Fic, Unwinding, Becker/Cutter, 18
Aug. 5th, 2011 10:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Unwinding
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Becker/Cutter
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Warnings: Angst mixed with smut. Vague reference to S2.7.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Becker is about to start a new posting and needs to unwind in advance.
A/N : Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
reggietate ’s prompt, Cutter/Becker – back alley, on the Denial prompt fest.
Becker hesitated for a moment outside the pub, taking in the peeling paint, the broken window held together with duct tape and the gaggle of customers hanging around outside, all smoking.
None of them met his eyes. Word that he’d broken the nose of the last man to grope his arse without an invitation had clearly got around. Becker briefly considered just turning around and going home, but he had an itch that needed to be scratched and he had no idea how much free time his new posting would entail…
With a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Becker nodded to the smokers and made his way to the bar.
The landlord saw him coming and flipped the top off a bottle of strong Belgian beer and pushed it across the stained wood, awash with spilled drinks. Becker had been here a few times before his tastes were known, in more ways than one. The man held his gaze for a moment and then gave a slight nod in the direction of a bloke sitting on a stool staring morosely at the row of optics behind the bar.
Blond hair that should have been cut a couple of weeks ago brushed the collar of what looked like a Swedish army jacket but there was no way its wearer was ex-military. A heavy growth of stubble shaded slightly sunken cheeks that spoke of the consumption of alcohol more than food, even though the guy didn’t look like a lush. When Becker edged closer he could smell lemon soap. That was the clincher. He still had some standards, even when he was out on the pull.
The landlord reached up and scratched his pock-marked face with three fingers. Becker counted the optics from left to right. It was a well-rehearsed routine. He swigged the beer from the neck of the bottle, emptying it in three long swallows. He pushed the empty bottle along the bar and received a full one in return.
“Care to join me in a whisky chaser?” He nodded to the row of optics. “Let me guess, Talisker?”
The man’s blue eyes widened slightly as he turned to face Becker. He looked like a man who’d just seen a ghost as he swallowed hard and nodded in a way that fell a very long way short of casual.
Becker wasn’t sure how much the bloke had already had to drink, but he took very little persuasion to top up his intake with three large whiskies, one after the other. The only sign that his drinking companion was not exactly sober was the thickness of his Scottish accent as he made rude remarks about the lamentable performance of his countrymen in the Six Nations earlier that day.
Becker had been playing this sort of game long enough to know when he was onto a winner. He slipped off his stool and remarked, “I need a piss.”
It was nothing more than the truth, but the hard-on he’d been sporting for the last 15 minutes made taking a leak harder than it should have been. Becker wondered if the Scotsman would join him straight away, but something in the bloke’s manner told him that he wasn’t experienced in this sort of encounter and anyway, the state of the bogs in the Red Lion left a lot to be desired. Becker tucked his still-hard cock away, washed his hands and wandered back out.
A waft of cold air told him that someone had pushed open the panic-bar on the fire exit. The Scotsman was leaning in the doorway to the back alley, staring out over a pile of empty beer barrels and other detritus, picked out by a shaft of pale moonlight. Becker stared at the other man speculatively and allowed a little heat to bleed into his smile.
The other man looked uncomfortable but didn’t retreat.
“What do you want?” Becker asked casually. “A blowjob or a fuck?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he struggled to reply. After a minute he gave up a clearly unequal struggle and stepped out into the rubbish-strewn alley and leaned back against the brick wall, his hips canted slightly out. It looked like Becker had his answer.
He kicked at the concrete, making sure there was no broken glass underfoot and then dropped to his knees and undid the zip of the man’s trousers, fishing out a half-hard cock. Becker was pleased to note the bloke was circumcised. Another potential hygiene problem he didn’t have to worry about. It was a while since he’d sucked cock and Becker felt the familiar frisson of excitement curl in his guts as he worked the bloke’s dick in his hand before taking it in his mouth and running his tongue slowly around the rapidly-swelling head.
The man gave a slight gasp and Becker felt the tremble in the bloke’s thighs. He grinned around his mouthful. It didn’t take a mind-reader to know that it was a while since this guy had been blown, and probably never in circumstances like this. Becker hollowed his cheeks and sucked, teasing at the man’s slit in a move that he’d learnt was a sure-fire way of getting a reaction.
The gasp turned into a groan and he had to prevent the bloke bucking up into his mouth. Becker slid down the long, hard length of the man’s cock, scraping lightly with his teeth, adding a spice of pain to the pleasure he knew he was delivering. Hands tangled in his hair as Becker buried his nose in the man’s groin, inhaling the smell of lemon soap mixed with the musk of his companion’s arousal. It was a heady mixture and Becker knew his own cock was hard and leaking, aching for release. He dropped a hand and tugged at his zip, freeing himself from the confines of his trousers and underwear.
Another Scottish-sounding groan went straight to Becker’s dick as he fisted himself and concentrated on bringing his companion off before the bloke had his hair out by the roots. Becker had to use two hands for a moment to hold onto the man’s hips. Becker knew he gave good head, but he couldn’t deep-throat in this position. With his own cock jutting out, hard and heavy between his legs, Becker licked and sucked, burrowing his curled tongue into the man’s slit again, tasting the bitter tang of pre-come.
He could feel his climax coiling low in his guts and knew he was only a moment or two from feeling the sought-after rush of warmth that would banish his demons for a while to come, but professional pride wouldn’t let him reach his own release first.
He slid slowly down the smooth skin of the Scotsman’s dick, taking him in as far as he could without gagging and then slid back up his length, with that slight scrape of teeth that he knew would be enough…
“Ah, Jesus, Stephen…!”
As come flooded Becker’s mouth, he tugged hard at his own cock. Warmth burst inside him, stealing away his breath and setting every nerve ending on fire. He could feel the man’s thighs trembling violently and used his come-covered hand to make sure the bloke stayed propped up against the wall.
When he’d managed to catch his breath and come down from a high that was almost as good as the one he got from combat and better than anything drink or drugs could produce, Becker sank back on his heels and stared up at the Scotsman. Moonlight silvered the twin tear tracks on the man’s face, seeping from beneath his tightly-closed eyes.
Whoever Stephen was, this bloke clearly wasn’t over him. Not by a long chalk.
Becker wiped his hands on his own trousers, tidied himself up and came smoothly to his feet.
He didn’t normally hang around after an encounter like this, but on this occasion he’d at least go as far as buying the bloke another drink. He looked like he needed one.
And another beer wouldn’t go amiss, either.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Becker/Cutter
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Warnings: Angst mixed with smut. Vague reference to S2.7.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Becker is about to start a new posting and needs to unwind in advance.
A/N : Written for
reggietate ’s prompt, Cutter/Becker – back alley, on the Denial prompt fest.Becker hesitated for a moment outside the pub, taking in the peeling paint, the broken window held together with duct tape and the gaggle of customers hanging around outside, all smoking.
None of them met his eyes. Word that he’d broken the nose of the last man to grope his arse without an invitation had clearly got around. Becker briefly considered just turning around and going home, but he had an itch that needed to be scratched and he had no idea how much free time his new posting would entail…
With a slight smile that didn’t reach his eyes, Becker nodded to the smokers and made his way to the bar.
The landlord saw him coming and flipped the top off a bottle of strong Belgian beer and pushed it across the stained wood, awash with spilled drinks. Becker had been here a few times before his tastes were known, in more ways than one. The man held his gaze for a moment and then gave a slight nod in the direction of a bloke sitting on a stool staring morosely at the row of optics behind the bar.
Blond hair that should have been cut a couple of weeks ago brushed the collar of what looked like a Swedish army jacket but there was no way its wearer was ex-military. A heavy growth of stubble shaded slightly sunken cheeks that spoke of the consumption of alcohol more than food, even though the guy didn’t look like a lush. When Becker edged closer he could smell lemon soap. That was the clincher. He still had some standards, even when he was out on the pull.
The landlord reached up and scratched his pock-marked face with three fingers. Becker counted the optics from left to right. It was a well-rehearsed routine. He swigged the beer from the neck of the bottle, emptying it in three long swallows. He pushed the empty bottle along the bar and received a full one in return.
“Care to join me in a whisky chaser?” He nodded to the row of optics. “Let me guess, Talisker?”
The man’s blue eyes widened slightly as he turned to face Becker. He looked like a man who’d just seen a ghost as he swallowed hard and nodded in a way that fell a very long way short of casual.
Becker wasn’t sure how much the bloke had already had to drink, but he took very little persuasion to top up his intake with three large whiskies, one after the other. The only sign that his drinking companion was not exactly sober was the thickness of his Scottish accent as he made rude remarks about the lamentable performance of his countrymen in the Six Nations earlier that day.
Becker had been playing this sort of game long enough to know when he was onto a winner. He slipped off his stool and remarked, “I need a piss.”
It was nothing more than the truth, but the hard-on he’d been sporting for the last 15 minutes made taking a leak harder than it should have been. Becker wondered if the Scotsman would join him straight away, but something in the bloke’s manner told him that he wasn’t experienced in this sort of encounter and anyway, the state of the bogs in the Red Lion left a lot to be desired. Becker tucked his still-hard cock away, washed his hands and wandered back out.
A waft of cold air told him that someone had pushed open the panic-bar on the fire exit. The Scotsman was leaning in the doorway to the back alley, staring out over a pile of empty beer barrels and other detritus, picked out by a shaft of pale moonlight. Becker stared at the other man speculatively and allowed a little heat to bleed into his smile.
The other man looked uncomfortable but didn’t retreat.
“What do you want?” Becker asked casually. “A blowjob or a fuck?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he struggled to reply. After a minute he gave up a clearly unequal struggle and stepped out into the rubbish-strewn alley and leaned back against the brick wall, his hips canted slightly out. It looked like Becker had his answer.
He kicked at the concrete, making sure there was no broken glass underfoot and then dropped to his knees and undid the zip of the man’s trousers, fishing out a half-hard cock. Becker was pleased to note the bloke was circumcised. Another potential hygiene problem he didn’t have to worry about. It was a while since he’d sucked cock and Becker felt the familiar frisson of excitement curl in his guts as he worked the bloke’s dick in his hand before taking it in his mouth and running his tongue slowly around the rapidly-swelling head.
The man gave a slight gasp and Becker felt the tremble in the bloke’s thighs. He grinned around his mouthful. It didn’t take a mind-reader to know that it was a while since this guy had been blown, and probably never in circumstances like this. Becker hollowed his cheeks and sucked, teasing at the man’s slit in a move that he’d learnt was a sure-fire way of getting a reaction.
The gasp turned into a groan and he had to prevent the bloke bucking up into his mouth. Becker slid down the long, hard length of the man’s cock, scraping lightly with his teeth, adding a spice of pain to the pleasure he knew he was delivering. Hands tangled in his hair as Becker buried his nose in the man’s groin, inhaling the smell of lemon soap mixed with the musk of his companion’s arousal. It was a heady mixture and Becker knew his own cock was hard and leaking, aching for release. He dropped a hand and tugged at his zip, freeing himself from the confines of his trousers and underwear.
Another Scottish-sounding groan went straight to Becker’s dick as he fisted himself and concentrated on bringing his companion off before the bloke had his hair out by the roots. Becker had to use two hands for a moment to hold onto the man’s hips. Becker knew he gave good head, but he couldn’t deep-throat in this position. With his own cock jutting out, hard and heavy between his legs, Becker licked and sucked, burrowing his curled tongue into the man’s slit again, tasting the bitter tang of pre-come.
He could feel his climax coiling low in his guts and knew he was only a moment or two from feeling the sought-after rush of warmth that would banish his demons for a while to come, but professional pride wouldn’t let him reach his own release first.
He slid slowly down the smooth skin of the Scotsman’s dick, taking him in as far as he could without gagging and then slid back up his length, with that slight scrape of teeth that he knew would be enough…
“Ah, Jesus, Stephen…!”
As come flooded Becker’s mouth, he tugged hard at his own cock. Warmth burst inside him, stealing away his breath and setting every nerve ending on fire. He could feel the man’s thighs trembling violently and used his come-covered hand to make sure the bloke stayed propped up against the wall.
When he’d managed to catch his breath and come down from a high that was almost as good as the one he got from combat and better than anything drink or drugs could produce, Becker sank back on his heels and stared up at the Scotsman. Moonlight silvered the twin tear tracks on the man’s face, seeping from beneath his tightly-closed eyes.
Whoever Stephen was, this bloke clearly wasn’t over him. Not by a long chalk.
Becker wiped his hands on his own trousers, tidied himself up and came smoothly to his feet.
He didn’t normally hang around after an encounter like this, but on this occasion he’d at least go as far as buying the bloke another drink. He looked like he needed one.
And another beer wouldn’t go amiss, either.
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Date: 2011-08-05 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-08-06 08:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 08:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 09:07 am (UTC)So I'd find it hard to get into a Stephen/Matt fic or a Ryan/Burton one. Which is not to say it can't be done but I think the writer has to work that bit harder.
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Date: 2011-08-06 10:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-06 07:37 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-08-08 07:30 am (UTC)Did that help? *g*
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Date: 2011-08-18 12:21 am (UTC)The small hints at Cutter's desperation about Stephen's death are wonderful worked in in this story. It's easy to imagine the state Cutter has been in when he decided to go to such a seedy pub.
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Date: 2011-08-18 09:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-18 09:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-09-16 06:25 am (UTC)(yeah, apparently I've missed more fic than I thought I had recently...)
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Date: 2011-09-16 09:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-02 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-02 07:05 pm (UTC)