Fic, Battered, Becker/Danny, 15
Jun. 6th, 2020 04:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettAuthor : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Becker/Danny
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Today was one of those days when Becker felt lucky to be alive.
A/N : Inspired by the weekly piccie on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mansfieldfans here.
“Thought we’d lost you today, soldier boy.”
Becker rubbed a towel over his wet hair, too knackered to spar with Danny. “You don’t get rid of me that easily, Quinn.”
“Filched these from the medical bay,” Danny said, holding up a packet of antiseptic wipes.
“I’m fine.”
Danny grinned. “You’ve still got a wrecked teeshirt and a bloody great scrape on your arm to match. The teeshirt’s not salvageable, but the arm might be…”
“Never took you for the maternal type.” Becker pulled on a pair of loose trousers, ignoring the bruises blooming on his right thigh and the ache in his left ankle where he’d turned it on some loose rocks sprinting away from the evil fuckers that had nearly taken him down during the frantic search for Abby’s idiot brother.
“I was always pretty good with grazed knees and elbows.”
Danny’s almost wistful tone took Becker by surprise, then he remembered the man’s missing brother. From what he remembered, Patrick Quinn has been a few years younger than Danny, but beyond that, Becker realised he knew nothing about Danny’s family background.
He heaved a theatrical sigh and turned his left arm towards his teammate. “Go on then, but if it hurts, I’ll cry.”
“Take a look in my locker, there’s some anaesthetic that might be to your taste…”
A battered hipflask turned out to contain an extremely acceptable Irish whiskey. Becker took a long swallow and savoured both the taste and the spreading warmth. He held it out to Danny, who took a swig and passed it back.
The antiseptic wipe stung like a swarm of hornets as Danny carefully cleaned the large, raw scrape on Becker’s upper arm. It was going to need a dressing. Becker knew he should have just reported to the medical bay, but he was tired and just couldn’t be bothered. The adrenaline downer had hit him like a ton of bricks in the shower and he just wanted to stick a ready meal in the microwave in the rest room and then sleep it off in one of the ARC’s staff bedrooms. He was on shift again the following morning, so there was no point heading back to his flat.
“There’s a dressing in my med pack. Do me a favour and slap that on when you’re done, Danny.”
“Just let me sort out that cut on your forehead as well.” Danny opened another wipe and dabbed gently at the cut. “You’re bloody lucky. Those fuckers are nasty.”
“I’ve certainly been in nicer petting zoos.” He took another mouthful of whiskey, feeling the tension of their unscheduled trip to a ruined future start to ebb from his body.
“Drink up, there’s more in my office. Lester can wait until tomorrow for the report.”
“Yeah, it’s not going to be a short one. What the fuck was that all about today?”
“Buggered if I know, but if that’s the future, I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”
The adrenaline fatigue combined with alcohol on an empty stomach had left Becker feeling slightly lightheaded. He sat down more heavily than he intended on the bench behind him before letting Danny apply a field dressing to his upper arm.
“You looked wrecked.” For once, Danny’s tone was devoid of his habitual slightly mocking humour.
“I’ve felt better,” Becker admitted. “I’ve read the accounts of what those things are capable of. Didn’t think I stood a fucking chance.”
He let his head fall back against the locker behind him and took another slug of whiskey. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to block out the images of the slavering predators with their skeletal bodies, lethal jaws and claws that could rip flesh with terrifying ease.
A moment later, Becker felt the gentle brush of the back of Danny’s fingers on his cheek in an unmistakeable caress. He exhaled slowly, letting the sensation wash through him, mixing with the warmth of the whiskey and the fading buzz of combat. The same gentle fingers carded through his damp hair.
“Mind the hair,” Becker murmured.
Danny’s hand trailed over his chest. “Do you use styling gel here, too?”
“Fuck off, Quinn, I don’t use gel.” There was no heat in the words and Danny knew it.
Blunt fingers caressed each nipple, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through Becker’s rapidly hardening cock. He took another sip of the whiskey, hoping Danny had locked the fucking door.
Warm breath ghosted over his ear and Becker felt the light rasp of stubble against his neck as Danny’s fingers followed the trail of hair from Becker’s chest down his stomach to the waistband of his trousers. Becker could feel the hesitancy in Danny’s movements, the usual brash confidence gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic hesitance. When he made no move to draw away, Danny flipped open the button and eased down the zip, running his fingers down the hard length of Becker’s cock.
“Christ, you look hot, soldier boy…”
“I always look hot, Danny boy. That’s why you’ve been flirting with me for weeks. Is it the Mossberg, the thigh holster or the fact that I look good in black?”
“You’d look good in a bin bag.”
“I’d look fucking stupid in a bin bag.”
Danny’s lips closed over his in a feather light kiss as his fingers slipped inside Becker’s underwear to stroke his cock.
Becker gasped, their breath mingling. “Fuck, Danny, I hope you locked the bloody door…”
“Yep, and I stuck a cleaning in progress sign outside.”
As long as Danny kept touching him like that, Becker didn’t particularly care who saw them, but he’d been the last one into the showers and there was no reason for anyone to try to come in here now.
The next kiss was deeper. Danny’s tongue slipped between Becker’s lips, asking rather than demanding. Becker’s lips worked against Danny’s granting the permission he was so obviously seeking. With Danny’s hand on his cock, and his tongue in Becker’s mouth, they’d galloped past the flirting stage at speed.
The large hand worked his cock with practised ease, taking Becker to the brink as sensation built to an almost unbearable pitch. He thrust up into the encircling fingers, chasing an end to tension, forcing away thoughts of injury and death. He’d been fucking lucky and he knew it. But in his job, everyone needed to be lucky. Being good wasn’t enough.
“Fuck!” Becker tensed then let go as he hit climax in a warm rush that left him limp and gasping.
Danny kissed him through the small aftershocks, sensing the exact moment Becker became too sensitive for any further touching.
“Yeah, fucking would be nice at some point, but not now. Now I’m going to microwave you some macaroni cheese, pour a couple of beers down you, then put you to bed.”
“Come to bed with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask, soldier boy.”
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Becker/Danny
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Today was one of those days when Becker felt lucky to be alive.
A/N : Inspired by the weekly piccie on
mansfieldfans here.“Thought we’d lost you today, soldier boy.”
Becker rubbed a towel over his wet hair, too knackered to spar with Danny. “You don’t get rid of me that easily, Quinn.”
“Filched these from the medical bay,” Danny said, holding up a packet of antiseptic wipes.
“I’m fine.”
Danny grinned. “You’ve still got a wrecked teeshirt and a bloody great scrape on your arm to match. The teeshirt’s not salvageable, but the arm might be…”
“Never took you for the maternal type.” Becker pulled on a pair of loose trousers, ignoring the bruises blooming on his right thigh and the ache in his left ankle where he’d turned it on some loose rocks sprinting away from the evil fuckers that had nearly taken him down during the frantic search for Abby’s idiot brother.
“I was always pretty good with grazed knees and elbows.”
Danny’s almost wistful tone took Becker by surprise, then he remembered the man’s missing brother. From what he remembered, Patrick Quinn has been a few years younger than Danny, but beyond that, Becker realised he knew nothing about Danny’s family background.
He heaved a theatrical sigh and turned his left arm towards his teammate. “Go on then, but if it hurts, I’ll cry.”
“Take a look in my locker, there’s some anaesthetic that might be to your taste…”
A battered hipflask turned out to contain an extremely acceptable Irish whiskey. Becker took a long swallow and savoured both the taste and the spreading warmth. He held it out to Danny, who took a swig and passed it back.
The antiseptic wipe stung like a swarm of hornets as Danny carefully cleaned the large, raw scrape on Becker’s upper arm. It was going to need a dressing. Becker knew he should have just reported to the medical bay, but he was tired and just couldn’t be bothered. The adrenaline downer had hit him like a ton of bricks in the shower and he just wanted to stick a ready meal in the microwave in the rest room and then sleep it off in one of the ARC’s staff bedrooms. He was on shift again the following morning, so there was no point heading back to his flat.
“There’s a dressing in my med pack. Do me a favour and slap that on when you’re done, Danny.”
“Just let me sort out that cut on your forehead as well.” Danny opened another wipe and dabbed gently at the cut. “You’re bloody lucky. Those fuckers are nasty.”
“I’ve certainly been in nicer petting zoos.” He took another mouthful of whiskey, feeling the tension of their unscheduled trip to a ruined future start to ebb from his body.
“Drink up, there’s more in my office. Lester can wait until tomorrow for the report.”
“Yeah, it’s not going to be a short one. What the fuck was that all about today?”
“Buggered if I know, but if that’s the future, I can’t say I’m looking forward to it.”
The adrenaline fatigue combined with alcohol on an empty stomach had left Becker feeling slightly lightheaded. He sat down more heavily than he intended on the bench behind him before letting Danny apply a field dressing to his upper arm.
“You looked wrecked.” For once, Danny’s tone was devoid of his habitual slightly mocking humour.
“I’ve felt better,” Becker admitted. “I’ve read the accounts of what those things are capable of. Didn’t think I stood a fucking chance.”
He let his head fall back against the locker behind him and took another slug of whiskey. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to block out the images of the slavering predators with their skeletal bodies, lethal jaws and claws that could rip flesh with terrifying ease.
A moment later, Becker felt the gentle brush of the back of Danny’s fingers on his cheek in an unmistakeable caress. He exhaled slowly, letting the sensation wash through him, mixing with the warmth of the whiskey and the fading buzz of combat. The same gentle fingers carded through his damp hair.
“Mind the hair,” Becker murmured.
Danny’s hand trailed over his chest. “Do you use styling gel here, too?”
“Fuck off, Quinn, I don’t use gel.” There was no heat in the words and Danny knew it.
Blunt fingers caressed each nipple, sending a sharp spike of pleasure through Becker’s rapidly hardening cock. He took another sip of the whiskey, hoping Danny had locked the fucking door.
Warm breath ghosted over his ear and Becker felt the light rasp of stubble against his neck as Danny’s fingers followed the trail of hair from Becker’s chest down his stomach to the waistband of his trousers. Becker could feel the hesitancy in Danny’s movements, the usual brash confidence gone, replaced by an uncharacteristic hesitance. When he made no move to draw away, Danny flipped open the button and eased down the zip, running his fingers down the hard length of Becker’s cock.
“Christ, you look hot, soldier boy…”
“I always look hot, Danny boy. That’s why you’ve been flirting with me for weeks. Is it the Mossberg, the thigh holster or the fact that I look good in black?”
“You’d look good in a bin bag.”
“I’d look fucking stupid in a bin bag.”
Danny’s lips closed over his in a feather light kiss as his fingers slipped inside Becker’s underwear to stroke his cock.
Becker gasped, their breath mingling. “Fuck, Danny, I hope you locked the bloody door…”
“Yep, and I stuck a cleaning in progress sign outside.”
As long as Danny kept touching him like that, Becker didn’t particularly care who saw them, but he’d been the last one into the showers and there was no reason for anyone to try to come in here now.
The next kiss was deeper. Danny’s tongue slipped between Becker’s lips, asking rather than demanding. Becker’s lips worked against Danny’s granting the permission he was so obviously seeking. With Danny’s hand on his cock, and his tongue in Becker’s mouth, they’d galloped past the flirting stage at speed.
The large hand worked his cock with practised ease, taking Becker to the brink as sensation built to an almost unbearable pitch. He thrust up into the encircling fingers, chasing an end to tension, forcing away thoughts of injury and death. He’d been fucking lucky and he knew it. But in his job, everyone needed to be lucky. Being good wasn’t enough.
“Fuck!” Becker tensed then let go as he hit climax in a warm rush that left him limp and gasping.
Danny kissed him through the small aftershocks, sensing the exact moment Becker became too sensitive for any further touching.
“Yeah, fucking would be nice at some point, but not now. Now I’m going to microwave you some macaroni cheese, pour a couple of beers down you, then put you to bed.”
“Come to bed with me?”
“Thought you’d never ask, soldier boy.”