A/N: This is the last chapter of Locked Up. A massive thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed this. It means so much to me.

Two years later.

Brendan

The air feels different, fresher. He's sure it's his imagination: it can't be any different from the air in the prison gardens. It can't smell any different, but when he inhales it, closing his eyes, everything - everything - feels different.

He takes a few tentative steps outside. He's waiting for something. He doesn't entirely know what - an explosion, a trick of the light, someone grabbing him, telling him to go back, that there's been a mistake. When it doesn't come it alarms him; he might actually have to learn to trust the world, that it's not all going to go up in flames.

A pair of arms wrap around him. He hears his name repeatedly, spoken like a prayer, Brendan, and he's got lipstick everywhere - he knows without having to look. Blond curls are in his line of vision, bright like the sun, and he can smell his sister's perfume as he holds her close. He didn't know she was capable of being this strong. She's almost crushing him, knocking the breath out of him, but he doesn't try to pull away.

He hadn't dared to imagine this moment. He'd watched Cheryl's tears trickle down her face in court, her perception shifting, her memories distorted and rearranging themselves, morphing into something new. Brendan had waited for her to scream liar at him, to hit him. He would have let her. He would have let her until there was nothing left of him.

This didn't feature in his fantasies of this day. When she lets him go, squeezing his cheeks like her mother used to do, he feels light headed, unfocused on the reality that he's seeing.

"Jesus, look at that thing." She's laughing as she strokes a hand down his beard.

"Steven likes it, so."

The mention of the boy's name is a mistake. Brendan tries to recall their last conversation yesterday evening. He'd reminded Steven of the time of his release more than once, until the boy had interrupted, telling him that he'd already put a reminder in his phone and set his alarm and asked Amy to wake him just in case it didn't work, or he hit the snooze button like he was prone to do on his days off from the restaurant. Brendan had grunted - alright, just saying, and he'd listened as Steven had laughed at him. As if I'm going to forget a thing like that. Only been waiting two years, haven't I?

He tries to keep a level head, calm himself down. Maybe Steven's been called into work and he couldn't turn down the money, or maybe one of the kids has got sick. Maybe Amy's changed her mind and doesn't want him to come, or he met someone on the bus over here, someone who distracted him -

He's being an idiot. Steven will come. He forces himself to believe it.

"How did you sleep?" Cheryl asks him, pulling him from his thoughts.

"Like a baby." He's lying to her, doesn't want to worry her. Too much was running through his head: how things had moved on in the seven years he'd been locked up, away from the world. How he'd be able to start again, get a job with his record. If there would be anyone waiting outside the gates, protesting against the judge's decision, thinking that he's a danger to them all. Whether he'd made a mistake contacting Declan and Padraig for the first time in years and risking Eileen despising him more than she already must. He'd wondered if it was better for everyone if he stayed inside where he couldn't hurt them. But then he'd thought of Steven's words on the phone. The boy knows him, knows the way his mind works. Don't even think about not walking through those gates. That had been his goodbye before he'd told him he loved him, that he'd see him tomorrow.

Cheryl must see him looking over her shoulder.

"He's waiting in the car, bless him."

"What?" Brendan's heart lurches. Nate, he thinks. She means Nate.

"That wee boy of yours. You should have heard him. He was talking the entire car journey, couldn't get him to shut up. I think he was just nervous. He thinks the world of you, Bren."

"Steven's here?" He hadn't told him anything about coming with Cheryl.

"I text him last night. He was going to get the bus, but I told him that's stupid. It's ages away, and we get on, don't we? I told him we could turn it into a mini road trip."

"A road trip to see his prison lover. How romantic."

"Stop it. He was buzzing. Still is, I reckon."

"Then why isn't he here?" He can't relax, even knowing that Steven's come to see him, that he isn't late and he hasn't abandoned him. Why isn't he here now like Cheryl is?

"He wanted to wait. Said that he thought you and me might want to talk first." Her voice is quiet, her eyes sad. They've done talking - a lot of talking - and he doesn't want to start that now, not yet. He knows it's not over, everything that he told Cheryl in the visiting room in the days after he first told Desmond, everything that was revealed in court while she sat in the gallery. It's not ever going to be over; he knows that now.

Brendan brushes a strand of hair from her face, smooths over her cheek with his thumb.

"Thank you for coming."

"Of course." She sounds surprised that he'd think any different. "Nate's at home, preparing the food."

"The food?"

"For the party." Cheryl must see his eyes widen in panic. "Don't worry, it's going to be the smallest party in the history of the world. Just you, me, Nate and Ste. Just some food, some drinks, bit of music."

He wants to make a joke, acknowledge that for Cheryl this is huge progress, putting his own needs above her constant desire to make everything as big and outlandish as possible. But he stops himself, takes a breath, thanks her instead. He puts an arm around her and directs her to the car that he can see parked down the street.

He cranes his head, tries to see if anyone - if he - is standing outside, waiting. He wonders if Cheryl can feel him shaking beside her.

She's said that Steven's here, but Brendan needs more than that - needs more than her words, her assurance. He won't believe that any of this is real until he sees. There's no movement, no shadow, no suggestion of his presence. Brendan wants to turn back. If he turns back, then he doesn't have to be faced with an empty car, with the knowledge that Steven's changed his mind.

Cheryl dips her head, looks into the window.

"Told you he hadn't bolted."

Brendan realises she's not talking to him.

There's a sound from inside the car, and then the windows are being lowered automatically, until Brendan's vision becomes clear. Steven's inside, sticking his head out of the window, looking flushed and beautiful. He's inexplicably more golden than he was when Brendan last saw him a week ago; even his hair appears sun kissed, lighter strands running amongst the brown. His lips are full even when they're not set in his usual pout, and his fringe of eyelashes looks darker than they ever have, framing his blue eyes. They look at Brendan carefully, moving up and down his body like he's an apparition that's likely to disappear.

Cheryl turns to Brendan, "He was worried you'd leg it. Thought that you'd go back to Ireland. I told him that you couldn't, that you're not allowed, but he didn't believe me. Silly, isn't he?" She looks at Steven with all the affection of family.

"Yeah. Silly," Brendan mumbles. He can't take his eyes off the boy. He's never seen him like this, outside of the four walls which have bound him for so long. It's windy now, and the breeze feels cooling on Brendan's skin. He watches as it makes Steven's hair move. He finds the action mesmerising.

"Come on then. Hug him." Cheryl nods between them, a look of bemusement on her face.

Steven opens the car door slowly. He's wearing a tracksuit. It looks new - did he buy it just for this? - and it's different from his others; it's tightly fitted where his previous ones have been loose, and it accentuates the slightness of him: the curve of his arse, how his legs seem to go on for ever.

Brendan reminds himself that his sister's with them. He can't do anything. Not here. Not yet.

It's the yet that makes his breath catch in his throat. The knowledge that he'll be able to, soon. He'll have what he's been waiting two years for.

"Hi." Steven doesn't seem to know where to look. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, shifts from one foot to the other. He's all awkwardness and shyness; it's so uncharacteristic of him that Brendan almost laughs.

"Hi," Brendan echos. He's aware of Cheryl looking at them, expecting the reunion that she's envisioned in her head. He can't do it. He can't hug Steven. If he has him in his arms then he won't be able to stop himself from kissing him, from taking him.

He's relieved when Cheryl doesn't press it. She unlocks the car door, motioning for them to get in.

"Actually, Cheryl, I was thinking we could come to your's a bit later. Maybe in the evening?" Steven says.

"Got plans, do you?"

Brendan tries to think if Steven mentioned this, but he can't recall anything. They hadn't made any concrete plans for when he'd been released - live was the extent of it. Have a future. Vague, obscure ideas that seemed outside the realms of possibility.

"I was thinking me and Bren could just...you know, spend time together."

Cheryl raises her eyebrows. "Oh, you mean...that."

Steven's blushing now. "No, not -"

"Sure, sure." Cheryl waves her hand in the air, wiping away his mumbled protests. "Come round whenever you want."

She gives Brendan a kiss on the cheek that replaces all the lipstick he's wiped away with a new layer. She does the same with Steven; together they look like they've been painted at a fair.

She gets in the car, giving them a none too subtle wink.

"See you boys later. Love you." She turns up her radio, blasting music as the car speeds off. Steven coughs as the dust circles them, flapping his hands as Brendan tries to work out what's just happened - what's going to happen.

"Steven, you never said -"

"I wanted it to be a surprise, didn't I?"

Brendan's stomach churns. He doesn't like surprises, has had enough of them to last a lifetime.

"What did you have in mind?" He tries to keep his voice light, to not put a dampener on Steven's joy.

"I booked us a hotel." He grins, pleased with himself, eyes bright.

"You -" Brendan feels anticipation coil in his gut. A hotel. Two years. Somewhere private, just them.

Steven takes a step forward, throws his arms around him. Brendan staggers back from the impact. He can smell Steven's aftershave, can feel the warmth of his skin as he buries his face in Steven's neck, kisses him there.

They don't need a hotel, he thinks. It's appealing, the idea of clean sheets and a comfortable bed and a spacious shower with water so hot that it burns his skin, but there's an alleyway near by, and he feels like he's going crazy with desperation, with how he wants to claw at Steven's skin. Brendan can feel it too; can feel how tightly Steven's holding him. His cock's digging into Brendan's thigh, a light hint of stubble scraping against Brendan's cheek as Steven draws back to look at him. His gaze is no longer at Brendan's eyes; his lids are lowered, his lips parting as he takes in Brendan's mouth.

He seems to read his mind.

"We can't - not here," Steven says. "If one of the officers find us, you might have to go back inside." He's joking, giving Brendan a smile, but there's something there, underneath the surface. Some deep rooted worry that he hasn't managed to scratch out.

"Where is this place?" Brendan's suddenly interested, more than interested. Surprises can be nice, he tries to remind himself. They don't all have to end in humiliation. He can change. He has changed.

"I'll lead the way." Steven nods his head towards the street, motioning for Brendan to join him. They start walking, standing as close to each other as they can be without holding hands. The prison vanishes from view.

::::::

Ste

He's booked something. Nothing fancy: a hotel in town, something within his price range. Dom gave him a promotion last month, and he's been careful not to blow the extra cash on frivolous things. He wants to start over, do things right. That includes today.

It overwhelms him, the pressure to get things right. He checks in at the hotel, getting their room key, silently marveling at how unfazed Brendan looks by this - no show of shame, no looking around to see if people are thinking what their relationship is, what they'll do in their room. Ste's breakfast had consisted of a couple of cans of Red Bull and a chocolate bar that he'd picked up at the gas station where he and Cheryl had stopped. He's buzzing, head unfocused, sweat trickling down his new tracksuit top, and he tries to tell himself that it's because of the food, the sugar, but inside he feels like he's screaming: he's free. Brendan's free, and Ste doesn't think he's ever felt so excited or scared.

He's got him here: that's the first step. He can see Brendan, can hear his footsteps close behind him as he walks up the stairs to their room. He's seen this man every week for two years, knows every line of his face, every inch of his body, but he feels suddenly nervous. They've never been like this before: no CCTV cameras, no officers, no noise. It's eerily quiet. Neither of them say anything, and as Ste climbs the stairs he still isn't sure why Brendan's here. He loves him, Ste knows that; he's learnt to trust it, knows that he has to. But it still doesn't solve the why. Nothing he's ever done in his life has made him deserving of such luck. He doesn't know why he's been chosen, why he's the one who's being loved this much.

He fumbles with the door, getting the key stuck in the lock. He thinks Brendan's going to take over, being the strong one like he always is, but he stands back, quiet and watchful until Ste manages to get the door open.

They walk inside.

"It's not much, but..."

He watches for Brendan's reaction. He stares around the room, taking it all in, and Ste's hoping that he hasn't got this wrong. Perhaps Brendan would have preferred to go back to Cheryl's, to spend time with her and Nate. He'll be worrying, won't he? About what was said at the appeal, about everything that Cheryl knows. It's been years since she found out about Seamus, but there hasn't been a week that's gone by when Brendan still seems amazed to hear from her, to have not lost her.

"It's perfect." Brendan looks at him, smiles, repeats it. He walks towards him, stands so close that the bristles of his moustache look like they're in high definition, each strand vividly clear. Brendan puts his arms around him, holds him, whispers "Thank you, Steven" into his ear. The softness of his beard warms Ste's cheek; he strokes down Brendan's back, is aware of how thin the layers of his clothing are. It wouldn't take him long to get them off. He's hard. He's been hard since they were alone outside the prison gates, anticipating this moment.

He thinks they'll be tearing at each other, trying to get at each others flesh. It takes him by surprise, what they do instead.

Brendan notices the champagne that Ste's had a member of staff place in a cooler.

"Not much, eh?" He says, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

"It's not the expensive kind." He doesn't know why he's talking himself down. Perhaps he wants to lower expectations. This day has been years in the making - years - and it seems impossible that it could live up to everything that they've both been dreaming.

They pour two glasses, clink them.

"Sláinte," Brendan says, and Ste tries to echo him. He doesn't get the pronunciation right -in his dialect, sláinte ends up sounding like it should originate from the back streets of Manchester. Brendan laughs, then laughs even harder when Ste tells him to shut up.

It's strong, this champagne. It doesn't take long for it to go to Ste's head. He can feel his tension ebb away, his laughter become louder, his tongue looser.

"It's good this stuff, ain't it?" He makes a grab for the bottle, trying to refill his glass. Brendan holds it out of reach.

"You can get drunk after I've had my wicked way with you." His eyes gleam in the weak light coming from the window.

"Isn't that the wrong way round?" Ste feels like he's playing a game, one that's old and familiar between them. It feels like they're dancing.

Brendan puts the glass down, does the same with Ste's. He tucks an imaginary strand of hair behind Ste's ear - it's been years since he had any sort of fringe to tuck - and his fingers stay in his hair, his other hand cupping his cheek. Ste closes his eyes. They've taken what they can get in visits; feet touching under the table, hands brushing, a quick kiss when they think they can get away with it. But this - this is different. There's no one to stop them now.

"Give me two secs," Ste says. Brendan groans, reluctant to release him. "I just need to freshen up." He didn't have time to brush his teeth this morning. There had been a burst pipe at the school, and he'd had to organise a babysitter for the kids while Amy was at work. He'd already been aware of her disapproving gaze on him as he'd called Mitzeee, asking her if she'd mind them. Amy hadn't said anything, but he'd known what she'd been thinking: If Brendan didn't exist, you'd be able to look after them. You'd be at home instead of going off to visit your jailbird.

He peels himself away from Brendan, smiling at the sight of the man: dick hard in his trousers, tongue peeking out from between parted lips, pupils dark and tracking him as he makes his way to the bathroom.

Ste grabs the bag he's brought with him, closing the door behind him, releasing a breath. He focuses on what he has to do, getting his toothpaste and toothbrush out, staring at his reflection as he does his teeth. His hair looks ruffled from where Brendan's hands have been. He's still got some of Cheryl's lipstick on his cheek, and a hint of red above his upper lip from where Brendan's beard has spiked against him. He feels clean now, untouched, but he knows how he'll look later this evening, groin and arsehole rubbed raw. He leans forward, pushing his crotch against the bathroom drawer across from him, creating a friction there that eases the pressure on his dick.

When he finishes brushing his teeth he sprays himself with deodorant, then gives himself a once over in the mirror, lifting his clothes up. He's kept himself unshaved on his body; he knows Brendan likes that, the hairs that surround his dick left to grow, the wispy ones across his chest not touched by a razor. He's wearing new underwear - crisp white boxer shorts - and he's been out in the sun lately, has got a tan. He thinks - he hopes - that he looks good.

He moves to open the door, but he can't go out. He stops, puts the lid of the toilet down and sits on it, breathing harshly, head in his hands. This is the moment. This is what he's been waiting for, but he can't move.

He's got more than he's ever had. Amy and the kids, and now the thing he's wanted most of all. It feels like an awful lot to lose. Too much.

"Steven?" There's a knock on the door: Brendan must have noticed his silence. When Ste doesn't say anything, the door opens slowly.

Brendan rushes to him, kneeling down on the floor, hands on Ste's knees.

"Hey, what's wrong? What is it?" He sounds panicked, and it makes Ste feel worse. "Has something happened?"

"No, nothing."

"Then why are you crying?" Brendan asks.

"I'm not." Ste presses a hand against his cheek, feeling the dampness there and realising that he is.

"Steven. Tell me." Brendan's voice is soft, his hands warm, stroking methodically in a way that Ste knows is meant to calm him. It's working.

"It's just..." He feels embarrassed. So acutely embarrassed. He's making a fool of himself. Brendan's been through hell - been through more than most people could withstand in a lifetime. Ste's meant to be the strong one now.

"What?" Brendan presses, still gentle.

"My life's perfect. Right now, with you... But life's not allowed to be perfect, is it? Not mine."

His eyes swim with tears. Brendan kisses them, licks them away with his tongue, and holds him.

"Maybe it is. Maybe this is our chance."

He kisses him until he stops crying.

::::::

Brendan

He runs Steven a bath, full to the brim. He puts bubbles in it until Steven resembles a youthful, slight Santa Claus, his face decorated with the stuff. Water splashes over the sides every time he moves, and more so when Brendan gets in. It's large enough for Brendan to sit opposite him and still have room to stretch his body out.

"Why the bath?" Steven asks. Brendan could tell that the boy was disappointed when he'd suggested it instead of fucking; bubbles weren't quite as good as cock, evidently.

"Meant to be soothing, isn't it?" He's not sure where he heard that from - Cheryl's mum, or Eileen, or some new age self help advice in the paper. He's glad he thought of it though; Steven looks more relaxed already, dipping his head under the water until he comes out glistening, his eyes no longer red with tears.

"Bet you missed this, didn't you? Showers were crap in prison."

"I don't know. I seem to remember we used them to our advantage."

Steven smiles across at him.

"You're all fuzzy."

"Hmm?" Brendan says. The heat of the water and the smell of the shower gel that Steven's used have made him drift off. He's half present, half somewhere else entirely.

"Your hair. It's..." The sentence doesn't seem to have an ending. Steven trails off, and after a moment Brendan begins to feel the boy's foot travelling up his chest, tickling it. Brendan grabs it, making Steven yelp and squirm.

"You'll make the water go on the floor," Brendan says, playing with the sole of Steven's foot.

"Get off then! You know I'm dead ticklish." Steven alternates between laughing and swearing at him. "Brendan!"

He relents, letting Steven go. "Little lower this time, Steven."

"Eh?"

"Your foot. Little lower." He opens his eyes, stares at Steven, knows that he's got the message when he feels his foot rubbing against his dick. Brendan shuffles forward a little, angling his hips to get the pressure where he wants it.

"That good?" He doesn't fool Brendan, this boy. He knows what he's doing. Brendan hums, Steven's foot moving faster now, getting the head of his cock with each push against him. It feels strange; he hasn't had anyone touch him like this in a long time. It's been his hand, clumsily jerking himself off in the shower or when he's woken up with an erection. He'd forgotten what it was like to be touched by someone who loves him.

He wants everything all at once. Do other men feel like this when they see the world again? Did Steven feel like this? He wants this, what's being done to him now, but he also wants Steven's mouth on him, wants to feel the slippery inside of him as Brendan takes him, bends him in half at the hips. He tries to remember that he has time. He has time.

"Are you okay?" Steven looks worried, can sense that he's not with him.

"I love you." The boy lights up like it's the first time he's heard it. Like every time's the first time.

Brendan expects him to say it back. When what he gets is do you want me to suck you off?, he laughs low in his throat.

"What?" He sounds affronted at his response.

"Yeah," Brendan says when his laughter dies down. He pushes off Steven's foot, spreads his legs. "Go on then."

He waits as Steven gets between his legs, dipping down. Brendan strokes his wet hair, rubbing his ears as the boy angles his head to the side, lapping at Brendan's dick with his tongue. He circles the head, eases back the foreskin, mmms and ahhhs as Brendan makes a muffled noise, trying to resist thrusting into Steven's mouth. He tries to be patient, tries to wait, but Steven's not making it easy on him: he's got Brendan's balls in his hand, has a finger smoothing across his hole, only kissing his cock instead of taking it down.

Brendan raises his knees, moves closer, hopes that the boy will ease up on the teasing.

He doesn't. He looks at Brendan as he licks round the head, little darting motions that make pre-come appear at his slit.

"Steven..." His tone is tinged with frustration. Just when he thinks Steven's going to torture him for ever, he stretches his mouth wide and takes him in.

Brendan bucks from the shock of it, water sloshing over the sides of the bath. He grips the edges, knuckles white and fingers tensed. He throws his head back, leaning against the cold end.

When Steven breaks off, Brendan struggles not to cry out.

"Rock into me." Steven's eyes are glazed, his mouth shining with saliva that's dribbled down his chin.

"What?"

"Fuck my mouth. Please." The please doesn't suit him: he's too carnal for manners.

Steven resumes his position, his warm lips secured around Brendan's dick. He starts slowly, rocking into the boy's mouth gently, watching him adjust to it. He coughs, splutters a few times - it's been a while for them both - but he eases himself into it, deep throats him after ten minutes of Brendan's dick being inside his mouth. Steven's eyes are shining, lines on his forehead from concentration, breathing through his nose as he uses his tongue and his lips and his hand until he has Brendan spilling down his throat.

Brendan hasn't tasted himself in a long time. When Steven kisses him there's a moment when he hesitates before he pulls the boy into his arms, kissing him back fiercely. Their tongues meet, another thing they haven't done in a while; Steven sits in Brendan's lap, wrapping himself around him, his erection pressing into Brendan's stomach.

"Will you..." Steven whispers, breathing hot into Brendan's ear, rubbing himself on him.

He incenses the boy, moving him off him and washing his hair for him. Steven's scowling at him, frown growing deeper when Brendan doesn't let him make himself come, taking both of Steven's hands in his own and pinning them to the side of the bath. Brendan kisses down his neck, doesn't stop until he's satisfied with how red it is from the scratch of his beard.

They wash themselves clean of soap and shower gel, warming up with towels freshly off the radiator. Steven looks tiny wrapped up in his, younger than his twenty five years. He'll be twenty six in a couple of months, the first birthday that they'll share together on the outside.

"Want to eat?" Steven asks.

"Aren't you full after that?"

Steven wrinkles his nose. "Don't be so nasty. Come on, let's order room service." He's excited - Brendan doesn't want to ask, but he would bet this is the boy's first time in a hotel.

Steven goes back into the bedroom, reaching for the information booklet left by the phone.

"They do a proper supper, all sorts. They've got fish. And steak. What do you think?"

"Whatever you want, Steven."

::::::

Ste

They lie on their backs on the bed, empty food wrappers and cutlery spread around them.

"We should probably clean this up," Brendan says, whilst making no movement to do so. It seems unlikely that he'll ever be able to move again.

"Leave it." Ste sighs. It's felt like a long time since it's been from contentment instead of worry.

They're silent. It stretches before them. It feels miraculous that they're together without the sound of doors slamming shut and officers footsteps pacing the floors. They know they're not alone in his hotel, but it feels like they're the only two people who exist.

"You're popular, you know."

Brendan turns towards Ste, propping himself up on his side. "Popular?" It feels like an alien concept when applied to him.

"There's a whole waiting list of people wanting to see you. Mitzeee. Ethan. Dom. Our Leah and Lucas."

"That's five people, Steven."

"That's not including your kids." Ste watches Brendan carefully, assessing his reaction. He's always reluctant to give away the details of his conversations with Declan and Padraig, but the kids have kept calling since Brendan first resumed contact. Declan's even suggested a trip to England for Christmas. He'll be over eighteen; he won't need Eileen's agreement anymore.

Brendan grunts in acknowledgement, his expression clouding briefly.

"What would a glamour model want with me?"

"I told you, she's not a glamour model. She just does shoots these days. Classy ones." Ste sounds like he's half trying to convince himself. "Mitzeee's really nice. I think you'd like her."

"What's her name again?"

"Mitzeee -"

"No, her real name," Brendan dismisses.

"Anne. Anne Minniver. She really wants to meet you."

"Wants to take a look at the local freak show, does she?"

"Stop it," Ste says. "You're not a freak." He sounds upset; Brendan drops it.

"Long as she's not after you anymore," Brendan mutters.

"No, 'course not. I told her ages ago. She got all excited, said that it's even hotter that I'm gay and going out with you. Don't know what she's on about to be honest. Girls are weird."

"Just tell her to keep her hands to herself."

Ste laughs, rolling closer to Brendan. "I like it when you get jealous." He kisses him, wiping away Brendan's frown. "Come on. Let's have the rest of this champagne."

"You're already drunk, you lightweight."

"No I'm not!" Ste's protest is badly timed. He sways on the spot as he pours from the bottle. "Shit. You don't think your Cheryl will mind, do you?"

"You can't do any wrong in her eyes. She thinks the sun shines out of your arse."

"You mean your's, right?"

Brendan laughs. "Maybe once, but..."

"But nothing," Ste interrupts, moving back towards the bed. It dips as he bounces on it, handing Brendan over his glass, taking a sip from his own. "She loves you. Always has, always will."

"I just..." His voice becomes quiet, his eyes turned downwards. "Sometimes I think about the trial, and..."

Ste kisses him; once, twice, three times. He holds Brendan's face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks, his lips, the curve of his nose.

"She told me how proud she was of you, you know."

Brendan looks up at him, taken aback.

"When?"

"Back when it all happened. I never told you, because...because you had enough to be dealing with, and I thought it would make you feel worse, knowing that we'd been talking about it. I didn't think you could take that much more. But she said it a lot, Bren. She kept on crying, kept on asking me how she didn't see it, what...you know, what Seamus was doing to you. But there were times when she smiled too. She smiled and told me that you were the best brother ever. I told her that you were dead protective, that you would do anything for the people you love, and she...she said that I didn't have to tell her, because she already knew. She already knew all of it."

Brendan can't speak.

::::::

His phone's vibrating. Ste picks it up.

"Who is it?" Brendan asks. He sounds surprised at the interruption; another reminder that there's a world outside of here.

"Doug." Ste continues quickly, sure that Brendan's going to come up with a remark. "He just said he hopes it's going well."

"Why wouldn't it be? What does he thinks I'm going to do, poison you?"

"Don't be daft." Ste puts the phone down, placing it in a drawer and closing it. "He's just trying to show that he cares."

"He doesn't care about me, Steven. Trust me."

"About me then. I told you, he promised to be on his best behaviour."

"We'll see how long that lasts now I'm out." Brendan crosses his arms. He doesn't look dissimilar to how Lucas is when he's in a sulk.

"If he starts anything then I'll have a word with him. You know I will." Ste sits beside him, looking at him until he sees Brendan's temper fraying. "Anyway, he's too busy with married life, isn't he? Next they'll be having kids."

"Poor Lynsey."

"Stop it. Come here."

They kiss. It deepens, Brendan putting a hand loosely down the front of Ste's trousers. The boy writhes under his touch, his cock thickening.

"You gonna give me what I want now?" He snaps at Brendan with his teeth, moving to straddle his lap.

"My trousers. There's condoms in them."

Ste notes the plural: condoms. They're going to be fucking all night. It creeps into his head then, the reminder that they're due at Cheryl's later tonight. He'd forgotten that he hadn't booked the hotel for more than a few hours.

He grabs the packet from Brendan's pants, feeling Brendan's hands all over him as he bends down. It's distracting, the way he's stroking over Ste's arse, across his thighs in a way that makes him shiver. He thought it would feel strange, touching him like this after so long. Being with him. He doesn't understand how it feels like coming home; like something is fitting back into place.

Ste's urgent now, giving Brendan's dick a few quick strokes, rolling the condom on, lubing it up with his spit while Brendan takes the bottle that he's been keeping at his bedside, stroking lubricant over Ste's rim and into it. Ste's spine arches; fingering himself isn't like this. He's never been with someone who's so sure, who knows so instinctively what he likes. He forgets about being fucked. He concentrates on the feel of Brendan's fingers lubing him. sinking back onto them, pleasure tingling inside him.

He doesn't let Brendan take them away.

"Jesus, Steven. I'm fucking bursting here." The condom's stretched so tight over his dick that it looks like it's going to rip.

"Just give me a minute." He flexes his hips, squeezes so his internal muscles are tight like a fist.

"You're gonna come."

"So?" Ste closes his eyes, rises and falls, bites into Brendan's shoulder.

"So, you selfish..." Brendan doesn't give him a choice; he pulls his fingers out, teases Ste with his cock grazing against the boy's arse until he takes it, angling it inside him.

They cry out, Brendan's back hitting the bed, Ste circling his hips, forcing himself down deeper until he gets Brendan's cock where he wants it. He's unrestrained, his moans echoing around the room.

They both feel the same as they always did, their insides slippery and smooth. It's chaotic: the sounds, the sweat, the sight of Ste's come landing on his stomach, Brendan propelled into following him moments later.

Their tongues are lazy when they kiss, their breathing slowing down to normal.

"Two years," Ste says into his mouth.

"Don't." Brendan doesn't want to be reminded of the past, not now; Ste's real and solid in his arms, the most real he's ever been.

"Sorry."

"You don't need to -" He doesn't want Ste to apologise. He just doesn't know how to explain how long he's waited for this. How it hasn't just been two years, or seven - it's been for ever. He's waited for ever for him.

Brendan draws the bed covers over them. Ste rests against his chest, hands trailing down him. His dick's softened, but he's still got that look - that look that Brendan would know anywhere. Brendan hikes Ste's leg up, goes in with two fingers, the resistance only slight now that he's filled him with his dick. Ste lets out a whine that dies almost immediately; he knows that Brendan's keeping him warm and loose for more.

They've still got hours to kill before Cheryl will be expecting them.

"What now?" Brendan asks. Time is an endless thing, stretching before them in the days and weeks and months and years ahead of them.

Ste turns to him, kissing him lightly, lips lingering.

"Let's go home, Brendan."