FIC: "Temporary Monogamy" (Part Twenty) (Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean, Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Title: "Temporary Monogamy" (20/27)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Click here for full disclaimers & notes.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
Two weeks later, Orlando was spending a rare night at his own home alone - no Hobbits popping by, no Karl in his kitchen, no Harry clucking over the (admittedly pathetically, even) sad state of his garden, no Jerry sprawled on the sofa, distracting him with kisses so he could steal all the crisps - when the doorbell rang. He half thought about ignoring it - it was late, he was dead beat from a muddy, physically exhausting 13-hour day, and he was looking forward to his takeaway and the Fawlty Towers marathon on the telly. Because if there was one thing better than John Cleese doing his Silly Walks on Monty Python, it was John Cleese going spectacularly off his nutter as Basil Fawlty.
Still, his gran was always nattering on about manners and how important they were to civilization, and not answering the bell would be unbearably rude by her estimation. So, because Orlando didn't want a lecture, even if it was imaginary, he reluctantly hauled his lazy arse off the sofa and opened the door.
Sean stood on the stoop, wide smile in place, his hair even shaggier than normal, dressed casually in jeans and a tee. He was also holding up a bottle of Jameson's. "Congratulate me, I'm a single man."
Sean was back.
Orlando couldn't stop the grin. He held the door open wider, let himself look his fill. Noted that Sean's stance was relaxed, his eyes were clear and filled with their usual life, and that the shadows that had been clouding around him were all but gone. Seemed the time back home had done him some good. But Christ, he was glad as fuck that Sean was back in New Zealand. He'd missed the bastard something fierce.
"Why aren't you at Karl's?" he asked, nodding at the bottle. "Shouldn't you want to celebrate your freedom with hot monkey sex?"
"And while monkey sex is most excellent, it's not all there is," Sean shrugged, his hair falling across his forehead. "Told him I'd drop by later. Just had a notion to stop by yours first, share a drink."
A warm glow spread throughout Orlando's entire body at the thought that Sean had come by to see him first after spending the past month out of the country. "Drinks are good," he said, and stepped forward. He pulled Sean into a hard, heartfelt hug, and if he clung a little too hard to sturdy shoulders, who would blame him for allowing himself to get a little emotional? Man was one of his best friends, after all.
Sean hugged him back, strong arms wrapping around him, and the gesture was so welcome, so familiar that Orlando's throat clogged with emotion. He pulled back, smiling, and hoped that Sean would forgive it for being a little watery. "I'll get us some glasses, set up the chess board."
Sean's answering smile could have melted the polar ice caps.
***
In the end, cribbage won out over chess, which was just as well, even though Orlando still couldn't manage to win a game against Sean to save his life. He doubted he could have concentrated on the intricate dance that was chess anyway, especially once they'd gone through the Jameson's and Orlando had broken out the bottle of Glendronach that Bernard had given him as a gift.
"So, what's the latest word, then?" Sean asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he studied his cards with the sort of concentration he only got after he'd had a few too many.
"Oh, you know, the usual." Orlando frowned, then blinked. The numbers on his cards were far too blurry. He hadn't had that much to drink. Had he? Still speaking and upright and all. "Did Karl tell you about the tank?"
"Aye, he did." Sean's chuff of laughter was music to Orlando's ears. "I still don't see how the New Zealand Army were that bamboozled."
"I'm pretty sure Viggo in drag would distract a person."
"Ah, was that how they did it?" Sean looked a perfect picture of horrified and impressed. "I would think he'd look hideous as a woman. His features are far too severe."
"True," Orlando conceded, with a solemn nod. "I kept telling them to use Elijah as bait, but they wouldn't listen."
He couldn't believe how much he'd missed this. Missed talking about the crazy antics of their friends with the only other person (other than himself, of course) who'd mostly managed to keep their sanity somewhat intact. Missed the way Sean licked his lips when he was thinking, missed the delicate way he held his cards, missed the quick wit that he tried to hide with self-deprecating shrugs.
"Did I tell you about Dave getting Bernard and Ian to make out?"
Sean's eyes widened comically behind his glasses. It was like drowning in emerald. "Yer bamming me."
"Swear to Christ." Orlando held up a hand. "Ian was leaning against the table, talking to Bernard about something, so Dave said that meant Ian was fair game for betting, and sure enough, he won the hand, told Ian he'd have to do the tonsil hockey with Bernard, and there we all were with a free senior peep show. I still think Dom is having bad dreams about Ian's hand down Bernard's pants."
"At the poker table?" Sean poured them each another finger of scotch, even though Orlando already was wobbly enough. Ah well, his house, not like he was driving.
"Apparently Ian's idea of tonsil hockey includes a handjob."
"Lucky Bernard."
"That's what Billy said."
"Ah, well, he would, wouldn't he."
"Our Billy's an utter slut," Orlando nodded, then tossed his cards on the table in defeat. "Fuck it, you win, I can't...the cards are blurry."
"Ah, good, I thought it was just that I needed new glasses," Sean replied, and tossed his own cards down next to Orlando's. "Living room?"
"Bring the bottle." When Orlando stood, he swayed for a dangerous moment before righting himself. "Don't want it getting lonely."
"Of course not," Sean solemnly agreed, and snagged it as he threw a friendly arm around Orlando's neck. "How're you? How's Jerry?"
"Good." They both stumbled into the living room and onto the sofa in a pile of limbs and laughter. "He's visiting his family this week. I'm meeting him at the weekend."
Sean sprawled beside him, taking up most of the cushions, and flopped his head to give Orlando a serious, drunken stare. "Ah, like that, is it?" he asked, voice a gruff slur. "Meeting the parents is serious business, you know."
"It's not...we're not..." Orlando tried shaking his head, then stopped when the dizziness only got worse. "It's just not."
"Ah, good. Shouldn't rush that sort of thing."
"Too right." Orlando scooted closer, laid his head on Sean's shoulder. "Hasn't been the same without you, you know."
Soft lips brushed his forehead. "I missed you, too."
***
An hour later, Orlando awoke with a start, blinking the cobwebs out of his brain as he looked around the room. He didn't remember closing eyes, let alone falling asleep. Sean's arm was still around him, holding him in place, and soft snores echoed in his ears. Sean's glasses were skewed, hair tangling around his forehead, and his mouth was partially opened. Orlando felt a wave of affection so strong that he thought he might burst from it. He'd truly, deeply missed the hell out of the man.
He tried wiggling out of Sean's hold without waking him, but didn't quite succeed. Sean shifted, let out a hiccupping groan, then blinked owlishly, straightening his glasses with a frown. "Wassat?"
"Nothing," Orlando said, with a yawn. "I was just getting up to head to bed."
"Ah, right, getting late and all. I should..." Sean stood, wobbled, then just as abruptly sat back down. The look of surprise on his face was endearing, if anything about Sean could be called thus. "Well, maybe not, then."
"You can have the sofa," Orlando offered. The way Sean was acting, he'd get lost stumbling his way the few yards to his own house. Probably wind up passed out on his front lawn, and while that would be mildly amusing, in a Viggo-sniggering sort of way, it would be terribly bad form as Sean's friend to let him go wandering about without a chaperone.
Sean's smile was all crinkles. "Yer a lifesaver."
"I know," Orlando replied, and patted Sean's knee before standing himself. He was only marginally more successful. He left the room to grab extra blankets and pillows (it was a warm enough night, but Sean tended to get cold easily - his feet were like icebergs, especially in the morning), his own steps wobbly. He quite possibly wasn't as sober as he'd thought. The short nap didn't seem to have helped.
Which might've explained why he stumbled to a surprised stop when he got back into the living room. Far too much alcohol mucking with his equilibrium, that sort of thing.
Then again, if Orlando was completely honest, the sudden stop might've been the unexpected sight of Sean's very nicely narrowed, very muscled, and very naked - had Orlando mentioned the naked bit? - back on display. Broad shoulders tapered into the long, lean lines of Sean's waist, curved down to impossibly cut hips, all of it beautifully, gloriously, naked.
Orlando blinked through the haze, shaking off the startling and impossible wave of lust. Good sweet Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? He'd seen Sean's half-naked and mostly naked and even entirely naked form scads of times. Hell, they went surfing all the time. He'd seen Sean in tiny swim trunks, mostly naked and wet and had never felt this odd sort of fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He'd seen Sean changing in front of him in the cuntebago more times than he cared to admit, had swatted Sean's naked ass and made fun of his lopsided balls more than once and still, it had never made him lose his breath or common sense or want to start tracing a path with his...
He was definitely still monged.
"Here," he said, stepping into the room. He placed the blankets and pillows on the sofa carefully, like they were made of glass. "That should do it."
He couldn't look Sean in the eyes. Not that it helped, since now all he could see was Sean's equally naked, equally muscled, and equally gloriously naked chest. His skin positively glowed golden in the light from the nearby lamp, blond hairs contracting down in a trail that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans, and he really, honestly, truly should not be thinking any of the thoughts in his head right now.
Honestly, it was like he'd reverted right back to horny teenager.
He made a move to leave, but stopped when Sean grabbed his hand. The light touch burned through him like a brand. "Thank you," Sean murmured. The words were simple and soft.
It was then that Orlando made the mistake of looking up. Sean's eyes, brilliantly open and green and sparkling with gratitude, completely broke something inside him. The next thing Orlando knew, he was stepping forward. With a small sound that he didn't even register as human, he grabbed a handful of Sean's hair, and had his mouth on Sean's.
The first hard slide of his lips against Sean's sucked all of the oxygen out of Orlando's lungs. Sean's mouth conformed to his like they'd been fashioned for this singular purpose. Sean's taste was unlike anything he had ever known - part whiskey, part cigarette smoke, part something dark and uniquely Sean, addicting and overwhelming everything else that had ever come before it. Orlando's legs trembled; his hands trembled, then slid to Sean's shoulders and lower, mapping impossibly warm skin. He was vaguely aware of a small moan coming from deep inside him, but it seemed unimportant next to the bolt of electricity zinging through his entire body.
Then Sean's tongue flickered past his open lips, and Orlando's whole world narrowed to Sean, and only Sean. To the slide of Sean's tongue against his, the hard press of Sean's chest against his hands, the rough feel of Sean's beard burning a path along his jaw. There was nothing else. There had never been anything else. All of Orlando's life had been leading to precisely this moment, to this kiss, this man, this final, overwhelming sense of rightness.
When they finally, inevitably, parted, Orlando simply stood there, chest heaving, lips bruised, until his breath started again. Blood surged in his veins, hot and insidious. His heart pounded in his ears, blocking out all other sound. Sean looked just as shell-shocked. Their eyes locked in recognition.
In unison, they reached for each other again, and, if possible, this kiss was even better than the first. Fucking Christ, Sean knew how to kiss. His tongue tangled with Orlando's, slid in wet friction, and Orlando blindly sought more, pressed against Sean in a single line of heat and want. Sean was more than just any god with his tongue. He was Zeus himself, perfection personified, and Orlando couldn't get enough. He clung to Sean's shoulders, slanted his mouth, the moan one of desperation and greed.
"Fucking hell, Orlando," Sean groaned, lips moving from Orlando's to his throat, mouthing at the soft skin. Orlando's knees buckled. His vision swam. He was already reaching for Sean to pull him to the floor to finish what they'd started.
What in God's name was he doing?
He jerked away, gasping for breath, his thoughts a whirl of confusion and lust. He'd just kissed - no, he'd just mauled - one of his best friends. Sean. This wasn't just some intoxicated peck or experiment, easily laughed off and forgotten. This had been a full-on assault on his senses, a kiss that he could still feel clear to his toes...
"Oh, fuck me," he whispered, horrified by his own actions.
He turned on his heels, fled the room as fast as his feet would allow. He scrubbed at the lips with the back of his hands, futilely trying to scrub the too vivid taste of Sean away. He had to think. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.
If Sean called after him, he pretended not to hear it.
(To Be Continued)
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Orlando Bloom/Sean Bean (Karl Urban/Sean Bean)
Click here for full disclaimers & notes.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty | Part Twenty-One | Part Twenty-Two | Part Twenty-Three | Part Twenty-Four | Part Twenty-Five | Part Twenty-Six | Part Twenty-Seven (and Epilogue) |
Two weeks later, Orlando was spending a rare night at his own home alone - no Hobbits popping by, no Karl in his kitchen, no Harry clucking over the (admittedly pathetically, even) sad state of his garden, no Jerry sprawled on the sofa, distracting him with kisses so he could steal all the crisps - when the doorbell rang. He half thought about ignoring it - it was late, he was dead beat from a muddy, physically exhausting 13-hour day, and he was looking forward to his takeaway and the Fawlty Towers marathon on the telly. Because if there was one thing better than John Cleese doing his Silly Walks on Monty Python, it was John Cleese going spectacularly off his nutter as Basil Fawlty.
Still, his gran was always nattering on about manners and how important they were to civilization, and not answering the bell would be unbearably rude by her estimation. So, because Orlando didn't want a lecture, even if it was imaginary, he reluctantly hauled his lazy arse off the sofa and opened the door.
Sean stood on the stoop, wide smile in place, his hair even shaggier than normal, dressed casually in jeans and a tee. He was also holding up a bottle of Jameson's. "Congratulate me, I'm a single man."
Sean was back.
Orlando couldn't stop the grin. He held the door open wider, let himself look his fill. Noted that Sean's stance was relaxed, his eyes were clear and filled with their usual life, and that the shadows that had been clouding around him were all but gone. Seemed the time back home had done him some good. But Christ, he was glad as fuck that Sean was back in New Zealand. He'd missed the bastard something fierce.
"Why aren't you at Karl's?" he asked, nodding at the bottle. "Shouldn't you want to celebrate your freedom with hot monkey sex?"
"And while monkey sex is most excellent, it's not all there is," Sean shrugged, his hair falling across his forehead. "Told him I'd drop by later. Just had a notion to stop by yours first, share a drink."
A warm glow spread throughout Orlando's entire body at the thought that Sean had come by to see him first after spending the past month out of the country. "Drinks are good," he said, and stepped forward. He pulled Sean into a hard, heartfelt hug, and if he clung a little too hard to sturdy shoulders, who would blame him for allowing himself to get a little emotional? Man was one of his best friends, after all.
Sean hugged him back, strong arms wrapping around him, and the gesture was so welcome, so familiar that Orlando's throat clogged with emotion. He pulled back, smiling, and hoped that Sean would forgive it for being a little watery. "I'll get us some glasses, set up the chess board."
Sean's answering smile could have melted the polar ice caps.
***
In the end, cribbage won out over chess, which was just as well, even though Orlando still couldn't manage to win a game against Sean to save his life. He doubted he could have concentrated on the intricate dance that was chess anyway, especially once they'd gone through the Jameson's and Orlando had broken out the bottle of Glendronach that Bernard had given him as a gift.
"So, what's the latest word, then?" Sean asked, pushing his glasses back up his nose as he studied his cards with the sort of concentration he only got after he'd had a few too many.
"Oh, you know, the usual." Orlando frowned, then blinked. The numbers on his cards were far too blurry. He hadn't had that much to drink. Had he? Still speaking and upright and all. "Did Karl tell you about the tank?"
"Aye, he did." Sean's chuff of laughter was music to Orlando's ears. "I still don't see how the New Zealand Army were that bamboozled."
"I'm pretty sure Viggo in drag would distract a person."
"Ah, was that how they did it?" Sean looked a perfect picture of horrified and impressed. "I would think he'd look hideous as a woman. His features are far too severe."
"True," Orlando conceded, with a solemn nod. "I kept telling them to use Elijah as bait, but they wouldn't listen."
He couldn't believe how much he'd missed this. Missed talking about the crazy antics of their friends with the only other person (other than himself, of course) who'd mostly managed to keep their sanity somewhat intact. Missed the way Sean licked his lips when he was thinking, missed the delicate way he held his cards, missed the quick wit that he tried to hide with self-deprecating shrugs.
"Did I tell you about Dave getting Bernard and Ian to make out?"
Sean's eyes widened comically behind his glasses. It was like drowning in emerald. "Yer bamming me."
"Swear to Christ." Orlando held up a hand. "Ian was leaning against the table, talking to Bernard about something, so Dave said that meant Ian was fair game for betting, and sure enough, he won the hand, told Ian he'd have to do the tonsil hockey with Bernard, and there we all were with a free senior peep show. I still think Dom is having bad dreams about Ian's hand down Bernard's pants."
"At the poker table?" Sean poured them each another finger of scotch, even though Orlando already was wobbly enough. Ah well, his house, not like he was driving.
"Apparently Ian's idea of tonsil hockey includes a handjob."
"Lucky Bernard."
"That's what Billy said."
"Ah, well, he would, wouldn't he."
"Our Billy's an utter slut," Orlando nodded, then tossed his cards on the table in defeat. "Fuck it, you win, I can't...the cards are blurry."
"Ah, good, I thought it was just that I needed new glasses," Sean replied, and tossed his own cards down next to Orlando's. "Living room?"
"Bring the bottle." When Orlando stood, he swayed for a dangerous moment before righting himself. "Don't want it getting lonely."
"Of course not," Sean solemnly agreed, and snagged it as he threw a friendly arm around Orlando's neck. "How're you? How's Jerry?"
"Good." They both stumbled into the living room and onto the sofa in a pile of limbs and laughter. "He's visiting his family this week. I'm meeting him at the weekend."
Sean sprawled beside him, taking up most of the cushions, and flopped his head to give Orlando a serious, drunken stare. "Ah, like that, is it?" he asked, voice a gruff slur. "Meeting the parents is serious business, you know."
"It's not...we're not..." Orlando tried shaking his head, then stopped when the dizziness only got worse. "It's just not."
"Ah, good. Shouldn't rush that sort of thing."
"Too right." Orlando scooted closer, laid his head on Sean's shoulder. "Hasn't been the same without you, you know."
Soft lips brushed his forehead. "I missed you, too."
***
An hour later, Orlando awoke with a start, blinking the cobwebs out of his brain as he looked around the room. He didn't remember closing eyes, let alone falling asleep. Sean's arm was still around him, holding him in place, and soft snores echoed in his ears. Sean's glasses were skewed, hair tangling around his forehead, and his mouth was partially opened. Orlando felt a wave of affection so strong that he thought he might burst from it. He'd truly, deeply missed the hell out of the man.
He tried wiggling out of Sean's hold without waking him, but didn't quite succeed. Sean shifted, let out a hiccupping groan, then blinked owlishly, straightening his glasses with a frown. "Wassat?"
"Nothing," Orlando said, with a yawn. "I was just getting up to head to bed."
"Ah, right, getting late and all. I should..." Sean stood, wobbled, then just as abruptly sat back down. The look of surprise on his face was endearing, if anything about Sean could be called thus. "Well, maybe not, then."
"You can have the sofa," Orlando offered. The way Sean was acting, he'd get lost stumbling his way the few yards to his own house. Probably wind up passed out on his front lawn, and while that would be mildly amusing, in a Viggo-sniggering sort of way, it would be terribly bad form as Sean's friend to let him go wandering about without a chaperone.
Sean's smile was all crinkles. "Yer a lifesaver."
"I know," Orlando replied, and patted Sean's knee before standing himself. He was only marginally more successful. He left the room to grab extra blankets and pillows (it was a warm enough night, but Sean tended to get cold easily - his feet were like icebergs, especially in the morning), his own steps wobbly. He quite possibly wasn't as sober as he'd thought. The short nap didn't seem to have helped.
Which might've explained why he stumbled to a surprised stop when he got back into the living room. Far too much alcohol mucking with his equilibrium, that sort of thing.
Then again, if Orlando was completely honest, the sudden stop might've been the unexpected sight of Sean's very nicely narrowed, very muscled, and very naked - had Orlando mentioned the naked bit? - back on display. Broad shoulders tapered into the long, lean lines of Sean's waist, curved down to impossibly cut hips, all of it beautifully, gloriously, naked.
Orlando blinked through the haze, shaking off the startling and impossible wave of lust. Good sweet Christ, what the hell was wrong with him? He'd seen Sean's half-naked and mostly naked and even entirely naked form scads of times. Hell, they went surfing all the time. He'd seen Sean in tiny swim trunks, mostly naked and wet and had never felt this odd sort of fluttering in the pit of his stomach. He'd seen Sean changing in front of him in the cuntebago more times than he cared to admit, had swatted Sean's naked ass and made fun of his lopsided balls more than once and still, it had never made him lose his breath or common sense or want to start tracing a path with his...
He was definitely still monged.
"Here," he said, stepping into the room. He placed the blankets and pillows on the sofa carefully, like they were made of glass. "That should do it."
He couldn't look Sean in the eyes. Not that it helped, since now all he could see was Sean's equally naked, equally muscled, and equally gloriously naked chest. His skin positively glowed golden in the light from the nearby lamp, blond hairs contracting down in a trail that disappeared under the waistband of his jeans, and he really, honestly, truly should not be thinking any of the thoughts in his head right now.
Honestly, it was like he'd reverted right back to horny teenager.
He made a move to leave, but stopped when Sean grabbed his hand. The light touch burned through him like a brand. "Thank you," Sean murmured. The words were simple and soft.
It was then that Orlando made the mistake of looking up. Sean's eyes, brilliantly open and green and sparkling with gratitude, completely broke something inside him. The next thing Orlando knew, he was stepping forward. With a small sound that he didn't even register as human, he grabbed a handful of Sean's hair, and had his mouth on Sean's.
The first hard slide of his lips against Sean's sucked all of the oxygen out of Orlando's lungs. Sean's mouth conformed to his like they'd been fashioned for this singular purpose. Sean's taste was unlike anything he had ever known - part whiskey, part cigarette smoke, part something dark and uniquely Sean, addicting and overwhelming everything else that had ever come before it. Orlando's legs trembled; his hands trembled, then slid to Sean's shoulders and lower, mapping impossibly warm skin. He was vaguely aware of a small moan coming from deep inside him, but it seemed unimportant next to the bolt of electricity zinging through his entire body.
Then Sean's tongue flickered past his open lips, and Orlando's whole world narrowed to Sean, and only Sean. To the slide of Sean's tongue against his, the hard press of Sean's chest against his hands, the rough feel of Sean's beard burning a path along his jaw. There was nothing else. There had never been anything else. All of Orlando's life had been leading to precisely this moment, to this kiss, this man, this final, overwhelming sense of rightness.
When they finally, inevitably, parted, Orlando simply stood there, chest heaving, lips bruised, until his breath started again. Blood surged in his veins, hot and insidious. His heart pounded in his ears, blocking out all other sound. Sean looked just as shell-shocked. Their eyes locked in recognition.
In unison, they reached for each other again, and, if possible, this kiss was even better than the first. Fucking Christ, Sean knew how to kiss. His tongue tangled with Orlando's, slid in wet friction, and Orlando blindly sought more, pressed against Sean in a single line of heat and want. Sean was more than just any god with his tongue. He was Zeus himself, perfection personified, and Orlando couldn't get enough. He clung to Sean's shoulders, slanted his mouth, the moan one of desperation and greed.
"Fucking hell, Orlando," Sean groaned, lips moving from Orlando's to his throat, mouthing at the soft skin. Orlando's knees buckled. His vision swam. He was already reaching for Sean to pull him to the floor to finish what they'd started.
What in God's name was he doing?
He jerked away, gasping for breath, his thoughts a whirl of confusion and lust. He'd just kissed - no, he'd just mauled - one of his best friends. Sean. This wasn't just some intoxicated peck or experiment, easily laughed off and forgotten. This had been a full-on assault on his senses, a kiss that he could still feel clear to his toes...
"Oh, fuck me," he whispered, horrified by his own actions.
He turned on his heels, fled the room as fast as his feet would allow. He scrubbed at the lips with the back of his hands, futilely trying to scrub the too vivid taste of Sean away. He had to think. He couldn't believe he'd been so stupid.
If Sean called after him, he pretended not to hear it.
(To Be Continued)