Stuart Dakin

Stuart Dakin was, in a nutshell, hopelessly lost. Of course he'd never meant for it to happen. He had just been out for a walk, his ego boosted by a new suit of clothes, a fresh pack of cigarettes in his pocket and hat tilted at what a long period of inspection in the mirror had assured him was a rakish angle. And then there was the fact that he was walking through history and if that wasn't enough to make him feel superior he didn't know what would. He knew more than these people. He knew about the war and what came after and television and rock and roll and computers. He was their future.

It was a nice thought and it served to take his mind off of the fact that he was steadily becoming more and more lost. He would turn every now and again, certain that new way in particular would lead him back to the house, only to find himself forced to turn back by rubble and cordoned off streets or in yet another unfamiliar area. The streets were becoming more run down now, the houses less well kept, and people eyed him as he sauntered seemingly obliviously down the street.

Dakin kept walking, nonchalant fag in his mouth as he hummed 'London Calling'. The feeling of not belonging was increasing by the moment, and the eyes that met his now were almost openly hostile, but he wasn't going to react. Fuck them all. It wasn't like this was his first time in a city or anything. He was from Sheffield. He was from forty odd years in the future. He could take anything that London could throw at him.

But he still couldn't tell just where he was going.

continued from here

Dakin's grip on her waist tightened as the kiss grew more heated. There was, at this point in time, more than a little pent up sexual frustration behind it. It had been almost a year now since the last time he had properly been with anyone and already memories of his last time with Fiona were getting a little hazy. But that was history. 'Diana' was his new campaign and Dakin was already moving towards the frontline with every ounce of his already considerable focus and drive.

As things progressed, he decided to try changing the focus somewhat. Slowly, almost maddeningly slowly, the fabric of her skirt began moving upwards as one of his hands stroked her thigh.