#stitzeee

It starts out as a joke.

They're laughing, reminiscing. It's nice. She'll miss him being around. He has one of those smiles that brightens up the day and he doesn't mince words; he likes her and she knows he does. She knows where they stand and it's as simple as that and it so rarely is ever that simple. He's like a breath of fresh air.

Plus, he's gorgeous.

So when he says, "does it come with a kiss," she leans in and thinks she might get one, thinks she might like to get one, kind of wants to see if his lips are as soft as they look.

He's Brendan's boy, though, through and through, tiny American husband be damned, and she can see that little flicker, that dark excitement, when she strokes her face and purrs at him, "how could I compete with the boss, Steven."

It sends a thrill through her, that look; the little growl he does. There's something about him, something sultry and kind of sexy, a hidden darkness, coiled up like a spring. She'd walked in on them, once. Twice - but once full-frontal. Brendan she's always founds attractive as hell and there was something about the two of them together, some juxtaposition. Brendan, broad and dark and solid and Ste this fair little thing in his arms.

She sees what Brendan sees in him. Sees, because there's no way that's over; that much she's certain of.

There's no denying it now, though. Whether it's the cocktails or the champagne or the lighting, Mitzeee's pretty sure she wants a piece of Ste Hay. Married Ste Hay. Gay, married Ste Hay. Gay, married Ste Hay who's still in love with Brendan Brady.

Bloody typical of her, really.

*

She finds him later. Predictably, he's in Brendan's old office.

"Did you know he was gone for good?" he asks her.

She didn't. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter."

"If it matters it matters, Ste. You can't control it." He looks up at her, pinched and bright and desperate. He looks like there's current running under his skin; she feels it spark through the room and into herself, a tangent of connection. "I'll miss him, too."

He throws a hand out and cross the desk, clattering pens and papers and folders, and she goes to him, puts her hands against his shoulders and tries to make him look at her. She understands loss. She knows that if Riley was anywhere in the world right now she'd go to him without a thought and Ste and Brendan, they're two people whom distance alone shouldn't be able to separate.

He makes a noise like a strangled moan, breathing an urgent and ragged inhale/exhale, and he looks at her like he's begging.

"Ste - " and that's as far as she gets.

His hands are on her hips and his body's up against hers, back smacking up against the wall beside the filing cabinet and she's so in shock, reeling from the spike of want and urgency that lances through her, that she pushes against him, lets her lips open up underneath his, licks his tongue when it slides against hers.

Fuck.

"Ste - "

"Please, Mitz - "

It grinds out of him, rough and helpless, and she can't deny him this, doesn't even want to, fire burning between her legs where she can feel him hard. She understands him, understands what he needs and she won't even deny how good he feels, smells, tastes, everything. It's overwhelming and it's been a long time.

She kisses him again, bends her leg and plants a heel against the wall, and he wraps her up, tight and close, hooks a hand under her thigh, pushes her underwear aside and slides two fingers into her, slick and damp and easy, got her so wet already. She arches against the smooth push, the slow rub of his fingers, grips his shoulders and pulls him close.

"How many times did he fuck you on that desk, Ste?" she murmurs against his lips, definitely as good as they look, and he gasps a cut off moan into her, fingers her deeper, harder until her thighs and voice start to shake. "He looks like he's good."

"Better than good," he growls, pulls her around and pushes her up onto it, image of them both here but it's Ste that's sprawled over the desktop, loose and desperate while Brendan devours him and it's quite the image.

"Tell me," she pleads on a whisper and he smiles against her and it feels like Brendan's here with them, keen and sharp, dark thrill of his presence.

"He's an animal," Ste croons, low and soft, kisses her chin and jaw and throat, parts her legs and rubs his fingertips up through all that slick wetness, gentle and slow strokes over where she's most sensitive. "And his mouth, God - you think he's good at talkin'? Right oral fetish he's got, lovesto suck dick like he loves his food. Same thing, really"

He paints such a vivid picture and she breathes a laugh, pulls a heel against his back to draw him closer and he knows exactly what she wants from him, hand that's not busy making her tremble falling to the button and zip on his jeans. He pulls a condom out of his pocket, gives her a smirk when she says ready for anything, eh? and rolls it over himself.

"Don't stop, come on, he's got a mouth on him - " she urges and he grabs her thighs, pulls her to the desk edge roughly, positions the tip of his dick and pushes just the head inside while they both watch, foreheads pressed together like fascination and it's pretty bloody surreal, this.

When something's surreal for Mitzeee it's got to be seriously weird.

Ste moans softly, mumbles, "I 'aven't done this in ages," and then it doesn't seem to matter; he's leaning close, kissing her again and pushing all the way, that satisfying ache that comes with being filled up so nicely and she grins at him and gets one in return, genuine and gorgeous. "We did it everywhere in 'ere," he says, pulls out and thrusts forward and she slips back on the desk, has to lean a flat palm back to stay steady, the other curled around the back of his neck. "I used to like to kneel under his desk and suck him off while he talked business to people."

She cries out a, "ahh," follows it with, "you filthy little minx," and another gasp, another few hitching breaths 'cause Ste's fucking her hard now and she's getting lost in it, the heat and friction and it's so bloody good. "Was I ever in 'ere?"

He kisses her, deep and wet, sucks on her bottom lip and breathes, "yup," right into her mouth and Jesus Christ she wishes she'd seen it. "Whenever someone came in I used to take him right down deep and he'd be shaking, bitin' his lip and tryin' to keep in control."

His voice is going hitching and shaky and so is hers when she says, "go on."

"Sometimes he used to bend me over his desk, get on his knees and get me ready with his tongue. He was really good at that, 'ad to be 'cause he's massive, biggest dick I've ever seen, knows how to use it as well, fuck, he was so good, always made it as good as possible, every time, like it was important," and Ste's losing it, jerk of his hips going erratic and Mitzeee's losing it, too, Ste's descriptions, the rough scrape of his desperate voice and the absolute burning, searing want when he talks about Brendan is so intense it's overwhelming, making her hot and jittery all over, blooming pressure deep inside where his dick hits. "He had to put his hand over my mouth, sometimes; he made me come that hard I'd be nearly screaming."

That does it, she digs her fingernails into his shoulder, breath coming in ragged, heaving bursts, "Ste, oh, God, don't stop," and he doesn't, just cups a hand under the top of her thigh, fingers brushing up between her legs against his own dick where he fucks her and up over her clit where he strokes, gentle back and forth, and she feels herself bearing down hard and tossing her head back and coming.

Her stomach muscles ache from the way she seizes with tension and flooding heat and she feels him shake against her through her own foggy haze, the sound he makes, a high moan breaking off into soft whimpers, sound that'll be seared into her memory forever most likely and all she can see is Brendan fucking him on this desk and Ste making those helpless noises and it's enough to get her shivering all over.

They breathe together, Ste slumped forward over her, one of his hands carding through her hair, his face turned into her throat and she slides an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. He presses his lips in soft kiss after soft kiss, trails them over her jaw and cheek and he seems so vulnerable now like all that anger and frustrations drained out.

"You okay, love?" she asks and he pulls back, eyes fluttering, still inside her and she kind of wants to keep him there, little-boy-lost expression on his face making her ache.

"We kissed the other day."

"Just a kiss?" she asks, genuinely shocked, and it's never just a kiss, not with those two.

"He made it pretty clear how he felt about me afterwards," he says bitterly.

She doesn't even pretend to understand the things that go on between them, nobody could, it'd be an exercise in banging your head against a wall, but she knows one thing as certain as the sky's blue. "He loves you, Ste."

"He didn't even say goodbye, Mitzeee."

"That just proves it then, doesn't it? It's not a goodbye if nobody actually says goodbye." He laughs and shakes head. "If I had one chance to see Riley again, there's nothing on this planet could stop me."

"Yeah but Riley loved you."

"But he didn't always show it, did he?"

It stops him short, has him gazing past her, somewhere off into the distance and she hopes he's considering her but she doesn't get to find out because there's a knock on the door. They wrench apart, scuff of clothes and zips and she's trying to her get dress back down over her bloody arse and just getting in a tangle. He looks at her, bright eyes and absolute amusement on his face, one hand on the door handle, and she nods and tries desperately not to giggle.

"Hey, wondered where you two'd disappeared to."

It's Cheryl.

"Just reminiscing, weren't we, Ste?"

"Yeah, reminiscing - " and that's it, she can't help herself, Mitzeee's scoffing into her hand, wave of complete hysteria washing over her because this right here is one of the craziest things she's ever done.

"How much have you two had to drink?" Cheryl asks. "Come on, get out here, this is your party, Ste."

Ste comes close to her, wraps her up with one arm under Cheryl's bemused stare, leans in close to whisper in her ear, "come on," and there's a kiss to her hairline before he goes on, "Thanks for that Mitz. You're a good shag, y'know? And I don't say that about many girls," and she's off again, leaning on him and gripping his clothes to stop from collapsing.

She can feel some of the weight off him, the light bubbling of an idea in his brain, something fairer and less dense behind his eyes. If she's the reason he flies off to Dublin to have some sparkly, romantic reunion on a bridge or something -

She's going to make sure she gets the credit for it.