Fic: "The Walking Dead"
Title: The Walking Dead
Story Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Hollyoaks
Pairing: Ste/Brendan
Word Count: 739 words
Disclaimer: I don't own the folk in Chester. If I did, Hollyoaks wouldn't be shown pre-watershed.
Summary: Just because you're alive it doesn't mean you're living. Dark future-fic that shows Brendan and Ste's relationship if it continues being destructive.
Notes: Quite possibly the most depressing thing I've ever written. For the ste_brendan Goodbye Prompt.
Link:
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The Walking Dead
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Brendan had seen that look only once before.
Years ago, it had stared back at him from another face. A paler face. Bloodied and still and belonging to a man who had fallen at Brendan's hand; crumpled and lifeless at his feet.
Danny Houston's eyes had been open when he died. It was ironic because Brendan saw them every time he closed his own. Blank, emotionless, souless eyes that haunted him in his sleep.
He had done that for Stephen. So Stephen would live. This life they shared, however? It wasn't living.
"Fuck," Brendan groaned when he reached climax, collapsing on top of the slight man under him. His moustasche tickled the side of Stephen's neck as Stephen rode out his own orgasm, a hand clutching at Brendan's bicep so desperately that the cross tattoo distorted into something unrecognisable under Stephen's fingers.
Breathing heavily, Brendan mouthed at Stephen's lips, ready to drink in his moans of want but they never came. He barely made a sound in bed any more. Brendan couldn't remember the last time he had.
The post-coital haze clung to them as they lay entangled afterwards, limbs numb, lips panting but tongues saying nothing. They never really spoke much anymore either.
Brendan had convinced himself he didn't care.
Finding enough strength to detach himself from Stephen, Brendan reared back to place a finger under Stephen's chin, lifting it up to get a clear look at his face. Stephen's eyes were shut and a sunset-coloured bruise marred his cheekbone. Brendan's knuckles throbbed with the memory as he cocked his head and stared at him.
He was always so pretty, was Stephen. He consisted mainly of skinny limbs and knobbly joints but that face,that skin, those eyes. They did things to Brendan. Stirred things in him that no one else ever had. It was why Brendan could never get enough of him. It was why Brendan loved him.
It was also why Brendan hated him.
"I'd like to see me kids," Stephen suddenly said into the quiet, eyes still shut, Brendan's finger still under his chin. He then fluttered his eyelids open and fixed a blank, expectant gaze on Brendan.
It took Brendan a moment to realise that he was being asked for permission. He swallowed down the bile rising from his throat.
"Yeah... yeah, of course," he said, his voice strangely rough as he watched Stephen nod before slipping out from under him and getting to his feet. He picked up items of wayward clothing and began to pull them on methodically.
Brendan watched, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of something, like it was suffocating him and making it impossible for him to breathe. His mouth tasted like ash as he tried to think of something to say, something that would lift this pressure off his chest.
"You take the night off, yeah?" Brendan found himself saying in a voice he didn't recognise. "Spend some time with Leah and Lucas."
Ste stopped zipping up his hoodie and turned to look at him.
Brendan remembered when they had first met. Stephen had been a right gobby little shit back then, his smirk a little crooked but charming in spite of this.
Brendan couldn't remember the last time he had seen his smile.
"Ta." Ste nodded simply and carried on dressing.
Brendan just lay there and bore his eyes into Stephen, observing familiar movements. Hands pulling a belt to its tightest notch, fingers tying dirty laces... Brendan had memorised the ritual. They had done this a hundred times. Yet every time they did, he felt Stephen slipping further and further away from him.
The thought made him unconsciously get to his feet. This movement made Stephen immediately jump back, his eyes suddenly wide and fearful.
Brendan felt his chest tighten.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, Stephen..." he said but he knew it was a lie. They both knew it was. He just lost his temper sometimes. He didn't mean to hurt him. He didn't want to do it. Stephen just pushed his buttons sometimes. And Stephen knew what happened when his buttons were pushed.
Gulping, Stephen just nodded, taking a mini step back.
"I... I'll be back later," Stephen said almost shakily and Brendan found himself nodding as he tightened his jaw, knowing he would be back.
Because Stephen always came back. But as he watched Stephen leave the room, Brendan suddenly realised something.
The real Stephen had left him a long time ago.
Story Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Hollyoaks
Pairing: Ste/Brendan
Word Count: 739 words
Disclaimer: I don't own the folk in Chester. If I did, Hollyoaks wouldn't be shown pre-watershed.
Summary: Just because you're alive it doesn't mean you're living. Dark future-fic that shows Brendan and Ste's relationship if it continues being destructive.
Notes: Quite possibly the most depressing thing I've ever written. For the ste_brendan Goodbye Prompt.
Link:
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
The Walking Dead
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Brendan had seen that look only once before.
Years ago, it had stared back at him from another face. A paler face. Bloodied and still and belonging to a man who had fallen at Brendan's hand; crumpled and lifeless at his feet.
Danny Houston's eyes had been open when he died. It was ironic because Brendan saw them every time he closed his own. Blank, emotionless, souless eyes that haunted him in his sleep.
He had done that for Stephen. So Stephen would live. This life they shared, however? It wasn't living.
"Fuck," Brendan groaned when he reached climax, collapsing on top of the slight man under him. His moustasche tickled the side of Stephen's neck as Stephen rode out his own orgasm, a hand clutching at Brendan's bicep so desperately that the cross tattoo distorted into something unrecognisable under Stephen's fingers.
Breathing heavily, Brendan mouthed at Stephen's lips, ready to drink in his moans of want but they never came. He barely made a sound in bed any more. Brendan couldn't remember the last time he had.
The post-coital haze clung to them as they lay entangled afterwards, limbs numb, lips panting but tongues saying nothing. They never really spoke much anymore either.
Brendan had convinced himself he didn't care.
Finding enough strength to detach himself from Stephen, Brendan reared back to place a finger under Stephen's chin, lifting it up to get a clear look at his face. Stephen's eyes were shut and a sunset-coloured bruise marred his cheekbone. Brendan's knuckles throbbed with the memory as he cocked his head and stared at him.
He was always so pretty, was Stephen. He consisted mainly of skinny limbs and knobbly joints but that face,that skin, those eyes. They did things to Brendan. Stirred things in him that no one else ever had. It was why Brendan could never get enough of him. It was why Brendan loved him.
It was also why Brendan hated him.
"I'd like to see me kids," Stephen suddenly said into the quiet, eyes still shut, Brendan's finger still under his chin. He then fluttered his eyelids open and fixed a blank, expectant gaze on Brendan.
It took Brendan a moment to realise that he was being asked for permission. He swallowed down the bile rising from his throat.
"Yeah... yeah, of course," he said, his voice strangely rough as he watched Stephen nod before slipping out from under him and getting to his feet. He picked up items of wayward clothing and began to pull them on methodically.
Brendan watched, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of something, like it was suffocating him and making it impossible for him to breathe. His mouth tasted like ash as he tried to think of something to say, something that would lift this pressure off his chest.
"You take the night off, yeah?" Brendan found himself saying in a voice he didn't recognise. "Spend some time with Leah and Lucas."
Ste stopped zipping up his hoodie and turned to look at him.
Brendan remembered when they had first met. Stephen had been a right gobby little shit back then, his smirk a little crooked but charming in spite of this.
Brendan couldn't remember the last time he had seen his smile.
"Ta." Ste nodded simply and carried on dressing.
Brendan just lay there and bore his eyes into Stephen, observing familiar movements. Hands pulling a belt to its tightest notch, fingers tying dirty laces... Brendan had memorised the ritual. They had done this a hundred times. Yet every time they did, he felt Stephen slipping further and further away from him.
The thought made him unconsciously get to his feet. This movement made Stephen immediately jump back, his eyes suddenly wide and fearful.
Brendan felt his chest tighten.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, Stephen..." he said but he knew it was a lie. They both knew it was. He just lost his temper sometimes. He didn't mean to hurt him. He didn't want to do it. Stephen just pushed his buttons sometimes. And Stephen knew what happened when his buttons were pushed.
Gulping, Stephen just nodded, taking a mini step back.
"I... I'll be back later," Stephen said almost shakily and Brendan found himself nodding as he tightened his jaw, knowing he would be back.
Because Stephen always came back. But as he watched Stephen leave the room, Brendan suddenly realised something.
The real Stephen had left him a long time ago.