I think this was inspired by the fact that that wounded Connor pic from 5x01 is the current wallpaper on every machine I have. Unf.
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Becker/Connor (with minor A/B/C references)
Story: Catharsis
Rating: NC-17/MA
Warnings/Spoilers: Rough sex (though consensual), some s4 spoilers
Author's Note: Takes place a couple of days after Breaking Badass, and references events therein. Foreshadowing for Training Day.
Summary: Abby’s stuck at the ARC with a sick Dracorex. Becker’s restless and angry at himself for not finding Ethan. And Connor is… there.
Catharsis
The flat was darkening as the sun went down, and Becker sat alone on the sofa, head in his hands, trying very hard to keep his composure.
All he could see in his mind’s eye was Ethan’s smirking face. He was always one step ahead; always slipping out of reach. It was just a glimpse today—just a flash of his self-congratulating smile on the other side of a bridge—and then he was gone.
Becker felt like he’d failed: like a hunter whose own incompetence had let his prey escape. Again. He pounded a tight fist against the arm of the sofa. His head throbbed, and he wondered if he should get up and go for a run, or hit the gun range, or find some whisky... anything to help him forget this defeat and humiliation.
He heard the front door open. “Becks? I’m home!” Connor’s voice echoed from the entryway.
“Hey,” Becker said weakly, not looking up. “Where’s Abby?”
“Dracorex is still sick. Ab’s going to stay with her a few more hours. Said not to wait up.”
“Damn.” Becker muttered.
“I know. But! At least you have me, yeah?” Connor dropped his bag on the floor and flopped down on the sofa, leaning over to plant an exuberant kiss on his lover’s cheek.
Becker barely moved.
“So, anyway, while you were out traipsing around today, things at work got totally stuffed. I swear, for someone so smart, Jess can be amazingly daft sometimes…” Connor began chittering away about the inconsequential details of a boring, anomaly-free day at the ARC.
After several minutes of the inane babble, suddenly, Becker could take no more. “Connor! Shut up!” He hissed, turning and clamping a hand over Connor’s mouth.
Connor’s eyes went wide and he made a stifled, high-pitched noise of confusion and alarm.
That was all it took for Becker. Like a cougar smelling a wounded deer, his instinctive response to Connor’s noise was a hot rush of blood and adrenaline through his body. In a moment, the fury of the day’s frustration left his mind, moving instead to his rapidly filling cock. If he couldn’t shoot or hit something, he needed to fuck something. And as luck would have it, that something was right there next to him, currently squirming in bewilderment and maybe a little fear.
Good, he thought.
Moving swiftly, he shoved Connor back on the sofa, climbing atop him and pinning his shoulders down. Getting a thigh between Connor’s legs he pressed hard up against his groin. Connor barked at the harsh contact, but what Becker felt was enough: a strong surge and a growing firmness.
He hovered over Connor for a moment, staring into those huge, frightened eyes, and then slowly took his hand away.
“Becker?” Connor whispered, his voice weak and small.
“I need you.” Becker growled.
Connor still looked scared and a little confused, but with the barest of motions, he nodded.
The dam broke.
Diving down, Becker crushed his lips against Connor’s, stabbing his tongue inside, and hungrily devouring the warm wetness of Connor’s mouth. Barely breaking for air, he probed and sucked and bit, drawing a small trickle of blood.
The slight metallic taste drove him on, and he shoved his hands under Connor’s shirt, raking his nails roughly across the tender skin. Then he found Connor’s small nipples, poking up eagerly as they always did, and caught them up sharply between thumb and forefinger. Soon he was working them in earnest, pinching, tugging and twisting until Connor was thrashing violently underneath him and huffing pained yelps into his mouth.
The sounds fed his fury, and he chewed his way down Connor’s neck, leaving dark marks as he went. His hands moved south, and he pawed at Connor’s trousers, barely getting them unfastened before dragging them—and boxers—off and chucking them aside.
Becker watched in delight as Connor’s flushed cock sprang free of his clothes, and he took its turgid state as encouragement. Reaching down to grab and squeeze the hot hardness, he yanked at it, roughly dragging the foreskin back and forth across the wet head. He shivered in excitement, reveling in the way Connor panted and moaned as he was mauled, and ground his own crotch against Connor's leg, giving his cock some relief.
Soon, though the wait was too much. He wanted more. With little warning, he moved off Connor’s body, sliding to the floor, and pulling Connor down with him. In the awkward scramble, Connor kicked out, upsetting the coffee table and scattering magazines and one of Abby’s African violets across the floor.
Becker barely noticed, intent instead on wrangling Connor into the position he wanted: bent over the edge of the sofa, face mashed into the cushions.
Connor flailed a little, trying to get comfortable, but also arching his back in an unconscious display of submission. His knees slid apart, and his rump tilted up, offering Becker the perfect target: tight, pink and twitching invitingly.
Stuffing a couple of fingers into his mouth, Becker slicked them up well and then swiped across Connor’s hole, probing a little as he did so. Then he unfastened his trousers, and pulled out his cock. So aroused was he that even the touch of his own hand sent a thrill through him. With just a second to line up, he shoved his way in, the slightly dry skin dragging a little as he buried himself balls-deep inside Connor’s body.
“Fuck! Becker!” Connor’s plaintive howls were only barely muffled, and he scrabbled uselessly with his hands, trying his best to adjust to the feeling of being suddenly invaded.
All Becker could feel, however, was Connor’s wonderfully tight arse closing around him—and the feeling was glorious. Grabbing Connor’s hips with one hand and a handful of his messy hair with the other, Becker rode him, thrusting so hard that the sofa began rocking underneath them.
With every sharp heave, Connor cried out desperately, and a few fat tears started working their way down his cheeks. But he also backed into the rhythm, and as his cock rubbed against the sofa, he frantically rolled his hips, seeking to up the friction as much as possible.
As the hot rush built inside him, Becker draped over Connor, covering him with his body to get as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, and began biting the back of Connor’s neck. That sent Connor over the edge. Cursing and gasping, he bucked wildly, body trembling as his tense muscles reached their limits. “Becker… Becker… Becker…” he mewled pathetically, sobbing out the last of the shocks while his cock spurted gooey trails down the edge of the sofa.
Becker grew light-headed, and his senses left him. All that remained in his awareness was the heavy, aching throb in his cock as Connor’s body spasmed around it. Suddenly, with an explosion that felt like a thousand fireworks going off, he released, shouting euphorically as he emptied inside Connor for what seemed like an eternity.
When it was finally over, Becker didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay like this forever: locked in the endless catharsis Connor's body and soul provided. But conscious thought soon returned, and he slipped out, rolling away to lean against the sofa while he recovered. No longer pinned in place, Connor slid bonelessly to the floor, curling up and clutching his knees to his chest, head resting on Becker’s trembling thigh.
When his vision cleared, Becker looked down, scanning Connor’s stricken face. Out of the corner of his eye, he also noticed that his softening cock was streaked with a little blood, and a quick pang of regret shot through him. He petted Connor’s cheek with a shaky hand. “Did I hurt you?” He asked quietly.
“No.” Connor shook his head. Then he paused, wincing a little as a wave of residual pain echoed through him. “Well, yes, actually.”
Becker’s breath caught in his chest. “I’m sor—“
“No, Becks.” Connor cut him off. “Yes, you hurt me. But it’s OK. I'll be fine in a little while. If it was a problem, I’d have told you to stop.”
“And I would have.”
“I know.”
Becker eyed him carefully. Given the creative and frankly nasty ways Connor had had at him recently, it was quite clear that, despite his relative lack of experience and seemingly delicate physicality, he was far tougher than he looked. “You needed this as much as I did, didn’t you?”
Connor said nothing, but nodded.
“Is this something you want more of? I mean, do you want to go further? I’m—I don’t want to cross any lines with you.” He stroked a lock of damp hair from Connor's forehead.
Connor heaved a shuddering sigh. “Thing is, I know you'd never hurt me in any real way. Beyond that? I’m up for anything you want to give me.” He smiled, reaching up and threading his fingers through Becker’s. “You’ve already seen where my mind can go from the other side.”
Becker smirked. “Uh. Yeah. Still a bit sore in places, actually.”
“Well, there you go.” Connor nodded. “Hell, you saw what was on my laptop. That should give you some idea.”
Becker frowned a little. Some of the porn Connor had consumed was intense indeed: Tough soldiers breaking in innocent new recruits in some quite vicious ways. “How far would you really want to go with that, though?”
Connor sighed and shrugged. “I’m not sure. Not quite all the way. But I’d trust you to know where to stop.”
Becker hummed thoughtfully. “You have a birthday coming up soon, don’t you?”
Connor perked up, a drunken look painting his face. “I do indeed.”
Becker chuckled. “Well, a’ight then. Something to look forward to.”
Connor laughed a little. “Yay?” Taking Becker’s hand, he kissed the palm.
“One thing, though,” Becker said calmly.
“Hm?”
“If we both want to live long enough to see that birthday,” he smiled wryly as he looked around at the wreckage of the room, “we really need to clear this up before Abby gets home.”
--End--
Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Becker/Connor (with minor A/B/C references)
Story: Catharsis
Rating: NC-17/MA
Warnings/Spoilers: Rough sex (though consensual), some s4 spoilers
Author's Note: Takes place a couple of days after Breaking Badass, and references events therein. Foreshadowing for Training Day.
Summary: Abby’s stuck at the ARC with a sick Dracorex. Becker’s restless and angry at himself for not finding Ethan. And Connor is… there.
Catharsis
The flat was darkening as the sun went down, and Becker sat alone on the sofa, head in his hands, trying very hard to keep his composure.
All he could see in his mind’s eye was Ethan’s smirking face. He was always one step ahead; always slipping out of reach. It was just a glimpse today—just a flash of his self-congratulating smile on the other side of a bridge—and then he was gone.
Becker felt like he’d failed: like a hunter whose own incompetence had let his prey escape. Again. He pounded a tight fist against the arm of the sofa. His head throbbed, and he wondered if he should get up and go for a run, or hit the gun range, or find some whisky... anything to help him forget this defeat and humiliation.
He heard the front door open. “Becks? I’m home!” Connor’s voice echoed from the entryway.
“Hey,” Becker said weakly, not looking up. “Where’s Abby?”
“Dracorex is still sick. Ab’s going to stay with her a few more hours. Said not to wait up.”
“Damn.” Becker muttered.
“I know. But! At least you have me, yeah?” Connor dropped his bag on the floor and flopped down on the sofa, leaning over to plant an exuberant kiss on his lover’s cheek.
Becker barely moved.
“So, anyway, while you were out traipsing around today, things at work got totally stuffed. I swear, for someone so smart, Jess can be amazingly daft sometimes…” Connor began chittering away about the inconsequential details of a boring, anomaly-free day at the ARC.
After several minutes of the inane babble, suddenly, Becker could take no more. “Connor! Shut up!” He hissed, turning and clamping a hand over Connor’s mouth.
Connor’s eyes went wide and he made a stifled, high-pitched noise of confusion and alarm.
That was all it took for Becker. Like a cougar smelling a wounded deer, his instinctive response to Connor’s noise was a hot rush of blood and adrenaline through his body. In a moment, the fury of the day’s frustration left his mind, moving instead to his rapidly filling cock. If he couldn’t shoot or hit something, he needed to fuck something. And as luck would have it, that something was right there next to him, currently squirming in bewilderment and maybe a little fear.
Good, he thought.
Moving swiftly, he shoved Connor back on the sofa, climbing atop him and pinning his shoulders down. Getting a thigh between Connor’s legs he pressed hard up against his groin. Connor barked at the harsh contact, but what Becker felt was enough: a strong surge and a growing firmness.
He hovered over Connor for a moment, staring into those huge, frightened eyes, and then slowly took his hand away.
“Becker?” Connor whispered, his voice weak and small.
“I need you.” Becker growled.
Connor still looked scared and a little confused, but with the barest of motions, he nodded.
The dam broke.
Diving down, Becker crushed his lips against Connor’s, stabbing his tongue inside, and hungrily devouring the warm wetness of Connor’s mouth. Barely breaking for air, he probed and sucked and bit, drawing a small trickle of blood.
The slight metallic taste drove him on, and he shoved his hands under Connor’s shirt, raking his nails roughly across the tender skin. Then he found Connor’s small nipples, poking up eagerly as they always did, and caught them up sharply between thumb and forefinger. Soon he was working them in earnest, pinching, tugging and twisting until Connor was thrashing violently underneath him and huffing pained yelps into his mouth.
The sounds fed his fury, and he chewed his way down Connor’s neck, leaving dark marks as he went. His hands moved south, and he pawed at Connor’s trousers, barely getting them unfastened before dragging them—and boxers—off and chucking them aside.
Becker watched in delight as Connor’s flushed cock sprang free of his clothes, and he took its turgid state as encouragement. Reaching down to grab and squeeze the hot hardness, he yanked at it, roughly dragging the foreskin back and forth across the wet head. He shivered in excitement, reveling in the way Connor panted and moaned as he was mauled, and ground his own crotch against Connor's leg, giving his cock some relief.
Soon, though the wait was too much. He wanted more. With little warning, he moved off Connor’s body, sliding to the floor, and pulling Connor down with him. In the awkward scramble, Connor kicked out, upsetting the coffee table and scattering magazines and one of Abby’s African violets across the floor.
Becker barely noticed, intent instead on wrangling Connor into the position he wanted: bent over the edge of the sofa, face mashed into the cushions.
Connor flailed a little, trying to get comfortable, but also arching his back in an unconscious display of submission. His knees slid apart, and his rump tilted up, offering Becker the perfect target: tight, pink and twitching invitingly.
Stuffing a couple of fingers into his mouth, Becker slicked them up well and then swiped across Connor’s hole, probing a little as he did so. Then he unfastened his trousers, and pulled out his cock. So aroused was he that even the touch of his own hand sent a thrill through him. With just a second to line up, he shoved his way in, the slightly dry skin dragging a little as he buried himself balls-deep inside Connor’s body.
“Fuck! Becker!” Connor’s plaintive howls were only barely muffled, and he scrabbled uselessly with his hands, trying his best to adjust to the feeling of being suddenly invaded.
All Becker could feel, however, was Connor’s wonderfully tight arse closing around him—and the feeling was glorious. Grabbing Connor’s hips with one hand and a handful of his messy hair with the other, Becker rode him, thrusting so hard that the sofa began rocking underneath them.
With every sharp heave, Connor cried out desperately, and a few fat tears started working their way down his cheeks. But he also backed into the rhythm, and as his cock rubbed against the sofa, he frantically rolled his hips, seeking to up the friction as much as possible.
As the hot rush built inside him, Becker draped over Connor, covering him with his body to get as much skin-to-skin contact as possible, and began biting the back of Connor’s neck. That sent Connor over the edge. Cursing and gasping, he bucked wildly, body trembling as his tense muscles reached their limits. “Becker… Becker… Becker…” he mewled pathetically, sobbing out the last of the shocks while his cock spurted gooey trails down the edge of the sofa.
Becker grew light-headed, and his senses left him. All that remained in his awareness was the heavy, aching throb in his cock as Connor’s body spasmed around it. Suddenly, with an explosion that felt like a thousand fireworks going off, he released, shouting euphorically as he emptied inside Connor for what seemed like an eternity.
When it was finally over, Becker didn’t want to move. He wanted to stay like this forever: locked in the endless catharsis Connor's body and soul provided. But conscious thought soon returned, and he slipped out, rolling away to lean against the sofa while he recovered. No longer pinned in place, Connor slid bonelessly to the floor, curling up and clutching his knees to his chest, head resting on Becker’s trembling thigh.
When his vision cleared, Becker looked down, scanning Connor’s stricken face. Out of the corner of his eye, he also noticed that his softening cock was streaked with a little blood, and a quick pang of regret shot through him. He petted Connor’s cheek with a shaky hand. “Did I hurt you?” He asked quietly.
“No.” Connor shook his head. Then he paused, wincing a little as a wave of residual pain echoed through him. “Well, yes, actually.”
Becker’s breath caught in his chest. “I’m sor—“
“No, Becks.” Connor cut him off. “Yes, you hurt me. But it’s OK. I'll be fine in a little while. If it was a problem, I’d have told you to stop.”
“And I would have.”
“I know.”
Becker eyed him carefully. Given the creative and frankly nasty ways Connor had had at him recently, it was quite clear that, despite his relative lack of experience and seemingly delicate physicality, he was far tougher than he looked. “You needed this as much as I did, didn’t you?”
Connor said nothing, but nodded.
“Is this something you want more of? I mean, do you want to go further? I’m—I don’t want to cross any lines with you.” He stroked a lock of damp hair from Connor's forehead.
Connor heaved a shuddering sigh. “Thing is, I know you'd never hurt me in any real way. Beyond that? I’m up for anything you want to give me.” He smiled, reaching up and threading his fingers through Becker’s. “You’ve already seen where my mind can go from the other side.”
Becker smirked. “Uh. Yeah. Still a bit sore in places, actually.”
“Well, there you go.” Connor nodded. “Hell, you saw what was on my laptop. That should give you some idea.”
Becker frowned a little. Some of the porn Connor had consumed was intense indeed: Tough soldiers breaking in innocent new recruits in some quite vicious ways. “How far would you really want to go with that, though?”
Connor sighed and shrugged. “I’m not sure. Not quite all the way. But I’d trust you to know where to stop.”
Becker hummed thoughtfully. “You have a birthday coming up soon, don’t you?”
Connor perked up, a drunken look painting his face. “I do indeed.”
Becker chuckled. “Well, a’ight then. Something to look forward to.”
Connor laughed a little. “Yay?” Taking Becker’s hand, he kissed the palm.
“One thing, though,” Becker said calmly.
“Hm?”
“If we both want to live long enough to see that birthday,” he smiled wryly as he looked around at the wreckage of the room, “we really need to clear this up before Abby gets home.”
--End--