P/S sacred_20 challenge: 7 - Genesis
Title: I’m Your Man
Prompt: Sacred_ 20: 7 - Genesis
Characters/Pairing: Posner/Scripps
Summary: gen.e.sis.: an origin, creation, or beginning.
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 1260
Notes: Written for the sacred_20 challenge - more information over at my journal! On its own, this fic may seem a bit stilted and incomplete, though that’s largely because it’s part of a wider narrative. However, it can be read on its own if you’ve no interest in reading the other fics that will be on their way soon enough! I hope you enjoy it. :)
October, 1985
They were a bit drunk when it happened. It was the start of their second year and Scripps’s college had put on a sort of welcome back disco for all the returning students while the first years were being inducted to life at university elsewhere.
Scripps had told Posner to come down from his college for it and of course he had done - even though it had only been two days since they’d said goodbye to everyone in Sheffield, two days since Posner’s dad had dropped him off at Trinity again and Scripps had caught the train back down.
Scripps wasn’t able to say why he’d drunk a bit more than usual, as he was usually very good about that sort of thing, but he’d sunk a fair few vodka and cokes (and at 60p a go he couldn’t really say no, not when he had quite a bit of spare cash left over from his job helping out in the office at the factory his dad worked at over the summer). He was getting a bit carried away and was doing that awful, awkward, very white sort of dancing that Crowther was forever calling them up on when they used to go out on the town up in Sheffield - Scripps in particular, and with good reason.
The bar was crowded, dark and stiflingly hot, the sort of thing that Posner and Scripps fought hard to avoid normally, although Scripps appeared to be quite enjoying himself.
‘D’you want another drink?’ he shouted into Posner’s ear, leaning forwards to speak to him, stumbling slightly.
‘Do you really think that’s wise?’ Posner said, grinning, leaning in as well, resting his hand on Scripps’s shoulder.
‘We’ve got the rest of our lives to worry about wise, Pos,’ Scripps returned, a maxim that he usually didn’t abide by in the slightest, weaving his way in between people to the get to the bar. Five minutes later, he returned, pressing another vodka and coke into Posner’s hand, knocking back a fair amount of his own. He grinned.
‘You’re ridiculous,’ Posner informed him, smiling back, his cheeks red and his hair sticking to his forehead. He drank as well, downing half of his in one. Scripps raised his eyebrows and pulled a suitably ridiculous face, too drunk to come back with anything witty. He downed the rest of his drink and stretched up to put the empty glass on the windowsill before bringing Posner’s glass to his lips and tipping it upwards to get him to drink up as well.
‘See it off!’ Scripps said, grinning again, and Posner obliged, opening his throat to get the vodka and coke down. Scripps deposited Posner’s glass on the windowsill as well, mumbling ‘oops’ when it fell onto its side as a result of his drink-induced clumsiness. He pulled Posner onto the dance floor, just as the track changed to A Town Called Malice, which was one of Scripps’s favourite songs.
His dancing was awful: lots of clapping and clicking and shaking his arms about and shuffling his feet, but nearly everyone else was dancing the same and Posner, who usually avoided dancing at all costs, had a go as well. He had a bit more rhythm than Scripps, but his eyes-closed, head-nodding move was never going to look cool.
The record changed to Wham!’s I’m Your Man, and Scripps decided that singing along was a good idea. Well, he wasn’t so much singing along as shouting the words at Posner in that drunken, incredibly passionate sort of way, his arm wrapped round Posner’s neck as he brought their foreheads together.
‘Call me good, call me bad,’ he belted out, ‘call me anything you want to, baby... but I know, uh-hah, that you’re sad, and I know I’ll make you happy with the one thing that you never had... BABY! I’m your man...’
He leant back, pulling Posner with him, pointing his hand in the air.
To this day, Posner couldn’t tell you what made him do it. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been the atmosphere - maybe it was purely because Scripps just made him happy. It certainly wasn’t because Scripps looked sexy - he was dripping with sweat - and it wasn’t because Scripps could dance, because he couldn’t - his unco-ordinated hip thrusts to the chorus: if you’re gonna do it, do it right, right, do it with me - were testament to that.
The crush on Dakin was all but a distant memory, and it had only ever been that: a crush. Posner had seen him once over the summer and that brief meeting in the Horse and Jockey had only confirmed that Posner didn’t feel anything for him anymore. He’d joined the Dramatic Society and had slept with three of his fellow thespians, so it wasn’t even a desire to lose his virginity that made him do what he did.
As Scripps shouted his way through the second verse - ‘So good! You’re divine--’ - Posner wrapped his arm around Scripps’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Both of them had their eyes open for a few seconds, both looking as shocked as the other; Scripps taken by surprise and Posner hardly able to believe what he’d done - was doing - until they relaxed into it and amazingly, miraculously, unbelievably, Scripps kissed back.
Posner could tell just how inexperienced Scripps was. He shoved his tongue into Posner’s mouth and moved it around far too eagerly; the kiss was wet, uncontrolled and sloppy and Posner couldn’t help but pull back slightly, pushing Scripps’s tongue back into his mouth with his own.
‘Mmm,’ Scripps moaned, pushing Posner against the wall, his sweaty hand gripping the back of Posner’s neck.
They didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening. They snogged their way through a few more songs before Scripps tugged Posner up to his room overlooking the quad that he’d managed to keep on account of being the chapel’s verger. He fell onto his back on the bed and tugged Posner on top of him, flicking his bedside lamp on.
Moaning softly, Posner moved his hands up to Scripps’s shirt buttons, expecting some resistance, expecting him to say something, some sort of ‘Pos, don’t,’ or ‘Pos, we can’t,’ or ‘Pos, I’m not--’ but he said nothing. He groaned as he’d done down in the bar and kicked his shoes off, shoving his hands down the back of Posner’s jeans and squeezing his arse.
‘Mm!’ Posner gasped, pulling away, surprised, his chest heaving. Scripps licked his bottom lip and met Posner’s eyes for a moment before trailing one large hand up his back and pulling him down into another kiss.
*
In the morning, when the both woke up in Scripps’s bed, mostly naked apart from socks and underwear that was stuck to their skin, Posner’s stomach was twisted and heavy with a dreadful sick feeling that Scripps would regret everything they’d done, regret even thinking it was a good idea, be horribly embarrassed about it and would never want to talk to him ever again. Biting his lip when Scripps yawned and stretched, Posner screwed his eyes shut, clinging onto the quilt that was making a valiant effort of covering the two of them.
Scripps rolled onto his side to face Posner and brushed his lips against Posner’s forehead.
‘Cup of tea?’ he said, and Posner knew he needn’t have worried.
Prompt: Sacred_ 20: 7 - Genesis
Characters/Pairing: Posner/Scripps
Summary: gen.e.sis.: an origin, creation, or beginning.
Rating: Light R
Word Count: 1260
Notes: Written for the sacred_20 challenge - more information over at my journal! On its own, this fic may seem a bit stilted and incomplete, though that’s largely because it’s part of a wider narrative. However, it can be read on its own if you’ve no interest in reading the other fics that will be on their way soon enough! I hope you enjoy it. :)
October, 1985
They were a bit drunk when it happened. It was the start of their second year and Scripps’s college had put on a sort of welcome back disco for all the returning students while the first years were being inducted to life at university elsewhere.
Scripps had told Posner to come down from his college for it and of course he had done - even though it had only been two days since they’d said goodbye to everyone in Sheffield, two days since Posner’s dad had dropped him off at Trinity again and Scripps had caught the train back down.
Scripps wasn’t able to say why he’d drunk a bit more than usual, as he was usually very good about that sort of thing, but he’d sunk a fair few vodka and cokes (and at 60p a go he couldn’t really say no, not when he had quite a bit of spare cash left over from his job helping out in the office at the factory his dad worked at over the summer). He was getting a bit carried away and was doing that awful, awkward, very white sort of dancing that Crowther was forever calling them up on when they used to go out on the town up in Sheffield - Scripps in particular, and with good reason.
The bar was crowded, dark and stiflingly hot, the sort of thing that Posner and Scripps fought hard to avoid normally, although Scripps appeared to be quite enjoying himself.
‘D’you want another drink?’ he shouted into Posner’s ear, leaning forwards to speak to him, stumbling slightly.
‘Do you really think that’s wise?’ Posner said, grinning, leaning in as well, resting his hand on Scripps’s shoulder.
‘We’ve got the rest of our lives to worry about wise, Pos,’ Scripps returned, a maxim that he usually didn’t abide by in the slightest, weaving his way in between people to the get to the bar. Five minutes later, he returned, pressing another vodka and coke into Posner’s hand, knocking back a fair amount of his own. He grinned.
‘You’re ridiculous,’ Posner informed him, smiling back, his cheeks red and his hair sticking to his forehead. He drank as well, downing half of his in one. Scripps raised his eyebrows and pulled a suitably ridiculous face, too drunk to come back with anything witty. He downed the rest of his drink and stretched up to put the empty glass on the windowsill before bringing Posner’s glass to his lips and tipping it upwards to get him to drink up as well.
‘See it off!’ Scripps said, grinning again, and Posner obliged, opening his throat to get the vodka and coke down. Scripps deposited Posner’s glass on the windowsill as well, mumbling ‘oops’ when it fell onto its side as a result of his drink-induced clumsiness. He pulled Posner onto the dance floor, just as the track changed to A Town Called Malice, which was one of Scripps’s favourite songs.
His dancing was awful: lots of clapping and clicking and shaking his arms about and shuffling his feet, but nearly everyone else was dancing the same and Posner, who usually avoided dancing at all costs, had a go as well. He had a bit more rhythm than Scripps, but his eyes-closed, head-nodding move was never going to look cool.
The record changed to Wham!’s I’m Your Man, and Scripps decided that singing along was a good idea. Well, he wasn’t so much singing along as shouting the words at Posner in that drunken, incredibly passionate sort of way, his arm wrapped round Posner’s neck as he brought their foreheads together.
‘Call me good, call me bad,’ he belted out, ‘call me anything you want to, baby... but I know, uh-hah, that you’re sad, and I know I’ll make you happy with the one thing that you never had... BABY! I’m your man...’
He leant back, pulling Posner with him, pointing his hand in the air.
To this day, Posner couldn’t tell you what made him do it. It could have been the alcohol, it could have been the atmosphere - maybe it was purely because Scripps just made him happy. It certainly wasn’t because Scripps looked sexy - he was dripping with sweat - and it wasn’t because Scripps could dance, because he couldn’t - his unco-ordinated hip thrusts to the chorus: if you’re gonna do it, do it right, right, do it with me - were testament to that.
The crush on Dakin was all but a distant memory, and it had only ever been that: a crush. Posner had seen him once over the summer and that brief meeting in the Horse and Jockey had only confirmed that Posner didn’t feel anything for him anymore. He’d joined the Dramatic Society and had slept with three of his fellow thespians, so it wasn’t even a desire to lose his virginity that made him do what he did.
As Scripps shouted his way through the second verse - ‘So good! You’re divine--’ - Posner wrapped his arm around Scripps’s neck and pulled him into a kiss. Both of them had their eyes open for a few seconds, both looking as shocked as the other; Scripps taken by surprise and Posner hardly able to believe what he’d done - was doing - until they relaxed into it and amazingly, miraculously, unbelievably, Scripps kissed back.
Posner could tell just how inexperienced Scripps was. He shoved his tongue into Posner’s mouth and moved it around far too eagerly; the kiss was wet, uncontrolled and sloppy and Posner couldn’t help but pull back slightly, pushing Scripps’s tongue back into his mouth with his own.
‘Mmm,’ Scripps moaned, pushing Posner against the wall, his sweaty hand gripping the back of Posner’s neck.
They didn’t say another word for the rest of the evening. They snogged their way through a few more songs before Scripps tugged Posner up to his room overlooking the quad that he’d managed to keep on account of being the chapel’s verger. He fell onto his back on the bed and tugged Posner on top of him, flicking his bedside lamp on.
Moaning softly, Posner moved his hands up to Scripps’s shirt buttons, expecting some resistance, expecting him to say something, some sort of ‘Pos, don’t,’ or ‘Pos, we can’t,’ or ‘Pos, I’m not--’ but he said nothing. He groaned as he’d done down in the bar and kicked his shoes off, shoving his hands down the back of Posner’s jeans and squeezing his arse.
‘Mm!’ Posner gasped, pulling away, surprised, his chest heaving. Scripps licked his bottom lip and met Posner’s eyes for a moment before trailing one large hand up his back and pulling him down into another kiss.
*
In the morning, when the both woke up in Scripps’s bed, mostly naked apart from socks and underwear that was stuck to their skin, Posner’s stomach was twisted and heavy with a dreadful sick feeling that Scripps would regret everything they’d done, regret even thinking it was a good idea, be horribly embarrassed about it and would never want to talk to him ever again. Biting his lip when Scripps yawned and stretched, Posner screwed his eyes shut, clinging onto the quilt that was making a valiant effort of covering the two of them.
Scripps rolled onto his side to face Posner and brushed his lips against Posner’s forehead.
‘Cup of tea?’ he said, and Posner knew he needn’t have worried.