Praying for Love and Paying in Naivety, The History Boys, Scripps/Dakin, PG-13
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LEEFACE!
We need to get this party started. And make it last as long as possible.
Title: Praying for Love and Paying in Naivety
Fandom: The History Boys
Pairing: Scripps/Dakin
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Based off one of the two sentence ficlets from last month.
This is what three years of not wanking has gotten him: placement at Oxford, and his best friend pressing him against Dakin’s bed, his body warm between Dakin’s knees as he pressed Scripps back against the pillows, and he couldn’t even remember how he got there.
Scripps found it completely unsurprising that Dakin tasted of cigarettes and sin and grinned into his kisses like the cocksure little shit that he was, absolutely convinced that he had finally proven what everyone else had known all along: he was irresistible.
Dakin’s fingers pulled at the bottom of Scripps’s shirt and released it from where it had been tucked neatly into his trousers, and Scripps felt the sobering reality of his best friend’s palm on the bare flesh of his stomach.
“Stu,” he whispered because a game or not, it had gone far enough.
In response, Stu slipped his thumb below Scripps’s belt, his hand heavy and firm against his trembling flesh. Dakin smiled at him, but Scripps would not be swayed by it again, and even with one hand still fisted in the lapels of Dakin’s jacket, he found the sense to circle the other around his wrist, stopping him from any further explorations.
Dakin sighed. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Scripps said, shaking his head.
“Oh, go on.” Dakin drummed his fingers against Scripps’s stomach, and he could feel Dakin’s breath against his face.
Scripps pressed his lips together to keep his thoughts from spilling out and therefore, ripped apart and trampled into incoherent bits at the hands of Dakin. Finally, he swallowed and closed his eyes. “I have an exam tomorrow.”
The fingers beneath his shirt stilled, and Dakin stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I should be--”
Dakin sat back, finally pulling his hands away. “No, you should be right here. Because we both know that you have spent the past month preparing for this exam and know it better than your professor, so don’t feed me this ‘Stu, I have an exam!’ bollocks.”
Scripps took slight offense at the way Dakin pitched his voice higher in his imitation of him and scowled, but Dakin ignored him.
“Look, if you want to leave, just say so.”
Scripps opened his mouth, found that nothing came out, and promptly shut it again. Dakin merely smirked at him.
“It’s not as if you can’t find some girl to…to….”
“But you’re here.” Dakin said with a shrug.
Scripps squinted up at him. “So it’s just a matter of proximity then?”
“What is?”
“This!” Scripps gestured back and forth between the two of them, where Dakin still sat on his thighs, one leg pressed on either side of him.
Dakin frowned at him. “Don’t you ever do anything without completely overthinking it?”
Scripps ran his hands back through his hair in frustration. “I’m not overthinking it, I’m just thinking it.”
“Forget all that.”
“I’m not you, Stu.”
“I think that’s become quite obvious to everyone over the years.”
“I mean that I can’t just do whatever feels right at the time and not think about the consequences and how it will change things and--”
“Which is why I’m telling you that if you want to leave, you can. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.” The ends of Dakin’s mouth quirked into a shadow of the his usual predatory grin. “But I can’t say that I won’t be a bit disappointed.”
Dakin swung one leg over him to sit on the side of the bed, releasing Scripps. “So go if you like. Wouldn’t want you to be unprepared for your exam because of me.”
Scripps sat up, pulled his shirt back down, but did not get any further than that: his shoulder brushing against Dakin’s back, Dakin’s neck turned just enough so that he could watch what Scripps was doing out of the corner of his eye.
Scripps swore under his breath because if he was friends with anyone else-quite literally anyone--things like this would never happen. They would study. They would drink. And the combination of the two would never result in him wondering what it would feel like to have his best friend’s dick up-
“Fuck!” he said again, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to rub away the images that played against his eyelids.
“Don,” Dakin started, and he could already hear the smile twisting his words, but when he looked up it was neither wolfish nor condescending, and thus entirely unsettling for yet another reason. Dakin reached out and laid one palm against his cheek, the tips of his fingers rubbing gently behind his ear where Scripps could feel his pulse hammering away still. “You’re too young to be this tortured.”
“I’m not--”
“You’re a bloody masochist, and you know it. You’re worse than--”
“Don’t say it,” Scripps warned because eventually there would come a time when Irwin was not the standard against which everything and everyone was rated, and Dakin needed to get used to that.
Dakin’s fingers had moved to the back of his neck, and Scripps let his eyes drift closed. He wished that Dakin wasn’t so good at this. Or that he himself were better at it. Right now he did not even rank on the level at which Dakin played. Right now, he did not rank, full stop, because he spent three years telling himself and God that sex could wait, but Oxford would not.
“Are you staying, then?” Dakin asked, and Scripps opened his eyes in surprise at how close he had gotten, his lips a breath away and his warm hand at the back of Scripps’s neck, preventing his retreat.
And yes, proximity really was an enormous factor in this situation for both of them.
Scripps let Dakin kiss him, let his fingers work their way under his shirt again, and Scripps let his own hands return the favor, spreading across the hot, taut skin of Dakin’s back, skin he had glimpsed a hundred times across the pitch or in the locker room after PE, but that he had never had the chance to explore. And, all right, he was beginning to see why Dakin was so fascinated by what he was told he could not have.
“Staying, then?” Dakin tried again, and Scripps only nodded, pulling blindly at the buttons of Dakin’s shirt.
“Lead me not into temptation,” Dakin teased, dark eyes covered with heavy lids as he did not look away from Scripps’s mouth, and Scripps shut him up with it the best he knew how, lips stuttering across one another and fingers prickled by late night studying stubble, barely able to hear the endless Hail Marys circling through his brain over the rush of blood in his ears.
We need to get this party started. And make it last as long as possible.
Title: Praying for Love and Paying in Naivety
Fandom: The History Boys
Pairing: Scripps/Dakin
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Based off one of the two sentence ficlets from last month.
This is what three years of not wanking has gotten him: placement at Oxford, and his best friend pressing him against Dakin’s bed, his body warm between Dakin’s knees as he pressed Scripps back against the pillows, and he couldn’t even remember how he got there.
Scripps found it completely unsurprising that Dakin tasted of cigarettes and sin and grinned into his kisses like the cocksure little shit that he was, absolutely convinced that he had finally proven what everyone else had known all along: he was irresistible.
Dakin’s fingers pulled at the bottom of Scripps’s shirt and released it from where it had been tucked neatly into his trousers, and Scripps felt the sobering reality of his best friend’s palm on the bare flesh of his stomach.
“Stu,” he whispered because a game or not, it had gone far enough.
In response, Stu slipped his thumb below Scripps’s belt, his hand heavy and firm against his trembling flesh. Dakin smiled at him, but Scripps would not be swayed by it again, and even with one hand still fisted in the lapels of Dakin’s jacket, he found the sense to circle the other around his wrist, stopping him from any further explorations.
Dakin sighed. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Scripps said, shaking his head.
“Oh, go on.” Dakin drummed his fingers against Scripps’s stomach, and he could feel Dakin’s breath against his face.
Scripps pressed his lips together to keep his thoughts from spilling out and therefore, ripped apart and trampled into incoherent bits at the hands of Dakin. Finally, he swallowed and closed his eyes. “I have an exam tomorrow.”
The fingers beneath his shirt stilled, and Dakin stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not. I should be--”
Dakin sat back, finally pulling his hands away. “No, you should be right here. Because we both know that you have spent the past month preparing for this exam and know it better than your professor, so don’t feed me this ‘Stu, I have an exam!’ bollocks.”
Scripps took slight offense at the way Dakin pitched his voice higher in his imitation of him and scowled, but Dakin ignored him.
“Look, if you want to leave, just say so.”
Scripps opened his mouth, found that nothing came out, and promptly shut it again. Dakin merely smirked at him.
“It’s not as if you can’t find some girl to…to….”
“But you’re here.” Dakin said with a shrug.
Scripps squinted up at him. “So it’s just a matter of proximity then?”
“What is?”
“This!” Scripps gestured back and forth between the two of them, where Dakin still sat on his thighs, one leg pressed on either side of him.
Dakin frowned at him. “Don’t you ever do anything without completely overthinking it?”
Scripps ran his hands back through his hair in frustration. “I’m not overthinking it, I’m just thinking it.”
“Forget all that.”
“I’m not you, Stu.”
“I think that’s become quite obvious to everyone over the years.”
“I mean that I can’t just do whatever feels right at the time and not think about the consequences and how it will change things and--”
“Which is why I’m telling you that if you want to leave, you can. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.” The ends of Dakin’s mouth quirked into a shadow of the his usual predatory grin. “But I can’t say that I won’t be a bit disappointed.”
Dakin swung one leg over him to sit on the side of the bed, releasing Scripps. “So go if you like. Wouldn’t want you to be unprepared for your exam because of me.”
Scripps sat up, pulled his shirt back down, but did not get any further than that: his shoulder brushing against Dakin’s back, Dakin’s neck turned just enough so that he could watch what Scripps was doing out of the corner of his eye.
Scripps swore under his breath because if he was friends with anyone else-quite literally anyone--things like this would never happen. They would study. They would drink. And the combination of the two would never result in him wondering what it would feel like to have his best friend’s dick up-
“Fuck!” he said again, and he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to rub away the images that played against his eyelids.
“Don,” Dakin started, and he could already hear the smile twisting his words, but when he looked up it was neither wolfish nor condescending, and thus entirely unsettling for yet another reason. Dakin reached out and laid one palm against his cheek, the tips of his fingers rubbing gently behind his ear where Scripps could feel his pulse hammering away still. “You’re too young to be this tortured.”
“I’m not--”
“You’re a bloody masochist, and you know it. You’re worse than--”
“Don’t say it,” Scripps warned because eventually there would come a time when Irwin was not the standard against which everything and everyone was rated, and Dakin needed to get used to that.
Dakin’s fingers had moved to the back of his neck, and Scripps let his eyes drift closed. He wished that Dakin wasn’t so good at this. Or that he himself were better at it. Right now he did not even rank on the level at which Dakin played. Right now, he did not rank, full stop, because he spent three years telling himself and God that sex could wait, but Oxford would not.
“Are you staying, then?” Dakin asked, and Scripps opened his eyes in surprise at how close he had gotten, his lips a breath away and his warm hand at the back of Scripps’s neck, preventing his retreat.
And yes, proximity really was an enormous factor in this situation for both of them.
Scripps let Dakin kiss him, let his fingers work their way under his shirt again, and Scripps let his own hands return the favor, spreading across the hot, taut skin of Dakin’s back, skin he had glimpsed a hundred times across the pitch or in the locker room after PE, but that he had never had the chance to explore. And, all right, he was beginning to see why Dakin was so fascinated by what he was told he could not have.
“Staying, then?” Dakin tried again, and Scripps only nodded, pulling blindly at the buttons of Dakin’s shirt.
“Lead me not into temptation,” Dakin teased, dark eyes covered with heavy lids as he did not look away from Scripps’s mouth, and Scripps shut him up with it the best he knew how, lips stuttering across one another and fingers prickled by late night studying stubble, barely able to hear the endless Hail Marys circling through his brain over the rush of blood in his ears.