Worship
Title: Worship
Author: blithelybonny
Pairing: Irwin/Scripps
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1173
Author's Note: Thanks very much to irmelin for organizing the whole thing, and here's hoping you enjoy this fic! This is actually the first HB fic I've written, so I'd definitely appreciate feedback, as I'm always looking to improve. Contains gratuitous regurgitating of lines from the script.
WORSHIP
Scripps tells him one day that love can be very irritating. "All that adoration and worship can grate on you, sir," he explains. His arms are folded across his chest, and he leans up against the pillar, looking as careless and carefree as Dakin always does.
Irwin simply replies, "You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Scripps."
<<<>>>
"You know, I still remember all that business about the foreskins of Christ," Scripps says hoarsely, as Irwin creates a line down his chest with kisses. "Church was never the same after you told us that."
"Is that so?" Irwin murmurs into Scripps' skin. He licks at a particularly interesting freckle just above the waistband of Scripps' trousers, and Scripps hisses. "I told you it was just the sort of 'interesting' that the Oxbridge sort were looking for."
"It's not the sort of interesting one should be thinking on in Church, though, sir."
"Scripps, what did I tell you about that?" Irwin gently admonishes, hands paused and poised above the tenting in Scripps' trousers that is just begging for attention.
Scripps winces. "Old habits."
Irwin nods and moves.
<<<>>>
Irwin has always thought that the boys and himself relate to one another through Hector. Dakin, naturally, had once tried to assert to him that they in fact related to one another through himself -- Dakin, cunt-struck, alpha male, center of affection. Scripps, however, convinces Irwin that it is actually Posner who unites them.
"Posner," he chuckles, "who doesn't have a spaniel heart, as I once told him. He told me that he didn't want the 'phase' to pass." He pauses, expression growing serious. "Can't say that I blame him much."
Irwin really gets it now; it is Posner, with his youthful diligence, his unquenchable curiosity, and his frightful ability to cut acutely to the heart of the matter, that brings them all together. Posner loves Dakin, who is only interested in cunt, except when he's interested in Irwin, and Irwin secretly, cautiously loves Dakin as well. But Posner confides not only in Irwin, but in Scripps, who has the frightening ability to understand acutely the heart of the matter, and Scripps, in turn, confides in his God, who has unsurprisingly turned into Irwin these days anyway. And though Irwin doesn't quite understand this change of Scripps' heart, he accepts it unflinchingly.
"Why don't you blame him?" Irwin asks.
Scripps smiles. "I wouldn't want the phase to end either."
"And why is that?"
At his question, Scripps offers a Cheshire grin that assures Irwin that he isn't going to receive a real answer, at least not this time. "It's always question, after question, after question with you."
Irwin adores that smile.
<<<>>>
"To worship," Scripps quotes, "is to regard with great or extravagant respect, honor, or devotion."
Irwin is on his knees, and he casts his eyes up to meet the soft brown ones of his young paramour. "And?" he asks.
"And it worries me," Scripps answers, frowning.
Concerned, Irwin sits back, abandoning his task. "What worries you?"
Scripps sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and shakes his fringe back from his forehead. Something is obviously wrong, Irwin can tell, and it worries him very much. Things had been going so well, everything was so easy and simple, and for once in his life he almost felt happy. Now, obviously, Scripps wants to end this arrangement of theirs, so little as it is, and it surprisingly hurts Irwin -- it hurts him very much.
"What worries you?" he repeats, his tone indifferent.
Scripps moves over and sits next to Irwin, a hand idly on his knee, tracing a circle, and Irwin can almost not concentrate on what Scripps has to say. It's cruel, and worse, it's like Dakin, and suddenly, Irwin knows.
"You've been spending time with Dakin," Irwin says. It is non-accusatory and casual because there is absolutely no point in getting upset with Scripps over this. Were it anyone else -- Posner or Lockwood even -- it would be all right to be angry, but it's Dakin. Irwin has absolutely no right to be upset if someone chooses Dakin over him. Anyone would. He, himself, probably would if that were possible.
Scripps chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. "Dakin's one of my best mates, so naturally I've spent some time with him. Spend time with Pos too, and sometimes Timms. Even went back and visited with Totty for a bit. That's all though," and he pauses, a light frown twisting over his lips that Irwin finds himself wanting to kiss away, "funny how time changes us all."
Irwin says nothing, waiting for the boy, though he was never a boy, but always a young man, to continue, though a question burns in his head and presses on his lips, begging for release.
"Go on, ask, I know you're dying to," Scripps says, recognizing the look on Irwin's face.
Irwin manages a laugh then. He is predictable, has always been predictable, but now it tickles him rather than worries him. Once he would have felt ashamed at being so humdrum, especially if someone he cared for called him out on it -- as Dakin did five years ago -- and would have hopped onto the first motorbike that presented itself. But now it isn't so bad; boringness suits him in a way that trying new things never did. And besides, isn't this new enough to last a lifetime?
"We never did, Dakin and I…or Pos and I, for that matter," Scripps continues, and Irwin barely manages to stop himself sighing in relief. "It wouldn't have been the same…as this."
Irwin nods. He understands. "As this," he echoes softly.
<<<>>>
Scripps stands there, arms folded across his chest, leaning up against the pillar and looking as careless and carefree as Dakin always did, but Irwin realizes that Scripps has and probably will always have something that Dakin never will. Scripps is world-weary. He has gravity in his jovial eyes, and it is this that Irwin knows attracted him in the first place and made him stay in the second.
Everything is always so simple with Scripps: either it is or it isn't, either yes or no, either black or white. The two of them, they don't waste time on if this is a relationship or it isn't -- the answer is simply there, unvoiced.
It's why Irwin knows that this is the end.
"All this worship…it gets tiring, sir," Scripps says, looks away and sighs.
Irwin takes off his glasses, cleans them, tucks them into his front pocket. He knows it isn't fair of him to be upset; it was never a matter of love between them, more a matter of comfort, at least on Scripps' part. Because love, Irwin knows, is hard. Love is painful, and yes, love is irritating, and he cannot expect a young man, world-weary as he might be, to love him; not when there is so much out there.
"You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Scripps."
Scripps nods. And moves.
END.
Author: blithelybonny
Pairing: Irwin/Scripps
Rating: PG-13
Words: 1173
Author's Note: Thanks very much to irmelin for organizing the whole thing, and here's hoping you enjoy this fic! This is actually the first HB fic I've written, so I'd definitely appreciate feedback, as I'm always looking to improve. Contains gratuitous regurgitating of lines from the script.
WORSHIP
Scripps tells him one day that love can be very irritating. "All that adoration and worship can grate on you, sir," he explains. His arms are folded across his chest, and he leans up against the pillar, looking as careless and carefree as Dakin always does.
Irwin simply replies, "You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Scripps."
<<<>>>
"You know, I still remember all that business about the foreskins of Christ," Scripps says hoarsely, as Irwin creates a line down his chest with kisses. "Church was never the same after you told us that."
"Is that so?" Irwin murmurs into Scripps' skin. He licks at a particularly interesting freckle just above the waistband of Scripps' trousers, and Scripps hisses. "I told you it was just the sort of 'interesting' that the Oxbridge sort were looking for."
"It's not the sort of interesting one should be thinking on in Church, though, sir."
"Scripps, what did I tell you about that?" Irwin gently admonishes, hands paused and poised above the tenting in Scripps' trousers that is just begging for attention.
Scripps winces. "Old habits."
Irwin nods and moves.
<<<>>>
Irwin has always thought that the boys and himself relate to one another through Hector. Dakin, naturally, had once tried to assert to him that they in fact related to one another through himself -- Dakin, cunt-struck, alpha male, center of affection. Scripps, however, convinces Irwin that it is actually Posner who unites them.
"Posner," he chuckles, "who doesn't have a spaniel heart, as I once told him. He told me that he didn't want the 'phase' to pass." He pauses, expression growing serious. "Can't say that I blame him much."
Irwin really gets it now; it is Posner, with his youthful diligence, his unquenchable curiosity, and his frightful ability to cut acutely to the heart of the matter, that brings them all together. Posner loves Dakin, who is only interested in cunt, except when he's interested in Irwin, and Irwin secretly, cautiously loves Dakin as well. But Posner confides not only in Irwin, but in Scripps, who has the frightening ability to understand acutely the heart of the matter, and Scripps, in turn, confides in his God, who has unsurprisingly turned into Irwin these days anyway. And though Irwin doesn't quite understand this change of Scripps' heart, he accepts it unflinchingly.
"Why don't you blame him?" Irwin asks.
Scripps smiles. "I wouldn't want the phase to end either."
"And why is that?"
At his question, Scripps offers a Cheshire grin that assures Irwin that he isn't going to receive a real answer, at least not this time. "It's always question, after question, after question with you."
Irwin adores that smile.
<<<>>>
"To worship," Scripps quotes, "is to regard with great or extravagant respect, honor, or devotion."
Irwin is on his knees, and he casts his eyes up to meet the soft brown ones of his young paramour. "And?" he asks.
"And it worries me," Scripps answers, frowning.
Concerned, Irwin sits back, abandoning his task. "What worries you?"
Scripps sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and shakes his fringe back from his forehead. Something is obviously wrong, Irwin can tell, and it worries him very much. Things had been going so well, everything was so easy and simple, and for once in his life he almost felt happy. Now, obviously, Scripps wants to end this arrangement of theirs, so little as it is, and it surprisingly hurts Irwin -- it hurts him very much.
"What worries you?" he repeats, his tone indifferent.
Scripps moves over and sits next to Irwin, a hand idly on his knee, tracing a circle, and Irwin can almost not concentrate on what Scripps has to say. It's cruel, and worse, it's like Dakin, and suddenly, Irwin knows.
"You've been spending time with Dakin," Irwin says. It is non-accusatory and casual because there is absolutely no point in getting upset with Scripps over this. Were it anyone else -- Posner or Lockwood even -- it would be all right to be angry, but it's Dakin. Irwin has absolutely no right to be upset if someone chooses Dakin over him. Anyone would. He, himself, probably would if that were possible.
Scripps chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. "Dakin's one of my best mates, so naturally I've spent some time with him. Spend time with Pos too, and sometimes Timms. Even went back and visited with Totty for a bit. That's all though," and he pauses, a light frown twisting over his lips that Irwin finds himself wanting to kiss away, "funny how time changes us all."
Irwin says nothing, waiting for the boy, though he was never a boy, but always a young man, to continue, though a question burns in his head and presses on his lips, begging for release.
"Go on, ask, I know you're dying to," Scripps says, recognizing the look on Irwin's face.
Irwin manages a laugh then. He is predictable, has always been predictable, but now it tickles him rather than worries him. Once he would have felt ashamed at being so humdrum, especially if someone he cared for called him out on it -- as Dakin did five years ago -- and would have hopped onto the first motorbike that presented itself. But now it isn't so bad; boringness suits him in a way that trying new things never did. And besides, isn't this new enough to last a lifetime?
"We never did, Dakin and I…or Pos and I, for that matter," Scripps continues, and Irwin barely manages to stop himself sighing in relief. "It wouldn't have been the same…as this."
Irwin nods. He understands. "As this," he echoes softly.
<<<>>>
Scripps stands there, arms folded across his chest, leaning up against the pillar and looking as careless and carefree as Dakin always did, but Irwin realizes that Scripps has and probably will always have something that Dakin never will. Scripps is world-weary. He has gravity in his jovial eyes, and it is this that Irwin knows attracted him in the first place and made him stay in the second.
Everything is always so simple with Scripps: either it is or it isn't, either yes or no, either black or white. The two of them, they don't waste time on if this is a relationship or it isn't -- the answer is simply there, unvoiced.
It's why Irwin knows that this is the end.
"All this worship…it gets tiring, sir," Scripps says, looks away and sighs.
Irwin takes off his glasses, cleans them, tucks them into his front pocket. He knows it isn't fair of him to be upset; it was never a matter of love between them, more a matter of comfort, at least on Scripps' part. Because love, Irwin knows, is hard. Love is painful, and yes, love is irritating, and he cannot expect a young man, world-weary as he might be, to love him; not when there is so much out there.
"You don't have to call me 'sir' anymore, Scripps."
Scripps nods. And moves.
END.