It’s the middle of the afternoon when Dakin arrives at Irwin’s house, the sun blazing down on his head, and if the heat doesn’t kill him he thinks the anticipation might. His hands are clenched in his pockets, and the hairs at the back of his neck are standing on end — he can feel them prickling, a constant nervous tingle. It’s been a good minute since he knocked, and there’s no sign of movement from inside the house. What if Irwin’s changed his mind? Would he hide in his house, pretend not to be home? No, Dakin thinks, he’s more the type to contrive an actual excuse to be out of the house — got lost in research, gone down the pub for the afternoon, had to visit my dear old mum, so sorry.
Thirty seconds more, and Dakin’s hand is inching towards the door again when Irwin finally gets there and opens it. Dakin seamlessly redirects his raised hand to run through his hair, and smiles brightly at Irwin.
“Hello,” Irwin says. He voice doesn’t shake — not quite — but Dakin can tell it’s only because he’s wound as tightly as a spring. “Er, come in, won’t you?”
Irwin gets them a couple of beers out of the fridge, pops the tops with the bottle opener that’s been carefully laid out on the counter. Dakin looks around the front rooms of the house: small, and rather sparse, but not a bad place, overall. Matching furniture, thick carpeting, a few pictures up on the walls here and there. Lots of bookshelves, but that was to be expected. The kitchen table is covered in papers and ancient-looking books.
“I wasn’t sure when you were coming over, so I thought I’d get some of my research in while I had the chance,” Irwin says, seeing Dakin’s interest in the mess of documents.
“The accounts of — what was it, a monastery?” Dakin asks, taking a swig of his beer.
“An abbey. Roche Abbey.” Irwin’s holding his bottle so hard his knuckles are white, but he smiles at Dakin. “I’d tell you what I’ve discovered so far, but even though I read a good dozen pages before you arrived I haven’t the slightest idea what any of them said.”
Dakin keeps himself from smirking, but only just. His heart is still beating a mile a minute, and he takes another drink to try and calm himself down. The silence stretches on.
“Would you like to sit down?” Irwin says abruptly, gesturing towards the table. Dakin nods and walks over, and Irwin pulls out a chair for him. It’s odd, but really kind of sweet.
“Had my last ever motorcycle ride with Hector, the other day,” Dakin says, and immediately curses himself for bringing up that subject. Irwin was already worried about him being a teacher and Dakin being a boy; why the fuck had he thought it would be a good idea to bring up Hector, the poster child for the consequences of inappropriate behavior with students?
“Yes, I saw,” Irwin says. “I was just coming down the stairs with the Headmaster when we saw you two speeding out towards the road.”
“What, did he spot us?” Dakin asks. “Shit, he can’t have been happy about that.”
“He didn’t look it, no.”
“He didn’t touch me on the bike,” Dakin says hastily. “Hector, I mean. Think he’s learned his lesson on that one.”
“I would imagine so, yes,” Irwin says, and his face suddenly looks pinched and grim. Dakin can see the gears turning in that brilliant head, figuring how angry the Headmaster would be if he found out about this. He gets an awful, sinking feeling in his stomach. Irwin can’t be given the opportunity to reconsider, not now, not when Dakin’s come this far out on the limb to get what he wants.
“It’s not even close to the same thing, what this is,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “It’s not like with Hector. Not by a long shot.”
“You mentioned that when we spoke before, yes,” Irwin says, but he still sounds uncertain.
“And I meant it,” Dakin says firmly. “All right? So don’t even start thinking about it that way. It’ll do us no good.”
Irwin looks amused, and his death grip on his beer relaxes a bit. “Yes sir,” he says, gently mocking.
Dakin blushes, but raises his eyebrows. “One of us has to take charge of the situation,” he says loftily, “And you’re clearly not up to the task.”
“Oh, aren’t I?” Irwin’s eyebrows quirk up as well, and a smile plays across his mouth. Dakin kind of wants to know what that shape would feel like against his own lips.
“Not at all,” Dakin says, shaking his head mournfully. “You’re a wreck, anyone can see that. The companionship of a confident young man is just what you need to set you straight.”
Irwin chuckles under his breath at that, lips parting slightly. Scratch the “kind of,” Dakin really wants to know how the curve of his mouth tastes.
Another silence stretches out between them, less awkward but still full of tension, like a high note held until the singer’s voice is in danger of giving out. They drink their beer, looking anywhere but at each other. Finally Irwin sighs and sets his beer down on the table with a decisive thunk.
“I suppose you have an appropriate gobbet for this situation?” he asks, running a hand through his hair.
“Am I supposed to?”
Irwin shrugs. “I just thought you might. Auden snogged his pupils, didn’t he write something about it afterwards?”
“Not usually, I don’t think, sir,” Dakin says. “I think he probably just… did it.”
“Well,” Irwin says, standing up. Dakin stands with him. “I’d hate to try and make myself out to be better than Auden,” Irwin murmurs, another smile quirking his lips, and steps in close.
In the end, it’s actually Dakin who closes the gap between them, brushes their lips together softly, then with more confidence. It takes Irwin a minute to really react — he stands as if frozen, not recoiling but not making any moves forward, either. It isn’t until Dakin grabs his hand, runs his fingers over the inside of Irwin’s wrist, that Irwin shows any sign that he’s planning on being an active participant in this encounter. He twines his fingers with Dakin’s, squeezing gently, and brings his other hand up to Dakin’s face. At the same time, he leans into the kiss, his mouth pressing insistently against Dakin’s, letting just a flash of tongue slip through and graze Dakin’s lips. Dakin shudders and opens his mouth, and Irwin takes the opportunity to kiss him more deeply, tongue tangling with Dakin’s own.
Irwin is good at this — really good — that much Dakin can tell. But he can also tell Irwin’s still holding back, and that’s just not on. He wraps his free hand around the back of Irwin’s neck, pulling him closer, until the lengths of their bodies are just barely touching, enough to be tempting but not overwhelming. Irwin makes a noise in the back of his throat and steps even closer. Now they’re fully pressed up against each other, separated only by their clothes, not even a millimetre of space between them, and the hard length pressing into Dakin’s thigh is absolute, undeniable confirmation that Irwin wants this as much as he does.
They have to surface for air sometime, and when they do, Irwin jerks his head towards the hallway. “To the bedroom, then?” he asks, searching Dakin’s eyes for any glimpse of uncertainty. He finds none.
“Fuck, yes,” Dakin says, and lets Irwin lead him by the hand down the hall.
The bedroom, like the rest of the house, is rather small and simple, but the bed is soft and springy and will suit Dakin’s purposes just fine. He sits down on the edge of it, pulls off his shoes and socks, and starts to lift the hem of his t-shirt.
“Wait,” Irwin says, his hand abruptly covering Dakin’s, stopping his progress in undressing. “I feel— I need to ask you. Just, just to be sure, before things go any further. You want this? Really?”
“Of course I do,” Dakin says, and Irwin visibly relaxes. “There’s just one thing,” he adds, sounding hesitant. “One thing I have to ask you to do.”
“Of course,” Irwin stammers. “What is it?”
Dakin grabs Irwin’s hand, pulls it down so Irwin can feel his dick, how hard it is. “Stop asking stupid questions,” he says, smirking.
Irwin makes a strangled noise and kisses Dakin hard, hands coming up to Dakin’s shoulders, but not before giving his cock a firm stroke through his trousers. He pushes Dakin further back on the bed and crawls over him, almost predatory, like a cat about to pounce. Dakin goes back to pulling his shirt off and Irwin helps him, breaks the kiss just long enough to fling the t-shirt across the room. Irwin’s mouth moves over from Dakin’s to the side of his neck, just below his ear, and then down, down past his collarbone, spending an all-too-brief moment at his nipples before working over his stomach all the way to the waistband of Dakin’s jeans. Irwin looks up at him then, eyes slightly unfocused with desire. “All right?” he asks.
“More than,” Dakin replies breathlessly, and then chokes on air as Irwin mouths him through the front of his jeans. Irwin chuckles, the sound coming from deep inside his chest, his smile wicked and filthy and wonderful. He makes quick work of Dakin’s jeans, helps Dakin kick them off and tosses them off the bed, then returns to the point at hand. He runs an exploratory finger under the hem of Dakin’s briefs, then two, so close to Dakin’s cock but not actually touching. Dakin squirms and immediately hates himself for squirming, but Irwin his grabs his hips, holds them still, and that in itself is hot enough to make Dakin’s brain short-circuit.
Dakin’s briefs stick as Irwin peels them off, the circle of fabric that’s wet with pre-come clinging to the tip of Dakin’s cock. Irwin nudges Dakin’s legs apart, settling in between them, and god, Dakin has never felt so exposed in his life but he’s pretty sure he’s never felt this turned-on, either, so the trade-off isn’t bad. Irwin bends down, kisses the inside of Dakin’s thigh, runs his tongue along to Dakin’s hipbone, then in. When he finally wraps his lips around Dakin’s cock, tongue flickering hot and wet against the underside, Dakin has to squeeze his eyes shut and count backwards from a thousand to keep himself from coming right then and there.
Dakin had suspected Irwin would be good at this — a man who’s so good at twisting words is bound to have a tongue that’s talented in other ways as well — but the reality of the situation is beyond anything he’s experienced before, even in dreams. His skin feels so hot it might burst into flame any second, every nerve in his body singing Hallelujah at the magic that Irwin is working with his mouth. Irwin seems to be having a perfectly good time himself, little moans coming from the back of his throat as he sucks Dakin’s cock like blowjobs are going out of style. He looks up for a moment, Dakin’s cock halfway down his throat, and their eyes meet. Dakin groans and grabs the sheets, then groans even louder when Irwin pulls away, his lips coming off of Dakin’s cock with a pop.
“Just give me some warning when, you know,” Irwin says. His voice is deeper than usual, hoarser, and his lips are red and wet. “Or preferably before, actually.”
“Try to,” Dakin manages between gasps.
“Won’t be long now, hm?” Irwin asks, smirking.
“Probably not,” Dakin says, well past the point of being self-conscious about his stamina. “Now shut up and suck my cock.”
Irwin laughs and licks his lips, then licks the head of Dakin’s cock, working his way down inch by inch until he’s covered the whole thing. Dakin writhes a bit, bucks his hips just so Irwin will grab them and hold them down again. Irwin readily obliges, his fingers firm but not painful against Dakin’s skin. He dips his head further, swallows around Dakin’s cock, lets his tongue rub up on the underside of the head, and Dakin barely has time to grate out a “Sir—“ before he’s coming hot and hard down Irwin’s throat.
Irwin swallows and smiles at Dakin. His face is flushed, cheeks pink and lips swollen. “Well,” he says. “Was that up to your standards?”
“Excellent job, yes,” Dakin says, grinning broadly. The room has mostly stopped spinning, and he feels quite ready to move on to the next phase of this adventure. “Your turn, now.”
They shift positions, Irwin lying back on the bed where Dakin was, Dakin kneeling next to him. Irwin’s starting to look hesitant again, so Dakin kisses him until he’s breathless and then starts to work on the buttons of his shirt. Somehow Irwin has managed to stay entirely clothed through all of this, which is just unacceptable. Dakin smoothes his hands over Irwin’s bare chest. Irwin jerks and gasps when Dakin’s fingers brush lightly over his nipples, so Dakin does it again, and then more firmly. Gradually his hands drift down to the front of Irwin’s trousers, where Irwin is still as hard and ready as he was twenty minutes ago. He undoes Irwin’s belt, his button, his zip. He’s never sucked off a guy before, never given anyone a handjob but himself, but there’s a first time for everything, right?
Something occurs to him — or, more accurately, something that’s been lurking in the back of his mind pushes its way to the forefront, now that he’s naked with Irwin’s dick inches from his fingers. Speaking of first times for everything… “Hey,” he says. “How would you like to fuck me?”
Irwin’s eyes have been following the progress of Dakin’s fingers with great interest, but now he stares Dakin full in the face, jaw dropping just a bit. “I’d love to,” he stammers. “But— are you sure? That’s not what we discussed.”
“Reckless and impulsive, that’s me,” Dakin says, grinning. He’s loving the look on Irwin’s face right now, bewilderment and shock mixing with an overwhelming flood of desire. “I’m up for it if you are.”
“All right,” Irwin says, sounding like he thinks he should be saying No, under no circumstances. His cock betrays his true opinion, though, pulsing under Dakin’s fingers and getting even harder, if that’s possible. “But you have— this is serious, Dakin, I’m not joking,” he says, moving Dakin’s hand away from his dick momentarily. “You have to tell me if you don’t like it or want to stop. Promise me that.”
Dakin nods, and Irwin levers himself up, crossing the bedroom to his dresser. “On your back, then, if you’re sure,” he says.
Irwin comes back to the bed with a condom and a little plastic bottle full of clear liquid. He spreads Dakin’s legs again, carefully, and squirts some of the liquid onto his fingers.
“Lubricant,” he says at Dakin’s questioning look. “It might be a bit cold at first. Just tell me if it’s too much.”
His hands ghost down the insides of Dakin’s thighs, and then his finger slips down the crack of Dakin’s arse, the lubricant leaving a slick trail past his cock. Dakin tenses instinctively when Irwin presses a finger to his arsehole, then forces himself to relax, at least let Irwin get one finger in before giving up. Irwin gets that first finger in, and it feels odd but not unpleasant, and then Dakin relaxes enough to let him put in a second finger and it starts to feel less odd and very pleasant. It’s a sort of stretching sensation, only a little bit painful, and the look on Irwin’s face is more than enough to counteract that obstacle: he looks intensely focused, concentrating on Dakin’s arsehole with a single-mindedness that can only be described as worshipful. When he crooks his fingers up, stars burst behind Dakin’s eyes, and it becomes clear just what hidden treasures Irwin was searching for. Dakin likes to think he’s reasonably informed about his body — played with his nipples, tasted his own spunk, those sorts of things — but he’s never really done much exploring in the arsehole region. After today, that really might have to change.
It’s not long before Dakin’s legs are quivering, his hips angling themselves towards Irwin’s fingers, and his cock is starting to fill again, hot against his stomach. Irwin sees this and rolls his eyes. “You boys and your refractory periods,” he says. “Ridiculous.”
“Yeah, but you wish yours was still this quick, don’t you?” Dakin points out.
“Maybe,” Irwin hedges. “But it’s a moot point at the moment, seeing as I haven’t come yet.”
“Let’s get to that, then, shall we?”
“If you think you’re ready.”
“This is all new to me,” Dakin says. “You’re the one who might have a professional opinion about this stuff.”
“I’m not sure I would go as far as professional,” Irwin says. “But we can certainly proceed at this point without me hurting you. I was more asking if you were sure you wanted to go ahead with it.”
Dakin nods, and Irwin tears open the condom wrapper, rolls the condom down over his cock with shaking hands. He coats his erection liberally with lubricant, then positions himself over Dakin, the head of his cock just brushing Dakin’s arsehole.
“Wait,” Dakin says, and Irwin freezes in place. “No, not like that,” Dakin laughs. “But here—“ he reaches up and gently takes hold of Irwin’s glasses, drawing them carefully off his face. “The last thing you do.”
“Of course,” Irwin says, lips curving in a half-smile. “Is that all?”
“Yeah,” Dakin says. “Go ahead, now.”
It’s more painful than he was anticipating — he supposes he might have tightened back up a bit while they were talking, but seriously, ouch. Irwin’s cock feels like it goes on forever, pushing inexorably inside Dakin until Irwin is buried to the hilt, holding the rest of his body above Dakin’s, breath coming hard and fast. Dakin shuts his eyes and thinks happy thoughts, and gradually the pain subsides, replaced by a sense of fullness that’s not at all unpleasant. Irwin waits until Dakin’s okay, reading his emotions in his face and his body, and then starts to move, drawing slowly out and pushing in again. Dakin opens his eyes. Irwin is staring down at him, his eyes focused intently on Dakin’s face. Dakin grins at him and leans up, catching Irwin’s mouth in an insistent kiss, and Irwin begins to fuck him a bit faster.
When Dakin first thought of offering this, it had seemed like just something it would be nice to be willing to do, another way of getting Irwin off that didn’t really require much work on Dakin’s part. He hadn’t thought it would be so intimate, so emotional. All the other times he’s had sex, he’s been the one doing the fucking, and he never quite realized how different it is to be the one being fucked. Irwin is actually, literally inside him, the weight and warmth of his body hovering over him, their mouths mere centimetres apart. Dakin feels surrounded and absolutely supported, and the feeling makes something twist inside his chest that has absolutely nothing to do with the physical pleasure. There’s plenty of that, too, but although his now-fully-hard cock is aching it doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as how much he wants Irwin, wants him to like him, wants him to stay with him, wants him to never, ever move from the spot he’s in right now. Tears prick the corner of Dakin’s eyes. Oh, fuck no, he thinks, blinking them back. I am not bursting into tears my first time doing this, fuck that.
Irwin has paused, noticing Dakin’s apparent distress. “Is everything all right? Am I hurting you?”
“Not at all,” Dakin says, smiling. Not the way you’re asking about, anyway. He leans up, kissing Irwin hungrily, sliding his tongue past Irwin’s lips. “Now come on,” he says when they break for air. “Is that the best you can do?”
Irwin laughs, so deep in his chest it’s almost a growl, and picks up his pace. Dakin banishes the emotions that are burning in his stomach and blocking up his throat, pushing them away in favor of the physical sensations washing over him, which are overwhelmingly pleasurable. Irwin’s cock is stretching him in the most wonderful way, pushing inside him over and over. Every few strokes the angles work out so that the head of Irwin’s cock rubs over that amazing spot inside of Dakin, and Dakin grabs the sheets and gasps. Pretty soon his hips are rising to meet each of Irwin’s thrusts, his legs splaying wider to let Irwin go deeper, harder. Irwin’s groaning with nearly every stroke now, swearing under his breath, but he keeps his eyes open and fixed on Dakin’s face, carefully searching for signs of discomfort or reluctance. He never finds any.
“If you want to touch yourself and get yourself off,” he grates out between thrusts, “Now might be a good time.” Dakin takes his advice more than happily, fingers curling around his cock and stroking just the way he likes it. He synchronizes the movements of his hand with the thrust of Irwin’s hips, and only has to touch himself a few times that way before he gasps and comes, spilling over his hand and on his stomach. He can feel his body shuddering and clenching around Irwin’s cock, and clearly Irwin feels it too, because he shouts out loud and stops thrusting, his whole frame shaking as he comes.
Irwin rolls off, gets rid of of the condom, comes back to the bed. Dakin is lying there, legs still splayed wide, sated and overwhelmingly happy. He scoots over and rolls onto his side so Irwin can lie next to him, face to face.
“Thank you,” he says. He’s not sure why, but it seems like the right thing to say, and it comes from the depths of his heart.
Irwin raises an eyebrow. “Thank you,” he says. He touches Dakin’s face, runs a hand over his cheek.
“You’re not going to kick me out of bed now, are you?” Dakin asks, suddenly worried. A plethora of cultural knowledge tells him that that’s what happens after casual sex — or, at least, sex that the owner of the bed thinks is casual. He’s not sure he can handle that at the moment, not without throwing into chaos the roiling sea of emotions that currently makes up his brain.
“Never,” Irwin says, and there’s a deep sincerity in his voice that makes something in Dakin’s chest tighten. He rolls over, shifting so his back is against Irwin’s chest, and sighs, letting himself settle into the comfort of the moment.
Some months later, a letter arrives at Irwin’s house. There’s no return address, but it’s written on college stationary, and Irwin knows exactly who it’s from. He waits until late in the evening to open it, excitement and fear at war in his stomach.
The handwriting is remarkably similar to his own. The letter reads:
I’ve found a gobbet from Auden that I think might suit our purposes. He denies authorship of this poem (you’ll see why in a moment), but everyone knows it’s him.
We aligned mouths. We entwined. All act was clutch,
All fact contact, the attack and the interlock
Of tongues, the charms of arms. I shook at the touch
Of his fresh flesh, I rocked at the shock of his cock.
You can hear the rest of it when next we meet.
See you at the end of term!