This fic will consist of the following five chapters: The Proposal, The Stag Do, The Wedding, The Honeymoon, The Anniversary.

I was going to write all this as part of my other fic 'Snapshots' (which I will be continuing) but decided to do it separately. The circumstances they're in are the same though, so Cheryl and Nate together in Ireland, Ste and Brendan in their own place, no prison but Brendan still dabbles in the occasional dodgy deal and gagster-crowded poker game. And that's ok.

XOXOXOXOXO

The Proposal

We're like an old married couple, aren't we? They already share a home, a mortgage, a life, a future, an unspoken expectation of being together forever. Course they're going to be; they wouldn't have ever gotten this far, returned to each other, if it hadn't been for the long-haul - for life-long commitment. It's a commitment that doesn't really need phrasing because it's so far etched in their veins, in their history. In the very fact they should never be here now, together, but against all odds they are. They made it.

And this weekend especially, Ste is practically giddy with how much he loves Brendan. It's been two and a half years since that December on the bridge. About five years since he first felt the heat of Brendan's touch. And here, now, things – on this weekend in particular – are amazing.

They're in Spain, and not alone. It's Cheryl's honeymoon of sort… although for whatever reason, she and Nate have made it a group affair. She's got a bunch of friends here from Ireland and University, and Nate's bought along a bunch of tight-upper-lipped friends from 'the boarding school days'. It's their way of 'sharing their love', 'sharing the adventure'. Doesn't make any sense at all to Brendan. There's around fifteen of them in total, being hauled into a minibus from the airport to the hotel – his idea of a nightmare. But then it still feels remotely intimate between Ste and Brendan that weekend. They sit in the back of the minibus talking in hushed tones that their rowdy party can't hear. Exchanging in-jokes and then falling into silence, and Ste's head rests against Brendan's shoulder and Brendan doesn't flinch from it, even though there are so many people in company. Ste feels the swell then; the flurry of butterflies, even after all this time. He presses a kiss to Brendan's shoulder.

And then later they're getting ready to join the others for dinner, but they never make it out of the room. The sex that night is rough and oh-so-pleasurable and Ste's climax is made with a series of loud, almost painful-sounding moans, and Brendan holds his hips tightly and rides him through it, relentless on him. Ste lies on the bed reeling from his comedown, stars in his eyes – however cliché that might sound. He can't even move or speak for a good few minutes, but as soon as he can he crawls against Brendan's body, nuzzles into his neck, tells him he loves him.

"Love you too." Brendan says, in a deep gruff tone that's intimate and earnest.

Ste makes sure to sleep right there, as close against Brendan as he can be, nose pressed into Brendan's neck. And even though it's maddeningly warm and sticky in the room, he never moves and Brendan never asks him to, and they wake up like that – with identical smiles; giddy.

"Nice of you to join us." Cheryl snips pointedly when they arrive downstairs for breakfast.

But they hardly join them then, either. They sit around the table with the other thirteen people, but engrossed in their own world of just the two of them. Ste knows he's been rude, knows he should make more of an effort with Cheryl and her friends, but he feels so in love. Not like he ever fell out of it, but he's high on it now; feels like it's his honeymoon. He has to bite his tongue to refrain from telling Brendan too often, I love ya so much, you know.

At the beach Ste plays football with some of the lads and Brendan sits (dressed in all black as though it isn't 35 degrees) reading some book on the lounger. He will glance up every few minutes to watch Ste running in his swimming trunks, chest trickling with sweat, hair up on ends. He's sexy when he plays sport.

When Ste gets bored he climbs onto Brendan's lounger with him, lays alongside him for about three minutes before getting bored of Brendan's attention being elsewhere. He bites down on the corner of Brendan's book – leaving teeth marks there.

Brendan smirks, looks up lazily. "Did ye want something, Steven?"

"S'that a good book, is it?"

"It's alright."

"What's it about?"

"Bad guys." Brendan says, eyes glinting mischievously and the tone of his voice rushing straight to Ste's groin.

Ste only leans in for a quick kiss because he doesn't expect more from Brendan when they're in such a public place. But Brendan wraps a hand around the back of Ste's neck, pulls him in and makes the kiss deeper. And suddenly their tongues are wrapped and they exchange tastes with sensual, sloppy, lazy lust. And Ste's bare leg is wrapping over Brendan's fully clothed body like they're putting on a bloody performance for their public.

It takes all of Brendan's inner power to not push his hand into Ste's swimming trunks, squeeze his arse, finger him and have Ste turn putty on top of him. The lad's already got a hard-on pushed against Brendan's leg. Brendan pulls the towel from underneath himself, drapes it over Ste so that nobody can share the view. They pull back from the kiss languidly, lips clinging until the last possible moment, and then share a smile that Brendan hopes nobody sees. That smile would ruin his reputation more so than any of this.

XOXOXOXOXOX

So, when are you two getting hitched?

It's a question they've heard before; from Cheryl, from Nate, some of Brendan's gobby bar staff. Brendan will always reply with a short, unfelt smile that means 'yeah, yeah, shut up'.

He's thought about it, sure. He's wondered many a time if that's what Steven wants… if he's waiting expectantly for Brendan to get down on his knee and hold up a ring and tell Ste he wants to make this 'official'… as though it isn't already.

But marriages don't go down well. They break down. The two parties become bound by law, not love, and grow resentful of it. There's nagging, there's reluctant compromises, there's passive-aggression to the point where the parties can't bear the sound of one anothers voices. There's Brendan's father; the filth, the scumbag, the cheat – who could gloat with his friends about his wife's insignificance to him. There's Eileen; victim of a sham marriage, accepting all too readily that sex wasn't going to play a major part in their relationship, falling into the routine of formalised sex fast after saying 'I do'. There's Cheryl; inviting friends on her honeymoon already, exchanging pecks, growing irritated by Nate's bad habits, arguing about it – but not with fire or passion, just genuine distaste; a marriage Brendan predicts won't last forever, because his little sister – unfortunately – will get bored.

And then there's Steven, who's been married before.

And maybe that's a little… or a large… part of Brendan's problem.

"Gimme a piggy back!" Ste slurs, and he's already climbing aboard before Brendan can protest; his honking laughter loud in Brendan's ear.

He's drunk. He's matching the same annihilated levels as the young folk in Cheryl's entourage, and yet he's still separate from them. He still sits with Brendan in the bar, whispering in Brendan's ear - filth, like the filthy little fuck he is. They still walk behind everybody now, Brendan having no choice but to let Ste dangle from around his neck like he wants to.

"I love ya so much, you know." Ste chimes; boozy breath close against Brendan's ear.

Only their private world gets interrupted on this occasion, because Ash turns around then – having overheard – and says, "So? Do I hear wedding bells?" and there's that question again.

"That's the ringing in your ear." Brendan says shortly.

"Oh come on." Ash says, pushing her luck. "You must be planning on proposing at some point."

"Ey, who says he's the one that does the proposin'?!" Ste calls drunkenly from his piggy-back position.

Ash turns back then – returns to the hijinks of her drunken peers – and Ste and Brendan are engulfed in the world of just each other once more. And Brendan turns his head to meet Ste's eye and says, very seriously, "I'm the one that proposes."

He can feel Ste's giddiness practically radiating off him.

That's that settled then – he is waiting.

XOXOXOXOXOX

When they get back to the hotel Ste drops down onto the bed, face first, is quiet for a minute and then starts snorting with laughter; appreciating his own hilarity for being this drunk. Brendan watches him thoughtfully, watches how he climbs out of his tshirt and his back is sunburnt, how he wriggles his bum when he gets out of his tracksuit trousers, how his socks have left small imprints around his ankles, how his physique has become more manly, more grown-up, then Brendan truly gives him credit for.

Brendan will spend the rest of his life loving Steven, for that there is no doubt. He's never felt so connected, so accepted, so understood by anybody in his whole life. But it's not just that. Steven could hate him and Brendan would still love him, and he thinks of that now whilst watching him, because he's so fond of the boy… man. He's so compelled, fascinated, so ridiculously attracted to him that he's in awe of him. And he knows Steven doesn't know that, but he should. Maybe one day Brendan will get to the place where he can tell him that, and not feel embarrassment for it.

"Steven." He says, to get his attention because Ste's busy pouring the sand out of his trainers.

"Mm?"

"I don't know if men should get married."

He doesn't mean for it to come out like that – blunt and from nowhere. But it's the reason… one of the many reasons… that throughout these last two years the toying of marriage has amounted to no ring, no proposal. And he wants to talk about it – needs to because he felt excitement fluttering off Ste earlier and he doesn't want to make him wait his whole life in futile anticipation.

Ste seems momentarily perturbed by the subject matter, has to sober himself slightly to make sense of it, but then asks "Why?"

"Because. Marriage is… y'know, it's a religious thing."

"Is it?"

He knows it is, but of course to Ste marriage is an act of romanticism; a physical, lawful, fanatical sign of everlasting devotion. Ste never does give thought to God – doesn't really seem to have much of an opinion on it. He approaches Brendan's religiousness by being slightly baffled and maybe intimidated by it, preferring to say nothing.

"It wasn't designed for two men; it was designed for men and women. That's not to say we shouldn't be together just… y'know, I don't know if it's right… to get married."

The room lingers with Ste's baffled, intimidated silence now.

He's disappointed.

"But some churches don't mind though, do they?" He says quietly… as if unsure if his facts are right.

"Yeah but it's not for them to say." Brendan reasons.

"It's for God to say?"

He's really disappointed. It glimmers in his slightly bloodshot eyes. The swell of adoration and excitement he felt earlier - when he was on Brendan's shoulders - is draining from him before Brendan's very eyes.

Brendan's so sick of disappointing him. He's seen this and done this so often over the years.

And he does want to get married. A huge part of him loves the idea. That's what he was raised with; that catholic belief – marry, settle down, start a family.

"I'm not saying no." He says. "I'm just saying."

He wishes he'd let Steven put some clothes on before announcing this, because now he looks vulnerable; half-naked and bubble-burst and speechless and drunk.

But then he seems to snap out of it.

It's like he takes his disappointment and tosses it away… he takes Brendan's shortcomings and accepts them – like always. He slides up to Brendan and wraps his arms around Brendan's neck, kisses him firmly and leisurely on the lips and says, "We've 'ad such a good weekend, haven't we? We should go away more often."

Just like that. Like Brendan hasn't just crushed him – ruined it.

"Yeah." Brendan says, kisses back, "We should."

"And y'know, I don't really care about weddings and all that sorta stuff. I just thought you'd look dead good in one of them tailcoats, that's all."

"I wouldn't wear a tailcoat." Brendan says flatly. That's not happening.

"What would you wear?"

"My birthday suit."

Ste grins. "Oh yeah, I bet God'll love that."

"He should. My birthday suit's some of his finest work."

Ste snorts with laughter, might retort about what a cocky arsehole Brendan is but he gets distracted before he can, his eyes trailing down Brendan's body – mentally undressing him.

Brendan's cock stirs.

"So go on then," Brendan says softly, "What would you be wearin'?"

"What would you want me to wear?"

"You look pretty good right now." Brendan says. "Except…" he pulls the top of Ste's boxers back, releases and lets them ping – marking Ste's skin with a line of red "Except maybe for these."

Truth is though; if Ste were to get married naked then Brendan would have to be in a suit. It does things to him; Steven all undressed, naked thighs wrapped around Brendan's fully clothed body. Ste likes it too; loves it when Brendan plays boss.

Ste's shuffling out of his boxers now.

"So like this?" He asks, eyes glimmering – glazed with lust and drink and excitement.

"Mm."

Brendan presses his tongue between his teeth, watching Ste undress, eyes trailing provocatively up and down the younger mans body. He'll never grow tired of it. He'll never stop obsessing over the pointed tips of Ste's hip-bones, the tattoo rested teasingly just above the tip. All he has to do is think about the thin trail of hair from Steven's belly-button to his groin, and it gets him going like nobody's business… especially when the trail is damp with sweat or saliva. The gentle curve of his arse-cheeks, small birthmark on the lower right-hand-side of his back and random scattering of near-invisible freckles around his collarbone. He fixes his eyes now on Steven's tongue, swiping heatedly across his top lip.

Brendan lowers himself down on top of him, pushing Ste's body back against the bed till they're chest to chest, nose-to-nose, pupils diluting, breaths shortening.

"Priest would have a field day." He says provocatively, lips ghosting across Ste's ear.

"And then we'd come back and we'd do this." Ste replies, already slightly breathless.

Brendan hooks his fingers under Ste's thighs, pulls his legs and wraps them around himself, naked thighs tight around Armani suit.

"Like this?"

Steven likes it face to face. He likes to see what he does to Brendan. He likes to kiss him, touch foreheads with him… smile tenderly at him, even at times where that tenderness contradicts everything Brendan's cock is doing to him.

So its natural for Brendan to assume – in the hypothetical situation of marriage – that Ste would want to come home and be fucked relentlessly, face to face, lip-locked – crude pleads and curse words breathing hotly into one anothers mouths.

But Ste right now wants something different.

He slides down the bed, still trapped beneath Brendan's body but with enough room with wriggle downwards until his face has disappeared to be level with Brendan's cock.

He wants it like this today. He wants to pull down Brendan's zipper, pull him from his trousers and put it in his mouth. He wants Brendan to push the size and weight down on him, into his throat, and show him that he can take it. And he does. Takes it like a fucking pro, like he was made for Brendan's size.

Brendan thrusts willingly into that warm, wet, familiar mouth… sighs and shivers as Ste laps at him, his plump lips growing red with the combination of saliva and pre-come. Brendan holds Ste's head at each side, fingers twisting with affection into the strands of his hair, and trying not to pull. But every time Ste swallows Brendan down to the back of his throat it gets harder not to lose it. Brendan looks down at him on his knees, eyelashes splayed upwards as he gazes up for recognition… his eyes watering slightly from the persistence of his swallowing.

"Fffffuck Steven," Brendan groans.

Ste releases Brendan slowly, with a sloppy pop and a small trail of pre-come that flicks from the end of Brendan's dick onto the shine of Ste's chest. He smiles briefly, proud of himself, is about to say something…

But he doesn't get time because Brendan suddenly tugs him by the ankles, lifts him practically upside down. Ste's momentarily disorientated by this new position; his chin against his chest, his eyes trying to find Brendan's … but not in time before Brendan's tongue delves into him.

"Urrhh,ffff…" Ste gasps, tongue-tied; voice wrangled and choked through pleasure and his upside-down position.

Brendan never holds back with this. He consumes Steven like a last meal, coating his hole in saliva till he's wet all over with it, pushing through the resistance until his tongue is right inside. He works Ste's hole like only he could – with instinctive flair, unrelenting precision, accustomed skill. He has Ste turning putty beneath him till Brendan has to physically hold him upright; hoisting him by the ankles, pushing Ste's knees to the ground so they're level with his head, Brendan's right hand gripped to Ste's hip to keep his arse steady and deliciously presented to him.

"Ohmugod…" Ste mumbles, near incoherent, and for the second time tries to pull away like the eager little bastard he is, trying to move things forward, get Brendan's dick in him, feel that hard pressure.

But Brendan's having none of that, not yet.

Sometimes he'll go hard on Steven – will barely even prep him – he'll just have him against a wall or table with tight, raw, burning pressure. Other times they may have found themselves in a more obscure situation; bodies pressed and moving together leisurely like they'll stretch all of the time in the world out just to be entwined together like this… the closeness first… pressure and pleasure second. Other times, like today, Brendan will put everything into tormenting… getting Ste desperate, positively begging, literally gagging for it.

He folds Ste over the bed, runs his palms over Ste's arse – already ready and open and inviting, but he's not getting what he wants yet. He delves a single finger inside… once… and withdraws.

Ste lets out a short, frustrated sigh – provoking a smirk of satisfaction from his lover.

Brendan spanks him, hard. Delights in the way Ste's arse tenses and the small 'hmph' that escapes his mouth unwillingly.

"Patience." He drawls.

Ste sighs again. Irritated this time.

It would be funny if Brendan couldn't feel his own cock straining, his own resolve wavering. Ste's arse is so fucking tempting; red hand marks and hole opening and closing in shameless invitation. He slides his dick (the only part of him unconcealed by clothing) against Ste's entrance a couple of times, slow at first and then fast, sharp – a promise of what's to come. It drives Ste mad and Brendan likes how he arches back, toes clenched, fingers gripping the hotel bed-sheets, bum pushing forcefully back into Brendan's groin.

"C'mon," He hisses, "Brendan…"

"You gotta wait your turn." Brendan says, and is impressed with his own ability to sound nonchalant.

He sucks on his own two fingers, sloppy and unhurried and releases with a crude pop like Ste's earlier wet-mouthed creation.

He takes hold of Ste's right leg and casually flips him so he's sat on the edge of the bed, forward facing. Then pushes him backwards with a firm nudge to the chest. Ste falls backwards with a thud, his eyes darkened with impatience and lust like he's only tolerating this manhandling because Brendan's on his last warning. He wants to get fucked – now.

Brendan penetrates him with his two fingers; quick, sudden, unapologetic. He twists, delves, toys and strokes – feels Ste clench and jerk around him as he submerges his fingers into the tight, sticky heat.

"Oh, God." Ste moans – sulk momentarily withheld as his head falls back deliriously.

"That's it," Brendan breathes, watches with heated eyes as Ste squirms around him. He can pinpoint every crease and shudder of pleasure in him… can detect it in every shiver of his chest, tremble of his stomach, grasp of his fingers and clench of his toes. He can feel the tension mounting inside his lovers smaller body as Brendan thrusts his fingers in an out of him, strokes leisurely up and down his cock, slicks his finger over the tip and spreads the pre-come around his slit.

He's getting close.

He's losing it, head rocking, moans caressing that point in Brendan's eardrum that shoots right to his groin.

Enough of this.

He pulls his fingers out fiercely, allowing the ghost of cold air and frustration to penetrate Ste's insides instead. He's about to get a mouthful … Ste sits up; hot, sweaty, flustered, on edge, and retorts with aggravation, "Brendan I…"

But Brendan's already laid himself back on the bed, head resting on his arms, his body still fully suited apart from his cock standing proud and stick slicked with Ste's dried salvia.

"Make yourself come." He orders.

Ste doesn't need any more persuasion.

Brendan revels in the slight quiver of Ste's legs as Ste climbs over Brendan's body. He lowers himself down… and Brendan feels the tight, eager, warm heat engorge his dick. He feels Ste sinking himself deeper and deeper downwards, trembling gasps emitting from him as he does so. He's not going to last long.

But Brendan's not going to do anything. He keeps his hands determinedly behind his head, ignoring all instinct, and watches – entranced – as Ste fucks himself up and down, up and down, up and down on Brendan's hardness. He watches himself disappear and reappear repeatedly into that hot tense space. He lets Ste get lost in it – forehead creased, lips bit between his teeth, gasps and moans escaping more heatedly… louder… more obscene…

Brendan grits his teeth, tries to hold it together as Ste comes, his buttocks clenching tightly around Brendan's cock, his cry coming out strained and needy and so blissfully familiar that it takes all Brendan's got not to come in time with him.

He lets the moment pass… lets Ste collapse down onto Brendan's chest; breathing laboured, forehead sweaty, come trickling between their stomachs.

Then Brendan takes firm grip of Ste's hips… and pounds into him.

Ste gasps a fractured moan of surprise, body jolting, as Brendan drills him – relentless, unyielding, punishing – just how Ste likes it.

He lasts all of three minutes; balls smacking harshly against Ste's arse as he fucks him hard, deep, insistent… and then comes right up inside of him, and Ste makes gasping noises as though it's his own orgasm all over again… so overcome he is by the pressure, by how much he fucking loves to have Brendan lose it in him.

Brendan will never ever grow tired of this.

And it's a good thing, because he knows full-heartedly – like he's never been sure of anything – that Ste is going to be here, with him. Always. It's a feeling like nothing he's experienced before, to just know and trust something like that.

They don't need a wedding ring to confirm what's inevitable. But Brendan owes Ste so much. Owes him the world because of the way Ste loves him: knowingly, unconditionally, sacrificially… but also still naively, in a way. Like the way he grew excited earlier, thinking Brendan would propose. Ste still believes things of Brendan that Brendan can't believe of himself… that he can't deliver on.

But that belief makes him think he can. Makes him owe it… to both of them.

"Lets do it then." He says quietly, as Ste nestles sleepily into the crook of his neck.

"Hm?"

"Lets do it. Y'know. Tie the knot… all that stuff."

There's silence for a minute where Brendan waits for Ste to grow nervous.

But then Ste sits up. Even in the slight darkness of the room, Brendan can see his eyes glowering with amazement… excitement…

"Really?!"

Fuck it. Yes. Yes! Fucking yes; he's never been so sure! Now he's said it, it seems entirely obvious. Entirely necessary like they have to do it now, as soon as possible. He has to hold Ste up, in front of God, and say look what I've got!

"Yeah." He says… and finds himself grinning… in a goofy way that almost mirror's Steven's. Christ. "Yeah. Let's get hitched, kid."