Fic Meme: Five Kisses - Carson Beckett/Peter Grodin (Part 1)
Title: Five Kisses
Parts: 1 of 2
Pairing: Carson Beckett/Peter Grodin
Authors: H (Heuradys) and Pas (paisleyparadox)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Notes: Heuradys and I randomly took eight kisses from "The Big Damn Fic" we are writing that takes place in 1988 London and is a pre-Atlantis "How Peter and Carson met" fic. With the help of mrodsith and some sacrificed paper, the eight were split between the two of us and we added a kiss from other WIPs we have. You can find part two on Heuradys' lj HERE.
Without further ado, and in no particular order...
Peter winced as he turned his head and pressed back into the--happily--broken radiator, the dig of metal something to focus on other than the awkward skim of Carson's lips across his cheek. He could feel the boy tense during the brief contact before he pulled away.
"I'm sorry, I just thought..." Blue said, sounding embarrassed and slightly dejected.
Peter looked at him, forced a smile, and smoothed his thumb along Carson's cheekbone. "Breath, darling," he said, adding one more lie to the collection.
Carson's eyes widened in realization, and a light blush tinted his cheeks. "Right then. Sorry."
"Shall we?" Peter asked, ignoring the ache of want to touch with lips and hands thrumming through him. He pushed away from the cold metal and slipped his hand along Carson's belt, grinning at the deepening of Carson's blush as his fingers curled around the buckle, and began to coax him up the next flight of stairs.
How the hell was he supposed to explain to the boy that he'd blow tricks or let them fuck him six ways from Sunday but never kiss? In all honesty, he couldn't remember the last time he had let himself be kissed other than a quick cheeky snog from one of his club friends. Kissing was too dangerous, too personal, too intimate, and was something Peter hadn't craved in a very long time. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself, and bloody hell if Carson wasn't fucking that all up. Maybe if the boy were sober and more experienced, he'd consider it, but as the circumstances stood, no way in hell. Now if only he could get his own damned body to listen to him.
~*~*~
"There you are, darling! I've been looking all over for you!" Blue tried half-heatedly to back away from his hug, so Peter kissed him on the cheek, hissing, "Play along."
"Do I know you?"
The startled boy was Scottish. Heaven. Peter closed his eyes for a second, hugging a bit more tightly.
"No, but unless you want the hideous old slug that's undoubtedly glaring a hole through both of us right now pawing you all night, you'll hug me back like I'm your long-lost fairy god-sister."
Blue's cheek shifted against his as he looked around as if he was aware of his surroundings for the first time, his body stiffening even more when Peter was sure he spotted Tucker. "Oh crap," Blue muttered, and awkwardly hugged him back. "He's already--"
"Exactly, sweetie. So come with me and we'll go have a nice cozy... chat." He planted another kiss on the boy's cheek, then took his hand and tugged, gesturing with a nod toward a quieter portion of the club.
Blue followed, a puzzled but polite smile on his face, clutching his half-empty glass. The fake dye in his hair glowed neon as they passed under a black light. And he didn't let go of Peter's hand, even when they reached the dimly lit corner and leaned together with their elbows on a table.
Peter gave the other boy's hand a squeeze, and then started caressing the palm and the inside of his wrist with his thumb. "I'm Peter, your savior for the evening. And you are?"
Blue blinked at him owlishly. Oh lord, was he that drunk or just that simple? Still, he could do simple, particularly when it came wrapped in a package like that. Peter nudged Blue with his hip. "What's your name, hon?"
"Oh! Carson. Carson Beckett."
~*~*~
"When the city started to shake... I truly thought..." Carson's hands clenched in the blue fabric of Peter's shirt, conveying his fear and relief with a clarity that words could never attain.
Peter nodded, the movement small and rubbing their noses together. "As did I."
While Peter was able to admit it now, Carson doubted he had at the time, probably too consumed with frantically trying to figure out what had been happening and how to save the expedition. Carson, on the other hand, had been acutely aware of their certain doom and utterly helpless, unable to aid and without a purpose other than trying to keep others calm. Standing in the dark of their temporary quarters, breathing in and touching his lover, fears and emotions that he'd barely been able to keep control of during the chaos began to surface.
Peter's arms slipped from Carson's shoulders while his fingers trailed though Carson's hair and lightly across his skin, never losing contact. With trembling hands, Peter cradled Carson's face, thumbs resting on his cheekbones and fingers splayed as if he were holding something fragile. They'd come close to dying, so bloody close, and Carson was certain it wouldn't be the last time. Just as he was certain that Sumner hadn't been the last expedition member to fall, simply the first.
What the hell had they signed up for?
Carson shuddered an exhale, the breath warm and moist as it caressed Peter's face and curled back onto his own, contrasting with the chill that lingered within Atlantis. He shook his head, rocking his forehead against his lover's, desperately trying to deny thought or voice to all of the "what ifs" that begged for recognition.
As if sensing his internal war, Peter tilted his head, brushing their noses together again, and took advantage of the new angle that granted lips the privilege of touch. The slow press, that by all rights should have been chaste, held a heat and reverence that snapped Carson's resolve, letting free his caged fear to tear across nerve and muscle. Carson's fingers tightened further, knuckles whitening and hands threatening to cramp if their abuse went on much longer, as the rest of his body began to tremble.
~*~*~
Carson leaned forward suddenly and pressed his lips to Peter's. The kiss was over as fast as it had began, but the damage was done and Peter was rocked. Aggressive and hard, those were things he knew and expected. Chaste and soft? Those were ghosts of a past life.
"You're a good lad, you know that?"
Something inside of Peter twisted painfully. "So I've been told." Nice lads didn't lead double lives. Nice lads didn't cut their families from their lives. "Go to sleep, Carson."
~*~*~
Peter's fingers twitched again, curling down to hide the gouges. Carson coaxed them to straighten again with a light caress of his fingers on Peter's palm, his thoughts veering from the knotty path they'd taken, back to the here and now. Thoughts of what might or might not happen in the morning were pointless until the morning. Anything he presumed about how Peter's injuries had occurred was just that, speculation. And Peter had actively discouraged him from trying to help.
He still wished Peter would at least let him do something for the cut on his leg that was becoming infected. But as much as it had chafed him to not care for the injury, he had let Peter choose. He focused on Peter's palm again, thinking about the comfort he was taking from Peter, Peter unaware of it. Why couldn't he give as well as take? This... regardless of when it had happened or why, these tiny wounds he could do something for, something Peter need never know.
He hadn't believed that a kiss would make things better since he'd been a wee lad. But in this case, it was all he had. Feeling bold indeed, he kissed Peter's palm again, this time with parted lips and a quick, soft flicker of tongue, making the simple act more one of the love he was wistfully dreaming of than of mere comfort.
Peter's fingers tangled with his, and Carson tensed, sure he'd been discovered. Peter rolled over onto his right side, dragging Carson's left hand along and trapping it against his chest, murmuring something unintelligible as he curled up again. Carson relaxed, squeezing Peter's fingers gently, moving closer until he was spooned against Peter.
One final brush of his lips, almost too light and fleeting to be considered a kiss, this time to the soft patch of skin under Peter's earlobe, and Carson rested his head on the pillow. He tried to stay awake, to draw the experience out longer, but once his eyes closed, sleep returned quickly.
Parts: 1 of 2
Pairing: Carson Beckett/Peter Grodin
Authors: H (Heuradys) and Pas (paisleyparadox)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Notes: Heuradys and I randomly took eight kisses from "The Big Damn Fic" we are writing that takes place in 1988 London and is a pre-Atlantis "How Peter and Carson met" fic. With the help of mrodsith and some sacrificed paper, the eight were split between the two of us and we added a kiss from other WIPs we have. You can find part two on Heuradys' lj HERE.
Without further ado, and in no particular order...
Peter winced as he turned his head and pressed back into the--happily--broken radiator, the dig of metal something to focus on other than the awkward skim of Carson's lips across his cheek. He could feel the boy tense during the brief contact before he pulled away.
"I'm sorry, I just thought..." Blue said, sounding embarrassed and slightly dejected.
Peter looked at him, forced a smile, and smoothed his thumb along Carson's cheekbone. "Breath, darling," he said, adding one more lie to the collection.
Carson's eyes widened in realization, and a light blush tinted his cheeks. "Right then. Sorry."
"Shall we?" Peter asked, ignoring the ache of want to touch with lips and hands thrumming through him. He pushed away from the cold metal and slipped his hand along Carson's belt, grinning at the deepening of Carson's blush as his fingers curled around the buckle, and began to coax him up the next flight of stairs.
How the hell was he supposed to explain to the boy that he'd blow tricks or let them fuck him six ways from Sunday but never kiss? In all honesty, he couldn't remember the last time he had let himself be kissed other than a quick cheeky snog from one of his club friends. Kissing was too dangerous, too personal, too intimate, and was something Peter hadn't craved in a very long time. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself, and bloody hell if Carson wasn't fucking that all up. Maybe if the boy were sober and more experienced, he'd consider it, but as the circumstances stood, no way in hell. Now if only he could get his own damned body to listen to him.
~*~*~
"There you are, darling! I've been looking all over for you!" Blue tried half-heatedly to back away from his hug, so Peter kissed him on the cheek, hissing, "Play along."
"Do I know you?"
The startled boy was Scottish. Heaven. Peter closed his eyes for a second, hugging a bit more tightly.
"No, but unless you want the hideous old slug that's undoubtedly glaring a hole through both of us right now pawing you all night, you'll hug me back like I'm your long-lost fairy god-sister."
Blue's cheek shifted against his as he looked around as if he was aware of his surroundings for the first time, his body stiffening even more when Peter was sure he spotted Tucker. "Oh crap," Blue muttered, and awkwardly hugged him back. "He's already--"
"Exactly, sweetie. So come with me and we'll go have a nice cozy... chat." He planted another kiss on the boy's cheek, then took his hand and tugged, gesturing with a nod toward a quieter portion of the club.
Blue followed, a puzzled but polite smile on his face, clutching his half-empty glass. The fake dye in his hair glowed neon as they passed under a black light. And he didn't let go of Peter's hand, even when they reached the dimly lit corner and leaned together with their elbows on a table.
Peter gave the other boy's hand a squeeze, and then started caressing the palm and the inside of his wrist with his thumb. "I'm Peter, your savior for the evening. And you are?"
Blue blinked at him owlishly. Oh lord, was he that drunk or just that simple? Still, he could do simple, particularly when it came wrapped in a package like that. Peter nudged Blue with his hip. "What's your name, hon?"
"Oh! Carson. Carson Beckett."
~*~*~
"When the city started to shake... I truly thought..." Carson's hands clenched in the blue fabric of Peter's shirt, conveying his fear and relief with a clarity that words could never attain.
Peter nodded, the movement small and rubbing their noses together. "As did I."
While Peter was able to admit it now, Carson doubted he had at the time, probably too consumed with frantically trying to figure out what had been happening and how to save the expedition. Carson, on the other hand, had been acutely aware of their certain doom and utterly helpless, unable to aid and without a purpose other than trying to keep others calm. Standing in the dark of their temporary quarters, breathing in and touching his lover, fears and emotions that he'd barely been able to keep control of during the chaos began to surface.
Peter's arms slipped from Carson's shoulders while his fingers trailed though Carson's hair and lightly across his skin, never losing contact. With trembling hands, Peter cradled Carson's face, thumbs resting on his cheekbones and fingers splayed as if he were holding something fragile. They'd come close to dying, so bloody close, and Carson was certain it wouldn't be the last time. Just as he was certain that Sumner hadn't been the last expedition member to fall, simply the first.
What the hell had they signed up for?
Carson shuddered an exhale, the breath warm and moist as it caressed Peter's face and curled back onto his own, contrasting with the chill that lingered within Atlantis. He shook his head, rocking his forehead against his lover's, desperately trying to deny thought or voice to all of the "what ifs" that begged for recognition.
As if sensing his internal war, Peter tilted his head, brushing their noses together again, and took advantage of the new angle that granted lips the privilege of touch. The slow press, that by all rights should have been chaste, held a heat and reverence that snapped Carson's resolve, letting free his caged fear to tear across nerve and muscle. Carson's fingers tightened further, knuckles whitening and hands threatening to cramp if their abuse went on much longer, as the rest of his body began to tremble.
~*~*~
Carson leaned forward suddenly and pressed his lips to Peter's. The kiss was over as fast as it had began, but the damage was done and Peter was rocked. Aggressive and hard, those were things he knew and expected. Chaste and soft? Those were ghosts of a past life.
"You're a good lad, you know that?"
Something inside of Peter twisted painfully. "So I've been told." Nice lads didn't lead double lives. Nice lads didn't cut their families from their lives. "Go to sleep, Carson."
~*~*~
Peter's fingers twitched again, curling down to hide the gouges. Carson coaxed them to straighten again with a light caress of his fingers on Peter's palm, his thoughts veering from the knotty path they'd taken, back to the here and now. Thoughts of what might or might not happen in the morning were pointless until the morning. Anything he presumed about how Peter's injuries had occurred was just that, speculation. And Peter had actively discouraged him from trying to help.
He still wished Peter would at least let him do something for the cut on his leg that was becoming infected. But as much as it had chafed him to not care for the injury, he had let Peter choose. He focused on Peter's palm again, thinking about the comfort he was taking from Peter, Peter unaware of it. Why couldn't he give as well as take? This... regardless of when it had happened or why, these tiny wounds he could do something for, something Peter need never know.
He hadn't believed that a kiss would make things better since he'd been a wee lad. But in this case, it was all he had. Feeling bold indeed, he kissed Peter's palm again, this time with parted lips and a quick, soft flicker of tongue, making the simple act more one of the love he was wistfully dreaming of than of mere comfort.
Peter's fingers tangled with his, and Carson tensed, sure he'd been discovered. Peter rolled over onto his right side, dragging Carson's left hand along and trapping it against his chest, murmuring something unintelligible as he curled up again. Carson relaxed, squeezing Peter's fingers gently, moving closer until he was spooned against Peter.
One final brush of his lips, almost too light and fleeting to be considered a kiss, this time to the soft patch of skin under Peter's earlobe, and Carson rested his head on the pillow. He tried to stay awake, to draw the experience out longer, but once his eyes closed, sleep returned quickly.