(no subject)

[extendedmetaphor]

Some things never changed - he was still a teacher, still buried in history, and he still felt like he was drowning in marking. He sighs, reaching for the drink that's at his elbow as he finishes one essay and starts another. It looks like he's on the verge of a long night if he wants to get all of this done.

Comments

[thesubjunctive]

Scripps had said (on multiple occasions) that Dakin's level of infatuation with Irwin verged on the frightening. But Dakin didn't see it that way. After all, Irwin fucked Burgess and he fucked other people too. And everyone was fine with that. And if Dakin just happened to have Irwin's schedule memorized, what of it? It didn't mean anything.

Like now. He was leaning against the frame of the door, watching Irwin silently for a moment, suddenly fascinated by the bend of his neck as he bent over his work. "Busy night, sir?"