Fic: Check. Mate. Part 2 of 2 (Primeval, Abby/Connor, NC-17)
Title: Check. Mate.
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor
Rating: NC-17/18
Spoilers: Set post series 3, but only vague references to the last episode
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Word Count: ~13,800
Status: Complete
Author's Notes: Written for irrel for help_haiti who, among other things, wanted Abby/Connor but uttered the immortal words You could write about them playing chess for all I care. So here you go. Abby and Connor playing chess ::g::
Many thanks to
aithine for whip-wielding beta duties, as always.
Summary: Queen takes king.
( Check. Mate. Part 1 of 1 )
~*~
He stopped objecting, at least out loud, and the game moved forward - move and countermove. It didn't take long for her to decide that they were evenly matched. She hadn't played for years - not since she was a kid, anyway - but Connor seemed distracted, even more so when he was first to capture one of her pieces, a pawn she was more than willing to sacrifice to him.
It was the least she could do, given everything over the years he'd been willing to sacrifice for her.
She slipped her cardigan off again, not minding now that she'd warmed up a bit, but it was weird how Connor kept glancing across at her afterwards; she wasn't wearing any less than she had been before she'd fetched it, but apparently the simple act of her removing anything had him all hot and bothered.
She swallowed a smile, feeling it tingling all the way down, fluttering in the depths of her stomach, and worked on getting him to lose one of his own pieces. When she finally snatched one of his pawns from the board, light-headed with both the glee of it and the anticipation, he stared at her for a long moment, lips parted. And then he reached down and peeled his socks off.
That was just not on, even if she'd been the one to introduce the 'loser's choice' rule. But he had nice feet, and that was a really odd thing to think.
He shifted position on the couch, tucking his feet away out of sight as he sat cross-legged. His smile this time was a little self-conscious around the edges and the very tips of his ears were red as he ducked his head, his focus fixed on the board between them.
She wasn't fooled.
Connor started to pay more attention after that, eyeing the board with a small, thoughtful frown. She knew him well enough by now to spot most of his tells - the way his eyes darted about, planning out his strategy, move by move, and the way his lips moved as he did so, silent murmurings as he worked things out in his head.
She was more interested in Connor than his strategy; it wasn't a surprise when he took another of her pieces, one of her bishops this time. He looked up with a grin, one that faded when she kept silent, still watching him. She had no idea what expression was on her face, how much she was giving away, but Connor's cheeks began to burn, too, matching his ears.
She kicked her shoes off, listening to them land, one after another, on the floor. Thump, thump.
It matched the beating of her heart, which sounded even louder in her ears.
Connor cleared his throat, leaning over to place her stolen bishop on the coffee table. His fingers lingered for a second as he glanced over at her, his cheeks still flushed red, and then he pulled back, folding his hands in his lap as he waited for her to make the next move. His fingers were shaking, barely noticeably.
She was so hyperaware of him that she noticed it anyway.
She leant forward and studied the board, mapping out future moves in her head, much as Connor had done, taking her time about it. The seconds drew out like soft taffy; she could hear the sound of Connor breathing over her heartbeat and the soft susurration of the rain still pattering down outside. He shifted position on the couch and the soft rustle of his jeans against the cushions sounded loud in the silence. The day was fading, growing dimmer now, and the light was taking on that twilight quality where everything was still and dreamlike; the world shrank down to just the pair of them in this room, nothing else. Nothing outside: no pain, no grief, no anomalies.
Nothing but her and Connor. Nothing else that mattered.
She moved her piece and he followed suit, move and countermove again and again. Winning and losing didn't seem to matter any more; what mattered, what had always mattered, was this dance between them, each of them guarding their pieces, afraid to lose any of their defences. But she lost a knight, and took off her socks. Connor lost a rook to her queen, and took off his t-shirt. And the world didn't end.
She was the first to lose her jeans, wriggling out of them to kick them off onto the floor. They fell onto the coffee table, half on and half off, and she left them where they landed, draped over the glass like it wasn't odd for them to be there. Connor watched her legs, his face angled like he wasn't. His hair was getting longer now - long enough for one lock of it to fall over his forehead, and his eyes glittered underneath. His face wasn't as flushed, not at first, but when she stole another glance in his direction, he bit his lip and looked back at the board; that was when the colour began to steal up his neck again, rising into his cheeks.
It didn't stop him looking back when he thought she was distracted; his lip was red as well, where he'd bitten at it, and wet where he'd licked it. She licked at her own lips and tried not to think about leaning forward, pushing the chessboard onto the floor and pressing her mouth against his, tasting his desire as well as her own.
This time her fingers shook as she moved another piece. If Connor noticed, he didn't give any indication.
Connor lost his long sleeved tee next, one of the ones he habitually wore under everything else, layer upon layer. He was still wearing a vest underneath and his shoulders were narrow - narrower than they should be, given the weight that rested on them, and her fingers twitched again with the need to touch, just to let him know he didn't have to do it on his own. She didn't bother pretending she wasn't looking, not like Connor had, and he looked back at her steadily for a moment until the colour rose to his face again under her scrutiny.
He had a swimmer's body for all that she didn't think he swam, not regularly. Long and lean, tapering down to a narrow waist and narrow hips. She'd always gone for broad shoulders and well-defined pecs. A sensible brain inside the package, yes, but there had to be a package. She was so stupid sometimes, and it meant she'd been missing out. Missing out on a lot of things, so focused on making sure that it was always meaningless fun rather than something serious, something real, because it was less threatening when she had nothing to lose. But now...
She lost one of her pieces to his advances, just gave it away to him, and lost her t-shirt as well. No vest for her, and if, just for a second, she wished that she'd planned this in advance and put on something a little more special than a plain, pale blue bra with minimal lace, well, Connor didn't seem to mind. He swallowed and licked his lips again before tearing his eyes away.
They drifted back, more than once. His face and neck stayed pink, and there was no hiding the way his fingers shook when he reached out for the board. His fingers hovered over one piece before moving on to another, and she tilted her head, a frown crinkling her brow as she slowly worked out his strategy.
He had a choice, she realised. He could take her queen in a couple of moves and have her remove another item of clothing, but if he did that he'd leave himself open; she could probably checkmate him three moves after that. Or he could resist temptation and maybe go on to win down the line. She wasn't a good enough player to forecast how the game would go beyond three or four moves ahead and see the outcome with any great certainty, but she suspected that Connor might be. He kept so many things in his head, all those balls that he juggled on a daily basis, flitting from one to another in a second or a heartbeat; if he dropped them sometimes, it was no more than anyone else would do in the same situation. He probably dropped things less frequently, if she was being fair.
Connor hesitated, his hand hovering over the piece that would end up taking her queen. He looked at her - really looked at her, straight in the face - and she couldn't read his expression, not this time, not past the pink and the hope that was always there. Then he sighed and took hold of the piece, committing himself. When he'd removed her queen from the board, he looked back at her, saying nothing, the moment stretching out between them.
"You're going to lose," she said quietly, and his mouth quirked.
"Probably," he said and it sounded too loud in the silence.
"Definitely."
He nodded, no amusement in his face this time in spite of the way that his lips were still turned up at the corner. Instead there was kind of a resigned sadness, rueful and a little lost. "It's not a reason not to play, though, is it?" He flicked one eyebrow up, pulling out another of those smiles of his, one of the ones he tried - and failed - to hide behind. She wasn't sure this time who he was trying to convince: her or himself.
"Do you want to keep playing, or give in to the inevitable now?" She was trying for arch, something playful, but Connor's eyes flicked away from her for a moment, his face still the way it was whenever something hit him and hit hard, that moment of frozenness before the pain hit.
When he looked back, the mask was firmly in place but cracked, as it always was, at the edges; Connor, in spite of everything, was no good at pretending. He never had been, even if sometimes she couldn't read what lay behind it all.
"Give in to the inevitable," he said, and his smile was still sweet, also in spite of everything. He reached out and tipped his king over, a sign that even she recognised.
The queen controls the board.
Her move.
"You have to pay the forfeit," she said, and the words echoed in her head. It was strange how it felt like whatever was between them was brittle and would crack if she said it too loud, moved too quickly for it. Like it couldn't bear the weight unless she stepped carefully.
He nodded again, half with trepidation and half rueful, from what she could tell, and that smile was still playing around the edges of his mouth, never settling entirely.
She'd lost her queen; she owed him another item of clothing but he didn't ask, didn't push it. She owed him more than that or - if not owed - well. Wanted to give, maybe, or take or whatever. But he still didn't - wouldn't - make that final move to win the game.
She swallowed, watching as his eyes flicked down to her throat, dropping further to her chest before they crept back up to her face. They crept back up slowly, but not just because Connor wasn't subtle. It was almost as though he was afraid that this might be his last chance to look at her, like he was filing it all away with all of the other curveballs she'd thrown him over the years.
She licked her lips, knowing it was now or her courage would fail her forever. Fail both of them. "Take the rest of them off," she said and that got his attention, his eyes flicking straight up to meet hers. "All of them." Despite the seriousness - the fear and the hope and everything else tangled up, tight in her chest - she had to fight not to giggle, not wanting to make Connor feel like she was mocking him when she wasn't. But it was hard when the joy was right there, bubbling up, all giddy glee and terror mixed together.
Connor simply looked at her, his face reddening further. Then his hands dropped into his lap as he started to fumble with the buckle of his belt. His eyes dropped as well. He didn't - wouldn't - look at her, not at first. Not until the zip was down and he'd lifted his hips up to slide his jeans off.
When he did finally look back in her direction his expression was almost pleading, as though he thought she'd make fun of him or that she was doing this to make a point or something; she couldn't tell. But if that was what he really thought - if that was how scared he was - she had no one to blame for it but herself.
"The curtains are open," he said, the nervousness slipping out into plain sight. She nodded seriously because she wasn't stupid; she realised how easy it could be to mess this up, more even than she already had.
"I'll close them," she said, and the muscle in his cheek jumped. Under other circumstances, the slightly hunted, haunted look on his face might have been amusing; under these circumstances, it just made her heart ache. She parted her lips, ready to tell him that he could forget about this if he wanted, but then he took a deep breath, no longer looking at her but instead staring straight ahead of him. She recognised that expression, that 'Connor working up his courage' look. She wasn't surprised when his fingers caught hold of the bottom of his vest and he took in another deep breath, holding it this time, screwing up his courage those last few inches.
She took pity on him, pushing herself to her feet, up and away from him, giving him whatever space he needed. She didn't look at him; instead, she walked around the coffee table towards the window. That caught his attention; he stopped what he was doing, twisting in his seat when she moved behind the sofa so that he could continue to watch her.
It was even dimmer outside, darkness falling. The streetlights were on and, as usual, their quiet lane was deserted. She could leave the curtains open all night and the chances were that no one would pass by close enough to look in, especially not in this miserable weather. Puddles were forming in the road, and the rain was still streaming down the window. The glass would be cold if she reached out and touched it, and her face was burning now. The urge to press her forehead against it, just to feel that coolness, just to feel centred again, was almost irresistible.
She resisted anyway, pulling the curtains shut and shutting out the world with it. She didn't turn to look back at Connor, not immediately. It was easier to do this when she couldn't see him, even knowing that he could see her.
Even knowing that he was watching her.
Especially knowing that he was watching her.
She'd been naked with men before, done things that Connor could only dream about and probably - knowing Connor - had. It should be easy to remove one more item of clothing, even if it changed everything. Everything changed, anyway, in a moment. This way she could change it for the better.
Her hands didn't shake, not even when she slipped the bra straps down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She could hear Connor's sudden intake of breath over the sound of the rain. Or maybe that was her breathing, not him.
It only took a heartbeat to turn around and face him.
He swallowed but his eyes didn't immediately drop down to her bare breasts, the way she'd thought they would. In a weird way, the fact he didn't look was disappointing, and maybe even left her a little anxious, but before she could get too worked up about it he turned away again, facing forward rather than looking at her. She'd only just folded her arms across her chest, a little defensively, when he let out the breath he was holding and tugged his vest off over his head.
It made his hair stick up every which way and something in her melted at that. Her fingers were itching with the urge to sink them into his hair, to smooth over the vulnerable curves of his skull - to kiss him until he ached for it as much as she did - but she took her time walking back over to the couch. Connor's head dipped briefly out of sight, only his shoulders visible above the back of the couch, the muscles of his arms flexing. She knew why - knew what item of clothing he was busy removing now. His boxers.
She didn't let it hurry her steps, too caught up in the inevitability of this and in the heavy silence of the room to want to rush things. Instead she listened to the sound of Connor's breathing and to the beat of her heart, strong and steady.
When she was finally back in front of the couch again, Connor had pulled one of the scatter cushions into his lap where it perched awkwardly, hiding him from view like a red velvet chastity belt. His fingers were clenched tightly in the fabric and his face was no longer flushed; it was pale, with lines of tension radiating from the corners of his mouth. He still didn't look at her, not at first. Not for long moments and then finally, when she stayed silent, he glanced over.
This time his eyes dropped, taking in her semi-naked form, and his face didn't stay pale. The flush started in his chest, rising up his neck and into his cheeks. She watched, fascinated, as he coloured.
"Hey," she said, settling on the couch. She knelt on it rather than sat, facing him again. He swallowed, glancing over at her and then away. His tongue darted out, licking at his lips.
"Hey," he said, and he blinked, leaving his eyes closed for a beat too long for it to be entirely natural. "Is this the only... is this the forfeit, then?"
His voice was pitched higher than normal and his fingers tightened again, knuckles white against the cushion fabric. She paused, considering her answer. Her move again. But it couldn't be the wrong one, or she'd lose the entire game and end up having to forfeit her king.
"You don't have to do anything else," she said, watching as some of that tension leached away from his fingers. "Well..." When he looked at her, straight in the eyes this time rather than at her chest, she held his gaze, mischief in hers but not mocking. Never mocking. "Not unless you want to."
Another swallow and she dropped her gaze down to watch his throat move. When she looked up again, into his eyes, they were scared, yes, but she didn't think that was the only emotion in them. Whatever else there was, it made her brave. She leant forward, slowly enough for him to move away if he wanted to. Crack a stupid Connor joke, something that was supposed to relieve the tension but instead ruined the moment. But he didn't.
His face was warm against her fingertips and he swallowed again when she leant in further, cupping his face with the palm of her hand like she had the first time they'd kissed. She wasn't being fair to him, like she never really was. In spite of everything, his awkwardness, his inability sometimes to string a coherent sentence together, he hadn't ruined that moment. She had, afterwards, with her stupid cold feet and 'let's not be weird'.
"Do you want to?" she murmured in that brief pause before her mouth met his. He nodded, quick and jerkily, and she closed the last few millimetres between them, feeling him melt under her touch, all of the tension leaving him and leaving nothing but this.
She took her time, her lips moving slowly over his. When his fingers wrapped gently around her wrist - not to hold her, it seemed, but to steady him - she grew even braver, tracing her tongue along his lips. They parted for her and the tip of her tongue touched his; she felt the jolt of that touch all the way through her, like lightning to her belly, like she was sixteen again, heavy petting on the sofa with her boyfriend.
She finally needed to breathe and pulled back far enough to see Connor. His eyes were closed, like they'd been the first time they'd kissed, and his lips were parted, pink and wet. She traced her thumb along the line of his cheekbone, up towards his hair, and his eyes fluttered open. When he saw her watching him that closely, he flushed again, pink staining his cheeks, and his gaze darted away from hers before being drawn back.
"Hey." Her voice sounded hoarse and she cleared her throat, still a little breathless about it all. The smile he gave her this time was fleeting but real, all nervous enthusiasm but still with Connor's patented sweetness underneath. His thigh was tense where it pressed against her knee but she didn't think it was a bad tension, not this time. It was a good tension, the right kind of tension, and she wanted to feel it pressed up against all of her, matching her tension with his. She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him again and, again, he melted into her, all hot and sugary sweet.
He twisted to face her awkwardly, his knee bumping hers, and his fingers settled on her shoulder, warm and solid against her skin. He still wasn't close enough, or she wasn't close enough to him. She wanted - needed - to be touching him more than this, to feel the heat of his body pressed up against hers.
And she was braver now. She had to be.
Queen takes the king.
She pushed herself up onto her knees, catching hold of the back of the couch with one hand to steady herself - the other stayed in his hair, curved around the sweet contours of his skull. She kept her balance perfectly as she swung one leg out over his and settled herself in his lap, facing him.
He let out a soft 'oof' of surprise; it puffed against her mouth and she swallowed it down, her lips turning up against his in a pleased little smile. Secure now, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him harder, more heated. His lips parted underneath hers and this time when she teased the edges of his mouth, tracing along his teeth with her tongue, his tongue was right there, teasing her back.
His hands settled on her waist and then moved across her skin, the roughness of the calluses on his thumbs scratching lightly. It made her shiver, instinctively arching her back away from the pressure so that she pushed against him instead; his grip on her tightened in response, a feedback loop of pleasure. One of his hands drifted up the line of her spine, settling between her shoulder blades and pulling her closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, bare skin against bare skin. The other - in a move that was unusually brave and forthright for Connor - slid lower, until his fingers were tracing along the elastic waistband of her knickers, plain white cotton and not at all sexy. Connor didn't seem to agree with that assessment, not judging by the soft sound he let out when he grew even braver and the first of his fingers dipped even lower, slipping underneath the fabric to skim over the soft skin underneath.
The zip on the cushion still trapped between them was digging into her stomach now, even more so when she wriggled encouragingly, desperate to get closer to him. It was the only barrier between them - the cushion and her knickers - and she needed, desperately needed, both of them gone. She let go of Connor reluctantly and leant back far enough to get a good grip on the cushion's fabric, tugging at it impatiently even as Connor leant forward, stealing another kiss. Stealing? No. She'd give them to him, every single one she had, kiss after kiss after kiss until he was as giddy with this whole thing as she was.
She tugged harder, watching Connor rather than what she was doing, which meant that she couldn't fail to miss the nervousness that crossed his face again when it finally came free and was tossed behind her. From the clatter, it landed on the chessboard and knocked some of the pieces over, but she didn't care.
She cared about this, and about Connor.
He swallowed again and again he gave her another one of those little smiles, sweet and edible, so utterly edible that she had to lean in again, kiss him until his eyes drifted closed, until he couldn't think of anything but her, how she felt, how she tasted. Only then did she pull back far enough to look down at what he'd used the cushion to hide.
He was hard - that wasn't a surprise. And he had nothing to be ashamed of in that department, which shouldn't have been a surprise either because she knew better than to judge a book by whatever covers it had. The surprise was when he reached for her again, pulling her back towards him and kissing her thoroughly, no hesitation this time. His hand drifted up her back again, over her shoulder, tracing along the faint red line left by her bra strap. She opened her eyes, her lips leaving his, and watched his face as his fingers moved over her skin. The line he traced was feathery soft but wherever he touched left her skin feeling hot and tight, tingling with sensation. He didn't take his eyes off her, holding her gaze as his hand moved lower, down the slope of her breast, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Only when he reached her nipple, which tightened under his touch, the skin around the areole crinkling as he stroked his thumb across it, did he tear his eyes away and look down, and she didn't miss the soft gasp he let out when he liked what he saw.
She pressed her mouth against the skin of his temple as his fingers delicately mapped out her curves, apparently fascinated by the way her body reacted to him: his touch and the scent of him. And then she pressed gently on the back of his head, guiding his mouth down to the slope her neck, the place where she was most sensitive.
He kissed her there and she shivered, caught between the two sensations, his lips against his skin and his fingers still stroking her, circling round and around her nipple. And then he pulled his mouth away from her, sliding his fingers between his lips instead. The sight sent another one of those lightning fast jolts through her, settling heavily in the pit of her belly, between her thighs, and she rocked her hips to ease it.
When his fingers touched her again, stroking over her skin, they were cool and wet, sending more shivers through her, leaving her aching and wanting.
She tugged on his hair, pulling his head back, and then kissed him, wet and open-mouthed, no finesse in it, just pure need.
"Abby," he murmured when she pulled back far enough to let him breathe, and the sound was tight, breathless. The fingers cupping her breast were still moving gently, a soft, rhythmic kneading that he didn't seem even aware of but that had her fighting not to wriggle, not to push closer into that touch. His other hand slipped down her back again, straight under the fabric of her knickers, pressing against the curve of her bum.
She placed both hands on his chest, feeling the muscles shift underneath her touch as she pushed upwards, away from him, and he tried to follow her. "Wait," she said, and it came out just as tight, just as breathless as anything that he'd said. Disappointment flitted across his face, but that wasn't what had stopped her. She stayed where she was, perched in his lap, one hand braced on his chest, as she twisted around and reached for her jeans, which were still draped over the coffee table.
His hands settled on her waist, steadying her, supporting her as she leant over further, her fingertips finally snagging on the fabric. She pulled them closer until she could grab hold of them properly and reel them in, pulling the small foil packet out of the pocket before discarding them entirely.
There was a sudden intake of breath from Connor and when she turned back to face him he was watching her, back to wide-eyed and half hopeful, half terrified. She held up the packet, twisting it slightly in her fingers. "Okay?" she asked softly and he nodded, eyes not leaving her face. She found her smile and it was slightly self-conscious as she added, "I... I bought them after we got back," because, of course, he'd care about that.
He nodded again, still looking slightly shell-shocked. When she held the packet out to him he hesitated for a moment and then he reached up to take it from her, all fumbling fingers and nervous smile.
She watched him seriously for a moment, taking it all in and feeling everything shift between them. It didn't scare her as much as it should have; maybe that was because Connor looked scared enough for the both of them. Or maybe it was because by now she was really bloody horny.
She had to stand up to take her knickers off. The move was perfunctory at first, until she realised Connor was watching her, the condom forgotten. She wasn't the kind of girl who could do a striptease - she was far too practical for that - but she could at least slide her fingers underneath the soft cotton fabric and push them down her legs slowly, inch by inch.
Connor watched the whole time, taking in a deep breath when she straightened up in front of him, now completely naked. The look on his face - awe and adoration and everything else - made it easy to straddle him again, and she settled back down on his lap, staring down at him.
He swallowed again, one hand settling on her leg, a warm and heavy weight. His thumb stroked lightly over the skin of her inner thigh, high up, only inches from her cunt, and she leant in and kissed him, her palms cupping his face and her own thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, echoing his rhythm.
He pressed closer, his fingers sliding across her skin and she wanted them on her, maybe even in her, but he pulled back too soon, focusing instead on the condom packet he still held. His fingers were shaking when he tried to tear it open, and it took him several attempts to get into it and pull the condom out. Even then he seemed a little unsure, turning the condom over and over as though he was struggling to work out how the hell it worked.
She closed her fingers over his, feeling him start at her touch. It was another one of those moments, she guessed. One of those where the wrong move could result in her losing everything, but she had no idea how this panned out, what the next few moves could - or should - be. In the end she settled for something really stupid.
"What did you say earlier?"
He looked at her blankly and she couldn't blame him for that one. "What?"
She closed her eyes briefly, searching for the right words, just the right ones, ones that couldn't be misinterpreted or put that old familiar distance between them, because things were changing and she wanted - needed - them to change in the right way. "When we were playing, before we started." He still looked blank, the colour starting to rise to his cheeks again. "The queen... About what the queen does."
"... controls the board?"
She nodded, relieved. "Yes. So... this time. Since I won this game. Why don't I...?"
He handed the condom over to her without even a hint of a protest, and that was Connor. No pretension, not with her. Not about this. Instead he watched silently, still a little awed, she thought, as she pinched the end of the condom, creating that necessary little bubble, and rolled it neatly down over his length.
"Okay?" she asked when she'd rolled it out all of the way, her fingers resting in the curled hair at the base of his cock, above his balls, where the skin was soft and wrinkled, almost fragile. All of his breath huffed out of him, half a laugh, half a gasp.
"Yeah. Just..."
"Just?" She gripped the base of his cock lightly, shifting position, ready for her next move.
"Just trying not to come in the next two point three seconds." And it startled a laugh out of her, one that he echoed, now grinning broadly like that had been startled out of him, too. And if there was something sheepish lurking underneath that smile, it was more than made up for by the sheer delight he seemed to take in her pleasure, and the fact that he'd finally relaxed.
"It will be fine, Connor," she said, letting her fingers stroke along his length but gently, very little pressure, not enough to take him over the edge if he really was that close. "If you come in two point three seconds, we'll just have to try again later."
"Yeah, like that's an incentive."
She smiled, all of her focus now on how he felt in her hand, how he'd feel inside her rather than listening to him babble. She shifted forward, her knees on either side of his waist, and pushed herself upright, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and the other still holding onto his cock. "I have more condoms," she murmured, brushing her lips over his, a promise and a reassurance and anything, everything else she could get into it. "Ready?"
"Yeah." He nodded, a quick little movement, suddenly so serious again that she had to fight the urge not to smile again, still worried about making the wrong move. Instead she kissed him, slow and sweet, feeling him relax again as she used his distraction to shift above him, pushing down lightly on the head of his cock with her fingers until she could guide him into her, and then lowering herself slowly as he slipped inside.
"Oh, Jesus fuck."
She laughed and let go of his shoulder, caught up in the feel of him sliding more deeply into her and in the idea that this - just this - could make Connor swear like a trooper. His hands settled on her hips, his fingers digging in, and she cupped his face in her fingers again, feeling the slight burn as his cock stretched her, filled her. Oh God, it was good. "Okay?"
"Yeah, just..." His voice was as tight as his fingers. "God, I never... I never thought... Jesus, you're so tight." The words came out jaggedly, on little explosions of breath. She wasn't, not really. But it had been a while, and he wasn't small.
"Okay?" she asked again, her fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck, stroking lightly over the skin while she waited for him, for whatever he needed.
"Yeah, just..." And he looked at her, wide-eyed and with worlds at play in the dark depths of his eyes. "I never thought..."
She kissed him, sweet at first and then heated, rocking slowly, back and forth, to give him time to adjust. And for her to adjust, too, to the breadth and the depth of him. His arms slid around her, holding her tightly, and his mouth was slack under hers, at least at first. She swallowed down each soft sound he let out as she moved.
"Just let me know when you're ready," she murmured against his mouth. His fingers were flexing against her skin now, not digging in; echoing the small, rhythmic movements of her hips. She pulled back far enough to look down at him and smile again, putting everything she could in it. It wasn't hard, but he was and she loved it. "When you don't think you're going to come in two point three seconds."
He huffed out a laugh, his head dropping down so that his face pressed against her shoulder. "Funny," he said again, his breath warm against her skin, and she curled her arm around his head, holding him to her until the muscles in his shoulders flexed again and he lifted his head.
"I'm ready."
"Okay." She shifted her weight until she wasn't rocking but pushing herself up and lowering herself onto him, still only a few inches at a time but enough to start sending little tendrils of pleasure curling through her. "Is that okay?"
"Yes. God, yes." He turned his face up towards her again, and she gave him the kiss he wanted and more for good measure. "More than okay."
"Good." Her head felt too heavy, rolling on her neck, and she let it fall forward until her forehead rested against his, their faces so close that her breath mingled with his. "That's good, Connor."
"Abby..." Her name came out broken, and she closed the gap between them, her mouth moving slowly, languidly over his. "God, I love you..."
She swallowed the words down, not ready to hear them, not ready to say them, not yet, but they settled inside her, warm and weighty, pulling her down onto him until he gasped and moaned. Her movements grew bolder, deliberately so. She could feel the beginnings of pleasure in the tensed muscles of her thighs, in the pit of her stomach, shivering all the way up her body everywhere it pressed against his. Little starbursts across her skin where they touched. His hands stayed clamped on her hips, not quite a death grip, but it was clear that he was losing himself in her, just like she was losing herself in him.
"Connor," she murmured against his mouth, stealing his breath and his fingers dragged over her skin, stealing hers. "Connor," she murmured again, and his fingers found her breast again, more roughly this time than they had before. It was clumsy but it was perfect; he pressed too hard and just hard enough for her, and she was so turned on now that even rough felt good.
"Is it... Is this okay?" he asked, and she cupped the back of his head again, guiding it downwards, lower than before rather than towards her neck. His mouth replaced his fingers on her nipple and the angle was awkward, his tongue rasping roughly over her skin even as she struggled to keep him inside her. But then she leant back a little further, and Connor leant forward, both hands back on her hips, and it worked, somehow. It worked, and he sucked a little harder, sending little sharp sparks of pleasure spiralling through her.
She arched her back even further, one hand braced on his knee behind her, both steadying her and giving her some leverage. It still wasn't enough, not quite. Not if he really was as close as he thought. She needed more friction, something rough and hard against her clit to make her come; now that she wasn't wrapped as tightly around him she wasn't going to get it from being pressed against his skin, where the coarse hairs grew at the end of his treasure trail.
"Connor," she said again, more demanding this time, and he raised his head, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide with pleasure and with his expression slack with it. She took hold of one of his wrists and he let her pull his hand away from her hip, guiding it around to the front where he could brace it against the dome of her stomach. All of her muscles were tight underneath his palm, and his strong, clever fingers spanned up towards her hip leaving his thumb pointed downwards. "Lower," she said, and he got it - God bless Connor and his ability to pick things up quickly. His thumb slid down into her dark curls, seeking out and finally finding the hood of her clitoris. The rhythm he picked up was jerky rather than smooth, but it worked, God, it worked: her fucking herself down onto Connor, Connor's thumb hard against her clit, and Connor watching her like she was everything, the queen of his fucking castle.
She let go of his neck, placing both hands on his knees, her own knees braced into the couch cushions. He slid his legs further apart, spreading her thighs wider and she wobbled for a second until the hand he still had on her hip moved around to her back and steadied her, letting her find her balance again. Her thighs burned but that was nothing to the heat rising inside her - the new position made it easier for her to move, to really go for it, and she found a rhythm that was harder and faster and deeper and absolutely fucking perfect.
Connor had both hands on her thighs now, fanned out like a butterfly, thumbs meeting in the middle. But he wasn't rubbing against her clit anymore. Instead he used his thumbs to ease her folds apart as she took him in deeper, rocking forward, slow and sure, and feeling the softness of his belly press against her on each downward stroke, the pressure making her want to moan and sob. When she opened her eyes to look at him he was staring downwards, watching as his cock slid in and out of her. The expression on his face was awed and greedy, hungry for her; they were looks of his she didn't recognise but she knew she wanted to see again. She needed to see them again.
She needed...
It was too much; she was too close. She pushed herself up again, capturing his face with both hands and moving in for another searing kiss. One thumb pressed back against her clit and lower, sliding against her slick wetness, but he wriggled the other hand free and wrapped it around her waist, holding her tightly even as he moaned into her mouth.
She kept moving, so close now, so fucking close she could taste it, every sinew, every fibre aching for it, reaching for it. He pulled her closer, grinding into her now, slow and sweet and deep, filling her up until she thought she'd break apart, fly into a thousand pieces. His tongue slid into her mouth and his fingers left her clit and sought out her breast again, where his fingers pressed against her nipple. Once again they were wet, but not from his spit, not this time. Wet from her, painting her skin with her own desire. And all the while he kept up that sweet pressure with his thumb against her clit where she needed it and then she was tumbling, falling, coming apart with his name on her lips.
He held her, steadying her and murmuring half-heard sounds against her sweaty skin as she came back down, sticky and satisfied. He was still hard in her, his hips moving restlessly so that he pushed into her incrementally, in and out, a gentle rocking that reminded her that he was there, that he hadn't come yet even if he wasn't saying anything. It was easier to focus on that, on the fluttery feeling of her cunt still spasming around him from the aftershocks of her orgasm, than it was to think about the fluttery feeling in her chest.
"What do you need?" she asked him, her voice a whisper. "Connor?"
"You." It wasn't an answer, not one that she needed but she was in control, wasn't she? At least of this game.
The queen controls the board, and the king yields.
She leant closer to him, her lips grazing along the outer rim of his ear. "Do you want to fuck me?" she murmured, feeling him shiver at the words. "Fuck me hard, fuck me slow?" She began to move her hips again, slow and languid now, too sensitive to want any pressure against her clit. Connor's hands slipped over her skin, clutching frantically until he found her hips again and could pull her to him on each downward stroke. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the couch cushions, and there was a small frown furrowing his brow, the kind of pained pleasure that told her he was close, just inches, seconds away from coming himself. "What do you need, Connor? Want me to do this?" She tightened up the muscles in her vagina, clenching them just to hear him gasp. He groaned, his fingers digging in more painfully as he pushed up into her. He was grinding into her now and his cock felt thick, filling her; she let out a gasp as he slid in deeply, then nipped at his ear with sharp teeth. "Or maybe you don't want to fuck me at all." The feel of him in her had stolen her breath away, but the words kept spilling out anyway, a litany of want and need. "Maybe you want me on my knees, on the floor in front of you. Maybe you want my mouth on your cock, sucking you off. Is that what you need?"
Apparently what he needed was her to talk dirty to him; he let out a strangled little cry as he bucked up into her, once, twice, hard and fast and deep as he finally came. She stayed with him, stroking her fingers along his skin and murmuring nonsense of her own as he sagged back against couch cushions, letting out a ragged little laugh. He sounded just as breathless as she was, but happy, so happy, and she smiled, burying it in his shoulder. His skin was salty under her tongue and she licked a line, long and slow, along his collarbone, feeling him squirm underneath her.
"Okay?" she murmured, pressing a kiss into the hollow where she'd licked. His fingers slid across the skin of her hip, down into the curve in the hollow of her back.
"Yeah. God. Yes. That was..."
He trailed off but she didn't need to hear more, making a happy little sound that had his hold on her tightening for a moment, not quite possessively. Not quite, but it still left her wanting to stay there, on his lap and in his arms, for as long as she could.
He pressed his mouth against her hairline, his breath warm against her skin. Her hair was damp again, but with sweat this time, not rain. She thought she might prefer it that way, although a shower wouldn't come amiss. And she needed to move - there were practicalities to deal with, like the condom to take off before it could get lost and give her another pregnancy scare. The one she'd had at sixteen was more than enough for her, and Connor was already starting to soften inside her. She started to pull away when his arms tightened briefly around her again, and the words he murmured this time weren't drowned out by the sounds of her own pleasure.
"I love you."
Connor's voice was barely above a whisper; she could pretend not to have heard if she wanted, if only because she didn't have an answer for him - not yet. Not one that didn't leave her too scared because it was a step, a change, too far and that was something her heart wasn't ready for yet.
She sat up and Connor's arms loosened and slid away. When she looked down into his face, he didn't look back, but his fingers traced small circles on her hip, as though he couldn't bear to let go of her entirely.
"We need to... um..."
He looked up at her, his face still slack with pleasure but with something darker and more pained lurking underneath. In the end, when all of her words fled in the face of his silence, and in the face of her embarrassment, she had to wriggle her hand down between them, her face burning, to catch hold of the condom so that she could slide off him and leave it behind. She had to force herself to ignore that vague feeling of loss when he slipped free.
"Oh, right." His hands darted movement towards his lap before he stopped, looking just as embarrassed at having to deal with it, weirdly so given not only what they'd just done and the fact that they were both still naked, but also because Connor never seemed to embarrass easily at all. Or maybe because they were both still naked. Naked and - in his case - vulnerable. "What do I...?"
There was a box of tissues on the coffee table and she twisted around, pulling a few out and handing them to him and then watching as he pulled the condom off, wadding it up in the tissues. He left it on the coffee table, of course, and normally she'd have words for that as well, if she could find any.
"You don't have to say it back," he said suddenly, and he wasn't looking at her, staring down at the coffee table instead - at the chessboard or the tissues or something else. Anything but her. "I mean..." And now he looked at her, really looked at her again, all bravado on the surface but with all of that sweetness, and all of that brokenness, that characterised Connor underneath. "It's okay."
Because the queen controlled the board and the king yielded; it wasn't a happy thought. Not this time.
"Connor..."
"So." He nodded jerkily, his eyes back to being fixed on the board because that's what he did when he felt too exposed; babbled and interrupted and expounded and hid in plain sight. "Do we need to get more condoms?" And asked exasperating questions.
"No," she said softly and he flinched, making her fingers flex with the sympathetic need to touch him. "I bought a pack of three. I'm pretty sure we're not going to run out before tomorrow."
"Oh." He gave her a painful twitch of a smile, fresh hope and familiar fear tangled up in it - and underneath it all, always underneath it all, his love for her. "Does that mean you want a rematch?"
There were so many ways to answer that question but only one of them was the right one. Only one of them would let her win.
She reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, curving her palm along the line of his jaw and feeling his stubble brush against her skin when he turned his face into her touch. "I think maybe I'd rather stop playing games, if that's okay with you, Connor."
The queen yields.
Checkmate.
The End
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor
Rating: NC-17/18
Spoilers: Set post series 3, but only vague references to the last episode
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Word Count: ~13,800
Status: Complete
Author's Notes: Written for irrel for help_haiti who, among other things, wanted Abby/Connor but uttered the immortal words You could write about them playing chess for all I care. So here you go. Abby and Connor playing chess ::g::
Many thanks to
aithine for whip-wielding beta duties, as always.
Summary: Queen takes king.
( Check. Mate. Part 1 of 1 )
~*~
He stopped objecting, at least out loud, and the game moved forward - move and countermove. It didn't take long for her to decide that they were evenly matched. She hadn't played for years - not since she was a kid, anyway - but Connor seemed distracted, even more so when he was first to capture one of her pieces, a pawn she was more than willing to sacrifice to him.
It was the least she could do, given everything over the years he'd been willing to sacrifice for her.
She slipped her cardigan off again, not minding now that she'd warmed up a bit, but it was weird how Connor kept glancing across at her afterwards; she wasn't wearing any less than she had been before she'd fetched it, but apparently the simple act of her removing anything had him all hot and bothered.
She swallowed a smile, feeling it tingling all the way down, fluttering in the depths of her stomach, and worked on getting him to lose one of his own pieces. When she finally snatched one of his pawns from the board, light-headed with both the glee of it and the anticipation, he stared at her for a long moment, lips parted. And then he reached down and peeled his socks off.
That was just not on, even if she'd been the one to introduce the 'loser's choice' rule. But he had nice feet, and that was a really odd thing to think.
He shifted position on the couch, tucking his feet away out of sight as he sat cross-legged. His smile this time was a little self-conscious around the edges and the very tips of his ears were red as he ducked his head, his focus fixed on the board between them.
She wasn't fooled.
Connor started to pay more attention after that, eyeing the board with a small, thoughtful frown. She knew him well enough by now to spot most of his tells - the way his eyes darted about, planning out his strategy, move by move, and the way his lips moved as he did so, silent murmurings as he worked things out in his head.
She was more interested in Connor than his strategy; it wasn't a surprise when he took another of her pieces, one of her bishops this time. He looked up with a grin, one that faded when she kept silent, still watching him. She had no idea what expression was on her face, how much she was giving away, but Connor's cheeks began to burn, too, matching his ears.
She kicked her shoes off, listening to them land, one after another, on the floor. Thump, thump.
It matched the beating of her heart, which sounded even louder in her ears.
Connor cleared his throat, leaning over to place her stolen bishop on the coffee table. His fingers lingered for a second as he glanced over at her, his cheeks still flushed red, and then he pulled back, folding his hands in his lap as he waited for her to make the next move. His fingers were shaking, barely noticeably.
She was so hyperaware of him that she noticed it anyway.
She leant forward and studied the board, mapping out future moves in her head, much as Connor had done, taking her time about it. The seconds drew out like soft taffy; she could hear the sound of Connor breathing over her heartbeat and the soft susurration of the rain still pattering down outside. He shifted position on the couch and the soft rustle of his jeans against the cushions sounded loud in the silence. The day was fading, growing dimmer now, and the light was taking on that twilight quality where everything was still and dreamlike; the world shrank down to just the pair of them in this room, nothing else. Nothing outside: no pain, no grief, no anomalies.
Nothing but her and Connor. Nothing else that mattered.
She moved her piece and he followed suit, move and countermove again and again. Winning and losing didn't seem to matter any more; what mattered, what had always mattered, was this dance between them, each of them guarding their pieces, afraid to lose any of their defences. But she lost a knight, and took off her socks. Connor lost a rook to her queen, and took off his t-shirt. And the world didn't end.
She was the first to lose her jeans, wriggling out of them to kick them off onto the floor. They fell onto the coffee table, half on and half off, and she left them where they landed, draped over the glass like it wasn't odd for them to be there. Connor watched her legs, his face angled like he wasn't. His hair was getting longer now - long enough for one lock of it to fall over his forehead, and his eyes glittered underneath. His face wasn't as flushed, not at first, but when she stole another glance in his direction, he bit his lip and looked back at the board; that was when the colour began to steal up his neck again, rising into his cheeks.
It didn't stop him looking back when he thought she was distracted; his lip was red as well, where he'd bitten at it, and wet where he'd licked it. She licked at her own lips and tried not to think about leaning forward, pushing the chessboard onto the floor and pressing her mouth against his, tasting his desire as well as her own.
This time her fingers shook as she moved another piece. If Connor noticed, he didn't give any indication.
Connor lost his long sleeved tee next, one of the ones he habitually wore under everything else, layer upon layer. He was still wearing a vest underneath and his shoulders were narrow - narrower than they should be, given the weight that rested on them, and her fingers twitched again with the need to touch, just to let him know he didn't have to do it on his own. She didn't bother pretending she wasn't looking, not like Connor had, and he looked back at her steadily for a moment until the colour rose to his face again under her scrutiny.
He had a swimmer's body for all that she didn't think he swam, not regularly. Long and lean, tapering down to a narrow waist and narrow hips. She'd always gone for broad shoulders and well-defined pecs. A sensible brain inside the package, yes, but there had to be a package. She was so stupid sometimes, and it meant she'd been missing out. Missing out on a lot of things, so focused on making sure that it was always meaningless fun rather than something serious, something real, because it was less threatening when she had nothing to lose. But now...
She lost one of her pieces to his advances, just gave it away to him, and lost her t-shirt as well. No vest for her, and if, just for a second, she wished that she'd planned this in advance and put on something a little more special than a plain, pale blue bra with minimal lace, well, Connor didn't seem to mind. He swallowed and licked his lips again before tearing his eyes away.
They drifted back, more than once. His face and neck stayed pink, and there was no hiding the way his fingers shook when he reached out for the board. His fingers hovered over one piece before moving on to another, and she tilted her head, a frown crinkling her brow as she slowly worked out his strategy.
He had a choice, she realised. He could take her queen in a couple of moves and have her remove another item of clothing, but if he did that he'd leave himself open; she could probably checkmate him three moves after that. Or he could resist temptation and maybe go on to win down the line. She wasn't a good enough player to forecast how the game would go beyond three or four moves ahead and see the outcome with any great certainty, but she suspected that Connor might be. He kept so many things in his head, all those balls that he juggled on a daily basis, flitting from one to another in a second or a heartbeat; if he dropped them sometimes, it was no more than anyone else would do in the same situation. He probably dropped things less frequently, if she was being fair.
Connor hesitated, his hand hovering over the piece that would end up taking her queen. He looked at her - really looked at her, straight in the face - and she couldn't read his expression, not this time, not past the pink and the hope that was always there. Then he sighed and took hold of the piece, committing himself. When he'd removed her queen from the board, he looked back at her, saying nothing, the moment stretching out between them.
"You're going to lose," she said quietly, and his mouth quirked.
"Probably," he said and it sounded too loud in the silence.
"Definitely."
He nodded, no amusement in his face this time in spite of the way that his lips were still turned up at the corner. Instead there was kind of a resigned sadness, rueful and a little lost. "It's not a reason not to play, though, is it?" He flicked one eyebrow up, pulling out another of those smiles of his, one of the ones he tried - and failed - to hide behind. She wasn't sure this time who he was trying to convince: her or himself.
"Do you want to keep playing, or give in to the inevitable now?" She was trying for arch, something playful, but Connor's eyes flicked away from her for a moment, his face still the way it was whenever something hit him and hit hard, that moment of frozenness before the pain hit.
When he looked back, the mask was firmly in place but cracked, as it always was, at the edges; Connor, in spite of everything, was no good at pretending. He never had been, even if sometimes she couldn't read what lay behind it all.
"Give in to the inevitable," he said, and his smile was still sweet, also in spite of everything. He reached out and tipped his king over, a sign that even she recognised.
The queen controls the board.
Her move.
"You have to pay the forfeit," she said, and the words echoed in her head. It was strange how it felt like whatever was between them was brittle and would crack if she said it too loud, moved too quickly for it. Like it couldn't bear the weight unless she stepped carefully.
He nodded again, half with trepidation and half rueful, from what she could tell, and that smile was still playing around the edges of his mouth, never settling entirely.
She'd lost her queen; she owed him another item of clothing but he didn't ask, didn't push it. She owed him more than that or - if not owed - well. Wanted to give, maybe, or take or whatever. But he still didn't - wouldn't - make that final move to win the game.
She swallowed, watching as his eyes flicked down to her throat, dropping further to her chest before they crept back up to her face. They crept back up slowly, but not just because Connor wasn't subtle. It was almost as though he was afraid that this might be his last chance to look at her, like he was filing it all away with all of the other curveballs she'd thrown him over the years.
She licked her lips, knowing it was now or her courage would fail her forever. Fail both of them. "Take the rest of them off," she said and that got his attention, his eyes flicking straight up to meet hers. "All of them." Despite the seriousness - the fear and the hope and everything else tangled up, tight in her chest - she had to fight not to giggle, not wanting to make Connor feel like she was mocking him when she wasn't. But it was hard when the joy was right there, bubbling up, all giddy glee and terror mixed together.
Connor simply looked at her, his face reddening further. Then his hands dropped into his lap as he started to fumble with the buckle of his belt. His eyes dropped as well. He didn't - wouldn't - look at her, not at first. Not until the zip was down and he'd lifted his hips up to slide his jeans off.
When he did finally look back in her direction his expression was almost pleading, as though he thought she'd make fun of him or that she was doing this to make a point or something; she couldn't tell. But if that was what he really thought - if that was how scared he was - she had no one to blame for it but herself.
"The curtains are open," he said, the nervousness slipping out into plain sight. She nodded seriously because she wasn't stupid; she realised how easy it could be to mess this up, more even than she already had.
"I'll close them," she said, and the muscle in his cheek jumped. Under other circumstances, the slightly hunted, haunted look on his face might have been amusing; under these circumstances, it just made her heart ache. She parted her lips, ready to tell him that he could forget about this if he wanted, but then he took a deep breath, no longer looking at her but instead staring straight ahead of him. She recognised that expression, that 'Connor working up his courage' look. She wasn't surprised when his fingers caught hold of the bottom of his vest and he took in another deep breath, holding it this time, screwing up his courage those last few inches.
She took pity on him, pushing herself to her feet, up and away from him, giving him whatever space he needed. She didn't look at him; instead, she walked around the coffee table towards the window. That caught his attention; he stopped what he was doing, twisting in his seat when she moved behind the sofa so that he could continue to watch her.
It was even dimmer outside, darkness falling. The streetlights were on and, as usual, their quiet lane was deserted. She could leave the curtains open all night and the chances were that no one would pass by close enough to look in, especially not in this miserable weather. Puddles were forming in the road, and the rain was still streaming down the window. The glass would be cold if she reached out and touched it, and her face was burning now. The urge to press her forehead against it, just to feel that coolness, just to feel centred again, was almost irresistible.
She resisted anyway, pulling the curtains shut and shutting out the world with it. She didn't turn to look back at Connor, not immediately. It was easier to do this when she couldn't see him, even knowing that he could see her.
Even knowing that he was watching her.
Especially knowing that he was watching her.
She'd been naked with men before, done things that Connor could only dream about and probably - knowing Connor - had. It should be easy to remove one more item of clothing, even if it changed everything. Everything changed, anyway, in a moment. This way she could change it for the better.
Her hands didn't shake, not even when she slipped the bra straps down over her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She could hear Connor's sudden intake of breath over the sound of the rain. Or maybe that was her breathing, not him.
It only took a heartbeat to turn around and face him.
He swallowed but his eyes didn't immediately drop down to her bare breasts, the way she'd thought they would. In a weird way, the fact he didn't look was disappointing, and maybe even left her a little anxious, but before she could get too worked up about it he turned away again, facing forward rather than looking at her. She'd only just folded her arms across her chest, a little defensively, when he let out the breath he was holding and tugged his vest off over his head.
It made his hair stick up every which way and something in her melted at that. Her fingers were itching with the urge to sink them into his hair, to smooth over the vulnerable curves of his skull - to kiss him until he ached for it as much as she did - but she took her time walking back over to the couch. Connor's head dipped briefly out of sight, only his shoulders visible above the back of the couch, the muscles of his arms flexing. She knew why - knew what item of clothing he was busy removing now. His boxers.
She didn't let it hurry her steps, too caught up in the inevitability of this and in the heavy silence of the room to want to rush things. Instead she listened to the sound of Connor's breathing and to the beat of her heart, strong and steady.
When she was finally back in front of the couch again, Connor had pulled one of the scatter cushions into his lap where it perched awkwardly, hiding him from view like a red velvet chastity belt. His fingers were clenched tightly in the fabric and his face was no longer flushed; it was pale, with lines of tension radiating from the corners of his mouth. He still didn't look at her, not at first. Not for long moments and then finally, when she stayed silent, he glanced over.
This time his eyes dropped, taking in her semi-naked form, and his face didn't stay pale. The flush started in his chest, rising up his neck and into his cheeks. She watched, fascinated, as he coloured.
"Hey," she said, settling on the couch. She knelt on it rather than sat, facing him again. He swallowed, glancing over at her and then away. His tongue darted out, licking at his lips.
"Hey," he said, and he blinked, leaving his eyes closed for a beat too long for it to be entirely natural. "Is this the only... is this the forfeit, then?"
His voice was pitched higher than normal and his fingers tightened again, knuckles white against the cushion fabric. She paused, considering her answer. Her move again. But it couldn't be the wrong one, or she'd lose the entire game and end up having to forfeit her king.
"You don't have to do anything else," she said, watching as some of that tension leached away from his fingers. "Well..." When he looked at her, straight in the eyes this time rather than at her chest, she held his gaze, mischief in hers but not mocking. Never mocking. "Not unless you want to."
Another swallow and she dropped her gaze down to watch his throat move. When she looked up again, into his eyes, they were scared, yes, but she didn't think that was the only emotion in them. Whatever else there was, it made her brave. She leant forward, slowly enough for him to move away if he wanted to. Crack a stupid Connor joke, something that was supposed to relieve the tension but instead ruined the moment. But he didn't.
His face was warm against her fingertips and he swallowed again when she leant in further, cupping his face with the palm of her hand like she had the first time they'd kissed. She wasn't being fair to him, like she never really was. In spite of everything, his awkwardness, his inability sometimes to string a coherent sentence together, he hadn't ruined that moment. She had, afterwards, with her stupid cold feet and 'let's not be weird'.
"Do you want to?" she murmured in that brief pause before her mouth met his. He nodded, quick and jerkily, and she closed the last few millimetres between them, feeling him melt under her touch, all of the tension leaving him and leaving nothing but this.
She took her time, her lips moving slowly over his. When his fingers wrapped gently around her wrist - not to hold her, it seemed, but to steady him - she grew even braver, tracing her tongue along his lips. They parted for her and the tip of her tongue touched his; she felt the jolt of that touch all the way through her, like lightning to her belly, like she was sixteen again, heavy petting on the sofa with her boyfriend.
She finally needed to breathe and pulled back far enough to see Connor. His eyes were closed, like they'd been the first time they'd kissed, and his lips were parted, pink and wet. She traced her thumb along the line of his cheekbone, up towards his hair, and his eyes fluttered open. When he saw her watching him that closely, he flushed again, pink staining his cheeks, and his gaze darted away from hers before being drawn back.
"Hey." Her voice sounded hoarse and she cleared her throat, still a little breathless about it all. The smile he gave her this time was fleeting but real, all nervous enthusiasm but still with Connor's patented sweetness underneath. His thigh was tense where it pressed against her knee but she didn't think it was a bad tension, not this time. It was a good tension, the right kind of tension, and she wanted to feel it pressed up against all of her, matching her tension with his. She slid her fingers into his hair and kissed him again and, again, he melted into her, all hot and sugary sweet.
He twisted to face her awkwardly, his knee bumping hers, and his fingers settled on her shoulder, warm and solid against her skin. He still wasn't close enough, or she wasn't close enough to him. She wanted - needed - to be touching him more than this, to feel the heat of his body pressed up against hers.
And she was braver now. She had to be.
Queen takes the king.
She pushed herself up onto her knees, catching hold of the back of the couch with one hand to steady herself - the other stayed in his hair, curved around the sweet contours of his skull. She kept her balance perfectly as she swung one leg out over his and settled herself in his lap, facing him.
He let out a soft 'oof' of surprise; it puffed against her mouth and she swallowed it down, her lips turning up against his in a pleased little smile. Secure now, she wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and kissed him harder, more heated. His lips parted underneath hers and this time when she teased the edges of his mouth, tracing along his teeth with her tongue, his tongue was right there, teasing her back.
His hands settled on her waist and then moved across her skin, the roughness of the calluses on his thumbs scratching lightly. It made her shiver, instinctively arching her back away from the pressure so that she pushed against him instead; his grip on her tightened in response, a feedback loop of pleasure. One of his hands drifted up the line of her spine, settling between her shoulder blades and pulling her closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest, bare skin against bare skin. The other - in a move that was unusually brave and forthright for Connor - slid lower, until his fingers were tracing along the elastic waistband of her knickers, plain white cotton and not at all sexy. Connor didn't seem to agree with that assessment, not judging by the soft sound he let out when he grew even braver and the first of his fingers dipped even lower, slipping underneath the fabric to skim over the soft skin underneath.
The zip on the cushion still trapped between them was digging into her stomach now, even more so when she wriggled encouragingly, desperate to get closer to him. It was the only barrier between them - the cushion and her knickers - and she needed, desperately needed, both of them gone. She let go of Connor reluctantly and leant back far enough to get a good grip on the cushion's fabric, tugging at it impatiently even as Connor leant forward, stealing another kiss. Stealing? No. She'd give them to him, every single one she had, kiss after kiss after kiss until he was as giddy with this whole thing as she was.
She tugged harder, watching Connor rather than what she was doing, which meant that she couldn't fail to miss the nervousness that crossed his face again when it finally came free and was tossed behind her. From the clatter, it landed on the chessboard and knocked some of the pieces over, but she didn't care.
She cared about this, and about Connor.
He swallowed again and again he gave her another one of those little smiles, sweet and edible, so utterly edible that she had to lean in again, kiss him until his eyes drifted closed, until he couldn't think of anything but her, how she felt, how she tasted. Only then did she pull back far enough to look down at what he'd used the cushion to hide.
He was hard - that wasn't a surprise. And he had nothing to be ashamed of in that department, which shouldn't have been a surprise either because she knew better than to judge a book by whatever covers it had. The surprise was when he reached for her again, pulling her back towards him and kissing her thoroughly, no hesitation this time. His hand drifted up her back again, over her shoulder, tracing along the faint red line left by her bra strap. She opened her eyes, her lips leaving his, and watched his face as his fingers moved over her skin. The line he traced was feathery soft but wherever he touched left her skin feeling hot and tight, tingling with sensation. He didn't take his eyes off her, holding her gaze as his hand moved lower, down the slope of her breast, leaving goosebumps in his wake. Only when he reached her nipple, which tightened under his touch, the skin around the areole crinkling as he stroked his thumb across it, did he tear his eyes away and look down, and she didn't miss the soft gasp he let out when he liked what he saw.
She pressed her mouth against the skin of his temple as his fingers delicately mapped out her curves, apparently fascinated by the way her body reacted to him: his touch and the scent of him. And then she pressed gently on the back of his head, guiding his mouth down to the slope her neck, the place where she was most sensitive.
He kissed her there and she shivered, caught between the two sensations, his lips against his skin and his fingers still stroking her, circling round and around her nipple. And then he pulled his mouth away from her, sliding his fingers between his lips instead. The sight sent another one of those lightning fast jolts through her, settling heavily in the pit of her belly, between her thighs, and she rocked her hips to ease it.
When his fingers touched her again, stroking over her skin, they were cool and wet, sending more shivers through her, leaving her aching and wanting.
She tugged on his hair, pulling his head back, and then kissed him, wet and open-mouthed, no finesse in it, just pure need.
"Abby," he murmured when she pulled back far enough to let him breathe, and the sound was tight, breathless. The fingers cupping her breast were still moving gently, a soft, rhythmic kneading that he didn't seem even aware of but that had her fighting not to wriggle, not to push closer into that touch. His other hand slipped down her back again, straight under the fabric of her knickers, pressing against the curve of her bum.
She placed both hands on his chest, feeling the muscles shift underneath her touch as she pushed upwards, away from him, and he tried to follow her. "Wait," she said, and it came out just as tight, just as breathless as anything that he'd said. Disappointment flitted across his face, but that wasn't what had stopped her. She stayed where she was, perched in his lap, one hand braced on his chest, as she twisted around and reached for her jeans, which were still draped over the coffee table.
His hands settled on her waist, steadying her, supporting her as she leant over further, her fingertips finally snagging on the fabric. She pulled them closer until she could grab hold of them properly and reel them in, pulling the small foil packet out of the pocket before discarding them entirely.
There was a sudden intake of breath from Connor and when she turned back to face him he was watching her, back to wide-eyed and half hopeful, half terrified. She held up the packet, twisting it slightly in her fingers. "Okay?" she asked softly and he nodded, eyes not leaving her face. She found her smile and it was slightly self-conscious as she added, "I... I bought them after we got back," because, of course, he'd care about that.
He nodded again, still looking slightly shell-shocked. When she held the packet out to him he hesitated for a moment and then he reached up to take it from her, all fumbling fingers and nervous smile.
She watched him seriously for a moment, taking it all in and feeling everything shift between them. It didn't scare her as much as it should have; maybe that was because Connor looked scared enough for the both of them. Or maybe it was because by now she was really bloody horny.
She had to stand up to take her knickers off. The move was perfunctory at first, until she realised Connor was watching her, the condom forgotten. She wasn't the kind of girl who could do a striptease - she was far too practical for that - but she could at least slide her fingers underneath the soft cotton fabric and push them down her legs slowly, inch by inch.
Connor watched the whole time, taking in a deep breath when she straightened up in front of him, now completely naked. The look on his face - awe and adoration and everything else - made it easy to straddle him again, and she settled back down on his lap, staring down at him.
He swallowed again, one hand settling on her leg, a warm and heavy weight. His thumb stroked lightly over the skin of her inner thigh, high up, only inches from her cunt, and she leant in and kissed him, her palms cupping his face and her own thumbs stroking across his cheekbones, echoing his rhythm.
He pressed closer, his fingers sliding across her skin and she wanted them on her, maybe even in her, but he pulled back too soon, focusing instead on the condom packet he still held. His fingers were shaking when he tried to tear it open, and it took him several attempts to get into it and pull the condom out. Even then he seemed a little unsure, turning the condom over and over as though he was struggling to work out how the hell it worked.
She closed her fingers over his, feeling him start at her touch. It was another one of those moments, she guessed. One of those where the wrong move could result in her losing everything, but she had no idea how this panned out, what the next few moves could - or should - be. In the end she settled for something really stupid.
"What did you say earlier?"
He looked at her blankly and she couldn't blame him for that one. "What?"
She closed her eyes briefly, searching for the right words, just the right ones, ones that couldn't be misinterpreted or put that old familiar distance between them, because things were changing and she wanted - needed - them to change in the right way. "When we were playing, before we started." He still looked blank, the colour starting to rise to his cheeks again. "The queen... About what the queen does."
"... controls the board?"
She nodded, relieved. "Yes. So... this time. Since I won this game. Why don't I...?"
He handed the condom over to her without even a hint of a protest, and that was Connor. No pretension, not with her. Not about this. Instead he watched silently, still a little awed, she thought, as she pinched the end of the condom, creating that necessary little bubble, and rolled it neatly down over his length.
"Okay?" she asked when she'd rolled it out all of the way, her fingers resting in the curled hair at the base of his cock, above his balls, where the skin was soft and wrinkled, almost fragile. All of his breath huffed out of him, half a laugh, half a gasp.
"Yeah. Just..."
"Just?" She gripped the base of his cock lightly, shifting position, ready for her next move.
"Just trying not to come in the next two point three seconds." And it startled a laugh out of her, one that he echoed, now grinning broadly like that had been startled out of him, too. And if there was something sheepish lurking underneath that smile, it was more than made up for by the sheer delight he seemed to take in her pleasure, and the fact that he'd finally relaxed.
"It will be fine, Connor," she said, letting her fingers stroke along his length but gently, very little pressure, not enough to take him over the edge if he really was that close. "If you come in two point three seconds, we'll just have to try again later."
"Yeah, like that's an incentive."
She smiled, all of her focus now on how he felt in her hand, how he'd feel inside her rather than listening to him babble. She shifted forward, her knees on either side of his waist, and pushed herself upright, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and the other still holding onto his cock. "I have more condoms," she murmured, brushing her lips over his, a promise and a reassurance and anything, everything else she could get into it. "Ready?"
"Yeah." He nodded, a quick little movement, suddenly so serious again that she had to fight the urge not to smile again, still worried about making the wrong move. Instead she kissed him, slow and sweet, feeling him relax again as she used his distraction to shift above him, pushing down lightly on the head of his cock with her fingers until she could guide him into her, and then lowering herself slowly as he slipped inside.
"Oh, Jesus fuck."
She laughed and let go of his shoulder, caught up in the feel of him sliding more deeply into her and in the idea that this - just this - could make Connor swear like a trooper. His hands settled on her hips, his fingers digging in, and she cupped his face in her fingers again, feeling the slight burn as his cock stretched her, filled her. Oh God, it was good. "Okay?"
"Yeah, just..." His voice was as tight as his fingers. "God, I never... I never thought... Jesus, you're so tight." The words came out jaggedly, on little explosions of breath. She wasn't, not really. But it had been a while, and he wasn't small.
"Okay?" she asked again, her fingers curling into the hair on the nape of his neck, stroking lightly over the skin while she waited for him, for whatever he needed.
"Yeah, just..." And he looked at her, wide-eyed and with worlds at play in the dark depths of his eyes. "I never thought..."
She kissed him, sweet at first and then heated, rocking slowly, back and forth, to give him time to adjust. And for her to adjust, too, to the breadth and the depth of him. His arms slid around her, holding her tightly, and his mouth was slack under hers, at least at first. She swallowed down each soft sound he let out as she moved.
"Just let me know when you're ready," she murmured against his mouth. His fingers were flexing against her skin now, not digging in; echoing the small, rhythmic movements of her hips. She pulled back far enough to look down at him and smile again, putting everything she could in it. It wasn't hard, but he was and she loved it. "When you don't think you're going to come in two point three seconds."
He huffed out a laugh, his head dropping down so that his face pressed against her shoulder. "Funny," he said again, his breath warm against her skin, and she curled her arm around his head, holding him to her until the muscles in his shoulders flexed again and he lifted his head.
"I'm ready."
"Okay." She shifted her weight until she wasn't rocking but pushing herself up and lowering herself onto him, still only a few inches at a time but enough to start sending little tendrils of pleasure curling through her. "Is that okay?"
"Yes. God, yes." He turned his face up towards her again, and she gave him the kiss he wanted and more for good measure. "More than okay."
"Good." Her head felt too heavy, rolling on her neck, and she let it fall forward until her forehead rested against his, their faces so close that her breath mingled with his. "That's good, Connor."
"Abby..." Her name came out broken, and she closed the gap between them, her mouth moving slowly, languidly over his. "God, I love you..."
She swallowed the words down, not ready to hear them, not ready to say them, not yet, but they settled inside her, warm and weighty, pulling her down onto him until he gasped and moaned. Her movements grew bolder, deliberately so. She could feel the beginnings of pleasure in the tensed muscles of her thighs, in the pit of her stomach, shivering all the way up her body everywhere it pressed against his. Little starbursts across her skin where they touched. His hands stayed clamped on her hips, not quite a death grip, but it was clear that he was losing himself in her, just like she was losing herself in him.
"Connor," she murmured against his mouth, stealing his breath and his fingers dragged over her skin, stealing hers. "Connor," she murmured again, and his fingers found her breast again, more roughly this time than they had before. It was clumsy but it was perfect; he pressed too hard and just hard enough for her, and she was so turned on now that even rough felt good.
"Is it... Is this okay?" he asked, and she cupped the back of his head again, guiding it downwards, lower than before rather than towards her neck. His mouth replaced his fingers on her nipple and the angle was awkward, his tongue rasping roughly over her skin even as she struggled to keep him inside her. But then she leant back a little further, and Connor leant forward, both hands back on her hips, and it worked, somehow. It worked, and he sucked a little harder, sending little sharp sparks of pleasure spiralling through her.
She arched her back even further, one hand braced on his knee behind her, both steadying her and giving her some leverage. It still wasn't enough, not quite. Not if he really was as close as he thought. She needed more friction, something rough and hard against her clit to make her come; now that she wasn't wrapped as tightly around him she wasn't going to get it from being pressed against his skin, where the coarse hairs grew at the end of his treasure trail.
"Connor," she said again, more demanding this time, and he raised his head, his eyes dark, his pupils blown wide with pleasure and with his expression slack with it. She took hold of one of his wrists and he let her pull his hand away from her hip, guiding it around to the front where he could brace it against the dome of her stomach. All of her muscles were tight underneath his palm, and his strong, clever fingers spanned up towards her hip leaving his thumb pointed downwards. "Lower," she said, and he got it - God bless Connor and his ability to pick things up quickly. His thumb slid down into her dark curls, seeking out and finally finding the hood of her clitoris. The rhythm he picked up was jerky rather than smooth, but it worked, God, it worked: her fucking herself down onto Connor, Connor's thumb hard against her clit, and Connor watching her like she was everything, the queen of his fucking castle.
She let go of his neck, placing both hands on his knees, her own knees braced into the couch cushions. He slid his legs further apart, spreading her thighs wider and she wobbled for a second until the hand he still had on her hip moved around to her back and steadied her, letting her find her balance again. Her thighs burned but that was nothing to the heat rising inside her - the new position made it easier for her to move, to really go for it, and she found a rhythm that was harder and faster and deeper and absolutely fucking perfect.
Connor had both hands on her thighs now, fanned out like a butterfly, thumbs meeting in the middle. But he wasn't rubbing against her clit anymore. Instead he used his thumbs to ease her folds apart as she took him in deeper, rocking forward, slow and sure, and feeling the softness of his belly press against her on each downward stroke, the pressure making her want to moan and sob. When she opened her eyes to look at him he was staring downwards, watching as his cock slid in and out of her. The expression on his face was awed and greedy, hungry for her; they were looks of his she didn't recognise but she knew she wanted to see again. She needed to see them again.
She needed...
It was too much; she was too close. She pushed herself up again, capturing his face with both hands and moving in for another searing kiss. One thumb pressed back against her clit and lower, sliding against her slick wetness, but he wriggled the other hand free and wrapped it around her waist, holding her tightly even as he moaned into her mouth.
She kept moving, so close now, so fucking close she could taste it, every sinew, every fibre aching for it, reaching for it. He pulled her closer, grinding into her now, slow and sweet and deep, filling her up until she thought she'd break apart, fly into a thousand pieces. His tongue slid into her mouth and his fingers left her clit and sought out her breast again, where his fingers pressed against her nipple. Once again they were wet, but not from his spit, not this time. Wet from her, painting her skin with her own desire. And all the while he kept up that sweet pressure with his thumb against her clit where she needed it and then she was tumbling, falling, coming apart with his name on her lips.
He held her, steadying her and murmuring half-heard sounds against her sweaty skin as she came back down, sticky and satisfied. He was still hard in her, his hips moving restlessly so that he pushed into her incrementally, in and out, a gentle rocking that reminded her that he was there, that he hadn't come yet even if he wasn't saying anything. It was easier to focus on that, on the fluttery feeling of her cunt still spasming around him from the aftershocks of her orgasm, than it was to think about the fluttery feeling in her chest.
"What do you need?" she asked him, her voice a whisper. "Connor?"
"You." It wasn't an answer, not one that she needed but she was in control, wasn't she? At least of this game.
The queen controls the board, and the king yields.
She leant closer to him, her lips grazing along the outer rim of his ear. "Do you want to fuck me?" she murmured, feeling him shiver at the words. "Fuck me hard, fuck me slow?" She began to move her hips again, slow and languid now, too sensitive to want any pressure against her clit. Connor's hands slipped over her skin, clutching frantically until he found her hips again and could pull her to him on each downward stroke. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the couch cushions, and there was a small frown furrowing his brow, the kind of pained pleasure that told her he was close, just inches, seconds away from coming himself. "What do you need, Connor? Want me to do this?" She tightened up the muscles in her vagina, clenching them just to hear him gasp. He groaned, his fingers digging in more painfully as he pushed up into her. He was grinding into her now and his cock felt thick, filling her; she let out a gasp as he slid in deeply, then nipped at his ear with sharp teeth. "Or maybe you don't want to fuck me at all." The feel of him in her had stolen her breath away, but the words kept spilling out anyway, a litany of want and need. "Maybe you want me on my knees, on the floor in front of you. Maybe you want my mouth on your cock, sucking you off. Is that what you need?"
Apparently what he needed was her to talk dirty to him; he let out a strangled little cry as he bucked up into her, once, twice, hard and fast and deep as he finally came. She stayed with him, stroking her fingers along his skin and murmuring nonsense of her own as he sagged back against couch cushions, letting out a ragged little laugh. He sounded just as breathless as she was, but happy, so happy, and she smiled, burying it in his shoulder. His skin was salty under her tongue and she licked a line, long and slow, along his collarbone, feeling him squirm underneath her.
"Okay?" she murmured, pressing a kiss into the hollow where she'd licked. His fingers slid across the skin of her hip, down into the curve in the hollow of her back.
"Yeah. God. Yes. That was..."
He trailed off but she didn't need to hear more, making a happy little sound that had his hold on her tightening for a moment, not quite possessively. Not quite, but it still left her wanting to stay there, on his lap and in his arms, for as long as she could.
He pressed his mouth against her hairline, his breath warm against her skin. Her hair was damp again, but with sweat this time, not rain. She thought she might prefer it that way, although a shower wouldn't come amiss. And she needed to move - there were practicalities to deal with, like the condom to take off before it could get lost and give her another pregnancy scare. The one she'd had at sixteen was more than enough for her, and Connor was already starting to soften inside her. She started to pull away when his arms tightened briefly around her again, and the words he murmured this time weren't drowned out by the sounds of her own pleasure.
"I love you."
Connor's voice was barely above a whisper; she could pretend not to have heard if she wanted, if only because she didn't have an answer for him - not yet. Not one that didn't leave her too scared because it was a step, a change, too far and that was something her heart wasn't ready for yet.
She sat up and Connor's arms loosened and slid away. When she looked down into his face, he didn't look back, but his fingers traced small circles on her hip, as though he couldn't bear to let go of her entirely.
"We need to... um..."
He looked up at her, his face still slack with pleasure but with something darker and more pained lurking underneath. In the end, when all of her words fled in the face of his silence, and in the face of her embarrassment, she had to wriggle her hand down between them, her face burning, to catch hold of the condom so that she could slide off him and leave it behind. She had to force herself to ignore that vague feeling of loss when he slipped free.
"Oh, right." His hands darted movement towards his lap before he stopped, looking just as embarrassed at having to deal with it, weirdly so given not only what they'd just done and the fact that they were both still naked, but also because Connor never seemed to embarrass easily at all. Or maybe because they were both still naked. Naked and - in his case - vulnerable. "What do I...?"
There was a box of tissues on the coffee table and she twisted around, pulling a few out and handing them to him and then watching as he pulled the condom off, wadding it up in the tissues. He left it on the coffee table, of course, and normally she'd have words for that as well, if she could find any.
"You don't have to say it back," he said suddenly, and he wasn't looking at her, staring down at the coffee table instead - at the chessboard or the tissues or something else. Anything but her. "I mean..." And now he looked at her, really looked at her again, all bravado on the surface but with all of that sweetness, and all of that brokenness, that characterised Connor underneath. "It's okay."
Because the queen controlled the board and the king yielded; it wasn't a happy thought. Not this time.
"Connor..."
"So." He nodded jerkily, his eyes back to being fixed on the board because that's what he did when he felt too exposed; babbled and interrupted and expounded and hid in plain sight. "Do we need to get more condoms?" And asked exasperating questions.
"No," she said softly and he flinched, making her fingers flex with the sympathetic need to touch him. "I bought a pack of three. I'm pretty sure we're not going to run out before tomorrow."
"Oh." He gave her a painful twitch of a smile, fresh hope and familiar fear tangled up in it - and underneath it all, always underneath it all, his love for her. "Does that mean you want a rematch?"
There were so many ways to answer that question but only one of them was the right one. Only one of them would let her win.
She reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek, curving her palm along the line of his jaw and feeling his stubble brush against her skin when he turned his face into her touch. "I think maybe I'd rather stop playing games, if that's okay with you, Connor."
The queen yields.
Checkmate.
The End