'Sunday': Irwin/Dakin
Author: tophatdance
Title: Sunday
Pairings: The History Boys - Irwin/Dakin
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, but to Alan Bennett.
Warnings: The accident never happened. (This drabble is based on the film version of 'The History Boys').
Summary: Irwin visits, on a Sunday.
* * *
Oxford is only magnificent from this window -- this precise angle, Dakin thinks, and leans back in his chair. It's Sunday, so the hallway outside his door is quiet. Quieter in winter, perhaps. Winter air filtered into his room, making his curtains billow gently against the frame. Below, he could see the courtyard and adjacent buildings of Corpus Chrisit. He dwells on the irony, and takes a drag of a cigarette.
Suddenly, there's a hesitant knock on his door, and before Dakin can yell out to whomever it is to come in, Irwin is in his doorway.
Dakin raised his eyebrows and stepped back so that his knees hit his scuffed desk (Lined paper and A History of the English East India Company balances precariously on the edge of the desk).
Irwin stands before him, his quiet eyes unblinking behind his frames, mouth open slightly, as if it could quickly twist into a smile or a frown. His hands are stuffed awkwardly into his pockets, and although Dakin can't see them he remembers (grasping papers; writing an appointment in a diary book; hesitant on Dakin's shoulder behind a blue door).
Irwin traces Dakin's mouth, the slow curve of his strong jaw with his tentative hazel eyes. He looks away for a moment and clenches his hands, not embarrassed but timid. Dakin, after months of waiting (waiting for Sunday, drink with Dakin marked in pencil, knows better.)
'I think we're quite past timid pretenses, Irwin.' His voice is soft, and his body inches closer to the man before him.
Surprised, hazel eyes flick upwards to meet his. 'I don't see,' he begins, but falters.
Dakin leaned forward, kissed him quietly, and pulled off Irwin's spectacles.
-fin-
***
companion fic | HERE
*
Title: Sunday
Pairings: The History Boys - Irwin/Dakin
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, but to Alan Bennett.
Warnings: The accident never happened. (This drabble is based on the film version of 'The History Boys').
Summary: Irwin visits, on a Sunday.
* * *
Oxford is only magnificent from this window -- this precise angle, Dakin thinks, and leans back in his chair. It's Sunday, so the hallway outside his door is quiet. Quieter in winter, perhaps. Winter air filtered into his room, making his curtains billow gently against the frame. Below, he could see the courtyard and adjacent buildings of Corpus Chrisit. He dwells on the irony, and takes a drag of a cigarette.
Suddenly, there's a hesitant knock on his door, and before Dakin can yell out to whomever it is to come in, Irwin is in his doorway.
Dakin raised his eyebrows and stepped back so that his knees hit his scuffed desk (Lined paper and A History of the English East India Company balances precariously on the edge of the desk).
Irwin stands before him, his quiet eyes unblinking behind his frames, mouth open slightly, as if it could quickly twist into a smile or a frown. His hands are stuffed awkwardly into his pockets, and although Dakin can't see them he remembers (grasping papers; writing an appointment in a diary book; hesitant on Dakin's shoulder behind a blue door).
Irwin traces Dakin's mouth, the slow curve of his strong jaw with his tentative hazel eyes. He looks away for a moment and clenches his hands, not embarrassed but timid. Dakin, after months of waiting (waiting for Sunday, drink with Dakin marked in pencil, knows better.)
'I think we're quite past timid pretenses, Irwin.' His voice is soft, and his body inches closer to the man before him.
Surprised, hazel eyes flick upwards to meet his. 'I don't see,' he begins, but falters.
Dakin leaned forward, kissed him quietly, and pulled off Irwin's spectacles.
-fin-
***
companion fic | HERE
*