Note: Thank you to everyone who's been reading this fic, especially those who have been following the story since Breaking Rules, which started in March last year. All the reviews and comments have been much appreciated.

Final chapter

Macca was living in Brendan's house, but wasn't seeing much of him. Malachy's death had for some reason jolted Brendan into a burst of activity, and he was out most of the time getting everything set up for Chez Chez's takeover of the SU Bar, and doing whatever else he did to fill his time. When he was at home, he was taking care of Cheryl and trying to cheer her up; or he'd disappear into his bedroom with a bottle of Jameson's. Cheryl wasn't around much either. She was spending time with Steph's family and with the McQueens – some kind of post-traumatic bonding seemed to be going on – and throwing herself into Brendan's plans for the club.

Occasionally, Brendan would stop and look at Macca, and ask, Still here? And Macca would respond laconically, Looks like it, or Nothing gets past you, does it? in the hope of provoking a reaction. This morning, Brendan had asked the question Macca had been expecting for a bafflingly long time: whether he'd been saying things about Brendan. Perhaps at last he had got wind of the chat Macca had had with Rae at the hospital.

"Someone's putting it around that I'm batting for the other team."

"You wouldn't want that getting out now, would you?" Macca expected at least a shove or a grab for that, but there was nothing.

Apparently somebody had outed him to Cheryl, but to Macca's surprise, Brendan accepted his plea of ignorance.

"If I find out you've said anything..." Brendan had snatched Macca's newspaper from him. "Book your plane home today."

Then he'd hit Macca on the back of the head with the paper, and left. Fucking hell, by the usual measure of Brendan's violence, that was practically a kiss. And it didn't make Macca any more inclined to give up and go home to Belfast.

Macca headed out for a walk, and that was when he met Ste: in fact it turned out that Ste was coming looking for him, to find out if Brendan had been on his case.

"About his sexual ambiguity?" It was odd, but a relief after all this time, to talk to someone who shared this secret.

"So he has."

"Yep."

Ste was surprised that Macca was still in one piece. He must have been on the receiving end of Brendan's temper too, then, to know about Brendan's habit of beating his boyfriends.

"Macca, how can he be so nice, and then lose it?"

That confirmed it, and Macca felt a stab of jealousy that someone else had this knowledge of Brendan. He needed to find out how far gone Ste was, whether he was likely to walk away; so he suggested they go for a drink. And to be mischievous – and because it was somewhere they wouldn't run into Brendan – he told Ste he would take him to a gay bar. Ste squirmed a bit, looked awkward, got a bit testy when Macca said someone might ask him to dance; but he was open to it. Christ, Macca could see why Brendan fancied him: he was up for a scrap, easy to tease, malleable, and so, so innocent. Vulnerable too. Macca found himself putting an arm around Ste's shoulders and promising to look after him.

"It's a long walk or a short bus ride, Ste. What do you want to do?"

"Erm, let's walk it then, eh?"

The quickest way was through the park, and they talked as they went. Ste spoke about his his children, his time with Amy; maybe it was the thought of going to a gay pub that made him want to big-up his heterosexual credentials. Brendan must have had to put in a lot of work to turn him.

"When did you and Bren get together, then?" Macca asked.

"Well, I've known him ever since him and Cheryl opened the club, but we didn't... erm... About a month ago I s'pose."

"And you're together now, yeah?"

"No. I don't know... I don't think so."

"Why's that then?"

"I can't tell you."

They didn't talk for a while then, until Macca broke the ice when they neared the pub.

"I'd have killed for a beer when I was in hospital. Might have made the days go quicker."

"Did Brendan... It was him that put you there, wasn't it?"

Macca didn't answer. Ste wouldn't understand how Macca could stick around with a man who'd done that to him: it must look pretty sick from the outside. Or maybe Ste would understand, and that would be worse, because that would mean Ste would go back to him too.

They got their drinks.

Macca couldn't help liking Ste; he was a decent lad, and didn't kick off when Macca asked personal questions. Didn't always answer them, though.

"So, you in love with him then?" Macca asked.

"I've got a girlfriend."

None the wiser.

They went and sat down at a secluded table. Now, it was Ste's turn to ask a question.

"So, you're like proper gay, you, aren't you?"

"I'm in love with a guy, and I followed him to England. Guess I must be."

Maybe if Ste knew that – knew how Macca felt – he would cut his losses and leave Brendan alone before he got in any deeper, and before anyone else got hurt. And Ste was saying that even now, after what he'd done with Brendan, he wasn't proper gay. Well, Macca doubted that, and reckoned that if Ste found someone new, someone he wasn't scared of, then he'd realise that what Brendan had awakened in him was who he really was. Macca gave him a nudge in that direction.

"Maybe, being a bit unsure about what you are, means... you've got to try it to find out the truth." Gently, he kissed him; Ste barely hesitated before responding, and then Macca pulled away. "See, the world hasn't come crashing down now, has it?"

Ste looked around like a startled animal.

They drank in silence for a while. Ste looked deep in thought. Eventually, Macca reassured him that, nice though the kiss had been, he needn't worry, because he wasn't Macca's type. That wasn't strictly true though: if he'd met him a couple of years ago, Ste would have been exactly Macca's type. Just, not any more: not since Brendan had come along and changed his tastes somewhat.

They talked about Ste's past: Brendan was his first, just as Macca had thought. And they talked about Brendan's violence. Ste had worked out that it stemmed from his closetedness, and Macca tried to get through to him that it wouldn't always be like that, not with other men. It was funny, Macca had intended to try to put Ste off to get him out of the way, but now, he had warmed to him, and was genuinely telling him for his own good. Maybe Brendan saw this in Ste, this need for protection; only, Brendan's response was to isolate and control him. It felt familiar.

Ste looked troubled.

"What's up?"

"It's just, Brendan." He paused. "I think he tried to kill Amy in that fire."

"Really?" Macca already knew that Ste suspected this, because Rae had told him so; but he didn't let on that she'd said anything.

"Cos, she knew about me and him, and he didn't like it." Ste stopped himself then, as if he knew he'd said too much, and went off to the loo.

Macca sat and finished his drink. So, Ste really thought Brendan had done it. That was what had split them up. Macca, although he'd told Rae that Brendan was capable of anything, didn't think for a moment that he was the arsonist. He'd seen how he was with Eileen and their kids over the years, and never once thought that he would hurt them. Sure, it was different if they were other people's, but no: women and children weren't in danger from Brendan. Ste was wrong.

Macca went outside to wait for him.

:::::::

Brendan had let things lie for a bit. Aside from the club, Cheryl was his priority right now, and he didn't want to stir things up and show her how rattled he was by her accusing him of being queer. He'd made the odd dig at Macca to try to get him to leave, but it wasn't until this morning that he'd asked him outright whether he'd been talking to Cheryl. Macca denied it, and Brendan believed him: he could always tell if that boy was lying.

He'd been trying to contact Stephen, and finally he answered his phone. He denied it too, and although Brendan only had his voice to go on, he was inclined to believe him too.

A few minutes later, he saw them together in the street, Stephen and Macca. What the fuck were they up to? The only thing they had in common was Brendan.

As they set off together, he followed them. He had to keep his distance so that they wouldn't see him, and once they reached their destination, he hesitated: it was a gay bar. Fuck. He almost turned away, but his disgust was overruled by his need to know what those two boys were talking about, and he went in.

Brendan saw where they were sitting and got as close as he could, but he could only catch the odd word. He saw them, though: he saw them kiss, and his stomach tightened into a knot.

He waited. Eventually Stephen went off to the toilets, and after a minute or two, Macca got up and went outside.

Brendan followed him.

:::::::

It happened so quickly that it was a blur. Macca was aware of Brendan appearing out of nowhere. I thought I told you to go! Being grabbed and slammed against the wall. Brendan shouting in his face, I'm not interested, Macca!

Telling Brendan, because this was the last chance, and because it was the truth, I love you.

And Brendan's fury. Don't you ever say that to me... Stay away from me, you little queer!

And another voice in the mix, Ste's, yelling at Brendan to get off him. I mean it!. And Brendan letting go, and Ste warning him, You've done enough damage already... Stay away.

And wondering why Brendan did as Ste said. And wondering why Brendan allowed Ste to stand in between them. And Brendan, controlled now, thrusting some money at Macca, and his words far worse than a punch: Whatever made you come for me, forget it. There's nothing for you here.

And seeing Brendan reaching out to Ste, and the hurt in his face when Ste turned from him; and watching him walk away.

And knowing at that moment: knowing that it was Ste. It was Ste who Brendan loved.

:::::::

By the time Macca got back to the house he was gasping for breath. He had run much of the way, and his injured lung felt as if it might burst.

He searched for a number for a cab firm, and booked a taxi to the airport; then he drank a glass of water, swallowed some painkillers, and went upstairs to pack his bag.

He changed his top. The red one he was wearing wasn't his: Brendan must have picked it up by mistake when he'd gone round to collect Macca's stuff from Ste's flat, the day Macca had been hospitalised. He went downstairs, threw the red top into the washing machine, put his bag down beside the door, and sat down to wait for the cab. He felt numb, and he hoped he'd stay that way until he got home: he didn't want to think about anything, not yet.

The front door opened. Brendan saw him and looked as angry as Macca had ever seen him, as he slammed the door and hurtled towards him. Macca shrank into the corner of the sofa, his arms and legs protecting his face and body.

"I've got a cab coming," he shouted to Brendan.

Brendan stopped in his tracks, and looked momentarily fazed.

"You've booked it, yeah?"

"It's on its way."

"Good." Brendan put his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, as if to demonstrate that he was no longer a threat.

Macca relaxed a little. His phone rang, making him jump; it was the cab driver, wanting directions.

"Taxi's gonna be here any minute," he told Brendan, and stood up. "Oh, there's a shirt in the washing machine, think it belongs to Ste."

"Okay." Brendan unlatched the door. "Need a hand with your bag?"

"No thanks." Macca went warily towards the door, where Brendan was standing.

"Got enough money? Enough for your fares, and to keep you going til you're back on your feet, son , yeah?"

"I'm okay."

"Okay."

Sadness suddenly overwhelmed Macca, and he wanted more than anything to say, Hold me. But he couldn't say that, not to a man like Brendan.

And then, Brendan held him. Held him so tightly that Macca felt his ribs might break again and splinter into his heart. He shut his eyes, and felt Brendan kiss the top of his head.

:::::::

Stephen's intervention outside that gay bar had unnerved Brendan, and when he got home he was still on edge. Opening the door and seeing Macca still there, as if he'd ignored yet again what Brendan had told him to do, ignited his rage. The way the boy cowered away from him, though, had triggered something in Brendan's memory, and he stopped short, trying to think what it was.

Anyway, it turned out that Macca had done the right thing at last, and booked himself a cab. Brendan made an awkward attempt at conversation: the boy was leaving, no reason not to be civilised now.

It was when they were standing together by the front door that Brendan identified the memory that had been stirred when he'd seen Macca shrinking away from him on the sofa. It was of Vinnie. Vinnie, scrambling away from him on the floor of the Liverpool club, terrified of another kick. Brendan had left for Ireland after that, and had never seen him again, and now it was too late.

But it wasn't too late with Macca. He pulled the boy into his arms, and hoped that holding him one last time would say what he couldn't say in words: that he was sorry. That he wasn't capable of giving Macca what he wanted – what he deserved – but that it had meant something. Not love, course not, but something.

The taxi hooted outside.

"Take care of yourself, son, yeah?" Brendan let go of him; the boy didn't look at him as he picked up his bag and went out. "Good lad."

:::::::

It was Dominic who had started the fire. Mild-mannered Dominic, brother of Tony who owned the restaurant – the restaurant that Dominic torched. Hilarious.

Brendan knew about it before the police did.

Stephen had still been playing hard to get: Brendan had been round to his flat, knocked on the door, but apparently he wasn't there. Later, he'd run into him in the street, and Stephen was all, Stay away from me. Accused Brendan of being jealous of Macca. Just because Brendan's gut had twisted when he saw Stephen kissing another man, it didn't mean he was jealous, did it. Brendan dismissed the question, and made a threat: delete that voicemail, or he'd get Stephen fitted up for drugs possession. Well, he had to do something, because this fire thing was giving him sleepless nights.

A bit later, Brendan saw Stephen go into Relish, the burger place; the Closed sign went up, and he was in there for some time. Interesting.

After he'd gone, Brendan went in there too and had a chat with Dominic, who ran the place, and very revealing it was too. Turned out, Dominic needed to get something off his chest: the fire was down to him. The banal details didn't matter, not to Brendan. He took back the phone that Stephen had left with Dominic for safe-keeping – the one with the 'incriminating' voicemail. Candy from a baby. There was nothing to link Brendan to the fire now, just some hysterical accusations, so what Dominic did with his guilty conscience was neither here nor there.

In fact, what Dominic did was give himself up to the police. And what Stephen did, the very next day when word had got around, was show up at Brendan's door.

"Stephen. Stay away from me, didn't you say? Yet here you are. I'm confused."

"I've just come round to say sorry. It wasn't you. The fire, I mean."

"So you don't think I tried to murder your kids any more? That's... gratifying."

"Alright. That's all I wanted to say, so..." Stephen turned to go.

"Stephen, I've got something of yours. Come in." Brendan walked off towards the kitchen, and heard the front door shut as Stephen followed him in. Good.

"What is it?" Stephen asked.

"Macca said this was yours." Brendan picked out the red polo shirt from the ironing pile. "He musta packed it by mistake when he left your place."

"Right. Ta. He alright?"

"He went home."

"That's not what I asked."

With effort, Brendan stopped his hands becoming fists.

"Macca's a survivor, Stephen." He sighed. "I didn't hurt him, if that's what you're asking."

"Good." Stephen looked straight at Brendan. "I know he was your boyfriend."

The word made Brendan cringe.

"Boyfriend? Jesus."

"D'you think I'm stupid, Brendan? I know."

"Fucksake Stephen, drop it, yeah? You can go now."

"What?"

"I accept your apology, that's what you came for."

Stephen's hesitancy disappeared, replaced by righteousness.

"You can see why I thought it was you that did the fire though can't you, eh?"

"Really? No, no I can't. Arson? Murdering women? Jesus, Stephen, you of all people - "

"Me of all people, right! You beat me up, Brendan. How do I know that's the worse you would do?"

Brendan rounded on him, backing him against the wall, but the expression on Stephen's face made him aware that he wasn't helping his own case, and he backed off.

"It's not the same," he said. "Me and you, it's... it's the way things are. We're men. We fight, we get up."

"I don't fight."

Brendan looked at him; he appeared fragile all of a sudden.

"Just for the record, Stephen, I don't think you're stupid, okay?"

"And there wasn't any other lads, you know, before Macca? No-one else is gonna show up here looking for you?"

"No-one else is gonna show up here." Brendan reached out and stroked Stephen's face with his fingertips, then held his head in both hands and leaned his forehead against the boy's. "You shoulda believed me about the fire, Stephen."

"I wanted to. It's just, Rae, and Amy... I got dead confused."

"I know. I... I get that. But this is me, Stephen, this is who I am, yeah? This is how I am. And the way I see it is, either you're with me, or you're against me."

Stephen swallowed, and looked up.

"With you," he said quietly.

And then Brendan was on him, kissing him, steering him into his bedroom, and by the time he'd got what he needed out of the drawer – condoms, a bottle of lube, a pack of wipes – and thrown them onto the bed, Stephen was naked. Brendan pulled him into his arms and held him tightly so that he could feel the boy's ribcage struggling to expand to catch a breath. He let go of him for a moment to pump some lube onto his fingers, then held him again with an arm around his waist, and Stephen hugged around his neck and nuzzled against him. Brendan's fingers found his hole and pushed in; the boy flinched a little, and moaned softly. Brendan felt inside him, curling his fingers until he found the spot that made Stephen begin to pant; he massaged and toyed, and bit hard along the line of his shoulder.

Stephen tugged at the back of Brendan's T-shirt and Brendan released him for a moment to let Stephen drag it off him, and then he held him again, and hooked inside him again. He felt Stephen's erection straining against his thigh.

The boy said something. His voice was muffled against Brendan's neck, so he wasn't sure if the words he heard were Fuck me, or Love me. But it didn't matter, because for the first time in Brendan's life, the two things meant the same.

Brendan disengaged, and stripped off his jeans and boxers, and rolled a condom on. He couldn't look at Stephen's eyes because somewhere along the line, the power had shifted, and he couldn't let this boy see that. Brendan had to get it back, because that was who he was, that was how this worked.

"Turn around."

"What?" Stephen frowned.

"Turn around. Jesus, Stephen, it's simple enough." Brendan grasped his shoulders and twisted Stephen away from him, then sat down on the bed and pulled the boy back towards him by his hips, and kissed the small of his back.

Stephen shivered.

"It tickles," he said by way of explanation.

"Thought you liked that. Sit down."

Stephen looked at Brendan dubiously over his shoulder, then realised what was wanted. He lowered himself slowly so that Brendan's cock could enter him, angling his body and manoeuvring so that Brendan got completely inside him. The boy had skills: he arched and twisted and bucked, generous and abandoned, until Brendan came with a roar.

Stephen leaned back against Brendan's chest, his head lolling onto his shoulder. Brendan finished him off with his hands, and when Stephen came into them, he wiped his palms on the boy's thighs.

"Oi," Stephen grumbled.

Brendan held him there against his body, with a hand on his chest; he felt the boy's heartbeat return to normal, and nibbled the taut skin of his neck. Then he pushed him up off his lap, but had to stand up and steady him because Stephen's legs were shaking. Brendan laughed, and kissed him.

:::::::

There was a guy on the plane. In the free-for-all scramble for seats, he'd wound up next to Macca, and as soon as he sat down he had his nose in a book. Macca sneaked a look at him. Tall, he'd noticed before he sat down. Fit-looking: kind of lean and lightly muscled. Hard to tell his age, but there were laughter lines around his eyes, and a few grey hairs at his temples. Mid-thirties, maybe, or a little older.

Soon after the plane took off, he finished his book. Macca saw the cover when he put it down. Giovanni's Room.

The guy saw him looking.

"Been trying to find the time to finish it." He had a Belfast accent.

"Good, was it?"

"Seriously."

They talked for the rest of the flight.

As the plane taxied at Belfast International, the guy wrote something inside the cover of his book, and handed it to Macca.

"Here. Let me know what you think."

Macca opened it. There was a name, Liam, and a phone number.

Sometime soon, when he'd begun to pick up the pieces and put a life back together, he would call the number. Hi, Liam? We met on the plane...

Not yet though. Not yet; but soon.

:::::::

Brendan woke up with Stephen sprawled beside him, fast asleep.

Nothing had been resolved, had it? Rae was still in the picture, more embroiled with Stephen than ever, now that she was helping him look after his children. Amy was in Manchester, but she was bound to be back, whatever she'd said, because her kids were here; and when she came back, she would still hate Brendan. More rumours about him would spring up, and he'd have to fight them. And then there was Stephen himself, who had thought he was capable of murder, and it would be impossible for Brendan to forget that. Forgive him, yes, but not forget.

But right now, it was just him and the boy, in this room, in this bed, and everything else felt abstract.

He propped himself up on one elbow and gently pulled back the cover, and looked at him. He was perfect, the little fucker: the bite marks on his shoulder only served to emphasise the fact. His skin was smooth and clear, his torso and neck dotted here and there with a pattern of tiny moles. His nipples had been hard against Brendan's tongue when they'd come to bed, but now in the warmth of sleep they were flat and soft. His hair was messy. Brendan thought, not for the first time, how ridiculous it was that a grown man should have eyelashes so long.

Stephen stirred, sensing that he was being watched. He opened his eyes and frowned.

"You been looking at me?"

"Don't be soft. Scrawny little bastard, what's there to look at?"

Stephen grinned.

Brendan had wanted him back and, at least for today, he had got him. There was nothing left to say, so Brendan kissed his mouth, and felt his lover's hands in his hair, pulling him closer.