Restless in the Static - Primeval - Becker/Connor
Title: Restless in the Static
Pairing: Becker/Connor
Word Count: 2400
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the confined square of my kink bingo card.
Summary: After being potentially contaminated by a mushroom monster, Becker and Connor have to be quarantined together. Becker isn't a big fan of confinement.
If there was enough space to pace, Becker would be pacing. Instead, all that he is doing is twitching, which is not at all an acceptable substitute - especially not when he keeps staring at Connor as if he's going to shoot him the second he gets his hands back on a gun.
"It wasn't my fault!" Connor protests, not for the first time.
Becker glares at him again. It seems to be even more insistent this time.
"This time it genuinely wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that it was going to sporulate on us?"
"You're the expert, Connor. If you don't know that kind of thing, there's no point bringing you along at all."
Connor wishes, really wishes, that there was something in the contamination room that he could throw at Becker's head. Becker deserves to have a great, big, bumpy bruise. How many times have he and Abby saved everyone's arses now? And yet how many times have the soldiers still insisted that they're a liability?
"Well, we've not turned into mushroom men yet," Connor points out. "That's got to be a good sign."
Becker gives a groan that implies that that isn't the kind of positive thinking that he wants to hear. He paces some more: two steps in each direction is all that he can do before he reaches a wall.
"Becker, stop it. You're making me dizzy."
"I don't like places like this," Becker grits out.
Connor looks around. "Contamination chambers? I'm not a big fan either."
"No, I mean..." Becker locks his hands behind his head. "I don't like being locked up."
"Claustophobia?"
"Not exactly. It's not the tight space that I don't like. It's being stuck here. Locked up."
"It's only going to be for a day or so," Connor reassures him, although now that he says it it doesn't sound as reassuring as he thought. "Come on. Sit down. It's going to be fine."
Becker's legs twitch a few times, but after a moment he does as Connor says and takes a seat next to him on the bench. His body is a study in tension. A posture class could happily use him as an example, and for a moment Connor debates whether or not he could balance a book on his head.
"Stop looking at me," Becker orders.
"Right, sure, yeah," Connor mumbles, and stares at his feet instead.
*
"Do you feel anything yet? Any itchiness?"
"Shut up, Connor."
"'cause I think I do. At the back of my neck. Can you check for me?"
"This job isn't worth the pay, sometimes."
*
Three hours in, and neither of them has turned into a sporulating dinosaur yet. Connor is counting that as a victory.
Becker, on the other hand, is turning into a bag of restless nerves, which might be even worse.
"C'mon, Becker. Focus on me. Focus on how annoying I am. That's better, isn't it?"
Becker groans and closes his eyes.
"Why don't you try to sleep? It'll make the time pass faster."
Becker shows no sign of being able to hear him. He doesn't even tell him to shut up. Connor decides that that must be a sign of acceptance, so he reaches out to tug Becker towards him.
"What on earth are you doing?" Becker asks, even if he doesn't complain as Connor arranges them more comfortably together. Becker's head comes to rest on his shoulder, a warm and comforting weight.
"Go to sleep," Connor instructs. "I'll wake you when we're mushrooms."
Becker groans. He even snuggles closer, which Connor takes as evidence of just how dire their situation is. In ordinary circumstances, he's sure that men like Becker do not snuggle. He wraps his arm around the soldier's shoulders and strokes his fingers against his bicep, while trying to remember any lullabies he might know.
*
The problem with confinement, Connor thinks as he looks down at Becker as he sleeps, is that it's terribly boring.
He wonders if the nurses would throw a book or two in if they asked nicely. Maybe even a Nintendo DS.
Probably not, on reflection.
Watching Becker sleep will have to do.
*
Six hours into captivity, Becker drools onto his shoulder. Connor decides it's time to wake him up, and shoves him roughly away from him. As Becker blearily blinks to life, Connor pulls a face and wipes the drool from his shoulder.
Becker, sleep-drunk as he is, has the gall to laugh about it.
He's gone mad. It's the only answer.
Connor has been locked in here with a mad, mushroomy Becker.
He's doomed.
*
As it turns out, Becker isn't mad, just bored. Apparently there is a fine line between the two.
*
They are given food twelve hours into their stay, by which point Connor's stomach is so empty that he doesn't care that the sandwiches are soggy and the water is warm. "You're not eating?" he asks Becker, as he realises that his friend is doing nothing more than staring at the food with his hands carefully restrained in his lap.
"I'll eat when we're free," he says.
"More for me," Connor supposes with a shrug. He doesn't tell Becker that they might not be free for a while. It's not Connor's first time being quarantined. Considering their line of work, it probably won't be the last time either. "You don't win points for being stoic, you know."
Becker's smile may even be affectionate, although he would be bound to deny it. "I'm not trying to win points. I need to be alert."
"Food helps with alertness," Connor points out, while thinking that he hadn't seemed to care too much about being alert while he was drooling on his shoulder.
"I'll be fine," Becker insists.
*
One hour later, Becker's stomach grumbles as if it has a tiger trapped inside it. With a cheerful smile, Connor offers him the last remaining kit-kat. Becker's face is as stormy as if he'd offered him a punch in the face, but he takes the chocolate anyway.
*
Then Becker starts pacing again. He doesn't feel so victorious after that.
"Calm down," Connor urges.
"How long are they going to keep us in here?"
"A while yet. They don't want us to run around contaminating other people." Becker knows that, and Connor shouldn't have to remind him. He reaches out to grab hold of Becker to physically stop him from pacing. Still sitting down, the only place he can reach is Becker's hips. He's left at face-level with Becker's crotch, which is a little bit more awkward than he had been intending.
Becker looks down at him, and it's as if all the public schoolboy bravado has been stripped away. "I think I'm going mad in here," he admits.
"I could've told you that," Connor answers with a grin. His grip on Becker's hips doesn't waver - he just clings on, as if Becker is the only port that is left to him. He doesn't know what he's doing, not any more.
And then Becker says his name, whining around it like it's a cuss. Connor has never heard anyone saying his name like that before. He hadn't known it was possible. The sound of it shoots through him like a bolt of white-hot lightning, melting his insides and leaving him trembling.
Becker's hands come to rest on his shoulders. Connor looks up at him, eyes wide and uncertain - because Becker can't be asking for what he thinks he's asking. Cabin fever isn't the same thing as sex pollen (and, to be honest, Connor knows as much from experience). "Becker?" he asks. "Are you alright?"
"Shut up and distract me," Becker says, although it sounds more like a plea than a demand. Pleas are just fine with Connor.
Even if his fingers tremble, he reaches for the button of Becker's trousers and pops it open. He looks up and finds Becker staring at him, pupils blown. Jesus Christ, Connor thinks, before he hooks his thumbs into Becker's underwear and pulls them down along with his trousers. They bunch into a pool of black material tangled around his ankles, and it leaves Connor staring at Becker's cock, stiffening at half-mast.
He's pretty sure they would never have even thought about this if it wasn't for this bloody quarantine room. He's sure Becker wouldn't have wanted him to touch him, although the gentle way that he slides his fingers into Connor's hair might suggest otherwise.
Becker moans his name (well, he whines it really, but Connor doesn't think he would appreciate that observation) and pushes his hips forward. His cock nudges against Connor's mouth, musky and masculine. There's no choice but to open his mouth and let him inside. There's nothing else he would want to do.
Becker fills every one of his senses, blocking everything else out. The contamination chamber fades away. All that Connor is aware of is the man in front of him and the dick in his mouth. It's been a long time since he's been in this position, but it's not the kind of thing that a person forgets. Life as an undergrad had been one long line of drunken experimentation.
He takes a firm grip of Becker's hips and sucks hard on him. Becker's cock feels larger than it had looked. It feels too big for his mouth. His tongue slides clumsily along the underside of it - it's enough to make Becker choke on a groan, his hands forming fists where they're gripping onto Connor's hair.
Becker's hips shoot forward the next time Connor moves, the tip of his cock thumping into the back of his throat. Water stings his eyes and he pulls back, coughing. "Shit, sorry," Becker mutters. His fingers stroke Connor's hair like he's petting a dog, which is vaguely disturbing but fairly comforting at the same time.
"It's okay," Connor says, brushing the back of his hand against his mouth. "I'm fine. Do you want to... I mean, if I know it's coming it's easier."
He can handle his gag reflex as long as he doesn't have to put up with any sneak attacks. He wraps his hand around the base of Becker's prick and takes the rest of it into his mouth again. This time his head bobs and he allows Becker to move his hips, fucking his way into his mouth. His lips are quick to go numb with tension.
Above him, Becker presses one hand flat against the wall for leverage. The muscles in his arm are tense and strong, holding himself up as if Connor might be able to bring him to his knees with just his mouth. It feels powerful, knowing that he could do that. It makes him feel strong to know that he can take Becker apart.
The tip of Becker's cock slides along the top of his mouth, a blunt tickling sensation. Becker's breathing gets heavier, more laboured, and his moans gets louder and louder. The nurses are probably going to check on them soon, and fuck if that doesn't make Connor want to start laughing. He controls himself and sucks hard instead, until Becker uses his grip on his hair to pull him back.
Becker's cock slides free from Connor's mouth. He angles himself away, strokes a few extra times, before he spills roughly onto the ground. He slumps onto the bench with his trousers still around his ankles. His cheeks are pleasantly flushed.
"You feel any better?"
Becker shoves him in return, nearly enough to knock him off the bench. Connor grins and bumps him with his elbow.
"Right," Becker says. "Your turn."
*
As it turns out, trading blow-jobs is a highly efficient way of passing time in not-so-solitary confinement.
Becker falls asleep again, thankfully after pulling up his trousers. He slumps on Connor's shoulder, a dead weight. Connor rests his cheek against the top of his head and allows his eyelids to droop as well. He feels pleasantly rested. Time drifts by easily.
This time, he doesn't complain when Becker begins to drool.
*
They are both startled from sleep when the door opens with the loud sound of grating metal. Connor winces and mumbles about 'five more minutes...' but Becker is on his feet in a split-second, shielding him from the door. Maybe he thinks a raptor is about to bound through it, Connor supposes. If Jurassic Park is a reliable source, they have little problem with door handles.
However, unless raptors have also picked up the ability to laugh at them and call their names, they're probably safe.
Abby grins at the sight of them, and then points behind her. "You've been given the all clear, apparently. A clean bill of health for both of you."
"Brilliant." Connor gets up and nudges Becker's elbow. "See? I told you we'd be fine."
"I never doubted it for a second," Becker replies archly.
Connor wonders if the vague pink colouring of his cheeks means that he's blushing. It's not exactly hot in here, after all.
"Connor was freaking out," Becker says. "It was hilarious, actually."
"Really?" Abby holds the door open as the pair of them file out. "The weirdest thing, Becker, is that those cells have cameras in them. You know, to keep an eye on the patients..."
She doesn't complete the rest of her sentence. The teasing glint in her eyes and the instant blush on the boys' faces says all that needs to be said.
Connor is going to kill Becker one of these days - if Becker doesn't end up killing him first.
Pairing: Becker/Connor
Word Count: 2400
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the confined square of my kink bingo card.
Summary: After being potentially contaminated by a mushroom monster, Becker and Connor have to be quarantined together. Becker isn't a big fan of confinement.
If there was enough space to pace, Becker would be pacing. Instead, all that he is doing is twitching, which is not at all an acceptable substitute - especially not when he keeps staring at Connor as if he's going to shoot him the second he gets his hands back on a gun.
"It wasn't my fault!" Connor protests, not for the first time.
Becker glares at him again. It seems to be even more insistent this time.
"This time it genuinely wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know that it was going to sporulate on us?"
"You're the expert, Connor. If you don't know that kind of thing, there's no point bringing you along at all."
Connor wishes, really wishes, that there was something in the contamination room that he could throw at Becker's head. Becker deserves to have a great, big, bumpy bruise. How many times have he and Abby saved everyone's arses now? And yet how many times have the soldiers still insisted that they're a liability?
"Well, we've not turned into mushroom men yet," Connor points out. "That's got to be a good sign."
Becker gives a groan that implies that that isn't the kind of positive thinking that he wants to hear. He paces some more: two steps in each direction is all that he can do before he reaches a wall.
"Becker, stop it. You're making me dizzy."
"I don't like places like this," Becker grits out.
Connor looks around. "Contamination chambers? I'm not a big fan either."
"No, I mean..." Becker locks his hands behind his head. "I don't like being locked up."
"Claustophobia?"
"Not exactly. It's not the tight space that I don't like. It's being stuck here. Locked up."
"It's only going to be for a day or so," Connor reassures him, although now that he says it it doesn't sound as reassuring as he thought. "Come on. Sit down. It's going to be fine."
Becker's legs twitch a few times, but after a moment he does as Connor says and takes a seat next to him on the bench. His body is a study in tension. A posture class could happily use him as an example, and for a moment Connor debates whether or not he could balance a book on his head.
"Stop looking at me," Becker orders.
"Right, sure, yeah," Connor mumbles, and stares at his feet instead.
*
"Do you feel anything yet? Any itchiness?"
"Shut up, Connor."
"'cause I think I do. At the back of my neck. Can you check for me?"
"This job isn't worth the pay, sometimes."
*
Three hours in, and neither of them has turned into a sporulating dinosaur yet. Connor is counting that as a victory.
Becker, on the other hand, is turning into a bag of restless nerves, which might be even worse.
"C'mon, Becker. Focus on me. Focus on how annoying I am. That's better, isn't it?"
Becker groans and closes his eyes.
"Why don't you try to sleep? It'll make the time pass faster."
Becker shows no sign of being able to hear him. He doesn't even tell him to shut up. Connor decides that that must be a sign of acceptance, so he reaches out to tug Becker towards him.
"What on earth are you doing?" Becker asks, even if he doesn't complain as Connor arranges them more comfortably together. Becker's head comes to rest on his shoulder, a warm and comforting weight.
"Go to sleep," Connor instructs. "I'll wake you when we're mushrooms."
Becker groans. He even snuggles closer, which Connor takes as evidence of just how dire their situation is. In ordinary circumstances, he's sure that men like Becker do not snuggle. He wraps his arm around the soldier's shoulders and strokes his fingers against his bicep, while trying to remember any lullabies he might know.
*
The problem with confinement, Connor thinks as he looks down at Becker as he sleeps, is that it's terribly boring.
He wonders if the nurses would throw a book or two in if they asked nicely. Maybe even a Nintendo DS.
Probably not, on reflection.
Watching Becker sleep will have to do.
*
Six hours into captivity, Becker drools onto his shoulder. Connor decides it's time to wake him up, and shoves him roughly away from him. As Becker blearily blinks to life, Connor pulls a face and wipes the drool from his shoulder.
Becker, sleep-drunk as he is, has the gall to laugh about it.
He's gone mad. It's the only answer.
Connor has been locked in here with a mad, mushroomy Becker.
He's doomed.
*
As it turns out, Becker isn't mad, just bored. Apparently there is a fine line between the two.
*
They are given food twelve hours into their stay, by which point Connor's stomach is so empty that he doesn't care that the sandwiches are soggy and the water is warm. "You're not eating?" he asks Becker, as he realises that his friend is doing nothing more than staring at the food with his hands carefully restrained in his lap.
"I'll eat when we're free," he says.
"More for me," Connor supposes with a shrug. He doesn't tell Becker that they might not be free for a while. It's not Connor's first time being quarantined. Considering their line of work, it probably won't be the last time either. "You don't win points for being stoic, you know."
Becker's smile may even be affectionate, although he would be bound to deny it. "I'm not trying to win points. I need to be alert."
"Food helps with alertness," Connor points out, while thinking that he hadn't seemed to care too much about being alert while he was drooling on his shoulder.
"I'll be fine," Becker insists.
*
One hour later, Becker's stomach grumbles as if it has a tiger trapped inside it. With a cheerful smile, Connor offers him the last remaining kit-kat. Becker's face is as stormy as if he'd offered him a punch in the face, but he takes the chocolate anyway.
*
Then Becker starts pacing again. He doesn't feel so victorious after that.
"Calm down," Connor urges.
"How long are they going to keep us in here?"
"A while yet. They don't want us to run around contaminating other people." Becker knows that, and Connor shouldn't have to remind him. He reaches out to grab hold of Becker to physically stop him from pacing. Still sitting down, the only place he can reach is Becker's hips. He's left at face-level with Becker's crotch, which is a little bit more awkward than he had been intending.
Becker looks down at him, and it's as if all the public schoolboy bravado has been stripped away. "I think I'm going mad in here," he admits.
"I could've told you that," Connor answers with a grin. His grip on Becker's hips doesn't waver - he just clings on, as if Becker is the only port that is left to him. He doesn't know what he's doing, not any more.
And then Becker says his name, whining around it like it's a cuss. Connor has never heard anyone saying his name like that before. He hadn't known it was possible. The sound of it shoots through him like a bolt of white-hot lightning, melting his insides and leaving him trembling.
Becker's hands come to rest on his shoulders. Connor looks up at him, eyes wide and uncertain - because Becker can't be asking for what he thinks he's asking. Cabin fever isn't the same thing as sex pollen (and, to be honest, Connor knows as much from experience). "Becker?" he asks. "Are you alright?"
"Shut up and distract me," Becker says, although it sounds more like a plea than a demand. Pleas are just fine with Connor.
Even if his fingers tremble, he reaches for the button of Becker's trousers and pops it open. He looks up and finds Becker staring at him, pupils blown. Jesus Christ, Connor thinks, before he hooks his thumbs into Becker's underwear and pulls them down along with his trousers. They bunch into a pool of black material tangled around his ankles, and it leaves Connor staring at Becker's cock, stiffening at half-mast.
He's pretty sure they would never have even thought about this if it wasn't for this bloody quarantine room. He's sure Becker wouldn't have wanted him to touch him, although the gentle way that he slides his fingers into Connor's hair might suggest otherwise.
Becker moans his name (well, he whines it really, but Connor doesn't think he would appreciate that observation) and pushes his hips forward. His cock nudges against Connor's mouth, musky and masculine. There's no choice but to open his mouth and let him inside. There's nothing else he would want to do.
Becker fills every one of his senses, blocking everything else out. The contamination chamber fades away. All that Connor is aware of is the man in front of him and the dick in his mouth. It's been a long time since he's been in this position, but it's not the kind of thing that a person forgets. Life as an undergrad had been one long line of drunken experimentation.
He takes a firm grip of Becker's hips and sucks hard on him. Becker's cock feels larger than it had looked. It feels too big for his mouth. His tongue slides clumsily along the underside of it - it's enough to make Becker choke on a groan, his hands forming fists where they're gripping onto Connor's hair.
Becker's hips shoot forward the next time Connor moves, the tip of his cock thumping into the back of his throat. Water stings his eyes and he pulls back, coughing. "Shit, sorry," Becker mutters. His fingers stroke Connor's hair like he's petting a dog, which is vaguely disturbing but fairly comforting at the same time.
"It's okay," Connor says, brushing the back of his hand against his mouth. "I'm fine. Do you want to... I mean, if I know it's coming it's easier."
He can handle his gag reflex as long as he doesn't have to put up with any sneak attacks. He wraps his hand around the base of Becker's prick and takes the rest of it into his mouth again. This time his head bobs and he allows Becker to move his hips, fucking his way into his mouth. His lips are quick to go numb with tension.
Above him, Becker presses one hand flat against the wall for leverage. The muscles in his arm are tense and strong, holding himself up as if Connor might be able to bring him to his knees with just his mouth. It feels powerful, knowing that he could do that. It makes him feel strong to know that he can take Becker apart.
The tip of Becker's cock slides along the top of his mouth, a blunt tickling sensation. Becker's breathing gets heavier, more laboured, and his moans gets louder and louder. The nurses are probably going to check on them soon, and fuck if that doesn't make Connor want to start laughing. He controls himself and sucks hard instead, until Becker uses his grip on his hair to pull him back.
Becker's cock slides free from Connor's mouth. He angles himself away, strokes a few extra times, before he spills roughly onto the ground. He slumps onto the bench with his trousers still around his ankles. His cheeks are pleasantly flushed.
"You feel any better?"
Becker shoves him in return, nearly enough to knock him off the bench. Connor grins and bumps him with his elbow.
"Right," Becker says. "Your turn."
*
As it turns out, trading blow-jobs is a highly efficient way of passing time in not-so-solitary confinement.
Becker falls asleep again, thankfully after pulling up his trousers. He slumps on Connor's shoulder, a dead weight. Connor rests his cheek against the top of his head and allows his eyelids to droop as well. He feels pleasantly rested. Time drifts by easily.
This time, he doesn't complain when Becker begins to drool.
*
They are both startled from sleep when the door opens with the loud sound of grating metal. Connor winces and mumbles about 'five more minutes...' but Becker is on his feet in a split-second, shielding him from the door. Maybe he thinks a raptor is about to bound through it, Connor supposes. If Jurassic Park is a reliable source, they have little problem with door handles.
However, unless raptors have also picked up the ability to laugh at them and call their names, they're probably safe.
Abby grins at the sight of them, and then points behind her. "You've been given the all clear, apparently. A clean bill of health for both of you."
"Brilliant." Connor gets up and nudges Becker's elbow. "See? I told you we'd be fine."
"I never doubted it for a second," Becker replies archly.
Connor wonders if the vague pink colouring of his cheeks means that he's blushing. It's not exactly hot in here, after all.
"Connor was freaking out," Becker says. "It was hilarious, actually."
"Really?" Abby holds the door open as the pair of them file out. "The weirdest thing, Becker, is that those cells have cameras in them. You know, to keep an eye on the patients..."
She doesn't complete the rest of her sentence. The teasing glint in her eyes and the instant blush on the boys' faces says all that needs to be said.
Connor is going to kill Becker one of these days - if Becker doesn't end up killing him first.