The Wedding

Title: The Wedding 
Author: Dice 
Pairings: Ronan/Sean 
Archive: Hang on to that thought, I might not be done revising yet. 
Author's note: Right. So for all those of you who read this series before, it's still essentially the same, only I hope a little better writing. I wrote The Wedding quite a while ago and while I liked the series and characters it was never meant to be a series which is why I felt it necessary to update the chapters and remove the gaping plot holes and instances of "this writer doesn't know shit" events. So I hope I've done that to some extent.


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Garlands and bouquets of white flowers decorated the isle in the small gothic church, chosen be-cause of the unrivalled romantic atmosphere it was supposedly, if you listened to some people, im-bued with. Never mind that the guests had to drive five miles into the countryside to get here. Sunlight ran in like a deluge through the coloured glass of the leaded windows behind the altar, bathing us in a rainbow glow.

I was never comfortable in a tailcoat and the collar of the starched shirt was smothering me, but then again, `traditional' in the Queen's English was rarely, if ever, translated `comfortable' in any-one else's English. Then Peter turned to me, his hands shaking when he reached for the ring. His face was pale – almost ashen – and the smile he gave me was beyond nervous and heading rapidly for hysterical. Looking into his pale blue eyes I felt like the floor was slowly slipping away from under my feet. My breath hitched and then he took the ring, our fingers touching fleetingly, tenderly and his smile lost some of the panic, as if the brief touch reassured him and then he turned back toward his bride.

I looked at the familiar swirl in the nape of his neck – how many times hadn't I wished I'd dare to reach out my hand and twirl those honey brown locks between my fingers. I watched his strained stance and his hands that trembling took the white glove that covered Linda's hand off and then slid the ring on her finger. As they gently kissed, his face turned from white to scarlet and he grinned foolishly, all nervousness gone in an instant.

If a heart can break more than once, mine had, and the chards were shredding my lungs – I would've screamed if I could've breathed.



I watched with a forced smile as my best friend ran through the rain of rice with his bride by his hand. I didn't throw any. I walked down to my car, watching as they drew off, ribbons and beer cans fluttering behind the car, and thinking about just going home – I'd done my duty.

I lit a cigarette as I unlocked my car, alas it did nothing to soothe my bleak mood. Brian came up to me and he was all smiles as usual, his cheerfulness usually as catching as a bad cold, but I was currently more than immune to it. He dabbed a white lace handkerchief beneath his left eye reveal-ing that he'd been crying. I failed to mention the trace of mascara left behind.

"And how's that for a wedding, eh?" he said and then, noting my lack of glee; "Are you all right?" A note of sincere concern sneaked into his voice, but was gone as quickly. "Ah, these shoes will be the death of me!" Without waiting for my response he bent down and took off the high-heeled shoes he was wearing.

"Love your dress," I said indifferently, blowing smoke in his general direction. It was a pastel yellow, very short dress, with white roses and it accentuated his slim figure and strictly homemade décolletage, that could equal the genuine article any day.

"Well, darling, what did you expect? Tailcoat and a starched shirt?" he attached a hand to his hip and a finger went pensively to his chin. "Oh, but bless me, darling! That's what you're wearing," he said feigning mockery and winked. I sighed and opened the car door.

"What? No witty reply?" he put a hand on my forehead and grinned. "Are you really all right, Sean?"

"I'm fine," I answered brusquely – I had no patience with his theatrics on this of all days, he could drive me quite mad sometimes.

"Come on, love. At least we can enjoy the wedding cake," Brian said coaxing and hooked his arm around mine. "Besides, don't you have to hold a speech?"

Oh bloody hell, the speech, I'd completely forgotten, my face must've gone green, I felt like be-ing suddenly and violently sick behind the nearest headstone.

"I…" I began but he interrupted me with a hand over my mouth.

"What do you expect me to tell, Peter?" he said, knowing that those were the exact words to win me over – I couldn't disappoint Peter.



I sat in the crowded garden outside Peter's parents' house with a glass of white wine in my hand. This was that part of any festivity of this magnitude that always left me too hungry to think of any- thing other than food, but with a stomach that suffered from too much sour wine to actually want to eat anything – the mingling, also known, in less refined circles, as a bloody waste of time.

I hadn't seen Peter since I got here and that bothered me, but at the same time that it was almost a relief, I didn't know what to say to him if I did see him.

There was cheerful music playing and the jovial chatter of the guests was interrupted now and then by a loud laugh coming from the father of the bride, who, it would seem, became louder with every drink that went down his vast throat. I'd never met the man, but I doubted he had any redeem-ing features, having fathered the bane of my existence.

The entire crowd was made up mainly by people I didn't know; both relatives of Peter's and of hers, and their individual friends of course. Few of the other guests talked to me, but then again I hadn't done a very good impersonation of someone who cares to be spoken to. I forced a con-strained smile on my face when compelled to speak with someone, but I didn't put much effort into being polite.

A woman, who I had never seen before, strolled over to the table where I was sitting. She sat down and began flirting with me. It would prove to be an empty effort, but I didn't get an immediate chance to tell her that.

"Wasn't it a wonderful wedding?" she said `accidentally' brushing her slim leg against mine when she crossed her legs.

"Yes, lovely," I answered bleakly.

"Don't you think the bride is simply beautiful?" she continued, giving me a look from under her dark eyelashes, most likely hoping I'd say that she was prettier or something trite like that.

"Lovely," I repeated and then I emptied my glass, excused myself and went to find some more wine.

I didn't find any wine, instead I found some champagne, but that wouldn't do – who ever heard of someone drowning his sorrows in champagne? I put the bottle down and scanned the area. My eyes caught a glimpse of Peter through the crowd, he was laughing and kissing Linda over and over again, while the people around him cheered and laughed with him. I decided to go with the cham-pagne after all.

Just then Peter's mother, dressed in pastel blue and with her greying hair, once the same colour as Peter's, in a bow, came out and stood on the top of the steps leading from the patio to the garden. Her face was bright and she was altogether glowing with happiness and pride. She turned the stereo, which had been set up outside, off and clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

"Please, everyone, if you'll follow me, everything is ready!" her blissful smile never wavered, but rather grew even more elated as she turned and walked back into the house.

I put my glass on the table by the door like everyone else and we filtered into the room. My seat, as befitted the best man, was only a few seats away from the couple and their parents, in fact I ended up sitting next to Edina, Peter's mother, who patted my knee as I sat down. Peter's parents' cosy living room had been quite transformed for the occasion, with wedding decorations and two long tables set up, with white cloths and covered with flower petals. It was rather crowded.

"We should've eaten outside, but I was so afraid it would rain!" Edina confided to me. "Don't be nervous, love, just remember that they'll remember this day for the rest of their lives," she winked and I couldn't help but smile, although weakly.

As things simmered down and the caterers began to look impatient she prodded me to do my fi-nal duty for the day. I stood up on shaking legs. I still had no idea what I was going to say. I tapped my glass with the fork, my mind a dreadful blank.

"Um, I…" I looked at Peter, he was blushing and looking at me intently, expectantly, innocently. I swallowed the acid that welled up inside me, it was just the wine, nothing but the wine, I told my- self.

"Er, Peter, my best friend and as close to me as," I wish any of my lovers were, "the brother I never had. You've done a lot of foolish things in your life, taken plenty of chances…" I looked at him seriously, my chest tightening as I spoke, "riding your bicycle down that ravine in Plymouth when we were seven. Insisting that you could jump between the two pines on the schoolyard when we were ten. Snogging Gregory Higgins behind the bicycle shed when we were fifteen – " the room gasped collectively and the bride stiffened, "no, sorry that must've been me," I confessed with a cough and then smirked at Peter, giving everyone a moment to be sufficiently amused and met Pe-ter's mock threatening glare with an innocent smile.

"But, when all is said and done, I think we can all agree that of all the stupid things you've done and all the chances you've taken…" Peter looked quizzically at me, "this is a chance that you won't have to worry about getting your father's slipper for!" He blushed bright red and hid his face in his bride's arms, laughing. They all laughed. I was doing great. I should get an Oscar for this. "Nor is it a chance that will result in any broken extremities or lifelong scars, or so we hope; I also hope, with all my heart," that she falls and breaks her neck, "that you will have a long and happy life together and that you will have joy and happiness, because no one I know deserves it more than you do." Well at least that last bit was heartfelt.

Peter stood up abruptly and lounged at me, giving me a tight hug and a whispered "thank you" before he sat down and kissed his wife. I sank down and drew a sigh of relief, or grief, I couldn't tell the difference anymore.

"And I was told you hadn't prepared!" Eddie said shrewdly and nudged me. I smiled at her. Yes, an Oscar would do me nicely.



Inside was insufferably stuffy and most people were drifting outside where the music was once again playing cheerily and boisterous laughter erupted at inopportune moments in a conversation to the far right. One group had decided to liven things up with some dancing.

Somehow I had found myself with a new glass of wine and was steering my steps towards the chair I'd left earlier. It looked sad and forlorn, like me. I dropped down on top of it heavily and sipped my wine – just about emptying it.

As I sat there, pondering my life's tragedy, I heard the familiar twitter of a queen who'd had just a little too much to drink – Brian.

"Get off that chair and come dance with me!" he ordered and grabbed my wrist, but I leisurely pulled it back and shook my head. "Oh, don't be such a grouch!" he coaxed trying again to get a hold of my arm.

"I'd rather not," I said. "I don't feel like dancing."

"How can you not feel like dancing?" he giggled and sat down on my lap – he doesn't weigh much more than 110 lb. so I hardly felt it. "It's a party for god's sake!" His voice was unsteady from the drinking and he couldn't stop giggling.

"Why don't you go somewhere and enjoy it then?" I suggested a little rougher than was strictly necessary to get him off.

"Fine then, darling, I'll go talk to that lovely banker over there, he and I really hit it off," he said and rose planting a kiss on my forehead, which I wiped off with a deliberately nasty glare. He smirked.

"He's straight, you know," I said, just to be nasty.

"Who cares? He'll be so plastered when I get him home, he won't be able to tell the difference." He waved a kiss at me and my spiteful side called him a slut in my head.



After a few more drinks, which I had by the temporary bar, I was ready to drop down somewhere and enshroud myself in the blackest of mental anguish. I walked toward the outer brim of the spar-kling crowd where there was a few chairs left empty – no one was walking straight and people kept bumping into me as I walked. I held a glass of red wine in one hand and I was tapping a pack of cigarettes in my pocket with the other. Then I clashed with a tall figure dressed in a beige suit. The glass flew out of my hand and wine drizzled across the grass – thankfully nobody was close enough to get showered with red Chardonnay. Except for the fellow in the suit, whose jacket got stained all over the left side.

"Mind where you're bloody going!" I snapped and scowled up at the man I had collided with.

"Well, I beg your pardon, but you're the one who should watch your step, mate," his answer was very amiable, though his eyes might have given me a warning, under other circumstances.

"You clumsy prat! I'm not your mate!" I growled far less amiable.

"Now calm down a bit," he said. "Perhaps you've had a little bit too much to drink."

Bastard! Who the hell was he to tell me I had had too much to drink? I didn't even know the man and still, there he was, all high and mighty, giving me advice on drinking, like I was some teenager. Arrogant sod, served him right to get his suit ruined.

"Bugger off!" I snarled menacingly and turned and walked away from him, not even locking back.



Again I found myself alone in a more private area of the garden. They had a wonderful home. I'd spent most of my youth here, always welcome. Now I felt as if those days were silently slipping away from me. The chatter from the party was distant and I leaned forward, resting my head in my hands. I had a headache and I felt thoroughly miserable and as if I wasn't downhearted enough, my mind had to stray back to the day when Peter told me he was going to ask Linda if she would marry him.

He had been so excited and fervent when he rushed into my office unannounced, before ten a.m. – which was highly unlikely for Peter, especially since he was usually at his own office around that time. His beautiful, blue, always sparkling eyes had flashed ecstatically at me as he put the ring on my desk.

"What do you think, isn't it simply dazzling?" he'd said giving me a beaming smile.

"It's very nice, but why…" I'd already begun to feel the creeping fear when he cut me off.

"I'm going to ask Linda to be my wife, what do you think?" He'd waited for my answer, his big eyes hopeful and expectant, he was breathing fast and smiling nervously.

Marry her? They'd met a month ago in Cornwall? Was he insane? I'd felt all the blood drain from my face. Marry her? Marry Linda?

"Lovely," I'd stuttered, not able to force myself to say anything else.

"Just lovely? You're not happy about it?" the disappointment in his guileless face had been ut-terly shattering and I'd compelled myself to smile.

"It's a wonderful idea, she's a very… a very special girl," I'd finally said, putting as much enthu-siasm in my voice as I could without sounding hypocritical.

"You think? Oh, I knew you'd like it. Mum and dad aren't too thrilled, they think she's too young, but I don't care, I love Linda." He'd laughed. "Oh, that feels so good! I love her, I really, really love her."

Though his every word felt like a knife through my heart I'd smiled and tried to be happy for him. This was the way it had to be. I'd never expected anything other than that, Peter wasn't queer, he was straight as board and although always accepting of my chosen lifestyle, never once had he expressed an interest in knowing more about it.

"There you are, Sean! I've been looking everywhere for you!" Peter appeared in front of me as if he'd taken a step out of my thoughts. "Tessa…" he paused and smiled affectionately at Brian's nick-name "…said you weren't feeling too well, aren't you enjoying yourself?"

"It's nothing really, I'm just tired."

"Yeah, I bet you are! You've been almost as nervous as me about this," he smiled and rapped me on the shoulder, making my head spin. I wanted to be sick.

"Mm," I agreed and thought about my sleepless nights pacing the floor in my bedroom, contem-plating just how much it would hurt to jump from my balcony on the seventh floor.

"By the way, I loved the speech! You do realise you came out to Linda's whole family, right?" Oh, god he was right! What had I been thinking, I wasn't exactly in the closet, rather I was peeking out from behind a folding screen, but all the same, only a few, chosen people knew and now Linda's family.

"What is it? You look awful," he bent forward, a hand on my shoulder.

He was close enough for me to kiss him. All it'd take was for me to tilt my head up just so and… it'd be the end of our friendship. He'd never speak to me again.

"It's nothing, Peter, honestly, but I ought to be getting home," I rose, swaying a little.

"Already? But the party just started," he objected, laughing uncertainly.

"I've got things to do Peter…" I knew I sounded annoyed, but didn't care.

"Are you bored? You should be getting to know some people. Linda has a friend, his name's Ronan… he's single…" Peter smiled, but I interrupted him.

"Stop the matchmaking, Peter, I'm not interested!"

"Just a suggestion," he looked dispirited, but under current circumstances I wasn't quite as easily affected by his blue, pleading eyes as usual.

"Go back to your wife, and let me go home, Peter, I've done my duty," I steered him aside, stum-bled over my own feet and my arm was caught by Brian, who helped me to regain my balance with a smile.

"Oh, why darling, I never thought you'd fall for me quite so literally!" he giggled at me.

"Get out of my way, Brian!" I barked and quite a few surprised eyes were turned toward us. I wrenched my arm free and shoved him hard. "Just, just leave me alone!"

"What's the matter with you? This isn't like you at all," Peter put a hand on my shoulder and I turned around facing him, again drowning in those damned eyes that were staring so worriedly into mine.

"It's all right, Peter, he's just drunk! Leave him to me, I'll take him home," Brian said, grabbing my arm again.

"No, you're not, I can take care of myself," I pushed him away from me again, why did he have to interfere like some obsessing little wife?

They were all looking at me quite taken aback, but I could feel everything just slipping out of my control, I couldn't think straight. Their faces swam in front of me and I could feel myself become angrier by the second.

"You are in no condition to drive!" Linda said at that moment as she hooked her arm around Pe-ter's, "and neither are you! We'll ring a cab."

"I don't need any help from you!" I snapped at her.

"Why are you acting like this?" Peter asked and tried to take a step towards me, but I backed away.

"Why don't you two go somewhere else, Peter, before he says something he doesn't mean?" Brian said. "He's really had too much to drink and you know what a mean drunk he can be." Peter nodded, but they didn't move. He just continued looking at me with his sad eyes.

"Yes go somewhere else, Peter," I mocked, "before I tell you what you can do with your pretty bride and this whole bloody gathering!"

It was clear to all that Peter was very hurt by my statement, even to me, despite my drunken state. I couldn't meet his eyes anymore and when he turned his back on me and ushered the stunned Linda away through the murmuring crowd of people, I felt like crying. Brian put a gentle hand on my arm and tried again to lead me aside, away from the visibly condemning looks of the people crowd and then before I knew what I was doing I had punched him straight in the face.

The next thing I knew was that someone grabbed me from behind, it was a hard grip and I would have lost all nerve to fight unless I had been so pissed. I twisted and struggled while whoever held me pushed me towards the house. Peter's father, a past middle-aged, very friendly man named Harry, followed with a crowd of curious guests. I cursed and swore and kicked, but was relentlessly shoved into the house.

"He didn't mean anything by it, dad," I heard Peter's voice from a distance.

"Peter, just get everybody out in the garden and calm them down…" what else was said I didn't hear because suddenly I found myself being led up the stairs and into one of the guestrooms.

When I was let go abruptly I tumbled to the floor and could hardly get up. Everything was spin-ning and I knew that if I drew a breath I'd be sick, so I fought to get up and out of the room toward the bathroom.

"Oh, no you don't," a voice said very close to me and someone grabbed me. "You're not going anywhere." I put a hand over my mouth and the man to whom the voice belonged realised immedi-ately what was up and directed me to the dustbin on the floor.

I felt absolutely miserable when I, a few moments later, was on my knees panting and moaning with my head hanging over that same dustbin. The stench was horrible and my throat felt thread-bare. Someone was holding my shaking shoulders.

"Let me go, I just want to go home," I hissed at him and twisted to get him off me.

"Right," he answered not making any motion to do so.

"I want to go home and drown myself in the bathtub," I moaned.

I was such an idiot, how would I ever make this up to Peter? It was beyond repair. I shuddered, this wasn't like me at all, I was always so careful not to draw attention to myself. Even when pissed.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. Who'd apologise to the newlyweds for you?" the strange man asked in a light friendly voice. "Or to Tessa."

"I'm not apologising to that idiot!" I pushed his hands away and struggled to get up. He helped me stand and I was face to face with him. I twitched when I recognised him – the man in the beige suit. He was handsome, I hadn't noticed that when I poured my wine over him. His hair was slightly curly and much darker than Peter's honey brown and eyes that were chilling and dark, as different from Peter's as day and night.

He wasn't wearing the jacket any longer, not surprising. I frowned at him. "Look, I don't need anybody telling me what the bloody hell I should do with my life or my friends so get out of my way and let me go home."

"It's a wonder someone like you have any friends to begin with, the way you treat them," he stated, not at all mocking, rather he sounded as if he was scolding me, I still chose to take offence.

"Shut up, shut the bloody hell up!" I bellowed at him, raising a hand to shove him or strike him – I didn't quite know what. He sighed and swatted my hand aside, grabbing me by the collar. Before I knew what was happening he had me face down on the bed holding my right arm twisted up on my back and he was hissing in my ear.

"I wouldn't go about aggravating people I've thrown wine at if I were you, but if you feel like getting into a one on one situation with the palm of my hand, be my guest!"

Well, my ears did pick up on his tone of voice and I could've spelled out the words he said, but still my mind just didn't register the significance they held. I nearly twisted my shoulder out of joint trying to get free, but he was seemingly fifty pounds heavier than I was, though he was about my size and height and he also did have the upper hand, keeping me locked in an extremely uncomfort-able position.

"Stop fighting or I'll…"

"You'll what? Break my arm? You're on your bloody way!" I shouted the best I could with all the air squeezed out of me and it worked fairly well.

"Would you keep your voice down?" he suggested quietly as he slowly softened his hold on me. He let go of me and stood up; I turned around sitting myself up on the bed, hissing and spitting like a wet cat.

"Bastard, bloody, stinking bastard!" I shrunk back when he scowled at me.

"Oh, I don't know what I'm even doing here," he said, "I'd rather be downstairs enjoying the party instead of standing here looking at an ill-natured drunk."

"Why aren't you?" I wheezed. He didn't have an answer – it was a small victory, but a victory nevertheless. "Who asked you to bother me anyway?"

"Linda thought that Peter could use…" he trailed off but kept looking sternly at me.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, who cares about that, that woman?" I barked.

"What did she ever do to you?" he asked dismayed.

What did she ever do to me? What did she do to me? – Nothing, she'd never done anything, just been there, with her magical laugh and her beautiful smile. I felt tears welling up in my eyes. She'd ruined everything, even if I'd never hoped or fantasized or even dreamed, I didn't want to bloody sleep with him! I just, he'd just been mine, to love in peace, before her and now he wasn't.

"He shouldn't have married her," I whispered while staring out the window at the sky.

"That was the most selfish thing I've ever heard!" he chided me. "And this from the person who stood up and told them he wished them happiness and a long life!"

"I lied!" I growled, glaring at him, who did he think he was anyway? "I think he would've been better off never meeting her," I continued, "and I wish she'd drop dead!"

His eyes flashed angrily and he shook his head in disgust. I didn't look at him, instead I looked out of the window again, or rather at the window, everything at Peter's parents' were perfect and cosy, the colour palette matching the family with light pastels. I suddenly hated the room and the colours intensely, what right did they have being so bright and cheerful?

"You know, it's quite a shame when obviously intelligent people drink themselves stupid. I don't know what you're…" he didn't get further because I got up and shoved him as hard as I could, twice, before he got a hold of my wrists.

"You're right you don't know, so why don't you just go to hell?" I snarled viciously and when he didn't let me go I kicked him hard in the shin.

There is a few things you should never do when someone's already got a pretty good grip on you, one is to tell the person to o to hell and another is to kick him, or her, in the shin – there are several more, but those were enough. Once again, in less than a few minutes, things spun out of my control, only this time I ended up across his lap. A position which was just as uncomfortable as the one he'd had me in a few minuets ago, and one I hadn't been in, even for fun, since I was a boy. Actually I didn't think that this was in the least funny, frankly I was aghast at what he could do without me having say in the matter.

"Not quite so loud now, are we?" he fixed my arm in the small of my back. I had lost my ability to speak with my ability to move so I just lay still and silent. He lifted up the tails of my coat and tucked them away under my arm. "Well, stop me if you don't think you deserve this." Not a sound escaped my lips – I could feel them move, but that was all, it was as if I was put under some strange sort of spell. "Great, it's always nice to know you've got someone's full attention." His hand came down hard, I flinched.

He knew what he was doing and it hurt far more than I remembered that it used to, but then again, the few times my own parents had disciplined me in this manner it had been a hurried affair where my father grabbed me and smacked me while I was already twisting out of his grip. Fact was he couldn't be bothered to pursue the matter.

This was nothing like that. This was hard and fast and relentless. After just a few minutes, de-spite protection from my trousers, I was beginning to really feel the warmth from his steadily smacking palm. It felt really absurd and I tried a few times to get up, still not able to speak, but he pushed me back telling me in not so many words that I'd better keep still or I'd get it ten times worse. I was just not prepared to try if he was as good as his word.

"This is starting to hurt my hand," he complained and the thought occurred to me that nobody had bloody well asked him to do this, but the strange spellbound feeling had yet to let go and I didn't say anything, perhaps it was because I was drunk and my head hurt, I should have been screaming bloody murder. "I'd ask you to stand, but I'm afraid I would never get you down again," he said then and I could hear laughter in his voice.

He reached under me and I wriggled like a worm, but in vain – he pulled my trousers down and after a moment of reflection his hand slid under the waistband of my shorts and down they came, while I fought like a madman to get up, this was beyond embarrassing, I couldn't let him do this. He pressed his arm down on my back and patted my cheeks with a light hand.

He drew a deep breath and for an instance all was silence, I didn't even hear music from outside. Then he began spanking me again, his hand fell so quickly I didn't even get time to twist between smacks. That broke the spell and I groaned out loud.

In sobs and moans I began telling him how stupid this was and that he really ought to let me go because he couldn't do this and when that did nothing to abate the painful smacks, I tried begging for him to let me go. Which he finally did after an agonising culmination of smacks to the lowest part of my bum that made me burst into real tears.

I couldn't let him go when he dropped me to the floor, I held on as if he was the only security in the world. I sobbed in the sleeve of his shirt, crying tears long repressed and slowly and shakily I began to tell him about the whole mess.

"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, he'll hate me now, I wish…" I blubbered and then started again. "I've been in love with him forever! I knew it wasn't right, that he'd never… never feel like that… but at least, without her, oh sod it! I'm such a stupid twat!" I wiped my nose on my own shirt.

I cried some more, because it felt good and then stopped because my head reminded me of the awful ache it was experiencing and which my childish blubbering did nothing to aid. Then I realised that he was hugging me gently and stroking my hair and when I looked up at him he gave me a vague smile that made me feel completely ridiculous.

"You must think I'm a pathetic, old drunk," I groaned and looked at my fancy cuff links that glimmered against my bare thighs.

"Well, not old…" I looked at him again, the bastard was teasing me, he'd spanked me and now he made fun of me. "It could be worse," he continued kindly after a moment.

"Just how could it be any worse?" I asked sarcastically. "Here I am, on the floor, pouring my heart out in front of a complete stranger, who's just spanked me, mind you. So you tell me how this could be any worse?" I dried my eyes while speaking and I suppose that my coming off as a debo-nair gentleman with a repertoire of cutting comebacks was utterly ruined by that gesture alone.

"You're perfectly right, it's not easy to top this, but at least it didn't happen on telly, right?" he said and grinned at me.

"Oh, har har," I said, then I sighed, recalling reality once more. "I should get home."

"I'll take you, if you'd like, I haven't had a drop," I looked at him for a while and then to my own surprise I nodded.

He led me out through the kitchen, out of sight from any prying eyes, not a one guest was indoors and then he made me sit in his car, while he went to find the hosts to tell them he was taking me home. I sat uncomfortably and gritted my teeth not to start crying again. I was so embarrassed and I wished desperately that he wouldn't bring anyone with him when he came.

To my relief he was alone when he came sauntering over to the car. I was almost disappointed, I'd actually thought that Peter might come to tell me I was an idiot and possibly to forgive me. He didn't.

A beige jacket was thrown in the back seat before its owner sat down next to me. He was quite good looking for a bloody bastard who took very vast liberties with other people's bottoms. I gave him a slightly cynical look.

"Peter said he hoped you were feeling better," he said I nodded, looking away. "I'm Ronan," he said and put out a hand.

Bastard! I took his hand.

"I'm Sean, I'd say nice to meet you, but…" he gave me a bemused smile and then he laughed softly and started the car.

"Nice to meet you too, Sean," he said, I grinned at myself and the absurdity of the whole situa-tion.

As we drove off I looked over my shoulder at the house. I felt empty, as if I was leaving never to return. A part of me believed that to be true and another – admittedly more sober and less adoles-cently melodramatic – told me I was a stupid prat and that I'd be back there having an earful from Harry and Edina in less time than I'd in all honesty wish.