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.au: The Hours of Instruction - D/M (eventual NC17) 12.?
Title: The Hours of Instruction
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would notbe happening have happened.
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).
Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06; 07; 08; 09; 10; 11
Notes: A sort of bridge chapter to get to... Well, you know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’d think God was trying to tell us something,” Danny had said that morning, glaring distrustfully up at the clear fall sky that was visible through the window. Not like Danny would bother listening to God if he didn’t want to, even if God came with thunderbolts and a burning bush; Martin thought about pointing this out, but didn’t. “We’ll try again this afternoon.”
“It’s not supposed to rain,” Martin added, careful to keep his voice low. The other boys in Bertram’s English class were too busy racing to finish the last pages of The Great Gatsby before Bertram walked in to pay much attention.
“What, you checked the weather report?”
Yes, he had, the latest online forecasts. What about it? Danny had spent the rest of the day snickering about that, up to this very minute, as they walked down the stairs from their room to the main floor.
Wednesdays were good days, shorter; their chemistry lab, their last class of the day, lasted until three, which gave them a longer afternoon than the other four days of the week, when classes went until four. More time for more important things; Danny had pointed this out with a lascivious grin that had made Martin blush.
They were going to do it. For real this time. They’d put it off for two days, Monday because of a late afternoon rain and Tuesday because Dombrowski had called an extra practice session at the last minute, and when Martin was being honest with himself, he was relieved at these delays.
And a bit frustrated, getting by on stolen kisses before everyone woke up, the strange self-consciousness of lying in his bed with Danny half on top of him, surrounded by the depthless silence of a sleeping building. Like this morning, when he’d woken up to Danny’s mouth on his neck, and he could feel Danny’s grin – manic and entirely too pleased with himself – curving against his skin.
Frustrated because they’d had to be so careful, part of Martin’s attention riveted hawk-like on the hall outside even when all he wanted to do was pull Danny closer and get down to something serious, but relieved because... Because you know. Danny had come up with the idea of going to that old shrine where they’d talked Saturday afternoon, and though he hadn’t come out and said it, Martin knew why they were going.
We should go back to the river, Danny had said contemplatively, like saying they should go to class that morning.
Yeah, Martin had agreed, not that he was capable of doing anything else with Danny’s hands up under his t-shirt.
Admitting that his hormones were leading him into disaster was more than Martin was comfortable with, and it was an effort to stay still and act inconspicuous while he and Danny deflected the curiosity of their friends, all of whom were gathered in the common room and, with a direct line of sight to the doors, completely unavoidable.
“You two going running?” Expending unnecessary effort scandalized Ashley.
“What gave us away?” Danny asked. “The sneakers? The shorts? What?”
“Again?” Kieran looked up from his homework. “You guys training for a marathon or something?” He’d known from Matt that both of them had been out on Saturday (though not why, thank God), and again on Monday; he’d seen them himself, slinking into Grey, soaked and miserable.
“Or something,” Danny said, and smirked.
Kieran peered at them, and Martin knew, just knew what was going through Kieran’s mind, like there was a flashing neon sign above Kieran’s head. Fortunately, Kieran didn’t say anything else, only shook his head and returned to his history book.
“Have fun,” David said absently, much too engrossed in his chemistry notes to pay much attention.
Matt only nodded and made some remark about late football practice so he’d miss them at dinner, for which Martin was profoundly relieved. Not that Matt was the kind of person to give significant looks or make teasing remarks like Hey, Fitzgerald and his boyfriend are going “running” for the third time this week, but still.
“See you losers later,” was Danny’s parting remark, and he led the way out of the common room.
Martin was already hyped and trying to keep a lid on it, wouldn’t do to have Danny catching on, but the evil look Danny gave him – that smirk, eyes dark and narrow in appraisal – told him Danny knew exactly what was on his mind.
“Running usually get you this worked up?” he asked as they took the steps two at a time out of Grey. Danny landed on the gravel path with a crunch.
“Shut up.” Martin knew the heat in his face had awfully little to do with exertion. He tried to keep his pace disciplined, because they had a mile or so to go, never mind that they’d break to a walk once out of sight of the main campus, but man was it hard. He wondered what he was going to do once training for the swimming season really began and he was forced to run with the rest of the team.
He tried to imagine justifying sex as good cardiovascular exercise to Dombrowski. His coach had an eye on defending Trinity’s regional title in the hundred-meter freestyle, Martin’s specialty; short of illegal doping, he might be open to anything that would increase their chances.
Would Danny be able to persuade Farrell, the baseball coach, that sex would make Danny a better shortstop? Probably; given enough time, Danny could probably persuade Father Bryant homosexuality was condoned by the Bible.
Danny was very persuasive.
“What’re you grinning about?” Like Danny didn’t know, mind-reading bastard that he was.
“Nothing.”
“You’d better stop, or people will get suspicious.” Danny’s brief nod took in the few students scattered along the path. “Hate to have them start asking, you know, questions.”
“Are you going to run or talk?” Martin had the pleasure of seeing Danny momentarily at a loss for a comeback. They ran by Wilson and turned left, heading for the path leading out from the academic quadrangle to the abandoned shrine.
When they’d gone out on Monday, Martin had brought along his mp3 player, hoping to contribute to the illusion that he and Danny were only jogging partners and nothing more, thank you. This time, Danny had managed to maneuver Martin out of their room with the player still on his bed, distracting him with kisses and the much more immediate worry that one of their classmates or Father West would walk in.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t do both at the same time,” Danny said sweetly after a few more strides. “I’ll try not to make things too hard for you from now on.”
Martin was searching for something to say to that when he heard someone calling his name.
“Hey, Martin!”
Oh fuckfuckfuck.
Joseph Preston at twelve o’clock, standing precisely in the middle of the path with no way for Martin to avoid him, unless he was suddenly stricken deaf and blind – which, at the moment, sounded like a really good thing to have happen. Danny slowed to a walk, eyeing Preston suspiciously – he extended to Preston the same cordial dislike as he extended to the rest of Trinity’s students – and probably ready to make some smart, disastrous remark. Martin jumped in.
“Hey, Preston.” Martin tried to ignore the fact that Preston had addressed him by his first name, something only Danny and the rest of their group did.
“Listen, I wanted to know...” Preston glanced anxiously at Danny, who was frowning back and hovering much closer to Martin than he needed to. “I wanted to know if you could email me the notes from English today? I sort of... I lost them.”
“It was discussion today,” Danny broke in. “We don’t have notes.”
At least, not any that made sense. After clearing up any questions about the reading for the day, Professor Bertram would insist on discussing it, which usually led to a disorganized, rambling conversation not only on the text but on things completely irrelevant, in Martin’s opinion. It also led to Tom Reynolds going on about how F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby was irreligious and should be banned, and Ashley – who, in his saner moments, was good at intelligent argument and liked literature, especially vaguely pornographic literature – had demanded to know You ever read Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Reynolds? Because it would so loosen you up. Things degenerated after that.
“I thought I saw Martin taking notes,” Preston muttered, frowning resentfully at Danny, who returned the favor and glared back.
“Just doodles,” Martin said quickly. “I was bored.”
“Oh.” Preston gripped the shoulder strap of his bag and nodded. “Okay. Um, see you later?”
“Later.” Maybe a bit more emphatic than it should have been – much, much later, please God – but it got Preston moving, sidestepping around them and off on the path to the library.
“What was that all about?” Danny was making a point of watching Preston go, and not looking at Martin, and if looks could kill, Preston would have been struck dead on the spot.
“I have no idea.” Martin knew his tone implied otherwise, that he in fact did have a very painful idea of what that was all about, but Danny didn’t pursue it.
“Riiight.” Danny turned to favor him with a skeptical look before picking up a jog again, leaving Martin to sigh and follow him.
The thought of Danny insecure, Danny jealous even would have been amusing, worth it for the mileage Martin could get out of teasing Danny about it, but right now Martin was invested in preventing another slide back into silent, hostile awkwardness. He took a few longer, quicker strides to catch up to Danny, elbowed him in the side when Danny wouldn’t look at him.
“Quit it, okay?” He had Danny’s reluctant attention now, eyes dark and sulky still fixed on the path ahead, but Martin could feel Danny listening to him. “Just... Look, I can deal with Preston, all right?”
“Okay.” Grudging, like Martin was torturing the admission out of him, but Martin knew that Danny meant it. “But if he keeps doing that, I’m going to have Matt pound his ass into the ground.”
“Deal,” Martin said, and had the brief, fierce pleasure of Danny smiling, liked that he’d done that, liked it maybe more than was good for him or either of them.
They jogged along in silence, Martin resolutely keeping his pace down. Could hear Danny’s smirking, self-satisfied voice in his head, advising him not to wear himself out before they got there. Although, after two consecutive mornings of being awake at six – or just before six, because Danny was impatient and refused to wait for Martin’s wristwatch alarm to go off – and riding the rest of the day on a post almost-sex high, Martin was pretty sure he could be half-dead and still be ready to go.
He was happily preparing to lose himself in memories of just this morning – how Danny’s skin had felt, his mouth warm and wet on Martin’s, shut up whispered against his lips when Martin had tried to suggest that they barricade the door or something – when he heard Danny asking something.
“Earth to Martin.” Danny’s tone was lilting, teasing between the staccato beat of breath and footfall.
“Martin here,” he had the presence of mind to say.
“So, inquiring minds want to know, are your parents coming up next weekend?”
Apparently, he had no idea of what Danny was speaking, because Danny had his you are being an oblivious idiot look firmly in place.
“It’s Parents’ Weekend,” Danny added helpfully, after giving Martin a moment to let the full extent of his obliviousness sink in. They rounded the corner by St. Euphrosyne’s shrine and headed into the forest.
And that had been completely off Martin’s radar, between classes and Danny and Preston and still more Danny. He worked out the probability of his parents going to such an event. His mother maybe, if she didn’t have a conference to attend or Third-World debt to deal with. His father? He’d gone once to Westmore’s Parents’ Weekend, mostly to network with the senators and defense contractors whose kids were Martin’s classmates, and Martin had vague memories of his mother dragging him to parent-teacher conferences in grade school, but now... Martin tried to imagine his father sitting in Messer Chapel, listening to Father Bryant’s interminable sermons, and failed.
He told Danny this, and Danny laughed.
“I’d be surprised if he even knew about it,” Martin added, proud that he didn’t sound in the least bitter about this. Besides, it meant that his father’s complete uninvolvement in his life meant Martin wouldn’t have to introduce Danny to him, try to gloss over how important Danny had made himself in the past few weeks.
He knew, he knew what his father would think of Danny – not a friend but a distraction. He’d probably approve of David, and maybe Kieran, who could fake respectability well enough. Ashley? No way; Victor had an allergy to irreverence, and Ashley exuded it. Matt, again probably, because Matt played football and was one of those kids who came off being ten years older than they actually were.
But Danny, whose constant scanting of the rules showed itself in a dozen ways, from his never-quite-neat uniform to the way he addressed the professors almost as peers and not superiors... Hives. Victor would probably develop a rash.
Then he would tell Martin in no uncertain terms to stay away from Danny, maybe even demand that Father West change Martin’s room assignment. And Martin would still keep seeing Danny – that was a foregone conclusion – but running underneath the friendship and lust and genuine pleasure he had in Danny’s company would be the bitter thread of rebellion.
“Hey, you okay?” Despite the awkwardness of the gesture while running, Danny managed to have his hand on Martin’s shoulder, pulling him into a slower pace. Martin hadn’t even realized he’d sped up.
“Fine,” he said. “Just... you know, parents.”
“My foster parents might come,” Danny said, talking now most likely to get Martin out of his funk. The miracle was that it worked; Martin dropped to a walk, partly to catch his breath and partly to listen to Danny’s voice. “They always say they’re my parents, like, that’s how they say it: ‘We’re Danny’s parents,’ mostly because it makes them look good. And, you know, rich.”
“Leeches,” Martin said sincerely.
Danny laughed, a wonderful sound.
“Come on,” he said, subsiding and grinning at Martin, crazy and warm, and the hand that had been on Martin’s shoulder slipped down to his wrist. “We can go off the trail here.”
Gentle pull then, not like Martin needed it, and he followed Danny off the jogging path and into the forest. Down and down, the old path gentle but still made dangerous by roots and trailing vines, and Danny made his way confidently over and around them, still holding onto Martin’s hand, and Martin let his hand be held.
At last they came to the small depression and the half-circle of benches, the niche for the long-vanished statue and the gathering of leaves covering the flagstones, and the only sound other than the wind in the trees and the river’s murmur was the two of them.
-tbc.-
By: HF
Email: aesc36 @gmail.com
Pairing: D/M
Rating/Warning: PG/PG13 for now; R/NC17 eventually.
Disclaimers: If the boys were mine, this season would not
Advertisements: Catholic school AU. For
wordclaim50 challenge #01 (AU) and philosophy_20 challenge #08 (Faith).Chapters: 01; 02; 03; 04; 05; 06; 07; 08; 09; 10; 11
Notes: A sort of bridge chapter to get to... Well, you know.
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You’d think God was trying to tell us something,” Danny had said that morning, glaring distrustfully up at the clear fall sky that was visible through the window. Not like Danny would bother listening to God if he didn’t want to, even if God came with thunderbolts and a burning bush; Martin thought about pointing this out, but didn’t. “We’ll try again this afternoon.”
“It’s not supposed to rain,” Martin added, careful to keep his voice low. The other boys in Bertram’s English class were too busy racing to finish the last pages of The Great Gatsby before Bertram walked in to pay much attention.
“What, you checked the weather report?”
Yes, he had, the latest online forecasts. What about it? Danny had spent the rest of the day snickering about that, up to this very minute, as they walked down the stairs from their room to the main floor.
Wednesdays were good days, shorter; their chemistry lab, their last class of the day, lasted until three, which gave them a longer afternoon than the other four days of the week, when classes went until four. More time for more important things; Danny had pointed this out with a lascivious grin that had made Martin blush.
They were going to do it. For real this time. They’d put it off for two days, Monday because of a late afternoon rain and Tuesday because Dombrowski had called an extra practice session at the last minute, and when Martin was being honest with himself, he was relieved at these delays.
And a bit frustrated, getting by on stolen kisses before everyone woke up, the strange self-consciousness of lying in his bed with Danny half on top of him, surrounded by the depthless silence of a sleeping building. Like this morning, when he’d woken up to Danny’s mouth on his neck, and he could feel Danny’s grin – manic and entirely too pleased with himself – curving against his skin.
Frustrated because they’d had to be so careful, part of Martin’s attention riveted hawk-like on the hall outside even when all he wanted to do was pull Danny closer and get down to something serious, but relieved because... Because you know. Danny had come up with the idea of going to that old shrine where they’d talked Saturday afternoon, and though he hadn’t come out and said it, Martin knew why they were going.
We should go back to the river, Danny had said contemplatively, like saying they should go to class that morning.
Yeah, Martin had agreed, not that he was capable of doing anything else with Danny’s hands up under his t-shirt.
Admitting that his hormones were leading him into disaster was more than Martin was comfortable with, and it was an effort to stay still and act inconspicuous while he and Danny deflected the curiosity of their friends, all of whom were gathered in the common room and, with a direct line of sight to the doors, completely unavoidable.
“You two going running?” Expending unnecessary effort scandalized Ashley.
“What gave us away?” Danny asked. “The sneakers? The shorts? What?”
“Again?” Kieran looked up from his homework. “You guys training for a marathon or something?” He’d known from Matt that both of them had been out on Saturday (though not why, thank God), and again on Monday; he’d seen them himself, slinking into Grey, soaked and miserable.
“Or something,” Danny said, and smirked.
Kieran peered at them, and Martin knew, just knew what was going through Kieran’s mind, like there was a flashing neon sign above Kieran’s head. Fortunately, Kieran didn’t say anything else, only shook his head and returned to his history book.
“Have fun,” David said absently, much too engrossed in his chemistry notes to pay much attention.
Matt only nodded and made some remark about late football practice so he’d miss them at dinner, for which Martin was profoundly relieved. Not that Matt was the kind of person to give significant looks or make teasing remarks like Hey, Fitzgerald and his boyfriend are going “running” for the third time this week, but still.
“See you losers later,” was Danny’s parting remark, and he led the way out of the common room.
Martin was already hyped and trying to keep a lid on it, wouldn’t do to have Danny catching on, but the evil look Danny gave him – that smirk, eyes dark and narrow in appraisal – told him Danny knew exactly what was on his mind.
“Running usually get you this worked up?” he asked as they took the steps two at a time out of Grey. Danny landed on the gravel path with a crunch.
“Shut up.” Martin knew the heat in his face had awfully little to do with exertion. He tried to keep his pace disciplined, because they had a mile or so to go, never mind that they’d break to a walk once out of sight of the main campus, but man was it hard. He wondered what he was going to do once training for the swimming season really began and he was forced to run with the rest of the team.
He tried to imagine justifying sex as good cardiovascular exercise to Dombrowski. His coach had an eye on defending Trinity’s regional title in the hundred-meter freestyle, Martin’s specialty; short of illegal doping, he might be open to anything that would increase their chances.
Would Danny be able to persuade Farrell, the baseball coach, that sex would make Danny a better shortstop? Probably; given enough time, Danny could probably persuade Father Bryant homosexuality was condoned by the Bible.
Danny was very persuasive.
“What’re you grinning about?” Like Danny didn’t know, mind-reading bastard that he was.
“Nothing.”
“You’d better stop, or people will get suspicious.” Danny’s brief nod took in the few students scattered along the path. “Hate to have them start asking, you know, questions.”
“Are you going to run or talk?” Martin had the pleasure of seeing Danny momentarily at a loss for a comeback. They ran by Wilson and turned left, heading for the path leading out from the academic quadrangle to the abandoned shrine.
When they’d gone out on Monday, Martin had brought along his mp3 player, hoping to contribute to the illusion that he and Danny were only jogging partners and nothing more, thank you. This time, Danny had managed to maneuver Martin out of their room with the player still on his bed, distracting him with kisses and the much more immediate worry that one of their classmates or Father West would walk in.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting you can’t do both at the same time,” Danny said sweetly after a few more strides. “I’ll try not to make things too hard for you from now on.”
Martin was searching for something to say to that when he heard someone calling his name.
“Hey, Martin!”
Oh fuckfuckfuck.
Joseph Preston at twelve o’clock, standing precisely in the middle of the path with no way for Martin to avoid him, unless he was suddenly stricken deaf and blind – which, at the moment, sounded like a really good thing to have happen. Danny slowed to a walk, eyeing Preston suspiciously – he extended to Preston the same cordial dislike as he extended to the rest of Trinity’s students – and probably ready to make some smart, disastrous remark. Martin jumped in.
“Hey, Preston.” Martin tried to ignore the fact that Preston had addressed him by his first name, something only Danny and the rest of their group did.
“Listen, I wanted to know...” Preston glanced anxiously at Danny, who was frowning back and hovering much closer to Martin than he needed to. “I wanted to know if you could email me the notes from English today? I sort of... I lost them.”
“It was discussion today,” Danny broke in. “We don’t have notes.”
At least, not any that made sense. After clearing up any questions about the reading for the day, Professor Bertram would insist on discussing it, which usually led to a disorganized, rambling conversation not only on the text but on things completely irrelevant, in Martin’s opinion. It also led to Tom Reynolds going on about how F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby was irreligious and should be banned, and Ashley – who, in his saner moments, was good at intelligent argument and liked literature, especially vaguely pornographic literature – had demanded to know You ever read Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover, Reynolds? Because it would so loosen you up. Things degenerated after that.
“I thought I saw Martin taking notes,” Preston muttered, frowning resentfully at Danny, who returned the favor and glared back.
“Just doodles,” Martin said quickly. “I was bored.”
“Oh.” Preston gripped the shoulder strap of his bag and nodded. “Okay. Um, see you later?”
“Later.” Maybe a bit more emphatic than it should have been – much, much later, please God – but it got Preston moving, sidestepping around them and off on the path to the library.
“What was that all about?” Danny was making a point of watching Preston go, and not looking at Martin, and if looks could kill, Preston would have been struck dead on the spot.
“I have no idea.” Martin knew his tone implied otherwise, that he in fact did have a very painful idea of what that was all about, but Danny didn’t pursue it.
“Riiight.” Danny turned to favor him with a skeptical look before picking up a jog again, leaving Martin to sigh and follow him.
The thought of Danny insecure, Danny jealous even would have been amusing, worth it for the mileage Martin could get out of teasing Danny about it, but right now Martin was invested in preventing another slide back into silent, hostile awkwardness. He took a few longer, quicker strides to catch up to Danny, elbowed him in the side when Danny wouldn’t look at him.
“Quit it, okay?” He had Danny’s reluctant attention now, eyes dark and sulky still fixed on the path ahead, but Martin could feel Danny listening to him. “Just... Look, I can deal with Preston, all right?”
“Okay.” Grudging, like Martin was torturing the admission out of him, but Martin knew that Danny meant it. “But if he keeps doing that, I’m going to have Matt pound his ass into the ground.”
“Deal,” Martin said, and had the brief, fierce pleasure of Danny smiling, liked that he’d done that, liked it maybe more than was good for him or either of them.
They jogged along in silence, Martin resolutely keeping his pace down. Could hear Danny’s smirking, self-satisfied voice in his head, advising him not to wear himself out before they got there. Although, after two consecutive mornings of being awake at six – or just before six, because Danny was impatient and refused to wait for Martin’s wristwatch alarm to go off – and riding the rest of the day on a post almost-sex high, Martin was pretty sure he could be half-dead and still be ready to go.
He was happily preparing to lose himself in memories of just this morning – how Danny’s skin had felt, his mouth warm and wet on Martin’s, shut up whispered against his lips when Martin had tried to suggest that they barricade the door or something – when he heard Danny asking something.
“Earth to Martin.” Danny’s tone was lilting, teasing between the staccato beat of breath and footfall.
“Martin here,” he had the presence of mind to say.
“So, inquiring minds want to know, are your parents coming up next weekend?”
Apparently, he had no idea of what Danny was speaking, because Danny had his you are being an oblivious idiot look firmly in place.
“It’s Parents’ Weekend,” Danny added helpfully, after giving Martin a moment to let the full extent of his obliviousness sink in. They rounded the corner by St. Euphrosyne’s shrine and headed into the forest.
And that had been completely off Martin’s radar, between classes and Danny and Preston and still more Danny. He worked out the probability of his parents going to such an event. His mother maybe, if she didn’t have a conference to attend or Third-World debt to deal with. His father? He’d gone once to Westmore’s Parents’ Weekend, mostly to network with the senators and defense contractors whose kids were Martin’s classmates, and Martin had vague memories of his mother dragging him to parent-teacher conferences in grade school, but now... Martin tried to imagine his father sitting in Messer Chapel, listening to Father Bryant’s interminable sermons, and failed.
He told Danny this, and Danny laughed.
“I’d be surprised if he even knew about it,” Martin added, proud that he didn’t sound in the least bitter about this. Besides, it meant that his father’s complete uninvolvement in his life meant Martin wouldn’t have to introduce Danny to him, try to gloss over how important Danny had made himself in the past few weeks.
He knew, he knew what his father would think of Danny – not a friend but a distraction. He’d probably approve of David, and maybe Kieran, who could fake respectability well enough. Ashley? No way; Victor had an allergy to irreverence, and Ashley exuded it. Matt, again probably, because Matt played football and was one of those kids who came off being ten years older than they actually were.
But Danny, whose constant scanting of the rules showed itself in a dozen ways, from his never-quite-neat uniform to the way he addressed the professors almost as peers and not superiors... Hives. Victor would probably develop a rash.
Then he would tell Martin in no uncertain terms to stay away from Danny, maybe even demand that Father West change Martin’s room assignment. And Martin would still keep seeing Danny – that was a foregone conclusion – but running underneath the friendship and lust and genuine pleasure he had in Danny’s company would be the bitter thread of rebellion.
“Hey, you okay?” Despite the awkwardness of the gesture while running, Danny managed to have his hand on Martin’s shoulder, pulling him into a slower pace. Martin hadn’t even realized he’d sped up.
“Fine,” he said. “Just... you know, parents.”
“My foster parents might come,” Danny said, talking now most likely to get Martin out of his funk. The miracle was that it worked; Martin dropped to a walk, partly to catch his breath and partly to listen to Danny’s voice. “They always say they’re my parents, like, that’s how they say it: ‘We’re Danny’s parents,’ mostly because it makes them look good. And, you know, rich.”
“Leeches,” Martin said sincerely.
Danny laughed, a wonderful sound.
“Come on,” he said, subsiding and grinning at Martin, crazy and warm, and the hand that had been on Martin’s shoulder slipped down to his wrist. “We can go off the trail here.”
Gentle pull then, not like Martin needed it, and he followed Danny off the jogging path and into the forest. Down and down, the old path gentle but still made dangerous by roots and trailing vines, and Danny made his way confidently over and around them, still holding onto Martin’s hand, and Martin let his hand be held.
At last they came to the small depression and the half-circle of benches, the niche for the long-vanished statue and the gathering of leaves covering the flagstones, and the only sound other than the wind in the trees and the river’s murmur was the two of them.
-tbc.-
no subject
Nick/Gatsby? Though Gatsby/Tom would be pretty fucked up...
I think I smell Fitzie angst.
Quite possibly :D The way this thing is going, I may have to write their entire junior year. *pokes unruly fic*
no subject
As for Great Gatsby, yeah, Nick/Gatsby but also Nick/Mr. McKee. There's one ambiguous passage in the book about Nick and McKee that basically tells us they fucked (I actually wrote about the homosexual undertones in there for my English class, haha), but the fanfic I've written is primarily Nick/Gatsby. That is made obvious in the movie, with the looks of longing and what not, and some of the book suggests it too...
Although part of my inclination to slash TGG could have just been my urge to slash Robert Redford. Squee!
The two fics (http://community.livejournal.com/wordclaim50/71524.html) if you're interested. (http://community.livejournal.com/wordclaim50/72138.html)