Blind Pride: A Primeval Fic
Started out as a response to the prompt over at primeval100 ; then it got a little longer than 100 words. So I made it into something of its own fic.
Will be Brit-picked in the near future, so for now, please ignore any issues in that department. ^^;
Title: Blind Pride
Author: tseecka
Fandom: Primeval (ITV show, not the movie)
Characters: Stephen/Nick
Rating: NC-17 for smut
Word Count: 3,801
Spoilers: Set...sort of at the end of season 1? But without all the Claudia stuff...fandom goggles say DIDN'T HAPPEN. Anyways, I'm only partway through Season 2, so...I can't very well write the present. :P
He would never admit to being wrong.
He kept diving into these things, getting himself into these scrapes, all for reasons that changed with every new anomaly. The real ones, Stephen reasoned, he hid deep inside, in a place he wouldn't allow anyone to look. A personal need to vindicate himself, maybe, or to prove that something he had fought so hard to make the world realize was right after all. To find Helen, either to get her back or to be able to forget her, or maybe just to see her and get the closure he needed--no one really knew.
Maybe he just liked pissing Lester off. It was possible.
But the fact was, that Nick Cutter would never admit to being wrong. He would never admit that diving through the anomalies, with all the reckless abandon of a 6 year old boy believing a Superman-trademarked costume would make him fly, was the wrong thing to be doing.
No one else got it, he knew. No one else understood that Cutter was, above all else, looking for something.
And the thought of it pissed Stephen off, because he was fairly certain that, even though he didn't know exactly what Cutter was looking for, he knew there was no way the man would find it in the past. It wasn't there. He'd seen the look in Nick's eyes--known him for so long, he could just about read his mind--and he had more than just an inkling of what Nick was looking for. And that wasn't where it could be found.
But Nick would never admit it--so Stephen decided to prove it.
It started with late night discussions on dissertations and papers, with an ever-increasing willingness to read those papers and edit and proof-read again, to offer help and congratulations and to support whatever theory he came up with. And still, Nick looked longingly at those anomalies every time they popped up, his eyes locked on their shattered twisting movements, and saw right through everything else.
so then it was sessions at home, away from the office and the cramped, musty smell that too-many bones permeated a room with. It was coffee, or tea, depending on the professor's mood, and an occasional movie or television program or CD on the stereo. Cooked dinners--he wasn't a culinary wonder, he knew, but he did his best with what he had in the refrigerator--and even the occasional shoulder rub when it looked like Cutter needed it.
And still he'd stare at the creatures that came through those rifts, stare in wonder and fascination and with just a little bit of a hope that they were what he was looking for, and the challenge, and Stephen's frustrations, grew.
So then it was walks in the park, over the grounds; it was well-cooked dinners at fancy restaurants and drinks at a bar, and still all Cutter could talk about was how certain he was that there was something about the past so dreadfully, monumentally important. That there was something there he needed, and he didn't even know what it was, and his damned pride kept getting in the way. Know thyself, he'd think--Stephen could hear it echoing around his thoughts just about as loud as a city full of churches on Easter morning--and he'd be so damn sure that he did, that he knew exactly where the answers lay.
Blind to the present.
So, dammit, he did what he had to, and he spoke to Helen. Damn the bitch, he'd always, always hated her--hated what she did to Nick, the way she hurt him, the way she broke his heart and his soul and solidified that thrice-damned pride--but it was a necessity. He enlisted her help, and she agreed, and he didn't really even know why.
Some sick need to hurt Cutter, he supposed, and shook his head at the both of them. both so prideful and sure of themselves.
Her words cut Nick deeply, anyone could see that, and for a moment Nick thought he saw murder in those eyes. Helen left with a smug look on her face, thinking that expression was all for her, but Stephen knew--with almost perfect certainty--that it wasn't. And maybe this would wake him up, maybe this would open his eyes and break apart that wall of pride that he had built up so very, very well--but still, he refused.
He took Helen's bait and ran with it, so convinced he was that the answers--every damn answer, every damn time!--lay in the past. She'd run off there, he surmised. It was where the answer could be found.
So Stephen gave in.
The newest anomaly was in an office building downtown, not a high-rise or anything special--it was, in fact, closed for renovations, which was something everyone counted as a stroke of luck. Reports of a creature were heard, and Stephen saw that look in Nick's eyes again as he realized it was from the same era, the same place Helen had disappeared to, where they'd all been.
Stephen knew he'd sneak back--knew his pride wouldn't let him do anything else.
So he went through first.
The air of the past was warm, with a cool breeze that drifted over the treeless rocks, carrying with it the smell of sulfur and a hint of something else. He looked over the expanse and wondered how anyone, no matter how blind to their own failings, could possibly think an answer of any kind would lie here?
But now, lie here it did, regardless of whether it had to be orchestrated, and he would damn well make sure Nick realized it.
*************
Nick came through the anomaly, still looking back over his shoulder to be sure he wasn't being followed. When he looked forward again, slinging the backpack off of his shoulder, he started in surprise to see Stephen there, waiting for him.
"I thought you might try something like this," the younger man said, offering a slight smile and getting to his feet.
"I had to," Nick replied earnestly. "Helen's here, Stephen. I have to find her."
Stephen shook his head, taking a few steps towards his mentor. "No, Nick." The professor blinked at the use of his first name. "Helen's not the one with the answers. Not the ones you're looking for."
"Stephen?"
He reached out a hand towards Cutter, placed it on his shoulder. "You've been so convinced all this time that you could find all your answers here, in the past. So sure of yourself, so hellbent on finding your way back here that you couldn't even see what was right in front of you in your own time." His hand moved, brushing Cutter's cheek, and the older man flinched a little in surprise.
"I don't know what you're talking about..." he said, weakly. Stephen could see the wall finally starting to crumble, the gears finally catching in his head.
"I know what you've been looking for," he said simply, and he leaned in to press his lips against Nick's, just once, before pulling away. "I just had to put it in the right environment, so that you could finally see it. Do you see it, Nick?"
He stepped back, his arms spread wide, and suddenly felt like yelling. His patience was worn thin, and if this didn't get through to him, Stephen had no idea what would. Until now, with Nick's dumbfounded expression and wide, confused eyes, he'd had no inkling that his own pride could have blinded him to the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he was actually wrong.
"We're in the past, now!" he screamed, his throat raw in the dry air, and he felt the beginnings of a tear prickling his eye as he met Cutter's gaze. "I'm right fucking here, Cutter! Can you see me now?!"
Nick closed the distance between them in a few long paces, his feet scrabbling on the loose rock and scree as he ran straight into Stephen's outstretched arms, grabbing his head on both sides and kissing him, fiercely.
"You fucking idiot," he told his aide breathlessly, once they parted for air. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you were so convinced that you knew exactly what you were looking for that you looked right through me every time I tried," the younger reprimanded, bitterness still laced through his voice. They stared at each other, letting go, standing apart. Tension laced through Stephen's neck muscles, setting off a slight twitch. Cutter stared at him blankly as understanding began to come. "I had to come back here in order for you to finally get it."
A pulsing sound shot through the air, high-pitched, and they both turned to see the anomaly flashing in warning. A shared glance was all that was necessary to have them bolting back up the hill towards its shattered, twisting image. Stephen was ahead as they neared it; he reached back and grabbed Nick's hand, gratified to feel it close solidly around his own. They hurtled through as it snapped shut, leaving them panting on the dusty, paint-splattered floor.
Neither one could release their grip on the other's hand. Stephen pushed himself up to sitting, and looked down at their fingers, then at Nick's face. "...Please tell me you can still see me."
Nick looked over at him, then, his eyes focusing on the soft features, the dark eyes and slightly burnished skin that he had looked at--looked through, he realized--every day for the past few years.
"I can see you, Stephen," he replied, and his voice was thick. He used his grip to tug Stephen back down beside him, rolling over and nestling their bodies close together. He stared down at the other man, hesitant; frightened of the potential out here, now that the wall his pride had built was gone. So Stephen initiated the kiss, raising his head and gently pressing their lips together again.
"Let's go home," he suggested quietly, and Nick nodded.
*************
They tumble together onto the soft down comforter of the king size bed, their hands all over each other, exploring in the least scientific way either of them could possible manage. Nick's hands find the hem of Stephen's shirt, and pull it over his head. His calloused hands, roughened from dig after dig in the harsh dirt, run over Stephen's chest, feeling the warmth of prehistoric-sun-drenched skin, feeling the beating of his heart.
In short order, Stephen manages to remove the rest of their clothing, and lies beside Cutter with a faint smile on his face, eyes half-lidded as they run the length of the professor's body. Nick shudders at the gaze, reveling in the feeling of adoration that he had forgotten much too soon and feeling equally embarrassed by it.
He counter by exploring Stephen's skin with his hands, rather than his eyes. He feels vindicated when a couple of his touches elicit a gasp or a groan from his young, soon-to-be lover. His confident fingers slow, however, as they move lower, until he shifts his gaze up to the other's face. "I..." He looks a little sheepish, and Stephen has to smile at the expression on the other's face. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Placing his own hand over Nick's, Stephen guides him, showing him the ways to stroke and touch and tease him, rewarding the professor with little groans as their hands move over his lower body. Nick is hesitant at first, wary, completely unsure of himself, and Stephen can feel that lack of confidence. He opens his eyes, looking over at the other man, and smiles again. "Just think of it like doing yourself," he offers, and lets go of Nick's hand, nodding
Slowly at first, Nick begins to stroke on his own, his hand tightening and loosening the pressure as it moves. Stephen hisses through his teeth, eyes fluttering closed, and Nick takes it as an invitation to continue. As his confidence increases, so does his speed, and a shiver passes through him as he finally feels his lover writhe a little, his name dropping from those parted lips. "Nick..."
His victory is short lived.
He gasps aloud, his hand falling limp and slack and his entire body shaking when Stephen reaches over and grasps him firmly around the base, giving one long, languid stroke. "Oh..." he whispers, his eyes shutting as he tries to catch his breath. He can't hold himself up any longer; he finds himself lying on his side with his face pillowed in Stephen's chest, their hands wrapped around each other.
"Keep going," Stephen whispers, breath rustling the sandy hair on Nick's head, and he moves his hips a little for emphasis. Nick hesitates only a second.
Their breaths meld together, and Nick can feel Stephen's heartbeat pounding against his cheek, in time with his own. They work into a rhythm, taking their time. Only the steadily increasing pressure of each one's hand marks the building tension in their sunworn bodies. Nick tosses his head on Stephen's chest, eyes shut tightly. "Stephen," he manages to choke out, straining the muscles in his back to try and reach himself closer to that so-tempting peak. His hand movements grow erratic, and he nearly whimpers.
"Not yet," Stephen replies, choking on the words, and he pull his hand away. Nick strains against the empty air, panting uselessly. He feels his hand removed, as well, and forces his eyes open to look at Stephen, feeling suddenly rather foolish and exposed. Chest still heaving, tension still throbbing through every muscle in his body at the denied release, he still freezes when he sees the expression in Stephen's eyes. "I want you," the younger man tells him, his voice husky, nearly a whisper, raw with emotion.
One of Nick's legs has somehow been thrown over Stephen's during the mutual handjob, and the uncomfortable stretching feeling that blazes through his thigh is his first hint to look back down--at the sight of Stephen pulling his knees up, and opening his own thighs. Eyes wide, he swallows, staring at the sight. A thumb on his chin pulls his gaze back towards the owner of those legs.
It is so hard--so very, very hard--for Stephen not to just throw himself on top of Nick and have his long-denied way. The sight of the older man panting and writhing, sheened in sweat, his name just barely whispered past trembling lips, is enough to fill him with a lifetime of want. He isn't used to this waiting; isn't accustomed to the need to take things slow, to teach, to instruct.
To fucking bottom.
But here he is, legs spread wide, and the thought of Cutter between them, inside them--inside him--is enough to make his heart race.
"I need you," he admits softly.
The intensity of his stare is drowning, Nick thinks, looking back at him as Stephen slowly guides his hand down, over his belly, around his cock...he can tell how much self-restraint the other man is exerting. The absolute need in Stephen's eyes is almost terrifying in its severity. But as he feels his fingers led over heated thighs, between them, he tenses. The movement stops.
I need you...the words hang in the air. He's been so stupid, so selfish, and he wants this--he realized, now, just how long he has been helplessly in love with the man lying next to him--but he is a MAN, and this is new and strange and he feels like the proverbial deer in the proverbial headlights.
"I don't know what I'm doing," he repeats, emotion prickling the corners of his eyes at the admission. Stephen's fingers tighten around his.
"I'll show you," he promises.
Together, slowly, they prep the younger man, Stephen showing Nick where and when and how quickly to press and probe. He coaches him softly, his impatience only shining through on occasion, when the sheer slowness of Nick's exploration makes him want to just explode then and there. The lube is cold, his fingers are warm, too slow and then too fast and then too big, to a point where all of a sudden they are so damn small and not enough, sliding in and out of him at a pace infuriatingly slow. Nick is so careful, so cautious, and all Stephen wants to do is push him down onto the bed, spread him open, and take him with all the passion that has been building in his heart and in his body over the last few months.
"It's still so tight, Stephen, I don't want to hurt you," Nick finally murmurs worriedly, kneeling between Stephen's legs with his fingers still absentmindedly stretching and sliding. Stephen pushes himself up to sitting, stroking the side of his friend's weathered face. They are both silent a moment, the sound of their breathing--Stephen's slow, Nick's near the point of hyperventilation--the only thing in the room.
"I love you."
Stephen's voice breaks that silence, his thumb still caressing the scratchy shadow along Cutter's jaw, and he doesn't even blink as he watches his lover's face. Nick swallows, hard. The emotion behind those words...he's never heard it before. Never. Not even from Helen. Not even from himself, he realizes with a start--now there was a revelation. Those three little words break down his hesitation.
He leans forward, touching their foreheads together, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to slow his frenzied panting of earlier. "I love you, too." The words sound foreign on his tongue, tanged with salt, and he realizes he is near to crying. Hurriedly, he blinks the tears away and offers Stephen a smile. The other smiles back, and their lips meet in a kiss.
It is broken all too gratifyingly suddenly by Stephen's sudden, shuddering moan, and the hand that has been resting on Nick's cheek suddenly grips the back of his neck in a deathgrip. His affected attitude of decorum and patience is gone; he breathes heavily, every muscle in his body shaking visibly, as Nick slowly eases his way in.
It feels like eternity.
Nick feels like heaven inside him, and he falls back onto the bed, one arm over his eyes. Nick makes to move, and he shakes his head. "No, just...just wait a sec." So their bodies flop together, Nick shaking, his hips quaking with the need to move inside of that tight, hot nirvana.
"Are you okay?" he manages to pant out, his breath hot against the skin at Stephen's neck. The younger man can only nod. God, it has been a long time since he'd been in this position, and no fingers could prepare you for the sensation of cock, no matter how skilled. Finally, the throbbing ache subsides, and he wraps his hands around Nick's biceps.
"I'm okay," he mutters, eyes attempting to stay opened and only half succeeding. "I'm okay now, you're good."
Nick begins to move, and the sensation sends flashbulbs going off behind his eyes. It's going to take all his restraint to keep from coming then and there, and he tightens that resolve. Stephen is panting under him, his nails digging into the flesh on his arms, and the pain just adds to the sensation.
It doesn't take long to lose control, to start moving in and out of Stephen's body at a frantic pace, but neither of them complains. Nick pushes himself up, off of Stephen's body, his head hanging down and sweat rolling down the side of his face.
It seems like it's taken an eternity to get here, and its over in an instant. Nick's libido, so primed and teased and tempted already, gives him no chance, and as hard as he tries he can't stave off the inevitable. He's rocking into the other man's body as he shudders and shakes, and their eyes meet and hold even as Nick's face contorts in release.
Stephen's expression never changes, but the words behind his eyes say everything that needs to be said. His jaw tightens, neck straining, and his eyes look up at Nick and plead. It takes every ounce of energy the man has left to reach between them and grasp Stephen in his hand, barely holding himself up with the other. The other's eyes finally squeeze themselves shut, his body shuddering as he coats himself and Nick's hand with his release. And Nick just stares down at him, his eyes matching Stephen's, both of them full of too many words and no idea where to begin.
They fall asleep in Stephen's bed, the covers wrapped loosely around their waists and their arms as tightly around each other as drowning men.
*************
Nick watches Stephen sleep, his hand running through the soft, short hair, brushing a loose strand back into place every once in a while. He can't believe its taken him this long to realize it...he can't understand why he has been so blind for all this time. The memory of the afternoon lingers in his mind, and pleasurable shivers run up and down his back.
"You're a damn patient man, Stephen Hart," he whispers to himself, smiling and chuckling a little. It surprises him how comfortable he is already, in this bed, naked, next to a man who is probably still covered in both of their sticky messes. But it feels so right, so perfect.
Stephen snorts, and shifts a little in his sleep, finding a comfortable resting place on Nick's stomach, his hand settling on the other's hip. It's almost possessive; a child protecting its teddy from the things in the night. It warms his heart. He brushes the hair back out of the man's face, and those eyes open slowly, glancing around until they find Nick's face.
"Hello." Nick smiles, his eyes softening. Stephen pushes himself up on tired arms, just enough to kiss him, then settles back down, nuzzling against his lover's skin. Nick smiles.
"What're you thinking about?" Stephen asks drowsily, smiling as he plants a kiss on Nick's stomach. They can both already feel arousal stirring again, but its ignored for the moment. There'll be plenty of time.
"Just thinking how strange this feels." One eye rolls up to look at him quizzically, and Nick smirks at it. "I've spent so much time looking towards the past...I was so damn sure that the past was where all the answers were."
"And now?"
"...Now, I can't seem to stop thinking about the future."