(no subject)

[extendedmetaphor]

Or, perhaps, somewhere, they did go for that drink.

There was a lot that Irwin was still trying to adjust to. The weather, for a start. The lack of palpable history is disconcerting. He's refusing to address the dinosaurs.
And then there's Dakin. Of course, there's Dakin. Inevitably. Irwin might have been the only one who was actually surprised.

They skirted around it for a few weeks but, in the end, it just felt inevitable. That he'd find himself waiting for Dakin with a drink in front of him.
It was just a drink. And everything would be fine.

Comments

[thesubjunctive]

"Fucking Christ," Dakin exhaled, out of breath, flushed, slick with sweat, but smiling and sated. He clutched at Irwin's back, urging him on as best he could.

[extendedmetaphor]

It was messy, a sort of headlong rush, but he tumbled quickly, coming with a gasp muffled by the press of his mouth against Dakin's tan skin. Gradually, he became aware of things again, Dakin's body beneath him, the sticky mess against their skin, the heat of the room.

It was perfect. Every part of it.

[thesubjunctive]

Dakin wasn't certain about perfect, but it was definitely something beyond the sort of post-sex experience he was used to, and not just because of the male body over and still in him (a fact that he still couldn't seem to entirely believe). Through all the unfamiliarity of the situation it felt good. It definitely felt worth it.

He continued to lie there for the time being, briefly running a hand through Irwin's hair, too satisfied and worn out to even consider any real movement. For once he didn't even feel the need to speak.

[extendedmetaphor]

It took longer than it probably ought to have done before he could move. He gasped as he pulled out of Dakin's body and then he sprawled along side him, one arm thrown somewhat possessively across him.

"Jesus," he said, finally, with feeling.

[thesubjunctive]

Dakin turned his head to watch Irwin, liking the way his arm felt draped over him, liking the way he was still out of breath, liking the way that nearly everything felt. This was what the word debauched was meant to feel like and it was wonderful, ten times better than merely reading or fantasizing about it.

"Is that what it's always like?" The unspoken question was still apparent no matter how he might try not to let it show. What was I like? I was good enough, wasn't I?

[extendedmetaphor]

"When you do it right, yes," said Irwin, nodding as he glances over at him, fingers stroking against Dakin's bare side. "If you're lucky."

[thesubjunctive]

Dakin smiled a bit at that, lazy and smug. He was was lucky in this as in so many other things. It was always nice to hear it said aloud though.

"It was worth it, then, going for that drink?"

[extendedmetaphor]

"Apparently." When he'd first shown up, he'd been in two minds whether to tell Dakin about that conversation at all; being moral and above it had seemed attractive. Still, with his palm pressed against Dakin's ribs, feeling his heartbeat, he was glad that he couldn't quite stand strong in the face of it.