[ficlet] all ego
Title: all ego
Pairing: donald scripps/stuart dakin
Rating: pg13
Genre: slice-of-life, mostly gen
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 25, for sloppycronkite. short thing set after the movie. 752 words.
In retrospect, it doesn't really surprise Don that the phone call from Dakin comes so soon after Hector's funeral.
Dakin thrives on being heard, after all, and being heard is naturally predicated upon having an audience, a role that Don's happily filled for quite some time. Mostly because he likes being the fly-on-the-wall a bit too much than is healthy (or at all congruent with any of his religious leanings), but also because Dakin seems to be the only one any long-term drama is centered around, anyway, and hearing everything from the source is always best.
"Is it terrible of me," Stu announces over the line, without preamble, "to think that the worst thing about all of this is my missed opportunity with Irwin?"
"Of course it is," Don replies without missing a beat. He leans against the counter next to the phone's crib and smiles into the middle distance. "But completely in character for you, so forgive me if I'm not terribly shocked."
"I'm wounded that you think so little of me," Dakin says, sounding anything but.
Don chuckles. "Please. We all know how you are."
"Oh? Do tell."
"I'm not going to stroke your ego any more than it needs-which is none, in case you were wondering. You do that well enough on your own."
"A palpable hit," Dakin says. Don can hear the smug grin in his voice. "I mean-don't get me wrong. I'm sad about Hector. The man was an absolute cad, but-I don't know-"
"There's still a feeling of debt owed?" Don suggests. "He did teach most of us for at least four years."
"That's it."
There's a brief moment of silence. Don taps his finger against the receiver. "So what's stopping you from approaching Irwin again? Despite the fact that he's rather incapacitated at the moment, that is."
A long sigh, and then: "The novelty's worn off, hasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
Stu makes an impatient noise. "Come on, don't be purposely obtuse. It's not a good look on you. He was appealing expressly because he was off limits, in a position of authority-but that's over, now. And he'd agreed, before everything happened, which is what counts. The blowjob would've been nice, icing on the proverbial cake-but Scrippsy," and his voice changes, here, takes on an subtly ardent tenor, "we're going to Oxford."
Don laughs. "Oh, I've heard."
"Your enthusiasm astounds. Anyway, weren't you every bit the disapproving party the last time we talked about this?"
He'd been accused of jealousy, then-not a lie, but it was hard not to be when Dakin was the way he was, all swagger and confidence, the kind of person everyone wanted to notice them, for better or for worse. At any rate: "I was going to say that I wouldn't even know where to begin in that kind of situation. Not something you have a problem with, clearly."
Dakin seems marginally content with this, because there's another pause, not uncomfortable. "You still there?" he says at last.
"You're being so enchanting, Stu. How could I leave?"
"Arse," Dakin says, laughing. "How about winter hols, then? Our one last bit of freedom before Hilary term?"
"Pos is working at the bookshop again. Akthar and Lockwood and Rudge: all training for football season. Timms-God knows."
"And you?"
"Nothing interesting," Don says lightly, and rolls his eyes at Dakin's snort of laughter. "What, I'm not you."
"Heaven forbid," Dakin says, voice fervent. "I doubt there's enough room on Earth for more than one of me."
"Agreed. The combined weight of your over-inflated egos would send the planet spinning off its trajectory."
"Thank you for your input, Scripps," Dakin says drily. "See if I invite you to the lake-house for Christmas this year."
"Your mother loves me too much to let you cut me off," Don points out. "She thinks I'm a mitigating influence."
"Shows how much she knows," he mutters. "Bah, mothers." There's a sound of a door squeaking shut from Dakin's end. "Listen, I'm meeting Fiona for drinks soon-"
Don switches ears, phone clamped between his shoulder and his cheek. "How did you manage that?"
"She was very grateful that I'd confronted Felix about his-less than savory pursuits," Dakin says sleazily.
Don raises his eyebrows. "Landing you instead was certainly a tremendous step up."
"I'm hanging up the phone, wanker," Dakin says, but he's laughing as he goes, and Don can't help the stupid grin on his own face, either.
fin
Pairing: donald scripps/stuart dakin
Rating: pg13
Genre: slice-of-life, mostly gen
Warnings: swearing
Author: gdgdbaby
Notes: advent calendar day 25, for sloppycronkite. short thing set after the movie. 752 words.
In retrospect, it doesn't really surprise Don that the phone call from Dakin comes so soon after Hector's funeral.
Dakin thrives on being heard, after all, and being heard is naturally predicated upon having an audience, a role that Don's happily filled for quite some time. Mostly because he likes being the fly-on-the-wall a bit too much than is healthy (or at all congruent with any of his religious leanings), but also because Dakin seems to be the only one any long-term drama is centered around, anyway, and hearing everything from the source is always best.
"Is it terrible of me," Stu announces over the line, without preamble, "to think that the worst thing about all of this is my missed opportunity with Irwin?"
"Of course it is," Don replies without missing a beat. He leans against the counter next to the phone's crib and smiles into the middle distance. "But completely in character for you, so forgive me if I'm not terribly shocked."
"I'm wounded that you think so little of me," Dakin says, sounding anything but.
Don chuckles. "Please. We all know how you are."
"Oh? Do tell."
"I'm not going to stroke your ego any more than it needs-which is none, in case you were wondering. You do that well enough on your own."
"A palpable hit," Dakin says. Don can hear the smug grin in his voice. "I mean-don't get me wrong. I'm sad about Hector. The man was an absolute cad, but-I don't know-"
"There's still a feeling of debt owed?" Don suggests. "He did teach most of us for at least four years."
"That's it."
There's a brief moment of silence. Don taps his finger against the receiver. "So what's stopping you from approaching Irwin again? Despite the fact that he's rather incapacitated at the moment, that is."
A long sigh, and then: "The novelty's worn off, hasn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
Stu makes an impatient noise. "Come on, don't be purposely obtuse. It's not a good look on you. He was appealing expressly because he was off limits, in a position of authority-but that's over, now. And he'd agreed, before everything happened, which is what counts. The blowjob would've been nice, icing on the proverbial cake-but Scrippsy," and his voice changes, here, takes on an subtly ardent tenor, "we're going to Oxford."
Don laughs. "Oh, I've heard."
"Your enthusiasm astounds. Anyway, weren't you every bit the disapproving party the last time we talked about this?"
He'd been accused of jealousy, then-not a lie, but it was hard not to be when Dakin was the way he was, all swagger and confidence, the kind of person everyone wanted to notice them, for better or for worse. At any rate: "I was going to say that I wouldn't even know where to begin in that kind of situation. Not something you have a problem with, clearly."
Dakin seems marginally content with this, because there's another pause, not uncomfortable. "You still there?" he says at last.
"You're being so enchanting, Stu. How could I leave?"
"Arse," Dakin says, laughing. "How about winter hols, then? Our one last bit of freedom before Hilary term?"
"Pos is working at the bookshop again. Akthar and Lockwood and Rudge: all training for football season. Timms-God knows."
"And you?"
"Nothing interesting," Don says lightly, and rolls his eyes at Dakin's snort of laughter. "What, I'm not you."
"Heaven forbid," Dakin says, voice fervent. "I doubt there's enough room on Earth for more than one of me."
"Agreed. The combined weight of your over-inflated egos would send the planet spinning off its trajectory."
"Thank you for your input, Scripps," Dakin says drily. "See if I invite you to the lake-house for Christmas this year."
"Your mother loves me too much to let you cut me off," Don points out. "She thinks I'm a mitigating influence."
"Shows how much she knows," he mutters. "Bah, mothers." There's a sound of a door squeaking shut from Dakin's end. "Listen, I'm meeting Fiona for drinks soon-"
Don switches ears, phone clamped between his shoulder and his cheek. "How did you manage that?"
"She was very grateful that I'd confronted Felix about his-less than savory pursuits," Dakin says sleazily.
Don raises his eyebrows. "Landing you instead was certainly a tremendous step up."
"I'm hanging up the phone, wanker," Dakin says, but he's laughing as he goes, and Don can't help the stupid grin on his own face, either.
fin