back to their table.

'He's not my type,' Brendan shrugged, which was almost the truth.

' 'Cause I could stay in a hostel or something if you….'

'He's not my type,' Brendan insisted. 'Anyway, I've got Macca.'

'Oh yeah, course.' Then he glanced over Brendan's shoulder and fear seemed to invade his eyes. 'Crap, he's coming over.'

'Maybe he misread the thumbs up,' Brendan suggested sitting back in his chair and taking a long swig of his beer. This was going to be fun.

The guy ignored Brendan completely, he walked straight past and sat casually on the table ahead of Steven and began blabbing away in Catalan.

'Oh,' Steven shook his head. 'Me,' he pointed to himself. 'No Spanish.'

The guy just shrugged. 'Me, no English.'

'Well,' Steven gave a strangled kind of smile and pulled at his ear nervously. 'I guess we'll have to leave it there then.'

'¿Què?'

'Er,' Steven moved to plan "B", which seemed to be talking slower and infinitely louder. 'Grassy-ass for the drink.' Brendan couldn't see much of the Spaniard, but he could tell that he was nodding. 'But I don't want sex with you.'

'Sexe, si.'

'No,' Steven almost shouted. 'No sex. 'Cause, I'm not gay, me.'

'Gai, si.' He spouted something else and held out his hand to Steven. Steven just stared at it like it was made of broken glass and needles.

'I don't know what you're saying,' Steven almost shouted. He was in a blind panic. It was like he couldn't see the funny side of the situation, which was a shame because Brendan had really been enjoying it. But he knew he'd have to jump in at some point, and this seemed as good a time as any.

'Oh, you should have said, Steven,' he said calmly. 'He's asking you to go back to his place.'

'You can speak Spanish!' Steven growled.

'No,' Brendan said honestly, putting his now empty beer bottle on the table. 'But I do speak a little Catalan, which,' he put a hand on the Barcelonan's shoulder, 'is what your young friend here is speaking.'

'So tell him I'm not gay.' He was almost frantic, which was fun.

'Oh, Steven.' Brendan shook his head firmly. 'Don't ask me to lie to the wee fella.'

'It's not a lie. Look Brendan,' he was furious now, talking slightly too loud, causing the locals to take brief glances over towards them. 'I don't know what twisted idea you've got in your head, right. But I'm not gay! I like Rae.'

Brendan considered the outburst for a moment. He considered the angry look on the boy's face, contrasted his words with every single betraying shudder and blush the boy had afforded him when he got close and he nodded once curtly.

'Fine,' he said. 'I'll tell him.' Then he turned to the tool not quite in a shirt and spoke. To Steven, it would have sounded like the vowel-heavy yapping of the Catalan language, but to everyone else it sounded like:

'He says he can't. He's got gonorrhoea and crabs … lots of them. And he's waiting for the results from a chlamydia test.'

The man turned to Steven, looked the lad up and down and asked:

'¿En realitat?'

'Nod Steven,' Brendan encouraged and the boy just did as he was told, agreeing unknowingly to everything Brendan had just said. 'Good boy,' he muttered under his breath, picking up the discarded pink cocktail and taking a long sip.

::

'What did you say to them right?' Steven had been pretty persistent about this since they'd left the cocktail bar. They were back at the hotel now stood in the lift, heading for the penthouse and Steven hadn't once managed to distract himself from his persistent questioning to tell him how "amazing" everything was.

'I told you what I said.' Brendan shrugged. He hadn't. He'd told him what Steven had wanted him to say.

'But they all looked at me like I was diseased.'

Brendan tried, and failed, to suppress a laugh at his choice of words but when Steven shot him with a suspicious glare he sobered up and said:

'It's a gay area, Steven. They don't want you if you think you're straight.'

'And that's another thing.' He really was on one tonight. He was getting too confident. This was a common trait of his when alcohol was poured into his blood stream. 'Stop going on saying that I'm gay right. You do it all the time, and I ain't. 'Cause I had no idea about that guy hitting on me, did I? So that just proves I'm not gay.'

'Does it?'

'No more, thinking I am, right,' he insisted. 'No more….' He trailed off, cheeks reddening just slightly and Brendan wondered what he could possibly be thinking. 'Just "no",' he finished. It was then that the lift doors opened showing them the room for the first time, and more importantly, showing them the double bed, which sat pride of place in the centre of the room.

Steven turned to glare at him; pure hatred in his eyes and Brendan found himself shrugging:

'Oops.'

'I ain't sleeping in there with you,' Ste said for the umpteenth time. He felt like a glitchy CD, constantly jumping back to repeat himself.

'No one's forcing you into bed with me, Steven,' Brendan shrugged. But he was already in the bed. He'd sort of snuck himself in, whilst Ste was stamping around protesting the situation and trying to ask for a different room, to which Brendan had replied: "Haven't I spent enough on you today?" and Ste's guilt at the money Brendan had spent on his clothes had shamed him into almost-silence.

'Oh yeah, except you booked a room with a double bed.'

'Well, to be honest,' Brendan said. 'I thought you'd be sleeping on the sofa.' Ste's eyes were drawn to the biggish white and mahogany furniture, creating a kind of make-shift living area near the balcony door. 'You were the one who assumed we were going to share the bed.'

No. No. That wasn't true, was it? Brendan had said that they were going to…. No, wait. Now that he thought about it, Brendan hadn't actually said much at all. Ste had been the one talking. Brendan had just been stripping down to his underwear and slipping under the covers.

'No,' his thoughts started to fall out of his lips. 'Because you…. Anyway,' he changed tact as soon as he thought of it. 'That's not fair, that.'

'Life's not fair, Steven.'

Ste wasn't sure what had come over him. He was angrier than he'd been for months. Maybe it was the injustice of Brendan lying in that comfy bed whilst Ste was supposed to slum it on the sofa. Maybe it was that Ste might very well have had the best day of his life and the evening was ruining it. Maybe it was that a few too many, apparently gay, men had been buying him free cocktails and giving him sugary treats all day. Maybe it was just his reckless idiocy forcing him, as always, into stupid situations. He reached down, grabbed the duvet and yanked it off the bed, scattering pointless decorative pillows all over the room and leaving Brendan covered by nothing but his boxers.

'What are you doing!' Brendan leapt to his feet. He looked furious and Ste was sure his face was going to take a pummling, but he'd come this far, he might as well carry on.

'You think you can push me around because you're bigger than me? Because you're clever, and dangerous you got all this money and you wear expensive suits and-'

'I'm confused,' Brendan interrupted his rant. 'Are you insulting me? Or flirting with me?'

'Argh!' Ste yelled, kicking out at one of the cushions and sending it flying across the room. It didn't help. He was so angry he wanted to scream. He felt like his mind was spinning faster and faster blurring the world in a furious mess and he couldn't quite distinguish hate from his other emotions.

'You're fiery,' was all Brendan said. Ste had been in enough fights to notice the way Brendan was posed, leaning slightly forward. He was ready to fight but he wasn't inviting it, not yet. 'I like that. But I got to be honest Steven, it just feels like there's a little too much tension in this room.'

'And whose fault is that then, eh?' he yelled. It was meant to sound like an accusation but it just came out as a genuine question.

'Tell you what,' Brendan said. 'I'm gonna let you hit me.'

'What! Why?' It felt like a trap.

'To get rid of this tension, obviously.' He put his arms out sideways. 'Come on, one punch. You'll feel better, won't you?' Ste shook his head. 'Come on,' he encouraged. And then he yelled: 'Come on!'

Ste ran at him, fist up ready to purple his eye, or fatten his lips or split his cheek. So why was he kissing him? And why was he allowing himself to be lifted up and thrown onto the bed? And why was he unbuttoning his own shirt? And why wasn't he trying to stop it? And why was kissing back harder than he ever thought he could? And why did he want it more than he'd ever wanted anything before?

Brendan could almost feel Steven watching him. He knew the lad was sat up, leaning his back against the head board. He'd gone over all shy now. He'd pulled the duvet off the floor and covered himself up to the bellybutton. He'd half covered Brendan too, but the angle was a bit awkward because Brendan was lying down, head turned away.

'I wasn't expecting that,' Steven said eventually. The duvet was moving just slightly as Steven picked at it nervously.

'I was,' he mumbled under his breath, because wasn't this exactly what he'd been planning ever since that night at O'Shaughnessy's club in Dublin? Yet, it still felt surprising somehow.

'What?' He obviously hadn't heard.

'I said, me neither.' Brendan turned over just slightly so he could look up at the lad. He was a skinny thing really, looked like he'd crumble if you put too much pressure on him, but he was tougher than he looked. Brendan hadn't been expecting that.

'I've never done nothing like that before, me,' he said. He was still flushed from the power and excitement of it all. ''Cause I'm straight normally, you know.'

'So you keep saying,' he mumbled. He was too tired to really open his mouth properly to speak. He was almost worn out. He hadn't had a night like that for a long time. Steven was fierier than Macca had ever been, less willing to just give in to Brendan's every whim, stronger than he'd thought, more demanding than he'd imagined. He hadn't expected any of that either.

'Hey,' Steven smiled sheepishly. 'It was good though, weren't it?' Brendan thought it was better than he'd had in a long time. They'd been a strange kind of equal, despite their positions. He certainly hadn't expected that.

'Mmm.'

'What? Weren't it?' Steven's face shrouded with embarrassment. 'Cause I'm not really sure how it's meant to go, me and-'

'It was good, Steven,' Brendan said firmly, rolling away from the lad and closing his eyes. 'Now, go to sleep. It's getting late.' He actually had no idea what the time was. Though he suspected it might have been getting early rather than late. Steven only managed to be quiet for a few seconds, before Brendan felt a hand on his shoulder and a pleading voice say:

'You won't tell anyone about this … when we get back, I mean. Different postcode and all that?'

Brendan said nothing, partly because he was too tired to try and partly because he liked to make the boy writhe; he didn't mind how he did it.

'Course you won't,' Steven's nervous voice sounded again. 'You've got Macca to think of, haven't you? And I've got Rae, so I guess this was a one off thing, wasn't it?'

Ste shook him gently by the shoulder.

'Brendan.'

Silence. He was asleep.

'Brendan.'

Silence. He really was asleep.

'Brendan.'

'You talk a lot, don't you?' Fine, he wasn't asleep.

He rolled onto his back and tried to glare at the young man. It was a bit too dark in the room to get a good affect, but he'd sounded angry, so that would do.

'Oh … sorry.'

'It's alright.' Honesty was his biggest weakness at times like this, times when he was too tired to think of lies. 'I like listening to your thoughts, it's simpler than listening to mine.'

'Is that a dig? Is it?' Steven demanded, he was somewhere between angry and amused.

'Careful Steven,' he warned. 'You know what happens when we fight.'

It turned out, it didn't only happen when they fought. It happened after they'd been to see the Sant Paul del Camp cathedral. It happened after they spent the afternoon at the sauna. It happened after their evening meal and twice on the balcony under the stars. It happened in the morning, in the evening and some of the time in between.

'Where are you going?' Steven asked. His hair was everywhere, face flushed but he had a look in his eyes that suggested he wouldn't have said "no". He must have been aching by now. Brendan sure as hell was. He couldn't remember the last time it had been this rough, this intense and this … frequent. Steven looked like he wanted it all the time and not the same way Macca did. Macca wanted it because it made him feel special. Steven just wanted it. And unlike with Macca, Brendan wanted to give it all the time.

But not now. He had to go and meet one of Iago's lackeys and finalise the deal. This was the whole reason he was in Barcelona in the first place. So he pulled on his trousers for the first time in hours and said:

'It's work.'

'Oh … well, do you want me to come?'

'You?' he laughed a little. He couldn't help it. 'What are you going to do?'

'I dunno,' he shrugged, flushed for a different reason now. 'I could wear one of me new outfits and say I'm your back-up or something.'

'My back up?' Brendan quirked an eyebrow, leaning on the bed and beginning to walk his hands towards the lad. 'Honestly Steven, if I needed back up a scrawny little chicken armed man-boy like you would be the last person I'd call.'

'Alright, I was just saying,' he scowled. He didn't whine or pout, like a woman. He got angry like a man. Brendan liked that.

'You,' Brendan continued, he was close enough to push his lips to the corner of Steven's mouth. 'You have plenty of other uses.' He kissed him again, this time full on the lips but he resisted taking it further … just. He really did need to go.

'I'll see you later, okay?'

'Wait,' Steven said, grabbing a cushion and cuddling it in front of him. He had this horrible habit of covering himself up. 'What am I supposed to do while you're out, eh? Just sit here and wait for you.'

'Do whatever you want, Steven,' Brendan shrugged. 'Get out and see the city, take in the sites. You don't want to get back to Ireland and have to tell your mates you saw nothing more than the hotel room.'

Thanks for reading!

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