Aftermath

Pairing: Sean/Elijah

Disclaimer: Don’t know these people. No offence intended or money made.

"What?" Sean asked, the receiver pressed against his ear, his finger stuck firmly in the other as he tried to hear Elijah over the incessant beat of some godawful techno music. "You said that Dom's broken his ankle?"

"No, I said that Dom is wankered," bellowed Elijah, huddling further into the corner, phone clapped to his ear. With hindsight, perhaps it would have been more sensible to have gone outside before starting this call.

"Fine," said Sean. "So you've called to tell me something that the whole world already knows? How sweet."

"No, wankered, not a wanker." Elijah paused, then gave up. "Yeah, okay. I said that I'd come to this club with him and Orlando for a while, so I just wanted to let you know that'll I'll be home much later and probably out of my skull." Elijah glanced around the club until he spotted Dominic, dancing with Orlando and attracting a great deal of attention with his gyrating. "D'you know," he yelled into the phone, "he's what Billy would call an idiot dancer. Like when your dad dances at a wedding. Am I giving you a mental image of just what he's doing?"

"Oh yes," Sean assured him. "And Orlando is doing what?"

"Looking embarrassed and trying to avoid eye contact." Elijah waved until Orlando spotted him, and then gave him an enthusiastic thumbs up. Orlando bared his teeth and returned Elijah's gesture with one of his own.

"All right," Sean shouted. "Have fun. I'll go to bed and read. I'm such an old man."

"Yeah," Elijah smiled. "I'll wake you up when I get in."

"You always do."

Elijah disconnected the phone and made his way over to Orlando and Dom who between them had managed to clear quite a space for themselves on he dance floor; well mainly it was Dominic and his somewhat over-enthusiastic dancing which had cleared the space, that and Orlando's embarrassed backing away. Elijah walked straight up to Dominic, grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the bar, not looking to check that Orlando was following, just knowing that he would be.

"Oy!" Dominic protested, "I was enjoying myself out there."

"Well you can have too much of a good thing," Elijah answered. "Pace yourself, man, leave them wanting more."

"Is it possible," Dominic asked, drawing himself up to his full height, "that you are taking the piss?"

"Here, have a drink." Elijah shoved a glass into Dominic's hand.

"Oh, ta." With the attention span of the truly drunk, Dominic forgot that he may possibly be offended and instead concentrated on getting as much alcohol inside him as quickly as possible.

"D'you realise," Orlando commented, picking up his own glass, "he's miles ahead of us. How has this happened?"

"Bad," agreed Elijah. "Very bad. You get the next round, and we'll do our best to catch up."

Which is why, half an hour and several drinks later, the other clubbers were treated to the sight of Dom, once more in full flow. Only this time he brought friends.

Orlando knew that he looked good when he danced; he had a natural grace anyway, and the poise of the elf had never completely left him, and with the drink inside him, he was a good deal more relaxed than he had been previously. He let the beat of the music vibrate up through his feet and into his body, his eyes half closed. Although perhaps he didn't realise it, he was watching Elijah, who was just drunk enough to loosen up and forget that people would be watching him. He had a natural rhythm and moved well, but sometimes had the weirdest habit of listening the backbeat so that it looked as if he was dancing to a sound only he could hear. He was doing that now, and slowly Orlando stopped dancing and stared.

Elijah's head was tilted back, and the lights shone on the film of sweat on his forehead and upper lip. As Orlando watched, Elijah licked at the sweat, a move so unconsciously erotic that Orlando felt it everywhere. Damn, but this boy/man/alien being was beautiful and deadly.

"He's taken, Orli," Dom's voice was quiet with no trace of drunkeness. Orli turned and met sympathetic eyes. "He made his choice, remember? Just the way you made yours."

"I know." Orlando nodded. "But look at him, Dom. I mean look at him. You can't blame me for thinking, just sometimes, what it would be like..."

"We all think that, mate, wouldn't be human if we didn't. But he's not ours, and you'll only start to hurt if you dwell on might have beens." Dominic put his arm around Orlando's shoulders. "Come on, let's go and top up the alcohol levels. Leave him to dance."

Just as Orlando nodded, the music changed into something slower and a good deal calmer, and when Elijah opened his eyes and beckoned to him, he decided that he could no more leave the dance floor than he could stick red hot needles into his own eyes. Dominic obviously felt the same, and reacted to Elijah's gesture a heartbeat faster than Orlando, wrapping himself around the younger man with the ease of long familiarity. Elijah laughed and hugged Dominic hard before pushing him away and opening his arms to Orlando.

"I'm drunk," he announced, breathing into Orlando's ear. "And I love everybody in the world. I may go and do some indiscriminate hugging in minute."

"And I'm sure the whole world loves you," Orlando answered. "But don't go around hugging people. Just stick to those you know, all right?"

Elijah rested his head against Orlando's shoulder, moving slowly to the music, before pushing himself away and smiling, a little giddily. He looked around for Dom and began a bump and grind routine with him that wouldn't have looked out of place in a club a good deal seedier than this one.

*

"I love Sean," Elijah announced a little later as they sat in a dark corner, still drinking. "He's my ... love." He turned puppy dog eyes on Dominic. "Y'know?"

"Yeah, we know," Dominic agreed.

"No, I mean I love him." Dominic groaned inwardly. Elijah was in the 'you're my best mate and I'm going to tell you everything' phase. "I mean, he touches me, and whoosh..." Elijah clapped his hands together, the noise muffled by the pounding music. "He kisses me and I go all ... all ..."

"Bug eyed?" asked Dom. "Oh no, you're bug eyed anyway."

"That's rude," Elijah pronounced. "I think. I'm not bug eyed. Bugs have many eyes, and I have but two."

"But two?" repeated Orlando from his corner. "What sort of phrase is 'but two'?"

"It's a phrase that describes how many eyes I have," Elijah explained patiently, causing Orlando to kick him, with the result that Elijah tipped his drink all over himself.

"Oh fuck," he said. "Double fuck, that's wet and disgusting." He stood up, wiping at spreading damp patch. "I am so not going to spend the rest of the night with a damp patch the size of ... something large ... on my crotch. I'm going to dry this." With that he clambered over Dominic and headed for the toilet.

*

Sighing, Elijah angled his crotch under the hot air dryer, realising that any attempt to get rid of this utterly humungous and embarrassing damp patch was very unlikely to succeed. He heard the door behind him open, but didn't bother looking to see who had come in. If it was either Dom or Orli he would know soon enough when they began to hurl abuse at him. He backed away from the dryer, sighing again, and yelped in surprise when he bumped into somebody. He stepped away, muttering an apology, then yelped again when his arm was gripped, holding him against the newcomer's body. He pulled hard, feeling his shoulder wrench slightly as he tried to get away.

"Come on, man!" he said. "What's going on?"

"You seem to be enjoying yourself out there." The voice was slurred. "You and your friends. I think I'd like to be your friend."

"Oh come on," Elijah said, reaching up to pry strong fingers off his arm. "I'm just here for a good night out with my friends, okay? I don't want any trouble, and I don't need any new friends." He slithered free and headed for the door, not unduly worried. He had been dealing with this kind of unwanted attention for a lot of years now and it very rarely developed into anything he couldn't handle.

He made it out of the door and paused, trying to get his bearings, his mind still slightly fuzzy with the alcohol and the noise. He felt the air pressure behind him change as the door opened and took a step forward. He sensed that his would be new friend was very close to him, but still wasn't ready when his arm was grabbed again and he was pushed hard into the shadows.

"Hey!" He pushed himself away from the wall, but found his escape route blocked by a strong forearm.

"Told you, I want to be your friend," the voice hissed in his ear, making Elijah recoil. This really wasn't looking good, and he was beginning to worry. Alcohol did strange things to people and it wasn't easy to judge the best path to take, especially when you were still a little drunk yourself.

"And I said I don't want any friends," he said, pushing at the arm, trying to slide along the wall. He was far from co-ordinated and the music, instead of making him buzz was beginning to hurt his head, confusing him.

"Not really up to you, is it?"

Elijah was slammed back against the wall and before he could move again, the stranger's body was pressed against his. Agile Elijah undoubtedly was, but one hand was wrapped in his shirt, and a knee was between his legs, effectively immobilising him. To his absolute horror he felt the man's other hand at his waistband, struggling to open buttons which were wet and unwieldy.

"Don't!" he said, twisting his whole body, managing to turn his head enough to sink his teeth into his attacker's wrist.

"Ow, shit!" Elijah's head was slammed back against the wall, and he whimpered as he saw stars. The hand at his waist finally got the first of the buttons undone.

2

"Go on, then," demanded Dominic smugly, leaning back and folding his arms. "Spell 'immodestly'."

"I-m-m-m... God, I've developed a stutter. Why am I doing this, remind me again."

"Because I've got a theory and you're proving it."

"What theory?" Orlando looked confused, his eyes taking on the squint of the heavy duty drunk.

"That if you're drunk you can't spell 'immobilised'."

"Mate, I can't spell it when I'm sober, so what chance you think I've got now I really don't know." He paused. "You didn't say that word the first time around, you said imm-something else entirely."

"Bollocks. You're drunk." At that point Dominic jumped about 3 feet in the air, emitting a girlish squeak that would have made Billy proud.

"What?" Orlando demanded, looking around him trying to work out what had happened.

"Phone," Dominic said, contorting himself so that he could reach into his pocket and produce the offending article. "Vibrated," he added. "Scared the fuck out of me."

"What?" He shouted, then paused. "Oh Sean, hiya." He listened for a moment, and then shook his head. "He went to the bog about 3 days ago - a small accident with his drink. It was Orli's fault, he kicked the love of your life."

"And he'll kick you if you don't stop telling tales," grouched Orli. "Like I'm scared of Sean. He's smaller than me; you're all smaller than me. I could take you all on with one hand tied behind my back... what?" He was jerked out of his monologue as Dominic prodded him, none too gently, in the ribs.

"Have you seen Elijah?"

Fighting off the temptation to make the obvious remark, Orli shook his head. "Not for about half an hour actually. He'll be fine, he'll have made a new friend somewhere."

"Yeah, okay Sean, no problem," Dominic said in response to something Sean said, then hung up.

"What?"

"Nothing. Sean tried his phone and it wasn't answered, that's all. He's just doing his fussing thing, you know what he's like where Elijah's concerned."

Orli nodded and they sat in silence for a minute.

"Do you think..." Dominic finally began.

"Yes I do." Orli stood up and dragged Dominic to his feet. "Just to keep Sean happy, of course. We don't want him to think we're fussing over him."

"Oh no, never that," agreed Dominic.

They made their way to the toilet, and after a brief comedy moment when they tried to get through the door at the same time, they pushed their way in. The room was empty except for a tall man standing at the sink, his hand held under the water. He looked up as Dominic and Orlando appeared and quickly turned the water off, pushing past them. Dominic just had time to register that the man's wrist was bleeding and that somebody seemed to have either punched or bitten his mouth, which was also dripping blood. For some reason, alarm bells began to ring in Dominic's mind.

He turned and followed him out, intending to do what he didn't know. Stop him, ask him what had happened? He didn't know, he would never know because as the door closed a movement in the shadows made him turn and look, and for one horrible, horrible moment he actually thought that he had stopped breathing.

Pausing just long enough to push the door open again and call Orlando's name, Dominic made his way towards the corner, suddenly feeling very sober.

"Elijah? Oh fuck, Elijah!" He dropped to his knees, a hand reaching out, but then stopping before it reached its goal, unsure of the reaction.

Elijah was sitting very still, his back pressed tightly against the wall, knees pulled up against his chest. He looked up as Dominic spoke, and blinked very slowly as if bringing himself back from somewhere a long way away.

"Hey," he said finally, his voice almost impossible to hear over the din of the music.

"What happened?" Orlando, feeling none of the qualms Dominic was suffering, bent down and gathered Elijah into a fierce embrace. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, think so," Elijah replied, leaning briefly into Orlando before pulling away. "Just ... nothing, I'm fine." He looked up at Dominic. "Think I'm ready for home now though, if that's okay."

Nodding, Dominic reached down, grasping Elijah's hand and pulling him to his feet. "You going to tell us what happened?"

"Some guy ... wanted, y'know," Elijah shrugged, moving his hand away from Dominic, who watched in horror as he then proceeded to re-button his jeans and pull his shirt into some semblance of order.

"He didn't, did he?" asked Orlando. "If he fucking hurt you, then ..."

"No, I'm fine," protested Elijah. "I think I hurt him actually. Come on."

"Oh no!" Dominic blocked Elijah's way. "Big bloke? Did you do something to his wrist?"

"Bit him."

"He was in there!" Dominic gestured at the toilet. "When we went in, Orli. It was the guy at the sink, it must have been."

"Doesn't matter," Elijah interrupted. "Can we just get out of here?"

*

Elijah wouldn't talk on the journey home, just kept saying he was fine. He had pulled away from Dominic's gentle fingers as they had turned his face to the light, revealing a cut mouth and a red mark which looked suspiciously like a handprint. He was sandwiched between Dominic and Orli in the cab, gazing out at the night, trying to get the memory out of his head; of a hand grabbing his cock, hurting him. Of a mouth on his, a tongue in his mouth; a tongue he had bitten without even thinking about it, scraping his teeth along it until he could taste blood and then sinking his teeth into his assailant's lip for good measure; of lights flashing behind his eyes as he had been slapped, almost amused at the irony of cutting his own mouth on his teeth. And finally of hands holding him against the wall while a body pressed against his. In a brief moment of respite, as the pressure shifted, he had brought up his knee as hard as he could, watching as his attacker had folded. All over in less than a minute.

And then the shock setting in, shivering, arms wrapped around himself, sliding to the ground, trying to quell the sickness he could feel growing in his stomach.

"Elijah?" Orlando's voice was gentle, the hand on his leg even gentler. "We're here. Come on."

"No, it's okay, I'm okay," Elijah answered, surprised by how shaky he sounded. "Thanks, guys."

"Oh right," said Orlando. "We're really going to leave you in this state. You may not want to tell us anything, but Sean will hang us up by our goolies if we don't see you home." He paused. "You're awfully pale. You all right?"

"Told you, I'm fine." He clambered out of the cab and discovered, as the air hit him, that he was actually very far from fine, and he had just enough discipline to angle himself so that he didn't throw up over either of his friends.

Dominic nodded at Orlando and then at the porch, where a light had just been switched on. Orlando took the hint and went towards the house, reaching it just as Sean, sleep-addled and slightly annoyed looking, opened it. He took in the sight of Elijah throwing up in the gutter, Dominic resting a hand on his back whilst looking politely into the middle distance, and then looked at Orlando.

"Sean..."

"Something's happened," Sean interrupted, moving past Orlando and heading for Elijah

3

AFTERMATH 3

Elijah registered that Dominic had moved away and that somebody had taken his place. That the somebody was Sean went without saying, and he found himself pathetically grateful. Somehow it would be better now; he was home, Sean was here and people would leave him alone and let him go to bed.

He had finished being sick but didn't feel like moving, so he stayed where he was, hands on his knees, head drooping, taking in huge breaths of the night air.

"Come on," Sean's voice was soft in his ear. "Let's get you inside." Elijah nodded and forced himself upright, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Sean as the light shone on the damage to his face

"Elijah.."

"Don't," he interrupted. "Not yet, okay?" He turned to Orlando and Dominic, who were both hovering around like concerned old women. "You two, go home." He pulled away from Sean and hugged them both hard. "And thanks. Thanks for ... you know."

"Call us, all right? Either of us, both of us, anytime..." Orlando trailed off having painted himself into a corner, and looked at Dominic for help. Dominic nodded, but didn't say anything, since Orlando was stuttering enough for both of them.

"Yeah, thanks," said Sean, his arm slipping around Elijah's shoulders. "I think he needs to get some rest now though."

"'He' is listening," snapped Elijah. "'He' hasn't lost his hearing."

"Well if 'he' is listening," said Sean, "'he' knows that I'm right."

"Oh what else is new?" Elijah griped, but after a final wave at Orlando and Dominic he let himself be led into the house.

*

"Going to tell me?" Sean asked, pushing Elijah into the kitchen so that he could study the damage done. "That's going to be a hell of a bruise on your face. And what happened to your mouth?"

"I bit it," Elijah said, completely honestly, shying away from Sean's gentle fingers.

"And you smacked yourself in the head as well I suppose?" Sean kept his fingers on Elijah's jaw, forcing him to look. "Tell me now, 'lijah, or I call Dom. What happened to you?"

Elijah shrugged. "Nothing. Just some guy, that's all, wanted to be my friend, I didn't want him to, he got a bit fresh..."

"And he hit you? He hit you?" Elijah saw the skin around Sean's eyes tighten, a sure sign that his temper was fraying. "What else did he do? Did he ... what else did he do?"

Elijah sighed. The one thing that was sacrosanct in their relationship was their honesty; they never lied to each other, never.

"Can you get me a drink?" he asked. "Just some water. Please?"

"Of course," Sean went to the fridge and pulled out a bottle, turning back to hand it to Elijah, who took it, drinking half of it at once before setting it on the counter. He looked at Sean, holding his gaze as he slowly unfastened his shirt before letting it drop off his shoulders, pooling on the floor around his ankles. The livid marks on his pale skin were very obviously fingermarks, already turning purple. Sean didn't speak, but he reached out and ran a gentle finger over the worst of them, his fingers barely touching the flesh.

"Anything else?"

Swallowing hard, Elijah took hold of Sean's hand and placed it on the waistband of his jeans, then pushed it further down, his eyes never leaving Sean's face, both hands around Sean's wrist, holding him there. He watched as Sean's eyes closed briefly, pain flitting across his face, and for the first time he felt his own control waver, his throat closing against something unknowable, maybe a scream, maybe tears.

"What?" Sean asked, his voice controlled and restrained. "How much?"

"Nothing." Elijah could feel his hands trembling, and he let go of Sean's wrist so that he could pretend he wasn't, but then he didn't know what to do with them, and ended up resting them against Sean's chest feeling the strong beat under his fingers. Too fast, his heart was beating too fast. "Nothing," he said again. "Just his hand, that's all." He paused. "Sean...."

He didn't get any further, as Sean reached out and pulled him into a solid, warm embrace. Elijah gripped the material of Sean's t-shirt, twisting it as hard as he could. He buried his face in the crook of Sean's neck, inhaling the familiar scent, making a small noise in the back of his throat as Sean's fingers ran up his back, stroking his skin.

"It's all right," said Sean, his lips buried in Elijah's hair. "It's all right." He could feel Elijah practically vibrating with tension and pulled him closer, trying to avoid the bruises on his arms. He didn't know what to say, how to defuse the situation, when he was only too aware of his own anger boiling inside him. Anger at whoever had done this to Elijah, anger at Dom and Orli for letting him get into the situation, even anger at Elijah, for letting it happen, for looking like he did - an easy target.

"Need a shower," Elijah said finally, "I'm sweaty and horrible." He pushed Sean away. "Then I'm just going to bed, okay?"

"Okay," Sean agreed. "But 'lijah, you do understand that you're not getting away with this?"

For a brief, frightening second, Elijah looked like some kind of wounded animal before he got himself back under control. "What?"

"You're going to tell me what happened."

Elijah didn't answer, but as he walked past, he trailed his fingers down Sean's strong arm.

AFTERMATH 4

Elijah turned the water as hot as it would go, scouring his skin, trying to get it clean, even rubbing at the bruises as if he somehow believed that they could be washed off too. Eventually he realised that much as he wanted to he couldn't stay under the water forever, and so he climbed out and fished around in the steam filled room until he found a towel. He wiped the condensation off the mirror and peered short sightedly at himself. Even without his contacts he could still see the bruise on his face developing beautifully. He didn't look at his arms, but he reached up and squeezed experimentally, hissing at the pain it caused.

"Fuck," he whispered.

When he left the bathroom, Sean was lying on the bed, pretending to read. Elijah could tell he was pretending because Sean was the fastest reader he had ever seen, and as he stood and watched, not a page was turned.

"You going to stand there for the rest of the night, or are you going to come to bed?" Sean set the book aside and cocked his head to one side, looking about 12.

"Sure." Elijah made his way to the bed, sliding under the blankets and pulling them up around his ears. He reached out and put a hand on Sean's chest, noticing faintly that his hands were trembling.

"Oh," he said. And then again: "oh."

Sean gathered Elijah's hands into one of his own and kissed each palm in turn, marvelling anew at just how childlike they felt to him, cold and ragged-nailed. He slid under the blankets himself and they lay quietly together, Sean still holding Elijah's hands.

"So, tell me," he whispered finally. As if he had been waiting for that particular phrase, Elijah slid over and plastered himself against Sean's body, pulling his hands free so that he could slide them under the baggy t-shirt, and rest them on Sean's naked chest, trying to absorb some of his warmth into himself. He felt so cold.

Sean wrapped his arms around Elijah, feeling the almost constant tremors running through him.

"I wasn't doing anything," Elijah began softly, "I really wasn't. This guy ... he was drunk, and he grabbed me. You've been through it as well, Sean, you know the routine; ignore them, or if they won't leave you alone, you get rid of them as politely as you can, and that's what I did." Without realising it, his hands had clenched into fists. "But he was drunk, he wouldn't go...." He shook his head, trying to clear it and pressed closer to Sean. "Enough. Don't want to talk, okay?"

"And he hit you? Why did he hit you?" Sean shook Elijah softly. "Don't hide it, Elijah, and don't try and hide from it." He closed his eyes, trying to damp down his own feelings; it wouldn't do either of them any good if Elijah realised how angry he was.

"Because I bit him," Elijah answered softly. "I was trying to get away, and he wouldn't move his arm, so I bit him. And then I bit him again when he stuck his tongue in my mouth." He moved away from Sean and sat up, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Is it me you're angry at?"

Sean gulped and half-laughed. Why did he even bother trying to hide the way he felt? Elijah had been able to read him like a book since the day they had met. He looked up as Elijah shifted his head, peering at him.

"No," he said. "Why would I be angry at you?" He put a hand on Elijah's back, sliding it under the baggy old t-shirt he was currently hiding inside, and stroked the cold, smooth flesh.

"Because I got myself into that position," Elijah shrugged. "Because I'm stupid enough to let it happen..." He tailed off, shrugging. "Don't know. Because I could have stayed at home tonight with you."

"Come here, dork," Sean said, pulling Elijah down to lie by his side. "Elijah, there's something you seem to constantly fail to comprehend about yourself." He let his fingers trail through the dark hair, a gesture which never failed to soothe Elijah, even at his most hyper. Sure enough, he felt some of the tension begin to leave the too-thin body. "You're gorgeous, that's what you don't comprehend."

"Right," Elijah snorted, but quietened when he felt Sean pull gently on his hair.

"You look at the world out of that face, remember. The rest of us get to see it. Believe me, if you were on this side of it, you'd think the same as the rest of the world."

"Dominic said I was bug eyed," Elijah muttered, stretching full length against Sean.

"Bugs have many eyes, and you have but two," answered Sean without thinking, completely failing to understand why Elijah began to laugh, but grateful that he did, even if the laughter did have a tinge of hysteria to it.

The laughter trailed off into gentle snuffling and the odd hiccup, and although Sean was fully aware that his shoulder was damp under Elijah's head, he tactfully didn't say anything, just kissed him gently and held him as he fell asleep.



AFTERMATH 5

When Elijah woke the next morning, for a brief, blessed second, he forgot completely about the events of the previous night. The sun was shining, it was entirely possible that birds were singing and he didn’t have much of a hangover at all. Life was good.

He rubbed his face and winced as the pain shot through him, and then winced again as he remembered just why his face hurt so much. As if remembering had woken up his nerve endings it suddenly struck him just how damn much he ached. As he moved his hands away from his face, the pulled muscle in his shoulder protested, and as he moved to sit up, the bruises on his arms flared into life. His stomach hurt from throwing up and his legs, when he pushed himself off the bed, were distinctly wobbly.

He shuffled to the bathroom feeling as if he had aged overnight and squinted at himself in the mirror. Or tried to squint, since it hurt when he screwed his face up. His eyes felt puffy and gritty and he could vaguely remember that he had cried, his head on Sean’s shoulder. But Sean, bless him for the good man he was, hadn’t tried to offer any comfort other than that of his presence. The solid presence that made him feel grounded and confident in a way nothing else did.

What had felt like a slap the previous night seemed to have been more of a punch. His cheekbone was swollen and beginning to take on a lovely purple hue, the fingerprints perfectly clear against his pale skin. He sighed and gingerly touched his cut mouth with his tongue, then prodded again, a little harder, when nothing seemed to happen.

"Ow, fuck!" He stopped doing it. The damage seemed to be inside his mouth where his teeth had sunk into the flesh, but other than a little swelling, it didn’t look too bad. Sighing he lifted one sleeve of his t-shirt and couldn’t help wincing at the glorious bruises developing there; again, the shape of his attacker’s fingers could be easily seen.

"You awake now?" Sean’s voice floated up the stairs. "Breakfast, come on!"

Elijah made some kind of mumbled reply, and with a final scowl into the mirror, he made his way down the stairs, stopping only to grab his glasses, so that he at least had a chance of seeing where he was going - no point in adding to the damage by falling down the damn stairs.

"Hey," he said, walking into the kitchen and dropping heavily into a chair, wincing as his shoulder let him know that it didn’t like that. "Is it late?"

"No." Sean put a steaming mug of coffee in front of him, and dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head. "About 10. How’re you?" Elijah felt a gentle hand on his jaw and let Sean lift his head.

"Sore," Elijah answered after a minute’s scrutiny. "But nothing else, don’t worry."

"Dom’s already called to see how you are; I said you’d call him back when you were ready." Sean sat down next to him. "I have to warn you that I can feel a Mother Hen mode coming on."

"From him or from you?" Elijah tried to keep the tone light, even though the aroma of the coffee was beginning to make him feel sick. "I couldn’t stand the thought of Dom mother hen-ing, if there is such a word."

"And what about me? Could you stand it from me?"

"Well you’re always my Mother Hen, so where’s the difference?" Elijah hadn’t intended it to sound so cold, and he quickly put his hand on Sean’s arm, trying to take away some of the sting his words must have caused.

"I thought that was my job," Sean said, looking away. "I’m supposed to be your Mother Hen; I’m supposed to protect you. Force of Hobbit, and all that. It’s one of the advantages - probably the only advantage - of being with somebody as old as me."

"No, I didn’t mean it like that," Elijah said, frowning despite his bruises. "And what do you mean, the ‘only advantage’? What’s wrong?" He shook Sean’s arm. "Sean? What do you mean?"

"If I was younger, or less bookish, then maybe I would have been out with you last night," Sean said quietly, and Elijah felt his already queasy stomach roll. "Or if you were with someone of your own age, with your interests, then you wouldn’t feel the need to go out with the other guys …" He tailed off and shook his head. "I’m not making any sense here, I’m sorry."

"Oh, Sean, have you been awake all night thinking about this?" Elijah half smiled when Sean nodded, and then he stood up, pulling Sean’s chair away from the table, and then climbing astride Sean’s lap, his hands going automatically to the soft, thick hair, while Sean, also without thinking, let his hands rest on Elijah’s hips.

"You’re what I want," Elijah began quietly. "I want to live here, with you, like this. I want you to teach me stuff that I never knew, and I want to watch you on a night, curled up with a book, completely lost to the outside world. I don’t want somebody younger - you make it sound like you’re an old man. Sean, I made my choice, and I chose you." He rested his chin on the top of Sean’s head, peering at the far wall.

"You’re too beautiful," Sean muttered, his mouth pressed against the velvet warmth of Elijah’s throat. "This will always happen…"

"What will?" Elijah pulled away and sat back slightly, making Sean wince. "What will always happen?"

"Nothing," Sean said, his hands pulling at Elijah’s hips, trying to make him come back. "I didn’t mean to say that."

"What will always happen?" Elijah asked again, ignoring Sean’s unspoken plea, and sliding off his knee completely. "Tell me what you meant."

"I didn’t mean anything," Sean assured him. "I didn’t mean to say it."

"Oh no, you never say anything you don’t mean. Tell me." Elijah crouched in front of Sean, and took one of the big hands in both his own. "Sean? Please tell me that you don’t mean what I think you mean."

Sean stayed silent, looking at their hands, then took a deep breath.

"You’re beautiful," he said again. "And you’re friends with the whole world. When you’re out, you don’t hold back and it scares me … you need to learn who the enemy is."

"You’re saying this is my fault, aren’t you?" Elijah said quietly, gently pulling his hands away. "That if I was a little bit more grown up and sensible, I wouldn’t have let it happen."

"No!" Sean reached out, mortified. "I didn’t mean that, of course I didn’t! But you … sometimes you’re too … friendly."

"Christ, make me sound like a puppy! Too friendly? I don’t go up to people and lick their faces, you know." He paused and put his hands over his mouth, trying to hold in the next words, but somehow they escaped anyway. "I’ll tell you what my problem is, shall I? It’s this." He pointed to his face. "People think things about me that aren’t true. The fact I look like a kid attracts people." He paused, and made one last attempt to stop the words he knew would hurt. "It’s what attracted you."

"Elijah!" Sean stood up so quickly that the chair went flying, landing on the floor with a noise that was too loud in the sudden, horrible halt in their conversation.

"Elijah," Sean tried again, more calmly. "That’s not true, and you know it."

"Do I?" Elijah asked, part of his mind wondering how they had got here so quickly. What had started this? "I’m young and stupid and … friendly. How would I know anything?" He backed away when Sean reached out, and his heart cried in protest when he saw the look on Sean’s face.

Unable to bear it, he turned and fumbled out of the kitchen, grabbing his car keys as he went.

"Elijah!" A different tone in Sean’s voice now; upset and confused, he reached out again, but couldn’t stop him.

"I’m going out. I need to think about stuff." Elijah paused, becoming aware that he was still in sweats and a t-shirt, with no shoes on. He didn’t care. He heard a noise behind him and turned to look at Sean, who was shaking his head, looking so confused and hurt that Elijah couldn’t help himself. He retraced his steps and kissed Sean lightly on one cheek. "I do love you," he said. "But what you said wasn’t fair, Sean. It wasn’t right."

Sean didn’t reply - couldn’t reply. He simply watched as Elijah left the room, and listened to the door closing. He tried not to think how final it sounded.

"Don’t go," he said, finally getting his vocal chords to work. "Please, Elijah. Stay."

AFTERMATH 6


Elijah drove away from the house hardly registering what he was doing. All he could hear was Sean's voice, echoing in his mind: //you're too beautiful.//

"I never fucking wanted it!" he shouted, his fist thumping against the steering wheel. "Some fuckhead tries it on with me, and I get the fucking blame. No fucking fair."

Suddenly becoming aware of the fact he was driving too fast and with no concentration, he pulled over to the side of the road, and rested his head against the back of the seat. He was breathing too fast, he realised, and he could murder a cigarette, but he didn't have any in the car. And since he was still in sweats and t-shirt he didn't have any money either. Just fucking dandy.

And where exactly was he supposed to go, looking like this? He couldn't turn round and go home, couldn't face the disappointment and hurt in Sean's gaze, not yet. Not until he had been able to straighten it out in his own mind.

*

"And just what the fuck are you doing here?" Orlando peered at the forlorn figure on the doorstep. Not that I'm not beyond thrilled to see you, obviously, but couldn't you have made it a bit later?" He paused for a moment, finally registering just how pathetic Elijah looked. "What is it? What's happened?"

"I'm sorry, Orli. I just didn't know where else to come."

"Come in, mate, come on." Orli pulled the door fully open and then made his way down the hall towards the kitchen, not bothering to see whether Elijah followed. He heard the door close softly and nodded to himself.

"Sit," he pointed at a stool pushed under the kitchen counter, then turned to pour out a mug of coffee - thank god he always had the stuff brewing. "Drink," was the next order. He sat opposite Elijah. "Talk."

Elijah wrapped his hands around the mug, trying to get some warmth into his hands. He was always cold at the moment, the only time he had been warm had been when he was wrapped around Sean.

"Talk to me," Orlando said softly. "Come on, what happened?"

"He blames me," Elijah said, not realising how hard it would be to say the words. "He thinks that I brought it on myself." He scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing when his bruises protested. "He thinks I'm too friendly."

"What? No." Orlando sat back. "No way, 'lijah. The guy worships the ground you walk on, there's no way he would think that. What did he actually say to you?"

"That." Elijah shrugged. "I'm too friendly and too pretty to be out in public."

"The one thing he didn't call you was pretty. He doesn't think you're pretty. He thinks you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, but he's never called you pretty. You're not a fucking girl, you know."

Elijah took a drink of coffee, grimacing at its taste. He reached for the sugar bowl and tipped what looked like half of it into his mug, stirring it with his finger before taking another sip.

"All right, he said I was beautiful, which is as bad."

"No. No it isn't." Orlando reached over and took the mug off Elijah, putting it next to his own on the counter, then he covered Elijah's hands with his own. "You listen to me, man, and listen hard. He loves you; no, it's more than that, he can't do without you. He doesn't blame you, why would he? He blames himself, you prat. He blames himself for not being there to look after you."

"But I don't need looking after," protested Elijah. "I'm not 12."

"No, you're not. But he loves to look after you." Orlando turned Elijah's hands palm up and began to run his thumb over the cold skin. "It's his job, it's what he's carved out for himself. And you take it for granted; he'll always know where the car is, he'll bring you home when you're drunk and not say anything about it, he'll make sure you've eaten; he'll love you, Elijah, in every sense of the word, and he'll love every bit of you, the good and the bad." Orlando sat back, releasing Elijah's hands. "He's found his reason for living."

Elijah didn't move, just sat quietly, head bowed, before he heaved a great sigh and looked up. "Heavy."

"Could be," Orlando agreed, "but it isn't, because it's right. Do you understand what I'm saying to you yet?" He paused. "Don't fucking shrug, Elijah. If you want people to take you seriously, don't shrug."

"Wasn't shrugging. Was easing my shoulders." Aware of just how sulky he sounded, Elijah picked up his coffee and took another mouthful. It was cold and disgusting, so he carefully put the mug down again.

"He's scared," Orlando continued. "Scared of what might have happened, not what did happen."

"I never asked for this," Elijah interrupted. "I never asked to look like this, or for people to assume certain things about me. I never asked for Sean to love me like he does."

"Could you go back to how it was before? Before Sean?"

"No," Elijah admitted. "But -" his shoulders sagged. "You're right, of course. I know you are." He looked up at Orlando, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "And he does love me like that."

"Does he know where you are?" asked Orlando, standing up and stretching, tutting when Elijah shook his head. "Twat. Because of course he won't be even slightly worried about you."

"I'm such a fuckhead," Elijah groaned. "He'll think - I don't know what he'll think. I don't want him to hate me, you know? I don't want him to think that I did it on purpose."

Orlando made his way around the counter and hugged Elijah fiercely. "He doesn't, he wouldn't." He pulled away and kissed Elijah softly. "I'm going to ring him, all right? You don't just run away from somebody as good as Sean. Fuckhead."

"See? You think I'm a fuckhead," said Elijah.

"Yep, but then I'm allowed to. Stay here." He left Elijah and went in search of the phone.

"Orli?" He looked back. Elijah looked very young, his eyes wide in his bruised face, tension in every line of his body. "Thanks. I love you, you know?"

"I know." Orli paused, then turning so that Elijah couldn't see the painful truth in his next statement, said, "I love you too, prat."

AFTERMATH 7


Sean listened as the sound of Elijah's car vanished into the distance. The silence of the house settled back around him, but he didn't move.

"Fuck." Sean rarely swore, a matter of some pride, but his million dollar vocabulary didn't have a word for this, for his confusion and fear. "Fuck."

He hadn't meant it, hadn't meant to say it, or if he had, it had come out wrong. He loved Elijah, had loved him from practically the first day they had met, and with that love had come a growing need to protect, almost shelter him. Elijah had fought against it, on the whole good-naturedly, and Sean had tried to damp it down, but sometimes it came roaring to the surface, and he was pretty sure that this had started as he had held a sleeping Elijah, watching him as the remainder of the night burned into day. He had recognised the emotions; helplessness and anger and - worst of all - hatred, directed indiscriminately at the animal who had tried to hurt Elijah, at Dominic and Orlando for not stopping it, at Elijah for letting it happen, and at himself for not being better at his job.

Eventually he moved, tidying the breakfast things away, looking blindly out of the window, listening to the silence. No shower running, no footsteps overhead, no aggravated voice asking where things were: "what have you done with that vitally important bit of crap? You've tidied it away haven't you?"

"Stop it," he told himself. "He's not dead! He'll be back." Idly he made himself a coffee he didn't really want, and sat on the table, his feet on the chair.

The ringing of the telephone brought him out of his trance, and he almost broke his neck rushing to answer it.

"He's here," Orli said, and Sean's whole body sagged in relief. "He's fine, just being a bit of a drama queen."

"I'll be right over," said Sean.

"No." Orli's voice was harsher than intended.

"What do you mean, no? Don't tell me what to do, not where he's concerned."

"You fucked up, Sean. So what do you think you're going to do this time? Come waltzing in on your white charger and whisk him away to a better life?"

"I just want to see him, Orli. What I say to him is my business." He paused. "Much as I think you'd like it to be yours."

"Meaning?" Orli glanced over his shoulder. Elijah was still sitting at the kitchen counter.

"You know what it means. I've always known about your feelings for him. You sure that you're not trying to play the hero here, so that you'll have an eternally grateful Elijah at your beck and call?" Even as he spoke, he knew it was wrong, but he seemed to be having a day of saying the wrong things.

"If I was going to do that," Orlando said quietly, "then I would go out of my way to make sure that he thinks you're never coming back, wouldn't I? Instead I've had him sitting here for ages, trying to make him see sense."

Sean sat down suddenly, his legs giving way. "I'm sorry, Orli, I'm sorry..."

"It's okay, fuckwit. I'm sorry too. It's not my business what happened with you. Come and get him. He looks ridiculous in those glasses."

"No he doesn't," replied Sean.

"No," agreed Orli. "He doesn't."

"When did you get so wise? You used to be the irritating newbie who jumped everything with a pulse. What happened?"

There was a brief silence, then a snort from Orlando which was almost a laugh. "This isn't the time or the place to get into that," he said. "Let's just say I grew up when I realised that I couldn't have everything I wanted."

"I'll see you in a little while, Orli."

"We'll be here."

Sean put the phone down and looked into space for a long moment, then he suddenly jumped as if he had heard something. He picked up his keys and made his way out of the house.



AFTERMATH 8

"Is he coming?" Elijah asked, sliding from his seat and making his way to the window, peering out as if hoping that Sean would magically materialise.

"He's on his way," Orlando answered. He stood behind Elijah, his thumbs digging into the tense neck muscles. "It'll be all right, you know."

"I know, I suppose." Elijah ducked away. "Don't, that hurts. I've pulled something in my shoulder." He put his hand to the offending spot and rubbed. "Pulled away from the fucker so hard last night that I think I left half my arm behind."

"What are you going to say to him?" Orlando sat at the counter again, trying to ignore the strange tug of rejection he felt. Elijah rarely turned down the opportunity of any kind of contact; he thrived on it.

"Oh I don't know." Elijah made his way over to his favourite chair - the one he always claimed the second he walked into Orlando's place. It was a huge old fashioned rocking chair, and when he sat there, he always felt very small and young; it enabled him to escape the overwhelming pressure of being who he was. "I learned a long time ago that it's best not to plan ahead when you've had a - whatever it is we've had." He pulled his legs up so that he could hug his knees, and then rested his head against the back of the chair.

Orlando watched him; he knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. Very near the beginning of the shoot he realised that he had fallen completely for this one. He had watched for a sign that Elijah returned his feelings, but he seemed to behave in the same way with everyone; he flirted, he giggled, he stroked, he kissed; 'that's Elijah's way,' people began to say, smiling, a different look in their eyes. A look that stayed with them for a few hours then faded away.

He still remembered the day it had happened; it had been between shots, and he had been sitting next to Viggo, a lapful of restless hobbit as Elijah tried to get comfortable.

"Why don't you go and sit on a chair if my lap isn't up to your high standards?" Orlando had finally snapped, and Elijah had looked up at him, all Frodo eyes, and smiled bravely, even managing to get a slight tremble of the lip in there as well. Orlando had backed down immediately, getting himself into all kinds of contortions so that Elijah would be comfortable, contriving to ignore Viggo's snort of amusement.

Then Sean had appeared, and when Orlando glanced at Elijah, it was as if the sun had come out, the radiance of his smile was that dazzling.

"Frodo? Come walk with me?" Sean had held out his hand, and Elijah had taken it, standing up without a backward glance. As Orlando watched, they walked away, heads close together, fingers entwined, and he realised, with a clarity that was almost sickening, that he had missed whatever chance he had had. All he could do now was be his - their - friend. He had done that, come to terms with it, but still at times it hurt that he didn't have the right to hold Elijah, comfort him, kiss him. Take him to bed and love him.

The silence between them was easy, companionable. Elijah sat, curled in on himself, idly biting at the skin on his fingers, while Orlando sat and tried not to look.

The sound of a car pulling to a halt made them both look up.

"He's here," Orlando said, then winced at the triteness of the statement.

"Yeah." The word was scarcely more than a breath.

AFTERMATH 9

The ringing of the doorbell made them both jump, even though they had been expecting it and they grinned at each other a bit sheepishly.

"I'll go," Orlando said. "Stay."

He opened the door to reveal Sean shifting from foot to foot, restless in a way that was rarely seen.

"Hi," he said, trying to curb his impatience. "He here?"

Orlando opened the door completely and nodded towards the kitchen. As Sean walked past, Orlando put a hand on his arm. "He's nervous about something, Sean..." he tailed off, realising how stupid it would be to presume to tell Sean to be careful. As if he was ever anything else. Not sure what to do, he loitered in the hallway for a while and then decided to leave them alone by going upstairs and calling Dom. After all, this was serious gossip fodder, and he had been mature and helpful for some hours now. He was due a break.

*

Sean hesitated at the entrance to the kitchen. Elijah was sitting in the chair, legs curled against his chest, still gnawing at the skin on his fingers. He was staring at the space where Sean had just materialised, but he hadn't registered his arrival.

"Hey," Sean said. Elijah jumped slightly and then half smiled.

"Hi," he said around a mouthful of finger. "I'm such a fuckup."

"Well that's something we've definitely got in common," Sean replied. He covered the ground between them in two huge strides and dropped to his knees in front of Elijah. "I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't mean it, you must know that." Hesitantly he reached for Elijah's free hand and held it against his lips. "You just scared me, and I said the wrong thing."

Elijah finally removed his finger from his mouth and Sean winced as he saw the ragged skin, the blood oozing from the fresh teeth marks. He captured that hand too and slowly drew the damaged finger into his own mouth, his tongue licking at the blood.

"I'm sorry too," Elijah whispered, watching in fascinaion as his finger disappeared into Sean's mouth. "I'm sorry for looking like this, and for not being what you want me to be. I just fucking love you and I can't stop that."

"What do you mean, not what I want you to be?" Sean sat back on his heels, still holding Elijah's hand. "You're everything I want, and more."

"But people think I'm a kid. You think I'm a kid."

"I don't," Sean protested. "You're younger than me, that's just a simple fact. Doesn't mean that you're a kid. I've been quoted plenty of times on this, remember? Ancient soul, that's you. And just because you look out of that face ..." Hesitantly Sean reached up and stroked his index finger down Elijah's cheek ... "doesn't mean that you're not wise. Please Elijah, don't let what I said get to you."

"It's not, not really," Elijah said after what seemed to be a long silence. "It's everything. It's the way my life .... all of our lives ... have changed; it's the way that it's suddenly open season on me, and any fuckhead out there feels like they have the right to touch me whenever they want, like they know me..." Unconsciously he put his hand against the bruise on his face, and Sean felt his heart contract at the sight. "I'm not a kid ... I've been in this business for a fucking long time, but this fucking face of mine..."

"It's a beautiful face," Sean interrupted gently. "But it's not the only beautiful thing about you. It's not what made me fall in love with you, although I'm not going to pretend it isn't an added bonus. No, I fell for the whole package, the whole package." He put his hands on Elijah's knees and then rested his cheek against them. "Don't do this to me, to us. What happened was wrong, but it wasn't your fault, not any of it. You did completely the right thing when you fought him."

He felt Elijah's hands in his hair, tentatively at first, then more firmly, and his eyes closed in relief. He hadn't realised how frightened he had been.

"We're stupid." Elijah's voice was very quiet in the the kitchen. "Orlando said some stuff that really made sense. When you love someone, Sean, you love them, don't you? I mean really love them?"

"With everything I've got," Sean agreed, pushing up into Elijah's touch. "What's the point in doing it any other way?"

"Look at me." Elijah pulled on Sean's hair, making him move until they could see each other properly. "It wasn't about what happened last night. It wasn't about what you said this morning." He paused and then thumped his chest in frustration. "But it was... oh fuck it!" Reaching forward, he wrapped both hands in Sean's hair and kissed him.

"It's needing to know that I'm worth it," he mumbled against Sean's lips as he slowly broke the kiss. "It's guilt because of what you gave up for me. I don't want to let you down."

"And you don't. You won't." Sean kissed Elijah's cheeks, his lips, his nose, featherlight kisses. "Oh fuck, don't you get it? You're all I need."

"You said 'fuck', Seanie boy," laughed Elijah, a little bit unsteadily. "You caught my bad habit of swearing?"

"I think maybe I have," Sean agreed, sitting back on his heels. "Please come home, Elijah."

Elijah let himself be pulled out of the chair and into Sean's arms, kissing him long and deep and sweet. Trying to say without words exactly what he meant. For two intelligent, confident men, they were both falling over their feet pretty spectacularly when it came to this, so maybe actions really did speak louder than words.

"All sorted?" Orlando breezed into the kitchen, practically rubbing his hands together. "That's great! Beyond great and approaching fabulous. Going home to shag now?"

"Yes, I think we are," Sean said gravely. "Er, about the car, Orli..."

"Oh sorted, don't worry. Leave your keys, Elijah, and me and Dom'll bring it over later. He's coming round in a while."

"I'm sure he is," laughed Elijah, giddy with relief. "And you'll have loads to tell him."

"Not as much as I had about half an hour ago," Orlando said, then put his hand over his mouth. "Whoops! Didn't mean to say that. Still, he was bound to find out."

"Oh bound to," agreed Sean. "Especially with you as his mate. You really are the biggest gossip I've ever met."

"I know." Orlando looked down modestly. "Good, isn't it?" Then he looked up and grinned, gathering the other two into a hug. "Sorted properly? I'm pleased for you both, I really am." He planted a huge, wet kiss on each of them and began to shepherd them towards the door. "Now, go my children! Shag. Be happy. And I'll see you later."

As they climbed into Sean's car and pulled away, Elijah looked back.

"Sean, he's standing in the doorway waving what looks like a handkerchief. He's really weird."

"Drama school will do that to a person," Sean said gravely, then he grinned at Elijah, who grinned back. The grins became giggles which became full throated laughs and Sean had to stop the car while they recovered.

AFTERMATH 10

Elijah loved their bed, for lots of reasons. First off, it was their bed - they had bought it together on a long, silly afternoon involving lots of lying down and 'checking the comfort factor'. It was huge, with, as Elijah had put it, 'enough room for us to lay our hats and a few close friends'. And it was a haven for both of them, a place to which they could escape when things were getting hectic and out of control.

He sighed his pleasure, one hand sliding above his head and underneath the pillow, while the other rested lightly on Sean's naked shoulder. Sean was softly kissing the bruises on Elijah's face, his tongue sneaking out to lap at the worst of the discolouration. When he was satisfied that he had covered the whole area, Sean moved down, nibbling at a very tempting ear, which elicited a moan from Elijah, as one of his most sensitive spots was deftly tortured.

Sean raised his head and smiled gently, but didn't speak. His fingers kept up a steady smoothing motion on Elijah's arms, stroking over the bruises again and again until he lowered his head and began to kiss them, first one arm, then the other. The bruises were huge and ugly now, standing out against Elijah's pale skin, and although Sean could feel the anger still there, burning deep and clear, he refused to let it to the surface. This was their place, their home; they had never brought anger into their bed, and they never would.

"Enough," Elijah whispered, tugging on Sean's hair. "C'mere now." He pulled Sean's head up until they could kiss again. Sean reached up and slid his own hand under the pillow, linking his fingers with Elijah's; his other hand tangled in the dark hair as the kiss lengthened.

Finally, Elijah pulled away, laughing, and shifted, silently asking for Sean to move, lie on his back. Sean complied, stretching his arms out to either side and smiling as Elijah sat back on his heels.

"You're nice," he said softly, putting a hand on Sean's stomach, feeling the muscles jump and quiver under his touch. "You're nice from the toes up and the inside out. You put up with so much crap from me, and you just, well, put up with it." He stroked the smattering of hair on Sean's belly, letting his fingers dip lower with each movement. "How do you do that?"

"Because it's not crap," Sean answered, trying to control his breathing. "It's you ... oh! Oh, that's nice."

"Thought it would be," Elijah agreed, his fingers now busy somewhere on Sean's inner thigh. "So the next time I go out are you coming with me?"

After a moment, Sean laughed and then gasped as Elijah moved his fingers again. "No, I don't think so," he said. "You're perfectly able to take care of yourself, after all. It's not like you're a kid." He paused. "Unless you want me there?"

"I want you all the time," Elijah answered solemnly. "But you're right, the places I go with Orli and Dom aren't the kind of places you'd enjoy." He reached down and kissed Sean's belly, his hand still busy. "Thank you." His voice was muffled, but Sean could feel it all the way through his body. He didn't explain what the thank you was for, but it was perfectly clear, hanging there between the two of them: Thank you for listening to me. Thank you for realising I'm not a child, and for making me realise it too. And thank you for understanding that I need this part of my life; I need to get drunk and loud with my friends. I can do that because I know you'll be here.

Then all coherent thought stopped as Elijah bent his head lower and began to combine his fingers and his mouth in a way that Sean had long ago decided be declared illegal.


The End

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