Author: Christine Logan
Pairing: Steve Owen/Beppe Di Marco
Archive: Yes to list.
Series: Yes, WIP.
Rating: R, for now.
Disclaimer: Eastenders belongs to BBC, I make no pretense of owning
characters. I make no money from them. I take no responsibility for
orgies, or the stop sign they ran over when Beppe forgot which side of
road they were supposed to be driving on. However, the story is mine,
first before distributing or archiving.
Thanks to Kitty for her beta. I would definitely appreciate feedback to
e-mail addy, I'm sure that some of the slang must be incorrect or
and I'd love to hear any positive comments as well. This story is set in
March, 2001, the day after Steve found out his fiancée cheated on him
man he despises, and a few hours after he told best man Beppe.
by Christine Logan
He thought he could forgive her anything.
The happiest day of his life. With his passive-aggressive mother and
Mitchell in the room, not likely. But he had Mel. She was supposed to
his life good and pure and everything he'd never been.
"...no reason why I, Melanie Jane Healy, may be joined in matrimony
"May not be joined."
"Sorry, may not be joined."
Steve smiled at Melanie's quick catch-up. If she'd told him days, even
after she'd bedded Mitchell, the rage would have lived, but not so
He felt his face curling into a snarl; her own plastic, quivering
perfect teeth growing more unsteady.
Melanie, who had forgiven his mistakes, didn't give a monkey's about
forgiveness. Lying every time she hugged him, kissed him, shared his
Her soft fingers brushed against his face, a touch that burnt and froze
The registrar's words were easy to ignore. Mitchell, Lisa, Mark, even
bloody mum were fleas, flicked off his back while he lived day after
day in his own head, in Walford.
Mel was his reason for getting up in the morning. The crown jewel of the
Queen Vic. Now he wondered if he had ever known her at all, if she
used the same
toothpaste smile with him that she used for each face who bought a pint.
Vows written on a shaking card. His mouth froze before he could speak
words. More lies. So many huge plans that laid hatched in his clenched
taunting, teasing, stretching her pain through this entire blessed
fell to the carpeted floor as the cards did.
"You're a slag."
The pristine mask finally crumbled, beautiful green-brown eyes brimming
tears. Such pleasure in this type of cruelty, a sliver almost canceling
the knife of pain in his chest.
A sea of faces clicked in his peripheral vision, one by one. Gasping;
constipated stare; glee; and mum, with her pained, HRH smile of
"Steve, I can..."
He shook his head, walking toward the double doors, the faces mixed with
swirling images of benches and endless flower arrangements.
His hand flew back, pushing away the air, Melanie still a few steps
Mitchell stood up, each step in time with that inflated, bobbing hog's
"Y'know, Steve, s'no harm in sharing. I'll be a nice bloke, since
Mitchell wanted a fight; he always wanted a fight. Steve grabbed him by
collar, that damn smirk begging for a punch.
"Don't do this."
Who'd she think she was, some puppet master?
He had the bloody bully inches away, so close to his fist, and
inside him yelled to pummel until he reached the place where Mel wasn't
to hurt him.
But that meant ruining Mel's special day, and she deserved so much
Fingers gouging both lapels, Steve dragged Mitchell out to the aisle,
him to the carpet near Mel's feet.
"Happiest day of my life, Mel."
The words were spit out, choked from the lump he swallowed. Her face
pity, shoulders sagging in her blue dress, and he found it impossible to
contact. He turned away when she began walking toward him.
Steve flung the doors open, ignoring her pleading, Phil's laughing, and
footsteps behind him. Ignoring everything until he felt the cool hints
spring air, the backseat of the car, the driver he shouted instructions
View blotted by the fingertips over his eyes, Steve leaned forward, nose
pressed against his upraised knees. He'd beaten addiction, murder,
threats, but a tart tossing her knickers off had blindsided him. It was
When he ground his palms into his sockets, the tears stayed hidden,
they belonged. The warm hand on his shoulder wasn't a surprise, easily
identified. Only Beppe had that peculiar way of showing affection while
repressing as much emotion as he possibly could. Had to have ulcers the
of his forehead.
Steve almost leaned into the strong grip on his arm, stopping himself.
reason to get that vulnerable, certainly not now.
"You sure, Steve?"
"What I said, wasn't it?"
Adjusting in the leather seating, he smoothed out his trousers. Had to
his strength, couldn't just talk. He stared full-on into the hooded
Beppe wore a permanent wince, Steve's pain mirrored. Through his own
Steve barely understood why. They were chums, but not great friends.
he'd joined that exclusive 'my girlfriend slept here, and there, and
too' club Beppe was an established member of. Somehow, the compassion in
those velvet eyes ran deeper than shared adultery.
Time had stopped in the car, nothing but buildings and trees, faceless
people. The ideal life, no connections, no thoughts.
As soon as Steve's feet hit the pavement, he knew he had to get away
Walford. The vultures always circling, the skies that seemed to drive
sunshine, the judgmental, gossipy, stalled lumps that ran the stalls,
Mel. She had to be on her way back, sure Steve would absolve her in time
a quick honeymoon.
Steve took a step at a time, grateful he'd already paid for the driver,
his wallet was with his keys, and his keys were nowhere to be found.
The keys to his front door.
Steve clasped the hand drifting in his direction, squeezing lightly as
took the keys. They were almost in the front door when the voices
from the street.
"Forget the rings, did you?"
Pauline Fowler. Dour, middle-aged widow, cryptkeeper at the launderette,
children mired in personal crises at least once a year.
"Pauline and I saw the car pull up, here instead of the Vic, and I
Pauline, there are so few happy marriages around Walford now, we should
our best to help such a lovely youn..."
Dot Cotton, town busybody, oldest woman in the Square. She knew every
going-on in Walford, and what she didn't know, she'd bust kneecaps to
Beppe began to politely brush them away, as Steve stepped over the
He smiled at the two ladies, full of a certain icy mirth, nodding for
to give up.
"The wedding's off."
Dot's eyes popped as she lit her fag.
"Wha-What's that you said? The wedding's off?"
His eyebrows raised, lips curling around the words as the door slowly
"Ask Mel. And Phil Mitchell."
He pictured their chirping; a chuckle lived and died in his throat, a
Beppe cocked his head, a deeper frown setting into his face.
Steve rubbed his hands together as he briskly walked through the hall,
"Steve, they didn't have to know."
Steve licked his lips, running a quick hand through his hair.
"Never let it be said that I didn't leave her a wedding
The bag had been packed days ago, ready for the trunk of Slater's taxi.
His eyes darted between the walls once, then twice, the third time
him to a paperback on Capone. Tons of free time.
"Spare ticket and all, wanna take a trip together Beppe?"
Even with back turned, Steve could feel the shift of muscles on the
man's face, how moved he was, how lonely he must have been to be
an invite from a man who was obviously desperate for any company.
"Thanks mate...really...but Joe's visiting."
Children he'd never have, with beautiful smiles and blonde hair, the
shoulder-length and not too shiny, just like her mum.
Steve rubbed his wet eyes, cool space behind him invaded by a warm body.
"She made a mistake."
He had to laugh that time, turning around, voice mocking.
"She made a mistake. Damn right she did."
Pocketing the book, he shrugged away the hand at his neck, only to feel
pushed back on again, more insistent this time.
"You don't have to marry her. Or forgive her. At least let her tell
"Still the 'ol bill, eh? I heard her side last night on that tape,
to again. She said she enjoyed it, can you believe that? She enjoyed
with that pig."
The last word was spit out, a few drops landing on Beppe's cheek. Didn't
bother to wipe them away. Steve cupped the back of Beppe's neck, fingers
brushing against dark hair.
"If Sandra came back, saying it was all some big mistake, would you
Beppe shook his head.
"It isn't the same."
"Yeah, you let her fuck you over twice."
The soft, chocolate eyes brimmed with storm clouds, and where their
had almost touched, the cool air returned.
Even as Beppe stormed out, the heat from his neck reddened Steve's palm,
friend's sharp pain flashed in Steve's mind, like a puppy who had been
kicked. Second person that day he'd hurt, but this one did absolutely
to deserve it.
Running, almost tripping over a rug, he caught Beppe before he reached
Neatly trimmed facial hair scraped Steve's thumbs, holding the
Beppe's pear-shaped head as he whispered.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I don't know what I'm doing."
The slight musk of Beppe's cologne wafted from his rumpled suit jacket.
a different smell from her perfume. Drawing a closer breath, his nose
against the white collar.
Beppe's narrow lower lip snuck inside his mouth as he talked, probably
down by decades of buffeting that gargled-in-glass voice.
Steve's fingers drew deeper tunnels into Beppe's dark locks, sudden urge
taste the complexion pushing a sharp, jerky nip of that slender lip
his teeth. Beppe swallowed, Adam's Apple bobbing.
Breaths loud and intermingled, Steve could no longer tell his own apart
Beppe's. He and Beppe were enjoined at this moment, shorter, Italian
flanked against his lankier body. The hand that slid down Beppe's
helped this painful friction, stopping at the small of his back.
Beppe's nose rubbed against his, trails of sweat swimming down his
a slow, vertical trail, Steve bathed the slick surface, tongue tainted
Beppe let out some sort of raspy sigh, and Steve pulled back marginally.
masculine, sexual man, creased with daily frown lines and worries, gave
such a naked stare. Waiting, waiting for...
Head cocked, Steve brushed his lips across the hesitantly eager lips,
sets of skin pillows held together by friction and curious amazement.
Hearing another gasp or groan, Steve dipped into the opening mouth,
coating the remnants of champagne and cereal. Very warm, sucking on
tongue as he imagined sucking on his cock. Threading his fingers in and
of Beppe's jacket buttons as he pictured sinking into his arse.
Sliding along the roof of Beppe's mouth, he let hands push at his chest,
slowly dissolving into exploratory touches, across his flat stomach, up
Beppe's grey suit pants brushed against Steve's, slow thrusts, erections
stabbing clothed thighs until their mouths disconnecting with a slimy,
Teeth sank into Steve's chin, biting and then smoothing over the cleft,
apologetically. Steve heard himself gasping this time, planting a soft,
kiss on Beppe's forehead.
"I want you so much."
Panting, he barely noticed Beppe freeze up at the words.
Thumb and forefinger tangled in metal, Steve began unzipping Beppe's
grunting at the hand pushing him away.
Their eyes met for a moment, genuine fear in Beppe's as he backed away,
kind only seen when he thought he might lose his son. A terrible idea,
timing, maybe, but Steve felt no guilt, even though he thought he
The door opened, cold air rushing in before it closed, and Steve was
again. Leaning against the wall, he waited for his breathing to calm,
his tie for no reason.
In business, he hid behind his suits, his casual arrogance. That mask
been discarded for Mel; now that it was gone, he was 16 again, ready to
blubber at the wrong word. He refused to blubber for Beppe Di Marco.
Bag ready, he found Slater standing by his taxi, and rattled off an
As soon as he found her number, he'd call Jackie, she could meet him and
him back to her place.
Looking back as the cab drove off, he saw Melanie running to his door,
knocking, mouthing his name.
Billy could take over day-to-day at E20. Until Steve found someone with
brain at least. His stuff could be shipped to Jackie's place, a few sob
stories about their mother and she'd crumble.
No reason for him to ever come back to Walford.
Beppe stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed, dress shirt still ruffled
the unbuttoned jacket.
Steve felt his gaze burning all the way through the glass.
No reason, he told himself again. No reason at all.
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