Primeval fic: Through the fair (Part Three)
Part Two
The journey from work to the flat was undertaken in silence. Becker was still trying to sort out the mess of his feelings, where professional and personal collided, and how he could ever apologise for man-handling Connor the way he had while getting Connor to understand that what he had done was utterly and completely and inexcusable reckless, before he risked speech. Connor simply stared out of the window all the way and continued to look anywhere but at Becker as they parked the car. They entered the apartment still without having exchanged a word and Becker wondered if they were going to spend a whole weekend in similar state and, if so, how he could stand it.
He determined to say something. Anything. What he was wanted to say was, ‘I was scared. I don’t want to lose you,’ but that seemed impossible at the moment.
“Why don’t you go and shower?” suggested Becker since that seemed innocuous enough.
“I should go and wash,” said Connor, speaking at the same time. His lips twisted, “Yeah, I get it, I smell. I’ll go and shower and try not to get any gloop on the towels.”
Becker didn’t reply. He had remarked once that washing was supposed to remove dirt before it was deposited on a clean towel. He thought he’d been pleasant about it and Connor had taken the reminder in good part. Apparently not.
Perhaps the whole idea of their happily learning to live together was some sort of elaborate fiction Becker had created in his mind. Perhaps they’d had never really been happy at all.
*
Becker made a pot of tea while Connor showered and pulled out a packet of digestive biscuits from the cupboard. It was way past dinnertime but he didn’t feel hungry. They could make something quick later if Connor wanted, or order in. Meanwhile, while he waited, Becker pottered around the kitchen wiping and re-wiping surfaces and straightening tins aware that he was indulging in displacement activity even as he worked. He considered joining Connor in the shower and decided against it. They really needed to talk and Becker wasn’t looking forward to that one little bit.
Connor emerged from the bathroom wearing track pants and nothing else. There were deep indentation marks on his shoulders and circles of broken skin on his wrists. He’d combed his hair and pushed it back but already the damp strands were falling forward. Becker suppressed an urge to tuck them back again. Seeing Connor like this ignited the anger all over again. At Connor. At himself. At Danny. Whichever way you played it, Connor had risked their lives. Good cause or not, he had behaved recklessly. In the army he would have faced a court martial.
“You’ve cut yourself,” said Connor touching Becker’s face lightly. He sounded distracted. Becker remembered vaguely some flecks of plasterboard falling against him as they exited the factory. It wasn’t anything major or he would have had it seen to at the time. “You should clean that up before it goes sceptic or something.”
“Later,” said Becker. “Conn, we need to talk.”
Connor stilled and then suddenly and quietly snapped, his face taking on a strangely blank expression. “No. No. We really don’t.”
“I think we should.”
Connor’s response was to ignore this and reach for Becker’s shirt. He started pulling it upwards. “You know what, Becker, I don’t care what you think. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to analyse, discuss, evaluate, or whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to listen to a lecture on good behaviour or how hear stupid you think I am. Right now I just want to fuck. So can you shut up so we can do that?”
Becker nodded. This was not a Connor he recognised and it left him uncertain as to how he should react. If it came to it, he could easily over-power Connor from any single one of his advantages of height, weight or training but any physical restraint now would be unthinkable. Completing the move Connor had initiated, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. As soon as he had finished and dropped his arms Connor started working at the fastenings of Becker’s trousers.
Whatever Becker’s emotional misgivings, his body was responding to the familiar fingers working their way along the crack of his arse. He raised his hips from where they rested against the edge of the table to allow Connor to push his trousers and pants out of the way. That done, Connor turned Becker round pushing him down over the table.
A finger probed his arse and retreated.
“More,” grunted Becker.
“I said ‘shut up’,” snapped Connor and bit him on the back. “And keep your hands on the table.”
“Shit!” Becker jerked in sudden pained surprise, and when he focused again he released that Connor’s initial finger had been joined by two others and he was being stretched methodically. The intruding digits were slick with lube and he realised that Connor must have been planning this even before he left the bathroom. The fingers were replaced by the slow burn of Connor’s cock sliding in. Once fully seated he leaned against Becker’s back and gently sucked the bite. Then he began to move fast and hard, both hands gripping Becker’s hips, stroking his prostrate with impersonal skill.
It didn’t take long. Becker wanted to touch himself but kept his hands fisted on the wooden table as instructed. Connor came with a wordless cry and pulled out almost immediately. He pulled Becker upright and turned him forwards with a tug on the hips. Satisfied Becker was where he wanted him Connor dropped to his knees and took Becker’s hard cock in his mouth swallowing until the organ pushed deep against the back of his throat. He started sucking hungrily. Pinioned against the table, Becker gripped Connor’s hair for leverage, balls pressed against Connor’s chin as Connor worked his throat muscles convulsively. It was easily the most aggressive blow job Becker had ever experienced. He came shooting hard into the tight, wet heat, sated but empty.
It was the first time they’d had sex without kissing.
Connor slumped on the floor, gazing unfocused into middle distance, eyes huge and unhappy. He leaned against a cupboard door arms wrapped around his knees. His mouth was red and swollen and his hair a mess.
Becker made it to a chair and propped his elbows on the table.
A painful silence fell, punctuated by the sounds of their breathing slowly evening out.
“Becker,” whispered Connor at last, voice roughened, making his name both a question and a statement.
“It’s alright,” said Becker, meaninglessly. “It’s alright.”
Becker got up, limbs stiff and realised once he had done so that he had not real idea what he intended to do next. “D’you want something to eat?”
Connor gave a choked sound and made for the sink with a hand across his mouth. To Becker’s horror he started throwing up, dry heaving again and again, long after the contents of his stomach had been thoroughly emptied.
Becker got a glass and poured some mineral water and put it by the sink. Connor looked up at the sound and looked away. “Could you leave me alone, please.”
Rejection didn’t get much plainer than that. Becker went.
*
Running usually cleared his head and it worked now even though his recently-fucked body protested and the clarity was unwanted. The exercise had given him the necessary perspective that Connor was far more likely to be throwing up in reaction to the day as a whole than from instant revulsion at the taste of Becker’s come. But either way the dismissal was undeniable. He ran for a couple of hours before tiredness kicked in along with the realisation that he had to go home sometime and it was too late to just turn up at a mate’s door without offering some sort of explanation he wasn’t prepared to give.
The flat was in darkness bar a small table light left on in the hallway. A strong smell of bleach drifted out from the kitchen. Becker showered quickly, and went to bed wearing boxers for the first time since he could remember. Connor was pretending to be asleep. He was lying on his side on the edge of the bed as Becker slid in.
“Conn,” he said quietly. The response was a muffled sob. Becker debated going to him but couldn’t face another rebuff. He retreated to the opposite side of the bed and shut his eyes.
*
When Becker woke up he was alone. That in itself was enough to cause consternation - Connor never got up first - before his brain caught up with itself and he realised why he was alone. At any rate, Connor was still in the flat as Becker could hear him clattering about in the kitchen.
He got up and followed the sound.
Connor was dressed in jeans and a red hoodie. He had a small holdall with him and was clearly preparing to go out. He looked guilty at Becker’s approach. Probably he wanted to be gone before Becker woke.
“Are you leaving me, Conn?” asked Becker.
This is what life did. It gave you things and then snatched them away with no reason. Becker didn’t even know how he’d failed so spectacularly in the space of a single day, only that he had and here was the proof.
“What? No!” That at least was true. Connor was a terrible liar. His attempt at nonchalance was equally unsuccessful. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course not,” said Becker.
Relief flooded Connor’s features. That was something. Becker was not alone in his misery. There was a mug on the table. Becker automatically picked it up and took a sip, grimaced, and put it back down again. Connor flicked on the kettle and pulled a clean mug from a selection draining on the sink. He retrieved his own drink and cradled it in his hands.
“I am going out but just for a bit. I was coming back… To sort things out.” The last words were said hesitantly. Connor was clearly as lost as Becker in this situation.
The kettle clicked off. Becker made a move to get up but Connor motioned him still and pulled down a jar of coffee. Instant, but Becker didn’t have the heart to argue. It would be just one more thing. He accepted the mug handed over to him. Connor joined him at the table.
“So where are you going? To see Abby?” Becker tried not to feel jealous.
Connor shook his head. “Not Abby. I can’t tell you.”
Becker tried to summon yesterday’s sustaining anger but just managed weariness. “Can’t or won’t? I guess that tells us all we need to know about how you feel about me. I don’t blame you for that.”
Connor’s reply took Becker by surprise. It didn’t seem to fit. “I know you think I’m stupid.”
“I don’t,” said Becker at once. “I think you’re impetuous to a fault but I have never, ever thought you were stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“You said I was behaving stupidly.”
“Shit, Connor, you know I lost it. I can’t defend anything I said or did,” said Becker and stopped himself just in time from adding: And tell me you don’t know that feeling. He just couldn’t go there yet.
“You’ll think this is stupid.” Connor was obviously edging towards a confession. A small amount of liquid had spilt on the table. He drew coffee circles with one finger.
Becker watched him waiting for a clue about to say next. Eventually he gave up and said, “I guess we’ll never know since you’re not willing to trust me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll try and stop me.”
Becker sighed. “Connor, we’re not at work, and even if we were I have no power to stop you making your own decisions. If yesterday did nothing else it must have proven that to you.”
Connor got up and put the kettle on again even though neither of them had finished their drinks. He began to speak.
“Yesterday. Before you came, Farley was talking. No, that’s no right. It started earlier. Danny and I went into the factory grounds and the phones and radios stopped working. Danny went to try and find a hotspot where he could get in touch with you or Abby and I stayed and started exploring the building. The place was deserted. I guess the Friday deliveries had come and gone or whatever, but there was literally no one there, just the stoves boiling away on their own. Anyway, I found the anomaly easily enough. I was going to go back and get Danny when Farley appeared.”
“How did he catch you?”
A brief self-deprecating grin flickered on Connor’s lips. “The usual way. A big stick and a blow to the head. When I woke up I was tied to a chair and Farley was evil overlording over me.”
“Did he hurt you?” Becker couldn’t quite bring himself to spell out what he meant.
Connor quirked an ironic eyebrow before responding, “No. Nothing like that.” He came back to the table, brushing his hand fleetingly against Becker’s. “He just couldn’t resist talking at me before getting rid of me. Telling me about the children.”
“He murdered those children?”
“As good as.” Connor looked sick and his voice trembled with sudden distress. He took a sip of coffee, obviously buying time. “Once someone found out that he was…um…utilising a cheap source of future protein for his products Farley needed to get rid of them. He couldn’t bring himself to kill them directly - that would have been kinder - so instead he pushed them through the anomaly and let fate take its course. All those years, Becker, can you imagine what those families went through not knowing what happened to their loved ones?”
Becker didn’t need to imagine. He’d been in war zones. But he’d signed up for that. Connor hadn’t. He made his voice gentle, “They’ll get some closure now. Maybe not the whole truth but enough to be able to move on.”
“And you know what’s the worst?” It seemed now Connor had started he couldn’t stop talking. “Farley told me why those three kids had been trespassing that day. They’d stolen a comic from a local shop and needed to find somewhere secret to read it. How pathetic is that? Farley laughed about them crying. He said they wanted to know if they said that they were sorry and put the comic back he would let them go. If he would let them phone their mums. How could he do that? For fuck’s sake, Becker, they were kids.”
A shop. A forest. A room. A cave. A lonely ending far from home. Becker hoped it had been quick but he remembered the beasts, and somehow doubted it. For a moment he was sorry that Quinn had been the one who shot Farley. He would have liked to have done it himself.
Connor was speaking again, reminiscing. “Me and Tom and Duncan once stole a graphic novel.”
“Why?” asked Becker, slightly confused at this tangent, but content to follow wherever it might be leading.
“We were sticking it to the man. I don’t know. We were fighting the capitalist masses. I felt bad and pushed the money through the door the next day. As it turned out both Tom and Duncan felt equally bad and did the same thing. So the shop got paid three times. It was a Watchmen novel, special edition. I don’t what happened to it. Tom had it for a long time stuffed in the back of a drawer. But then he died and I don’t know what happened to his things. None of us ever wanted to read it.” He gave a crooked smile.
“But what about today?” asked Becker, bringing the subject back to the present, not without reluctance.
“That comic they stole was in the rucksack. I want to put it back. I know it won’t make any difference at all but it’s the one thing I can do for those kids. One small thing I can put right.” He looked defensively at Becker. “I told you you’d think it was stupid.”
Becker shook his head. It was quixotic in the extreme. The whole thing made no sense whatsoever but he understood why Connor felt he had to do this. “Will you let me come with you?”
“Yeah, I like that. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”
*
They drifted into the bedroom. Becker needed to get dressed and spent time debating between two black t shirts, aware that Connor was staring, knowing how much Connor admired his body. He bent over the open drawer, flexing the muscles on his back and was not surprised to hear footsteps padding up behind him.
Connor slipped his arms around Becker’s waist and leaned in. His lips ghosted over yesterday’s bite. “Are you getting dressed or what?” he spoke against Becker’s skin.
“Or what? I’ve decided it would be much better if you got undressed,” Becker said, pushing the drawer shut and turning around. After all, there was only so much talking you could do. This was one thing they needed to put right by touching. Still entwined Becker walked Connor the few paces backwards to the bed.
Then they were lying there kissing, open mouthed and exploratory.
“You’re supposed to get undressed,” said Becker after a while as Connor seemed quite content to lie in his arms for the foreseeable future,
“I can get undressed lying down here. It’ll be easier.” Connor stretched lazily.
“Not for me,” observed Becker, all the same starting by tugging at Connor’s wrist warmers and wincing a bit the exposed bruises.
“What shall we do?” asked Connor when he was finally naked. There had been a great many layers to remove and Becker had taken his time over each one.
“You want a tick list? We can do whatever you want. You just have to ask.” Connor watched him, gazing up through his lashes, expression oddly uncertain. He moved Becker’s hands to his shoulders, matching the finger marks. “I want you to hold me down.”
*
Part Four
The journey from work to the flat was undertaken in silence. Becker was still trying to sort out the mess of his feelings, where professional and personal collided, and how he could ever apologise for man-handling Connor the way he had while getting Connor to understand that what he had done was utterly and completely and inexcusable reckless, before he risked speech. Connor simply stared out of the window all the way and continued to look anywhere but at Becker as they parked the car. They entered the apartment still without having exchanged a word and Becker wondered if they were going to spend a whole weekend in similar state and, if so, how he could stand it.
He determined to say something. Anything. What he was wanted to say was, ‘I was scared. I don’t want to lose you,’ but that seemed impossible at the moment.
“Why don’t you go and shower?” suggested Becker since that seemed innocuous enough.
“I should go and wash,” said Connor, speaking at the same time. His lips twisted, “Yeah, I get it, I smell. I’ll go and shower and try not to get any gloop on the towels.”
Becker didn’t reply. He had remarked once that washing was supposed to remove dirt before it was deposited on a clean towel. He thought he’d been pleasant about it and Connor had taken the reminder in good part. Apparently not.
Perhaps the whole idea of their happily learning to live together was some sort of elaborate fiction Becker had created in his mind. Perhaps they’d had never really been happy at all.
*
Becker made a pot of tea while Connor showered and pulled out a packet of digestive biscuits from the cupboard. It was way past dinnertime but he didn’t feel hungry. They could make something quick later if Connor wanted, or order in. Meanwhile, while he waited, Becker pottered around the kitchen wiping and re-wiping surfaces and straightening tins aware that he was indulging in displacement activity even as he worked. He considered joining Connor in the shower and decided against it. They really needed to talk and Becker wasn’t looking forward to that one little bit.
Connor emerged from the bathroom wearing track pants and nothing else. There were deep indentation marks on his shoulders and circles of broken skin on his wrists. He’d combed his hair and pushed it back but already the damp strands were falling forward. Becker suppressed an urge to tuck them back again. Seeing Connor like this ignited the anger all over again. At Connor. At himself. At Danny. Whichever way you played it, Connor had risked their lives. Good cause or not, he had behaved recklessly. In the army he would have faced a court martial.
“You’ve cut yourself,” said Connor touching Becker’s face lightly. He sounded distracted. Becker remembered vaguely some flecks of plasterboard falling against him as they exited the factory. It wasn’t anything major or he would have had it seen to at the time. “You should clean that up before it goes sceptic or something.”
“Later,” said Becker. “Conn, we need to talk.”
Connor stilled and then suddenly and quietly snapped, his face taking on a strangely blank expression. “No. No. We really don’t.”
“I think we should.”
Connor’s response was to ignore this and reach for Becker’s shirt. He started pulling it upwards. “You know what, Becker, I don’t care what you think. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to analyse, discuss, evaluate, or whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to listen to a lecture on good behaviour or how hear stupid you think I am. Right now I just want to fuck. So can you shut up so we can do that?”
Becker nodded. This was not a Connor he recognised and it left him uncertain as to how he should react. If it came to it, he could easily over-power Connor from any single one of his advantages of height, weight or training but any physical restraint now would be unthinkable. Completing the move Connor had initiated, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor. As soon as he had finished and dropped his arms Connor started working at the fastenings of Becker’s trousers.
Whatever Becker’s emotional misgivings, his body was responding to the familiar fingers working their way along the crack of his arse. He raised his hips from where they rested against the edge of the table to allow Connor to push his trousers and pants out of the way. That done, Connor turned Becker round pushing him down over the table.
A finger probed his arse and retreated.
“More,” grunted Becker.
“I said ‘shut up’,” snapped Connor and bit him on the back. “And keep your hands on the table.”
“Shit!” Becker jerked in sudden pained surprise, and when he focused again he released that Connor’s initial finger had been joined by two others and he was being stretched methodically. The intruding digits were slick with lube and he realised that Connor must have been planning this even before he left the bathroom. The fingers were replaced by the slow burn of Connor’s cock sliding in. Once fully seated he leaned against Becker’s back and gently sucked the bite. Then he began to move fast and hard, both hands gripping Becker’s hips, stroking his prostrate with impersonal skill.
It didn’t take long. Becker wanted to touch himself but kept his hands fisted on the wooden table as instructed. Connor came with a wordless cry and pulled out almost immediately. He pulled Becker upright and turned him forwards with a tug on the hips. Satisfied Becker was where he wanted him Connor dropped to his knees and took Becker’s hard cock in his mouth swallowing until the organ pushed deep against the back of his throat. He started sucking hungrily. Pinioned against the table, Becker gripped Connor’s hair for leverage, balls pressed against Connor’s chin as Connor worked his throat muscles convulsively. It was easily the most aggressive blow job Becker had ever experienced. He came shooting hard into the tight, wet heat, sated but empty.
It was the first time they’d had sex without kissing.
Connor slumped on the floor, gazing unfocused into middle distance, eyes huge and unhappy. He leaned against a cupboard door arms wrapped around his knees. His mouth was red and swollen and his hair a mess.
Becker made it to a chair and propped his elbows on the table.
A painful silence fell, punctuated by the sounds of their breathing slowly evening out.
“Becker,” whispered Connor at last, voice roughened, making his name both a question and a statement.
“It’s alright,” said Becker, meaninglessly. “It’s alright.”
Becker got up, limbs stiff and realised once he had done so that he had not real idea what he intended to do next. “D’you want something to eat?”
Connor gave a choked sound and made for the sink with a hand across his mouth. To Becker’s horror he started throwing up, dry heaving again and again, long after the contents of his stomach had been thoroughly emptied.
Becker got a glass and poured some mineral water and put it by the sink. Connor looked up at the sound and looked away. “Could you leave me alone, please.”
Rejection didn’t get much plainer than that. Becker went.
*
Running usually cleared his head and it worked now even though his recently-fucked body protested and the clarity was unwanted. The exercise had given him the necessary perspective that Connor was far more likely to be throwing up in reaction to the day as a whole than from instant revulsion at the taste of Becker’s come. But either way the dismissal was undeniable. He ran for a couple of hours before tiredness kicked in along with the realisation that he had to go home sometime and it was too late to just turn up at a mate’s door without offering some sort of explanation he wasn’t prepared to give.
The flat was in darkness bar a small table light left on in the hallway. A strong smell of bleach drifted out from the kitchen. Becker showered quickly, and went to bed wearing boxers for the first time since he could remember. Connor was pretending to be asleep. He was lying on his side on the edge of the bed as Becker slid in.
“Conn,” he said quietly. The response was a muffled sob. Becker debated going to him but couldn’t face another rebuff. He retreated to the opposite side of the bed and shut his eyes.
*
When Becker woke up he was alone. That in itself was enough to cause consternation - Connor never got up first - before his brain caught up with itself and he realised why he was alone. At any rate, Connor was still in the flat as Becker could hear him clattering about in the kitchen.
He got up and followed the sound.
Connor was dressed in jeans and a red hoodie. He had a small holdall with him and was clearly preparing to go out. He looked guilty at Becker’s approach. Probably he wanted to be gone before Becker woke.
“Are you leaving me, Conn?” asked Becker.
This is what life did. It gave you things and then snatched them away with no reason. Becker didn’t even know how he’d failed so spectacularly in the space of a single day, only that he had and here was the proof.
“What? No!” That at least was true. Connor was a terrible liar. His attempt at nonchalance was equally unsuccessful. “Do you want me to?”
“Of course not,” said Becker.
Relief flooded Connor’s features. That was something. Becker was not alone in his misery. There was a mug on the table. Becker automatically picked it up and took a sip, grimaced, and put it back down again. Connor flicked on the kettle and pulled a clean mug from a selection draining on the sink. He retrieved his own drink and cradled it in his hands.
“I am going out but just for a bit. I was coming back… To sort things out.” The last words were said hesitantly. Connor was clearly as lost as Becker in this situation.
The kettle clicked off. Becker made a move to get up but Connor motioned him still and pulled down a jar of coffee. Instant, but Becker didn’t have the heart to argue. It would be just one more thing. He accepted the mug handed over to him. Connor joined him at the table.
“So where are you going? To see Abby?” Becker tried not to feel jealous.
Connor shook his head. “Not Abby. I can’t tell you.”
Becker tried to summon yesterday’s sustaining anger but just managed weariness. “Can’t or won’t? I guess that tells us all we need to know about how you feel about me. I don’t blame you for that.”
Connor’s reply took Becker by surprise. It didn’t seem to fit. “I know you think I’m stupid.”
“I don’t,” said Becker at once. “I think you’re impetuous to a fault but I have never, ever thought you were stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“You said I was behaving stupidly.”
“Shit, Connor, you know I lost it. I can’t defend anything I said or did,” said Becker and stopped himself just in time from adding: And tell me you don’t know that feeling. He just couldn’t go there yet.
“You’ll think this is stupid.” Connor was obviously edging towards a confession. A small amount of liquid had spilt on the table. He drew coffee circles with one finger.
Becker watched him waiting for a clue about to say next. Eventually he gave up and said, “I guess we’ll never know since you’re not willing to trust me.”
“I’m afraid you’ll try and stop me.”
Becker sighed. “Connor, we’re not at work, and even if we were I have no power to stop you making your own decisions. If yesterday did nothing else it must have proven that to you.”
Connor got up and put the kettle on again even though neither of them had finished their drinks. He began to speak.
“Yesterday. Before you came, Farley was talking. No, that’s no right. It started earlier. Danny and I went into the factory grounds and the phones and radios stopped working. Danny went to try and find a hotspot where he could get in touch with you or Abby and I stayed and started exploring the building. The place was deserted. I guess the Friday deliveries had come and gone or whatever, but there was literally no one there, just the stoves boiling away on their own. Anyway, I found the anomaly easily enough. I was going to go back and get Danny when Farley appeared.”
“How did he catch you?”
A brief self-deprecating grin flickered on Connor’s lips. “The usual way. A big stick and a blow to the head. When I woke up I was tied to a chair and Farley was evil overlording over me.”
“Did he hurt you?” Becker couldn’t quite bring himself to spell out what he meant.
Connor quirked an ironic eyebrow before responding, “No. Nothing like that.” He came back to the table, brushing his hand fleetingly against Becker’s. “He just couldn’t resist talking at me before getting rid of me. Telling me about the children.”
“He murdered those children?”
“As good as.” Connor looked sick and his voice trembled with sudden distress. He took a sip of coffee, obviously buying time. “Once someone found out that he was…um…utilising a cheap source of future protein for his products Farley needed to get rid of them. He couldn’t bring himself to kill them directly - that would have been kinder - so instead he pushed them through the anomaly and let fate take its course. All those years, Becker, can you imagine what those families went through not knowing what happened to their loved ones?”
Becker didn’t need to imagine. He’d been in war zones. But he’d signed up for that. Connor hadn’t. He made his voice gentle, “They’ll get some closure now. Maybe not the whole truth but enough to be able to move on.”
“And you know what’s the worst?” It seemed now Connor had started he couldn’t stop talking. “Farley told me why those three kids had been trespassing that day. They’d stolen a comic from a local shop and needed to find somewhere secret to read it. How pathetic is that? Farley laughed about them crying. He said they wanted to know if they said that they were sorry and put the comic back he would let them go. If he would let them phone their mums. How could he do that? For fuck’s sake, Becker, they were kids.”
A shop. A forest. A room. A cave. A lonely ending far from home. Becker hoped it had been quick but he remembered the beasts, and somehow doubted it. For a moment he was sorry that Quinn had been the one who shot Farley. He would have liked to have done it himself.
Connor was speaking again, reminiscing. “Me and Tom and Duncan once stole a graphic novel.”
“Why?” asked Becker, slightly confused at this tangent, but content to follow wherever it might be leading.
“We were sticking it to the man. I don’t know. We were fighting the capitalist masses. I felt bad and pushed the money through the door the next day. As it turned out both Tom and Duncan felt equally bad and did the same thing. So the shop got paid three times. It was a Watchmen novel, special edition. I don’t what happened to it. Tom had it for a long time stuffed in the back of a drawer. But then he died and I don’t know what happened to his things. None of us ever wanted to read it.” He gave a crooked smile.
“But what about today?” asked Becker, bringing the subject back to the present, not without reluctance.
“That comic they stole was in the rucksack. I want to put it back. I know it won’t make any difference at all but it’s the one thing I can do for those kids. One small thing I can put right.” He looked defensively at Becker. “I told you you’d think it was stupid.”
Becker shook his head. It was quixotic in the extreme. The whole thing made no sense whatsoever but he understood why Connor felt he had to do this. “Will you let me come with you?”
“Yeah, I like that. If you’re sure that’s what you want.”
*
They drifted into the bedroom. Becker needed to get dressed and spent time debating between two black t shirts, aware that Connor was staring, knowing how much Connor admired his body. He bent over the open drawer, flexing the muscles on his back and was not surprised to hear footsteps padding up behind him.
Connor slipped his arms around Becker’s waist and leaned in. His lips ghosted over yesterday’s bite. “Are you getting dressed or what?” he spoke against Becker’s skin.
“Or what? I’ve decided it would be much better if you got undressed,” Becker said, pushing the drawer shut and turning around. After all, there was only so much talking you could do. This was one thing they needed to put right by touching. Still entwined Becker walked Connor the few paces backwards to the bed.
Then they were lying there kissing, open mouthed and exploratory.
“You’re supposed to get undressed,” said Becker after a while as Connor seemed quite content to lie in his arms for the foreseeable future,
“I can get undressed lying down here. It’ll be easier.” Connor stretched lazily.
“Not for me,” observed Becker, all the same starting by tugging at Connor’s wrist warmers and wincing a bit the exposed bruises.
“What shall we do?” asked Connor when he was finally naked. There had been a great many layers to remove and Becker had taken his time over each one.
“You want a tick list? We can do whatever you want. You just have to ask.” Connor watched him, gazing up through his lashes, expression oddly uncertain. He moved Becker’s hands to his shoulders, matching the finger marks. “I want you to hold me down.”
*
Part Four