![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: Terror
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Connor/Stephen
Rating: R
Spoilers: Set mid season 1
Word Count: 1,400
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: This is a sort of prequel to My Soul to Sing.
Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mmom. Thanks to aithine for the rapid beta.
Summary: Connor was still shaking when Stephen body-slammed him into the side of the barn.
~*~
Connor was still shaking when Stephen body-slammed him into the side of the barn. He froze, eyes frantically darting around, looking for another Phorusrhacid. They didn't hunt in packs, he didn't think, but it wouldn't be the first time he - by which he meant current knowledge - had been wrong. Stephen still had the scar from the last time, a deep red pucker on his shoulder that Connor had seen more than once in the changing rooms when he hadn't been looking. He hadn't.
Nothing moved, nothing but the rapid rise and fall of Stephen's chest where it pressed against him. The Phorusrhacid, maybe a Brontornis from the size - not that Connor wanted a closer look because he'd had quite close enough a look, thank you, as the thing had headed towards him, all sharp, sharp beak and beady little eyes and so far away from a chicken that it was, literally, scary - lay behind Stephen. Connor could see it over Stephen's shoulder; its chest was still, blood speckling its feathers from the bullets that Stephen had fired. The rock Connor had thrown to get its attention in the first place, at least its attention away from Stephen - as though that had done any good - lay beside what remained of its head, the beak shattered and even uglier now. Stephen was thorough; Connor had to admit that.
But nothing was moving, nothing, and Connor dragged his eyes back to Stephen's face, trusting Stephen to spot what he hadn't.
Stephen was staring at him, his mouth tight and hard and his eyes glittering strangely. The questions Connor had died in his throat and he swallowed convulsively.
"Stephen?" The word was shaky, skirting too close to pleading for Connor's comfort. He wasn't used to this - being chased, at risk of being eaten, especially by something that should have resembled an overgrown turkey but had instead turned out to be the stuff of nightmares. Stephen might be able to deal with this calmly, but Connor wasn't Stephen. Wouldn't ever be Stephen.
"You stupid…" Stephen slammed him back against the wall again, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Now the fear spiked again - not that Stephen would hurt him, although the way that Stephen was staring at him, eyes fierce and lip curled, didn't even make that a certainty, but that Stephen really believed it. Really thought that he was a stupid, useless idiot.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Connor had no answer to that because the fury on Stephen's face had stripped his words away. He could only stare at Stephen as Stephen's fingers dug into his shoulders.
"Well?" Stephen shook him again, his face white and tense, and Connor swallowed again, wishing he was anywhere, anywhere but here. The idea that Stephen could be - was - disappointed or angry with him, hurt.
"I… I just wanted to help," he said, hating how his voice came out, quiet and apologetic. "I couldn't… I just… I couldn't…"
"Couldn't what, Connor?"
Stephen was too close, face right in Connor's and his fingers digging in, hard. His voice was harder still, all sharp, raw edges that tore at Connor and left him hoping that the wounds didn't show. If Stephen thought he was pathetic now…
But he was no match for Stephen, physically or otherwise. He couldn't weather the storm of Stephen's anger. He was just pathetic like that; he could no more not give Stephen what he wanted than he could let Stephen stand there on his own, with something all sharp beak and hunger heading towards him.
He'd bought Stephen some time, hadn't he? Been just enough of a distraction to let Stephen reload. Surely that had to count for something? Didn't it?
He looked away, staring fixedly at the dead predator on the ground, knowing that he'd give in, try to explain and probably end up giving away far too much in the process. He was a crap liar, but anything was better than Stephen's anger - even Stephen's pity.
"It was heading towards you, Stephen. I couldn't…" It was weak and he was, too. The way that Stephen was looking at him now… yeah. Stephen didn't miss much. There'd be more comments about him not being Stephen's type again, only they wouldn't be jokey this time because it would be the kindness that would be important.
"You could have been killed." Stephen's voice was merciless, each word spat out as he shook Connor in punctuation, a sharp tap, tap, tap that drove all of the messages home. "Those things move fast, Connor. What chance did you have? What chance would you have had if we hadn't been lucky?"
"I'm…" He'd meant to apologise, for being pathetic probably, but Stephen's fingers were leaving bruises, and the way he was shaking Connor - looking at Connor - just made the misery well up. What came out, low and even more pathetic was, "You're hurting me."
Stephen let go of him so abruptly that he staggered, eyes never leaving Stephen's face. He didn't look angry now; he looked… Connor wasn't sure what the expression on Stephen's face was. Lost, maybe. He looked…
"You could have been killed," Stephen repeated, and it clicked. It clicked.
Stephen looked devastated.
Connor swallowed, mouth dry and his heart pounding. He reached out, fingers trembling - for what, he didn't know. It was all too…
And then Stephen was grabbing him again, his fingers still hard, digging in but pulling Connor forward this time, not pushing him back. He stumbled again, his hand slamming into Stephen's chest but Stephen was right back in his face again and…
Oh.
Stephen's fingers were cupping his face now, holding his head still as Stephen pressed his mouth against his. It was hard and unforgiving as kisses went - not that Connor had much experience, but not even he could miss the ferocity behind it, the fear and everything else. It was terrifying - maybe even scarier than being run at by a six foot tall, hook beaked giant bird.
He didn't know what to do. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about this, about Stephen like this, but he'd never imagined Stephen kissing him so hard that he'd taste his own blood, or Stephen's fingers digging into his scalp. Or the way that Stephen swallowed every pained hiss, clutching at him desperately,
Or how the look in Stephen's eyes when he pulled back, pressing his forehead against Connor's, would be broken.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, at a loss for anything else to say.
"Don't ever…" Stephen said, cutting himself off to kiss Connor again, still hard, still hurting but Connor got the weird feeling that it was hurting Stephen more. "Don't ever…"
He closed his eyes, pressing himself against Stephen, trying to show that he was here, alive, something like that. He didn't know. He was beyond just being merely out of his depth. Stephen pressed back, hard, and Connor hit the wall again, hard enough to knock the breath out of him, the breath that Stephen's kisses hadn't already stolen. Stephen's leg was between his and Stephen's fingers were clutching at him and Stephen was whispering brokenly against the skin of his neck, a constant litany of 'Connor' and 'don't' and 'promise'.
Connor couldn't promise, couldn't do anything except muffle his cry against Stephen's neck when Stephen's hand worked its way into Connor's trousers. Stephen's fingers were just as hard, his grip just as tight there too, ruthlessly demanding submission; that Connor give in, do what he wanted, be safe. Stephen's mouth barely seemed to leave his skin, even as it tracked restlessly from his neck to his cheek, across his forehead, against his mouth, constantly moving and seeking something that Connor didn't know how to give.
He could only hold on to Stephen, trust in Stephen to bring him home safely. It came naturally, had done so since the day he'd met Stephen, and when Stephen's fingers - Stephen's strong, steady fingers - brought him off, it was Stephen who shook, Stephen who said please, Connor. Please.
And it was Connor who held Stephen up.
The End
Author:
alyseFandom: Primeval
Pairing: Connor/Stephen
Rating: R
Spoilers: Set mid season 1
Word Count: 1,400
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Author's Notes: This is a sort of prequel to My Soul to Sing.
Written for
mmom. Thanks to aithine for the rapid beta.Summary: Connor was still shaking when Stephen body-slammed him into the side of the barn.
~*~
Connor was still shaking when Stephen body-slammed him into the side of the barn. He froze, eyes frantically darting around, looking for another Phorusrhacid. They didn't hunt in packs, he didn't think, but it wouldn't be the first time he - by which he meant current knowledge - had been wrong. Stephen still had the scar from the last time, a deep red pucker on his shoulder that Connor had seen more than once in the changing rooms when he hadn't been looking. He hadn't.
Nothing moved, nothing but the rapid rise and fall of Stephen's chest where it pressed against him. The Phorusrhacid, maybe a Brontornis from the size - not that Connor wanted a closer look because he'd had quite close enough a look, thank you, as the thing had headed towards him, all sharp, sharp beak and beady little eyes and so far away from a chicken that it was, literally, scary - lay behind Stephen. Connor could see it over Stephen's shoulder; its chest was still, blood speckling its feathers from the bullets that Stephen had fired. The rock Connor had thrown to get its attention in the first place, at least its attention away from Stephen - as though that had done any good - lay beside what remained of its head, the beak shattered and even uglier now. Stephen was thorough; Connor had to admit that.
But nothing was moving, nothing, and Connor dragged his eyes back to Stephen's face, trusting Stephen to spot what he hadn't.
Stephen was staring at him, his mouth tight and hard and his eyes glittering strangely. The questions Connor had died in his throat and he swallowed convulsively.
"Stephen?" The word was shaky, skirting too close to pleading for Connor's comfort. He wasn't used to this - being chased, at risk of being eaten, especially by something that should have resembled an overgrown turkey but had instead turned out to be the stuff of nightmares. Stephen might be able to deal with this calmly, but Connor wasn't Stephen. Wouldn't ever be Stephen.
"You stupid…" Stephen slammed him back against the wall again, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Now the fear spiked again - not that Stephen would hurt him, although the way that Stephen was staring at him, eyes fierce and lip curled, didn't even make that a certainty, but that Stephen really believed it. Really thought that he was a stupid, useless idiot.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Connor had no answer to that because the fury on Stephen's face had stripped his words away. He could only stare at Stephen as Stephen's fingers dug into his shoulders.
"Well?" Stephen shook him again, his face white and tense, and Connor swallowed again, wishing he was anywhere, anywhere but here. The idea that Stephen could be - was - disappointed or angry with him, hurt.
"I… I just wanted to help," he said, hating how his voice came out, quiet and apologetic. "I couldn't… I just… I couldn't…"
"Couldn't what, Connor?"
Stephen was too close, face right in Connor's and his fingers digging in, hard. His voice was harder still, all sharp, raw edges that tore at Connor and left him hoping that the wounds didn't show. If Stephen thought he was pathetic now…
But he was no match for Stephen, physically or otherwise. He couldn't weather the storm of Stephen's anger. He was just pathetic like that; he could no more not give Stephen what he wanted than he could let Stephen stand there on his own, with something all sharp beak and hunger heading towards him.
He'd bought Stephen some time, hadn't he? Been just enough of a distraction to let Stephen reload. Surely that had to count for something? Didn't it?
He looked away, staring fixedly at the dead predator on the ground, knowing that he'd give in, try to explain and probably end up giving away far too much in the process. He was a crap liar, but anything was better than Stephen's anger - even Stephen's pity.
"It was heading towards you, Stephen. I couldn't…" It was weak and he was, too. The way that Stephen was looking at him now… yeah. Stephen didn't miss much. There'd be more comments about him not being Stephen's type again, only they wouldn't be jokey this time because it would be the kindness that would be important.
"You could have been killed." Stephen's voice was merciless, each word spat out as he shook Connor in punctuation, a sharp tap, tap, tap that drove all of the messages home. "Those things move fast, Connor. What chance did you have? What chance would you have had if we hadn't been lucky?"
"I'm…" He'd meant to apologise, for being pathetic probably, but Stephen's fingers were leaving bruises, and the way he was shaking Connor - looking at Connor - just made the misery well up. What came out, low and even more pathetic was, "You're hurting me."
Stephen let go of him so abruptly that he staggered, eyes never leaving Stephen's face. He didn't look angry now; he looked… Connor wasn't sure what the expression on Stephen's face was. Lost, maybe. He looked…
"You could have been killed," Stephen repeated, and it clicked. It clicked.
Stephen looked devastated.
Connor swallowed, mouth dry and his heart pounding. He reached out, fingers trembling - for what, he didn't know. It was all too…
And then Stephen was grabbing him again, his fingers still hard, digging in but pulling Connor forward this time, not pushing him back. He stumbled again, his hand slamming into Stephen's chest but Stephen was right back in his face again and…
Oh.
Stephen's fingers were cupping his face now, holding his head still as Stephen pressed his mouth against his. It was hard and unforgiving as kisses went - not that Connor had much experience, but not even he could miss the ferocity behind it, the fear and everything else. It was terrifying - maybe even scarier than being run at by a six foot tall, hook beaked giant bird.
He didn't know what to do. He'd be lying if he said he'd never thought about this, about Stephen like this, but he'd never imagined Stephen kissing him so hard that he'd taste his own blood, or Stephen's fingers digging into his scalp. Or the way that Stephen swallowed every pained hiss, clutching at him desperately,
Or how the look in Stephen's eyes when he pulled back, pressing his forehead against Connor's, would be broken.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, at a loss for anything else to say.
"Don't ever…" Stephen said, cutting himself off to kiss Connor again, still hard, still hurting but Connor got the weird feeling that it was hurting Stephen more. "Don't ever…"
He closed his eyes, pressing himself against Stephen, trying to show that he was here, alive, something like that. He didn't know. He was beyond just being merely out of his depth. Stephen pressed back, hard, and Connor hit the wall again, hard enough to knock the breath out of him, the breath that Stephen's kisses hadn't already stolen. Stephen's leg was between his and Stephen's fingers were clutching at him and Stephen was whispering brokenly against the skin of his neck, a constant litany of 'Connor' and 'don't' and 'promise'.
Connor couldn't promise, couldn't do anything except muffle his cry against Stephen's neck when Stephen's hand worked its way into Connor's trousers. Stephen's fingers were just as hard, his grip just as tight there too, ruthlessly demanding submission; that Connor give in, do what he wanted, be safe. Stephen's mouth barely seemed to leave his skin, even as it tracked restlessly from his neck to his cheek, across his forehead, against his mouth, constantly moving and seeking something that Connor didn't know how to give.
He could only hold on to Stephen, trust in Stephen to bring him home safely. It came naturally, had done so since the day he'd met Stephen, and when Stephen's fingers - Stephen's strong, steady fingers - brought him off, it was Stephen who shook, Stephen who said please, Connor. Please.
And it was Connor who held Stephen up.
The End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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::purrs::
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I am still planning on writing you and
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I don't know why I haven't used it more often - maybe I haven't been reading enough Angsty!Connor. Maybe you should write some? *g*
I'm friending you, if that's ok. I love your writing. :)
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And friend away :)
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