fredbassett | Fic, The Dark Before the Dawn, Becker/Ethan, 18

Title : The Dark Before the Dawn
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Becker/Ethan
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Written for

jaynedoll ’s birthday. She wanted some Becker/Ethan hurt/comfort, with Becker doing the comforting. I hope this is the sort of thing you wanted and that you have a lovely birthday! I'm posting now because I'm setting off for France very early on your birthday. With thanks to

lukadreaming for the speedy beta.
Warning : Mentions of rape.

“You do realise that there’s a very high chance we’ll both freeze to death if you carry on being stubborn?” Becker kept his tone light, almost conversational, as he addressed Ethan Dobrowski – or should that be Patrick Quinn? – in the cellar of the ruined building they were using as a refuge from the snowstorm currently raging outside.

“You’re not my type.”

Becker resisted the temptation to ask what the other man’s type was. He didn’t think that would be a particularly tactful question, not after what he’d seen on the security cameras at the ARC earlier that day. By the time Becker had dragged Burton and his guards off Ethan, blood and semen had coated the backs of the man’s thighs and he’d been shaking with shock. In the resulting chaos, they’d barely made it out of the building alive. He’d just have to hope that the footage from the CCTV cameras he’d emailed to Lester at his home address before he’d staged his one-man rescue attempt had been enough to enable Lester to finally wrest control of the ARC from Burton.

But at the moment, stuck in a frozen, deserted world, he had other – more pressing – matters on his mind.

“You’d rather die, instead?” Becker thought it was a reasonable question in the circumstances.

“Shut the fuck up, soldier boy.”

Becker sighed. The man had more in common with his brother than either of them probably realised. “I got you out of there, Dobrowski, doesn’t that count for anything?”

“What do you want in return, soldier boy? Do you want me to suck your cock? Did it turn you on, watching them fuck my face? Or did you prefer watching them shove their dicks up my arse? Is that what you’d prefer to do maybe?”

Becker closed his eyes in the darkness, trying to block out the images. He hadn’t seen the oral rape. That must have been before he’d turned on the surveillance feed in his office, wondering why one Burton’s security guards had been prowling the corridors of a deserted ARC in the middle of the night. By the time Becker had found the footage from the interrogation room, he’d missed catching that particular scene, although Burton had still been buried balls deep in Danny’s brother as Becker had wrenched the door open and stormed into the room. He’d taken the guards down with his EMD, and dragged Burton off and rammed his head against the table, probably breaking his nose and several teeth in the process.

“No. I just want to give the pair of us a better chance of surviving the night.”

“Maybe I don’t give a shit about that…”

Becker laughed humourlessly. “Yeah, right, because you’re not a survivor, are you? Spare me the self-pity, it doesn’t suit you. You’ve murdered what… eight, nine people? I would have thought that you’ve dished out worse than that yourself.”

“Well, you thought wrong, soldier boy. I’m not a rapist… and I’m not a murderer, either.”

“That’s not what you said to your brother in the interview room.”

“Wanted to wind him up. He winds up easily does our Danny boy. He always has done.”

Becker grinned. There was some truth in that. He wondered how much truth there was in anything else Ethan… Patrick, had said. “So you were framed?”

“Yes, but believe what you feckin’ want. Do I look like I give a rat’s arse what you think?”

“I bet you were a little ray of sunshine as a kid.”

By now, Becker could hear his companion’s teeth chattering. It was actually too dark to see the look on Ethan’s face, but all he was really trying to do was keep the man awake. The temperature had plummeted and was still falling. There was nothing in the cellar to burn and although he had a survival blanket in one of his pockets, they’d make better use of it by sharing body heat as well.

A sullen-sounding snort was all the answer he got.

Becker had his hands buried in his armpits in an attempt to keep his fingers warm through the thick material of his combat jacket, but it wasn’t working. His companion was wearing nothing but a long-sleeved teeshirt over a pair of corduroy trousers and Becker knew that his feet were bare apart from his boots. There’d been no time to waste putting socks on…

Socks. He’d actually grabbed them off the floor and stuffed them into one of his pockets. A fact he’d totally forgotten until then. He groped in his pockets and ascertained that he was indeed in possession of a pair of thick, probably smelly, socks.

“I’ve got a present for you.”

“A bottle of Guinness?”

“Your socks.”

This time the snort he got in reply sounded like it held a faint trace of humour. A minute or so passed then Ethan said, “Well, are you gonna hand ‘em over or hold the feckin’ things to ransom?”

In the pitch black of the cellar Becker couldn’t risk just wadding the socks up and throwing them over. The two men were sitting propped up against opposite walls, having started out preferring to keep their distance. But for all Ethan’s bravado, Becker knew the man was no fool, and with what Becker knew of his history, the soldier was certain he wasn’t suicidal, either.

Becker struggled to his feet. The cold had numbed his limbs and made movement difficult, especially as he couldn’t seem to feel his feet any more, which he knew wasn’t a good sign. He shuffled carefully across the floor, doing his best to ignore the nagging pain in his barely-healed thigh.

“Close enough, soldier boy,” Ethan muttered. “I’m not feeling that friendly.”

“Shut up and take your boots off. Feet aren’t my thing, so you can put your own bloody socks on.” Becker finally felt the rough brick of the cellar wall against his outstretched fingers and started to sink carefully to his knees, tensed and ready to defend himself if Ethan decided to lash out.

No blow came at him and Becker started to relax. He heard the rustle of clothing as Ethan drew up his legs and fumbled with the laces on his boots. A soft curse in what he presumed was Irish told him that his companion’s fingers were probably too numb with cold to undo the hastily-tied knots.

Without speaking, he batted Ethan’s hands away and tugged at the laces. After a brief struggle he managed to get both boots off. Without waiting for permission, he pulled the socks onto freezing cold feet and rubbed them as hard as he could in an attempt to get the circulation going again. He half-expected to get a kick in the face for his trouble, but to his surprise, Ethan made no move to pull away.

The wool of the socks was rough under Becker’s hands, but the movement was helping to restore his own circulation as well, so he continued until a soft gasp told him that Ethan was probably now suffering the same pins and needles in his feet that Becker was getting in his hands. He carried on for a few more minutes more then jammed the boots back on and did his best to retie the laces. For all he knew, they might end up having to make a hasty exit from their refuge.

“Don’t give up the day job,” Ethan commented, letting out a small hiss of pain as he shifted position in what was probably an attempt to get comfortable on an arse than must have been hurting like hell. “That was a crap massage.”

Becker had had no time to check the extent of his companion’s injuries, but from the blood he’d seen, it was clear that Ethan had been torn in the process of the rape. Becker clamped down hard on his own emotions. It was no time to let his own memories out to play. That wouldn’t help either of them and he didn’t fancy engaging in any form of verbal show and tell. He’d had enough of that with the army psychologists when he’d got back from his last tour of duty in Afghanistan. Telling Ethan he knew what he was going through was unlikely to bring them any closer.

Instead he simply retorted, “Ungrateful sod. And I told you I didn’t like feet.” Becker pulled the survival blanket out of his pocket and opened the packet with his teeth. “I don’t care how much of a sodding death wish you’ve got, Dubrowski, I’m not going to sit here and freeze to death just because you’ve got personal space issues.”

Becker opened the survival blanket and placed it carefully on the floor and against the wall. The rustle of the foil was loud in the silence. He sat down on it and spread his thighs.

“Sit between my legs, and watch where you’re putting your elbows. Some fucking thing that didn’t know when to stay extinct took a chunk out of my thigh last week.”

“Aw, diddums,” Ethan sneered. But to Becker’s surprise, the man shuffled sideways and clumsily settled down between Becker’s legs. “Consider yourself lucky, soldier boy, I don’t normally put out on a first date.” The suppressed gasp Ethan gave when his arse came back into contact with the hard concrete floor told its own story.

“I’m honoured,” Becker said lightly. He drew the foil blanket around them and pulled it up around their faces to catch the warmth of their exhaled air.

Ethan was tense and shivering, but all Becker did was lean back against the wall, his hands at his side, trying not to force any more contact on the other man that was strictly necessary. Only a few hours ago, Ethan Dubrowski had been forced to perform oral sex and then been brutally raped by at least three men so Becker was just surprised that he’d managed to get this close to him without having had his teeth rammed down his throat. But at least their chances of surviving the night had gone up by a couple of notches.

It was easy to lose track of time in the darkness of the cellar and Becker didn’t want to risk wasting heat by checking his watch. The time didn’t matter: whatever happened they’d be stuck here until the snowstorm abated. He’d just have to hope that the anomaly they’d escaped through was still open. If not, he was no doubt going to learn a lot more than he’d ever wanted to know about the life of a nomadic time-traveller.

Eventually, their shared body heat gradually raised the temperature in their foil cocoon and they both stopped shivering. Equally gradually, some of the tension started to leave Ethan’s body and he relaxed back against Becker’s chest and from the soft sound of his breathing, Becker began to wonder if the man had fallen asleep. In an attempt to ease his own position, Becker gently settled his arms around Ethan’s waist.

“Watch yourself, soldier boy,” Ethan said quietly, no trace of sleep in his voice. “No getting too friendly. Like I told you, you’re not my type. I prefer blondes.”

“With big tits?”

A soft chuckle was all he got by way of reply.

Ethan changed position slightly, pressing back against Becker’s groin for a moment. Becker closed his eyes again and told himself that getting a hard-on would be a very bad idea indeed.

“You watch yourself as well,” he warned. “I’m going to need a piss before the night’s out, so stop shoving your arse into my fucking groin. Haven’t you had enough of that sort of thing for one day? Just stay still, will you?”

“Isn’t this where you try to kiss me?” Ethan challenged

Becker’s eyes shot open. “No it’s fucking not.”

“Liar.” The word was quietly spoken, and the soft Irish accent, so different from Danny Quinn’s brash London twang, went straight to Becker’s groin.

“How come you and your brother have got different accents?” Becker asked to keep his mind off what was happening elsewhere.

“Spent more time with Ma than Danny boy did,” Ethan said. “Now stop asking personal questions and keep your dick in your pants. And if you want to take a piss, you can hold it yourself as well. I’m off cock right now.”

Right now? Becker turned the words over in his head. He had a nasty feeling that he was starting to lose control of this encounter and he was bloody certain that he was starting to read more into Ethan Dobrowski’s comments that he should be doing.

It was freezing cold; Becker was also exhausted and suffering from adrenaline fatigue. On top of that he had his arms around a man who might – or might not – be a murderer. If truth be told, Becker was actually well beyond the stage of deriving any amusement from their verbal sparring. He just wanted to go to sleep and he suspected Ethan felt the same way. He could examine his reactions to the man in the equally cold light of day if they lived that long.

“Stop thinking and get some feckin’ sleep,” Ethan told him, turning his head slightly and resting it on the stiff material of Becker’s equipment vest.

Becker closed his eyes again and rested his own head against the hard bricks of the wall. If he had to spend too long in Ethan Dobrowski’s company, he would probably end up banging his head against it as well.

Sometime later, he heard Ethan murmur, “Thanks for pulling that feckin’ bastard off me.”

In answer, Becker tightened his arms around his companion and finally allowed himself the luxury of sleep.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

kerry-louise.livejournal.com

*growls at the bastards who raped Ethan*

Becker can shoot them all yes?

Lovely comfort though :-)

From:

Fic, The Dark Before the Dawn, Becker/Ethan, 18

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