The Afterglow - Primeval - Becker/Connor
Title: The Afterglow
Pairing: Becker/Connor
Word Count: 775
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the porn battle.
Summary: Becker's favourite part of being with Connor is the cuddling.
This is his favourite part.
After they've kissed, after they've fucked, after he's made Connor beg and yell his name, after they're slick and sweaty, they slump quietly down onto the bed. Connor is still sprawled over his lap, lazily at ease, and Becker's fingertips trail down the wet line of his spine, able to feel each vertebrae with just the slightest bit of pressure. Connor rests his forehead against Becker's shoulder and mumbles something into his skin. Probably pointing out that they need to go and shower, which is true, but Becker isn't ready to budge just yet.
Connor is fluid at times like this. The gracelessness of his day-to-day life is replaced with a tired grace: only Connor could become more graceful when he's come-drunk and half-asleep. It's one of those ridiculous contradictions about him that Becker just can't get enough of. He runs his hand through his hair, the short locks prickling at his fingertips: he tries to imagine Connor with longer hair like he's seen in recent photographs, but it's impossible. He thinks he'd like it all the same.
"Seriously, Becker, we stink," Connor laughs, a defeated and amused chuckle that lets Becker know that he doesn't actually want to move either. "We need to shower. You need to shower."
"You smell worse than me," Becker complains, but at this point they smell the same. Becker smells like Connor; Connor smells like him. He wants to lick Connor's skin and taste his ownership on every inch, but he's too tired now. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.
He feels Connor's mouth loose and lazy against the skin where his neck and collarbone meet; there's a flickering hint of tongue that really makes him wish he could get hard again right now, even though he's had Connor so many ways tonight that he just knows that they're both going to be aching in the morning, muscles strained and eyes tired. "You taste worse than me," Connor counters once he's finished lapping at Becker's skin.
Becker smiles - chuckles - and Connor pulls back from him enough that he can see the way that Connor is smiling as well. It's gorgeous: so gorgeous. At times like this he can stop and evaluate what he's got even if he still can't work out how he ended up being so lucky as to get it. Connor is bashfully gorgeous, and years of pining after women who don't notice him have left him completely unaware of how attractive he is. It's honest modesty, nothing false about it, and sometimes Becker thinks that that is actually the most attractive thing about Connor. Then there are the times when he saves the lives of their team through quick-thinking and technological tricks, and Becker will think that his genius way with computers is the thing he loves best.
And then, of course, there's his encyclopedic knowledge of the dinosaurs they face on a regular basis. From time to time, when he hears him talking knowledgeably about raptors or somethingasauruses, like he's a damn professor instead of Becker's dorky boyfriend, it's all that Becker can do not to slam him hard against the nearest available surface and taste the knowledge on his lips.
Smart, funny and gorgeous, that's his Connor.
"You can't say that," Becker challenges, "without a proper comparison, right? You've not tasted yourself yet."
Connor's smile is wicked and he answers the challenge, raising his wrist to his lips and lapping his tongue against the soft, pale skin that he finds there. His lips press tight against it as Becker watches, wide-eyed, and he thinks that he stops breathing when Connor's eyes flutter closed and he sucks on his own wrist in a way that must be designed to remind Becker just how well his mouth works elsewhere too.
He moans unwilling, and reaches out to hold onto Connor's arm, up close to where his mouth is so that he can pry him away, abusing his superior strength to pull Connor's arm away. He brushes his fingers over Connor's slick lips to hush him, his dark eyes staring at Connor with unrestrained desire. "Let's get cleaned up," he says, surprised at how husky his voice sounds.
Connor grins and begins to lumber to his skin, climbing out of Becker's lap with his usual lack of grace. He somehow manages to sound as chipper as ever when he announces, "I still think you taste worse," just to tease Becker a little more - and for that Becker makes sure to chase him, laughing, all the way to the bathroom.
Pairing: Becker/Connor
Word Count: 775
Rating: R
A/N: Written for the porn battle.
Summary: Becker's favourite part of being with Connor is the cuddling.
This is his favourite part.
After they've kissed, after they've fucked, after he's made Connor beg and yell his name, after they're slick and sweaty, they slump quietly down onto the bed. Connor is still sprawled over his lap, lazily at ease, and Becker's fingertips trail down the wet line of his spine, able to feel each vertebrae with just the slightest bit of pressure. Connor rests his forehead against Becker's shoulder and mumbles something into his skin. Probably pointing out that they need to go and shower, which is true, but Becker isn't ready to budge just yet.
Connor is fluid at times like this. The gracelessness of his day-to-day life is replaced with a tired grace: only Connor could become more graceful when he's come-drunk and half-asleep. It's one of those ridiculous contradictions about him that Becker just can't get enough of. He runs his hand through his hair, the short locks prickling at his fingertips: he tries to imagine Connor with longer hair like he's seen in recent photographs, but it's impossible. He thinks he'd like it all the same.
"Seriously, Becker, we stink," Connor laughs, a defeated and amused chuckle that lets Becker know that he doesn't actually want to move either. "We need to shower. You need to shower."
"You smell worse than me," Becker complains, but at this point they smell the same. Becker smells like Connor; Connor smells like him. He wants to lick Connor's skin and taste his ownership on every inch, but he's too tired now. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow.
He feels Connor's mouth loose and lazy against the skin where his neck and collarbone meet; there's a flickering hint of tongue that really makes him wish he could get hard again right now, even though he's had Connor so many ways tonight that he just knows that they're both going to be aching in the morning, muscles strained and eyes tired. "You taste worse than me," Connor counters once he's finished lapping at Becker's skin.
Becker smiles - chuckles - and Connor pulls back from him enough that he can see the way that Connor is smiling as well. It's gorgeous: so gorgeous. At times like this he can stop and evaluate what he's got even if he still can't work out how he ended up being so lucky as to get it. Connor is bashfully gorgeous, and years of pining after women who don't notice him have left him completely unaware of how attractive he is. It's honest modesty, nothing false about it, and sometimes Becker thinks that that is actually the most attractive thing about Connor. Then there are the times when he saves the lives of their team through quick-thinking and technological tricks, and Becker will think that his genius way with computers is the thing he loves best.
And then, of course, there's his encyclopedic knowledge of the dinosaurs they face on a regular basis. From time to time, when he hears him talking knowledgeably about raptors or somethingasauruses, like he's a damn professor instead of Becker's dorky boyfriend, it's all that Becker can do not to slam him hard against the nearest available surface and taste the knowledge on his lips.
Smart, funny and gorgeous, that's his Connor.
"You can't say that," Becker challenges, "without a proper comparison, right? You've not tasted yourself yet."
Connor's smile is wicked and he answers the challenge, raising his wrist to his lips and lapping his tongue against the soft, pale skin that he finds there. His lips press tight against it as Becker watches, wide-eyed, and he thinks that he stops breathing when Connor's eyes flutter closed and he sucks on his own wrist in a way that must be designed to remind Becker just how well his mouth works elsewhere too.
He moans unwilling, and reaches out to hold onto Connor's arm, up close to where his mouth is so that he can pry him away, abusing his superior strength to pull Connor's arm away. He brushes his fingers over Connor's slick lips to hush him, his dark eyes staring at Connor with unrestrained desire. "Let's get cleaned up," he says, surprised at how husky his voice sounds.
Connor grins and begins to lumber to his skin, climbing out of Becker's lap with his usual lack of grace. He somehow manages to sound as chipper as ever when he announces, "I still think you taste worse," just to tease Becker a little more - and for that Becker makes sure to chase him, laughing, all the way to the bathroom.