Title: the kindest of kisses (break the hardest of hearts)
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Word Count: 6,700
Author's Notes: Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primevalathon Autumn 2010 ficathon for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misura. Title and quote from 'Hardest of Hearts' by Florence and The Machine. Thanks go to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aithine for the beta.
Summary: Connor tastes of toothpaste and tea and toast, of sleepy mornings and brand new days. It's typical that just as she warms into it, her breath mingling with Connor's until she can't tell who is breathing in and who is breathing out, the front door slams open and Stephen's feet pound up the stairs.
---
There is love in your body but you can't get it out
It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth
Sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face that
The sweetest of words have the bitterest taste
---
There's no sign of Stephen when Abby gets back to the flat, still high as a kite and fizzing with it, but Connor's sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. Her feet hurt and she's beyond tired - tired is a distant memory, a bit like sleep - but the euphoria has kept her going this far and it's going to have to keep her going a while longer.
Connor doesn't look up when she collapses in the seat opposite him, toeing off her boots and curling those same toes up with a sense of bliss. His attention is fixed on his laptop, but at least he spares her a grunt of acknowledgement, at least once she kicks his shin, before his attention drifts back to whatever website he's surfing. It's just a typical morning, chez them, so she pours herself a cup of tea from the pot sitting brewing in the middle of the table and steals his toast.
That gets finally his attention, at least when he reaches for it and comes up empty. When he looks up, looking at her accusingly, she smirks at him, completely unrepentant. He's smart enough by now not to say anything about it. He simply limits himself to a little pout, but it's just for show, just because she expects it.
Who says boys can't be trained?
"Everything go okay?" he asks, his attention still half-fixed on the screen in front of him. She reaches out and nudges him again with her foot, curling her toes so that they dig into his calf, and it's just enough to drag his focus back to her.
"Yeah," she says before stifling a yawn with one hand. The tea's not as fresh as she'd hoped - it's growing cold, with that slightly bitter taste that tells her it's steeped too long - but it's enough to keep her awake, helped by the fact that her whole body is vibrating with glee and she keeps wanting to grin. But she can't help wondering whether, if she was to bury her smile with a pout and complain about the cup in her hand, Connor would get off his backside and make her a fresh pot.
Probably not.
Connor's still waiting for the rest of her sentence, and it takes her a moment for her brain to catch up. Her foot's still resting against his leg, and she slides it up, then down, just a tiny caress if it can be called that. She's not very good with the whole showing affection thing but Connor smiles, a pleased little twitch to his mouth that warms her the way the tea hasn't.
"Yeah?" he asks, and she drags her brain back to the present.
"Claudia now has to find somewhere to stash not just one, but two pygmy mammoths." And, yeah, the whole giddy glee of it all comes through clearly in her voice. It was worth a cold and sleepless night. More than worth it.
Connor snorts, his gaze once again dropping from her face to his laptop. "Bet Lester's pleased about that."
Abby curls her toes again, and then stretches them out. It's a stretch that ends up running throughout her whole body, and she doesn't miss that way that Connor watches her t-shirt ride up. "His problem," she says, although she doesn't know what the hell Lester's problem actually is. He wasn't the one up all night with something from a species that's been dead for more than ten thousand years. "I only delivered the thing." And, okay, underneath the thrill of it all there might be some residual bitterness for all that her excitement is masking it. It's not that she minds the delivery, or the caring for animals all night if she needs to - last night wasn't the first time and it won't be the last, and at least she had some experience with the mammoth's much larger and much more modern relatives under her belt before she was thrown into the deep end and left to sink or swim. Plus, baby pygmy mammoth. There is no way that will ever stop being completely and utterly awe inspiring.
But she's a zookeeper, not a vet, and it's not like Lester even pays her for her time. More than that, though, she's a zookeeper, not a vet and last night she wasn't allowed one. It went well, thank God, but it so easily couldn't have.
Still. Baby mammoth! And at least today she doesn't have to go to work - proper, paid work. A whole day to catch up on her sleep, at least once she comes down from this height.
Connor doesn't usually notice when something's eating at her - at least not unless she hits him over the head with it, and she's been known to - but when he finally looks up again he frowns for a split second at whatever is showing on her face.
"Mother and baby doing fine, though?"
"Yeah," she says, and stretches again until it feels like her spine will crack. "They're doing great. You should have been there, Conn." At least she wouldn't have been on her own then, although, come to think of it, he'd have probably been useless the way Connor tends to be in any crisis that doesn't involve tech.
He smiles anyway, pleased for her, and, in turn, she's kind of pleased that her thoughts about his usefulness or lack thereof didn't show on her face. "'Nother cuppa tea?"
"God, yes." Maybe it's a little too fervent, but it makes Connor smile again. She's grown used to his smiles. When he's not being an idiot, there's just something about his smiles, an innate kind of sweetness she supposes. Even when he's pleased with himself, it's more like it's the whole thing they do that he finds delightful rather than him in particular. But she's not slow to notice that even though he offers her more tea, he's not exactly leaping to his feet to freshen the pot. She's damned if she's going to do it, not after the night she's had. "What's got you so interested?" she prompts, hoping that the hint will work, as though subtlety ever does with Connor.
"Hmmm?" He looks up again just in time to catch her gesture towards his laptop, and a fraction of a second too soon for her to make a gesture of another sort all together and get away with it. "Oh, just an article on the Beeb's news site."
"Yeah?" She pokes him with her foot again and he relents, turning the laptop around so that the screen faces her. It's an article about yet another fossil discovery - they're coming thick and fast, these days, like buses, maybe. Wait all that time and then three come at once. Although maybe it's just because, given what she knows and what they do day in and day out on top of their actual jobs, she's started noticing them.
This one is some kind of raptor - she's still a little fuzzy on some of the more esoteric details but then she doesn't need to be an expert, not when they have Connor and his infamous database to keep track of things like that - but it's the BBC. They don't dumb it down, exactly, but they do have a tendency to refer to Jurassic Park on a semi-regular basis in these things.
"Huh," she says, because that's all her brain is capable of at the moment. She stares at the 'artist's rendition' of this long dead beast, eyeing the sharp, razor like teeth and even sharper claws. "Glad we haven't run into anything like that yet."
Connor's expression grows wistful. "We haven't actually run into any dinosaurs at all, yet," he says, a little mournfully. The look on his face is too much for her to resist; she leans across the tiny kitchen table and ruffles his hair. If she was closer she'd kiss him.
"Make us a cup of tea, Conn," she suggests instead; he huffs and rolls his eyes but gets up from the table anyway. She catches hold of his hand as he walks past, sliding her fingers along his palm as he moves away towards the kettle. It's just a brief touch - so little in the grand scheme of things - but again it makes Connor smile, and that's almost as good as watching a baby mammoth take its first breath.
"Where's Stephen?" she asks as she debates with herself whether it's worth asking Connor to chuck another couple of slices into the toaster for her. On the one hand, she's still hungry, even though her tiredness is keeping most of that at bay. On the other hand, Connor tends to like his toast cremated, whereas Abby likes it on the whiter shade of pale side. Not so much toasted as wafted gently over some heated elements for just long enough for it to think about maybe heading towards being toasted, and Connor still hasn't got the hang of that in spite of the months they've shared a flat.
He's left his laptop on the table; she idly flicks through to the Entertainment section of the BBC news site and reads about the latest George Michael drug scandal. Pity. Her mum really liked him back in the day. Probably still has a Wham t-shirt buried in her wardrobe somewhere.
"Hmm?"
"Stephen?" She raises her voice as she reminds Connor of the question; he has the tap turned on full, again, and the sound of the water hitting the bottom of the kettle almost drowns her out. He always overfills it. She's given up nagging him about that when there are so many other, more worthwhile things to nag him about.
"Oh." He gestures vaguely at her with the kettle. Of course he hasn't put the lid back on again yet, so of course water slops over the side and onto his bare legs. She doesn't sigh but she doesn't smile either. She's far too used to Connor by now to do more than treat him to a slight roll of her eyes while he stands there with a frown on his face as if he's still trying to figure out what just happened. He leans down and wipes ineffectively at his legs with one hand while saying, "Stephen's out for a run."
Of course he is. It must be later than she thought if that's the case, but she supposes that explains why Connor was up when she got home.
Just the thought makes her tired; she's stifling another yawn before she can even think about it.
"He'll be back soon," Connor offers, finally switching the kettle on. "Better grab the shower before he does if you're going to." He gives her that lopsided little smile of his as he heads back towards the kitchen table, the one he always pulls out whenever he's feeling a little insecure about things. She could sigh and tell him - yet again - that it's not a competition, but she's feeling too happy, too tired, too much of everything to rehash old ground. Besides, she's always been more about actions than talking. Talking is Connor's gig, not hers, not that he actually says anything.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're going to wash my back or not."
She waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively and he flushes, red and oddly pleased like he always is when she suggests something like that; she can't resist any longer, not when she's got no reason to resist, and leans over the table, catching hold of his face with both hands to kiss him soundly.
He tastes of toothpaste and tea and toast, of sleepy mornings and brand new days. It's typical that just as she warms into it, her breath mingling with Connor's until she can't tell who is breathing in and who is breathing out, the front door slams open and Stephen's feet pound up the stairs. Connor starts to pull back but she holds him steady, concentrating on exploring the contours of his mouth.
"Morning."
Stephen, damn him, doesn't even sound out of breath in spite of the fact that - when she finally lets go of Connor and turns her head to look at him - his t-shirt is clinging to his chest, damp with sweat.
"Morning."
"How did it go?"
She rolls her eyes, knowing Stephen's not going to take offence at it. "Fine. Mother and baby mammoth are both doing well."
"Baby mammoth." Stephen rolls the words around in his mouth, letting them fall out syllable by syllable. And then he grins, taking a swig from his water bottle. The water slides down his chin, rolling down to drip onto the t-shirt stretched darkly across the muscles of his chest. Abby pretends not to notice. Connor, on the other hand, isn't at all subtle about it. "Never thought that would be something I'd ever say, at least not without it being prefaced with the word 'fossilised'."
She snorts. "Try 'I delivered a baby mammoth' and see how that sounds."
Stephen grins at her, wide and open. He puts his water bottle down on the counter and reaches down to catch hold of the hem of his t-shirt, easing it away from his sweat-slick skin. The move's deliberate - Stephen can be a bloody tease at times - and Connor's response is both predictable and Pavlovian. His eyes drop automatically to the strip of skin revealed above Stephen's sweatpants.
Abby just rolls her eyes at the pair of them. Boys. Her boys.
"Shower," says Stephen, grinning at Connor, who - even these days - remains oblivious to the invitation in Stephen's voice.
"Nuh huh," she shoots back, quick as a whip and ignoring Stephen's raised eyebrow and the look of amusement that's slowly spreading across his face, a look he doesn't quite hide quickly enough. "Me first." She doesn't quite leap to her feet, but it's a close run thing, and the chair legs squeak as they slide across the lino of the kitchen floor.
"I'm all sweaty," Stephen says mildly, leaning against the counter, hip cocked and eyeing her over folded arms. He's not bothering to even try and hide his amusement now, but she doesn't call him on it.
"Yeah? Well, I delivered a baby mammoth," she repeats triumphantly because she figures that that pretty much trumps everything in the history of forever. Stephen doesn't seem to disagree judging by the way his laughter follows her down the hall.
While the shower is warming up, she cleans her teeth, humming happily along with the vibration of her toothbrush. It's a habit she's picked up from Connor, who can never seem to stay quiet or still for more than three or four seconds at a time and every good girl knows that it takes at least a couple of minutes before your teeth are properly clean. But at least she manages to put her dirty clothes into the washing basket rather than leaving them strewn across the bathroom floor - thankfully that's one habit she hasn't picked up from Connor, even if she hasn't managed to cure Connor of it entirely.
The water is wonderfully warm when she finally steps into the spray, letting it cascade down over her. She hadn't realised how cold she'd been until the heat of it starts to sink into her and she's caught on that cusp between shivering and not. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting the water run down over her neck and chest, washing away the long night as she eases her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
There's a draft when the bathroom door opens and she's expecting Connor, come to wash her back like he'd promised - or, if not really promised, at least like she'd wanted him to promise - but the hands that settle on her hips are larger, more confident than Connor's. She keeps her eyes closed but she doesn't bother to hide her smile as she leans back into Stephen's lithe, firm body.
His hands slide over her skin, slick and slippery with shower gel. He finds all the places where she likes to be touched, stroking gently, his mouth pressing against the curve of her neck as she tilts her head to give him access. His hands move upwards, mapping her skin, until they're cupping her breasts and he presses up against her back, his erection thick and heavy against her backside.
The door opens again, and she hears Connor's stuttered, "Oh, right..." There's something in his voice - that same something she caught in his face earlier - and it has her opening her eyes and pulling away from Stephen. She doesn't sigh - not exactly - and Stephen doesn't say anything, but when she turns around and catches sight of Stephen's face, there's a familiar rueful look on it.
If she were better at saying the things that she should, if the words she needed to say didn't stick in her throat and lie heavily on her tongue instead of slipping smoothly out... If Stephen weren't a cagey bastard, locked up behind layers and walls, never letting the things show that needed to see the light of day...
If. If.
"Hang on, Connor," she says brightly, holding Stephen's eyes and not missing the understanding flashing through them. "I thought you said you were going to wash my back." She puts just the right amount of put out tone into the words, settles enough of a pout on her lips, to stop Connor in his tracks and start to stutter some apology or other - lots of words that trip over each other as they tumble out and that don't mean much other than a constantly litany that tells her that Connor is there.
"It's all right," she says eventually, stepping away from Stephen. His hands slip from her skin, soapy and slick, but he makes no attempt to stop her. His expression is still rueful, but she suspects that it's just for show, because his eyes are dancing with amusement. But who can tell with Stephen? He plays things even closer to his chest than she does, and that's saying something. "I've finished anyway," she continues, smirking at Stephen and not missing the flash of amusement at that either, because two can play at this game and while Connor might not be in their league, she's more than a match for Stephen.
Connor isn't even in the game, at least not this one. They don't send volleys in his direction any more. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel - and their reticence is less about the 'too easy' part of that and more about the inhumanity of it.
"Oh." Connor pinks up, back to looking oddly pleased, although his eyes dart between Abby and Stephen, almost as though he can't believe his luck, or can't believe that Abby might possibly - on this occasion at least - be choosing him over Stephen. He doesn't ever seem to grasp that the pair of them would choose him over each other, any and every time. It's an unspoken pact, almost. They look out for Connor, both of them. Take care of him but they don't need to take care of each other, not when they're both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.
It works, for a certain value of 'works'.
She snags one of the towels off the radiator, wrapping it around herself and tucking the ends in while Connor watches her, rapt with attention. Stephen watches her as well, although his face isn't giving much away as he tips his head back, wetting his hair. "Sure you don't want me out as well?" he asks mildly, and she gives him a look of fake reproach.
"You still stink," she says, and his laughter follows her again, this time into the bedroom.
Connor follows her as well, hot on her heels, at least once they're both past the door to her bedroom. Then she spins around, catching hold of his face again and pulling him into another kiss. She makes it long and makes it deep, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer and closer as she slips her tongue into his mouth. He still tastes of tea and toast, but most of all he tastes of Connor, and it's a taste she's grown to both love and long for.
He pulls her closer, his hands a little clumsy at first but growing more certain as they move over her body. They trail lower, edging down towards her backside until he's pulling her tightly against him. He's hard inside his boxers when she slides her fingers underneath the tight elastic of his waistband and she shivers, sliding her tongue even more deeply into his mouth and tracing the line of his teeth.
His mouth leaves hers, tracing a line over her cheek and then down to her neck. He hasn't shaved yet, and the hairs on his face prickle against her skin, making her shiver even more, little chills running through her with every touch. She's impatient now, hungry for more than breakfast, and pulls at his t-shirt until he takes a step away from her, reaching down to pull it off over his head. She follows where he's led, pressing herself up against his bare chest as she sinks her fingers back into his hair, guiding his face lower, down into the hollow above her collarbone and then lower still.
His nimble fingers tug at the fabric of her towel and it falls free, pooling at her feet as he pushes her back towards the bed. She goes gladly, tumbling down onto the soft mattress and pulling greedily at him to drag him down with her. Her hands slide along his skin and then under the fabric of his boxers, pushing them down until he wriggles free of them, kicking them off to lie abandoned on her bedroom floor. His mouth moves lower, capturing the peak of her nipple between his lips as she arches into him, fingers still tangled in his hair.
His stubble scratches against her skin as he eases his way down her body, down along the valley between her breasts and over the gentle swell of her stomach as he wriggles further down the bed. He presses kisses against her skin as he goes, his tongue sometimes darting out to trace over the freckles that are scattered there. Her fingers flex against his scalp, soft breaths panting out of her each time his tongue paints over her sensitive flesh.
When she turns her head and opens her eyes, Stephen is standing in the doorway watching them, towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his hip cocked against the door frame. His arms are folded low across his chest, a study in nonchalance, but his eyes are anything but. They're heavy and hungry, focused first on Abby's face and then tracking along the smooth lines of her body, losing themselves in the curve of Connor's arse. It's too intense, too hungry for Abby, and she closes her eyes again as Connor parts her thighs and settles between them.
The first flick of his tongue against her clit has her back arching off the bed, but Connor's hand settles on her stomach, the weight of it keeping her anchored. The fingers of his other hand part her folds, his clever, agile tongue tracing down to where she's wet and wanting, writing patterns across her heated flesh. He doesn't tease her, not this time - Stephen's the tease, not Connor - and his tongue soon wends its way back up to her clit, flicking across the tight bundle of nerve endings as one of his fingers pushes into her.
It's soon followed by a second, thick and wonderful, both of them pushing in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm as she clutches at the parts of Connor she can reach. It builds slowly, and she rocks into each touch as he continues to play with her body, at least until he catches her clit gently between his teeth, sucking on it and letting his tongue flicker across it. He keeps fucking her with his fingers, slow and steady, thick and heavy, and her whole body shakes as she comes apart.
She pushes him away from her when she starts coming down from that high, her body too sensitive, still tingling from her orgasm. He rolls away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His mouth and chin are slick and shiny with her come and, as she watches, his tongue flickers out again, tasting her on his lips.
The bed dips and Stephen joins them, leaning across her body to cup the back of Connor's head with one large, steady hand, pulling Connor into a deep kiss. She watches, fascinated, as Stephen takes his time with it, tongue exploring Connor's mouth, knowing all the while that the lingering taste of her will be on Connor's tongue. It sends another wave of heat through her, twitching deep in her core.
Connor's mouth is slack when Stephen pulls back, his eyes heavy lidded with lust. His erection bobs gently against his belly when he shifts position, settling on his back next to Abby, invitation in every line of his body - or at least as much as Connor can manage. He's not as comfortable with it as Abby is, or as comfortable as Stephen is in his skin, but now, with his synapses fried by Stephen's kisses, all of his inhibitions have been stripped away, leaving nothing but hunger and need.
Stephen reaches down and catches hold of Connor's hand, bringing Connor's fingers up to his mouth. His tongue darts out, swirling around Connor's middle finger, tasting the remnants of Abby's orgasm on Connor's skin, and Connor's eyes widen, black on brown. When Stephen's eyes meet hers then glance away towards the bedside table, she knows what Stephen wants - they're simpatico in that, as in many things, no words needed between them. She reaches in and rummages around until she finds the small tube and box they keep in there. It takes longer than it should, mainly because she can't take her eyes off the two of them, Stephen sucking on Connor's fingers like he usually sucks on Connor's cock.
She pulls out the small cardboard box first, pulling out one of the thin non-latex gloves in it to hand to Stephen. He sits back on his heels, eyes never leaving Connor's face as he starts rolling it on down his hand, smoothing it over each finger, one at a time.
Connor's lips part and his legs fall open, an unconscious invitation that she knows Connor too damned well to assume he's aware of. The glove will make everything smooth, no rough edges of Stephen's nails to catch at Connor's skin, not with Connor still new to this. Connor's skittish, caught between lust and nervousness, his tongue darting again and tracing over his lower lip, which is swollen with kisses. She wonders if Connor can still taste her, or whether Stephen's kisses have wiped that away. She wonders if Connor even remembers that she's there when his gaze is so transfixed by Stephen's fingers.
She hands Stephen the small tube of lube, and Connor swallows, nervousness or anticipation, she can't tell. It could be one, it could be the other, but she doesn't care right now. Right now all she wants to do is kiss Connor, and keep on kissing him until his world - his focus - narrows down to the feel of her lips on his and nothing else.
He sighs into her mouth, his tongue tracing lazily over her lips and his hand settling on the curve of her waist. It's slow and languid, and she'd be fooled by it if Connor wasn't still so hard, like steel under her touch when she drags her fingers down his length.
She pulls her mouth away and turns her head in time to watch Stephen's fingers settle on the soft skin of Connor's inner thigh. Stephen's fingers are slick and shiny, but from the lube this time, not from Abby, and he meets her eyes again with a slight smile as he starts tracing small, concentric circles over Connor's skin, drawing closer and closer to soft, delicate area beneath Connor's scrotum.
Abby leans closer, settling herself with one hand resting on Connor's chest. His heart is racing underneath her touch, and she turns her head, meeting Connor's eyes for a long moment. He swallows, but there's no fear in his eyes, just a blind trust in Stephen and the fact that Stephen won't hurt him. Just a blind trust in Abby, and the sight of that trust - and everything else shining in Connor's eyes - has her swallowing and looking away. It's easier to meet Stephen's eyes sometimes, which ask nothing more of her than she's comfortable giving, but then Stephen isn't comfortable with giving much in return. Not like Connor, who demands and gives in equal - more than equal - measure, bridging the gaps between them, if only he knew it.
Stephen's fingers slide lower, stroking over the soft, puckered opening to Connor's body, and Connor sighs, his head falling back and his eyes - when Abby turns her head to look again - closed. She leans forward, just a moment of weakness, and presses her mouth to Connor's again. His lips part for her automatically - so much trust - and she kisses him deeply, letting her mouth do her talking for her because the words still cling too tightly to her tongue, burying themselves safely in the confines of her head.
Connor jerks up into her, and she pulls back, looking down his body to catch sight of Stephen. His expression is serious, focused as he slides a single finger back into Connor, slow and careful as always.
Connor is still hard, and she reaches down and catches hold of his cock, stroking it gently. His skin is so soft, like velvet as it runs through her fingers, such a contrast to the hardness underneath. She strokes more firmly, and Connor sighs again, fingers flexing against the bedclothes beneath him.
She watches Stephen as he stretches Connor, first with one finger then with two, always so careful - more careful with Connor than he is with her, but then she doesn't break that easily. Connor's cock twitches beneath her fingers when Stephen finally eases a third finger into him, and she's not quite sure if that's pleasure or pain; Stephen's fingers are broad and strong, and she knows what three of them together feel like - like being split wide open, her whole body tight and tingling until it feels like her very skin will tear apart and something fly free.
But Connor takes it, rocking back and forth onto Stephen's fingers, pushing them in deeper. Connor's heels are dug firmly into the bed now as he moves, a small frown creasing the skin of his brow, but it's not pain, she doesn't think - just a restless kind of pleasure, with Connor blindly seeking more of it.
Stephen is a tease; she knows that, just like she knows exactly how Connor twitches in his sleep. He eases his fingers out of Connor's body and Connor's eyes open, his lips parting but - she thinks, imagines - with disappointment.
Connor's still hard in her hand, and she's still wet, greedy from watching Connor's pleasure. She's not willing to wait for whatever Stephen has planned - you snooze, you lose - and even as Stephen is peeling the glove from his hand, she swings her leg over Connor's hips, settling herself above him.
She still has one hand wrapped around his cock; it's easy to guide him into her, to sink down onto his length. He's thick and full inside her, enough length to him to make her take it easily at first, finding a rhythm that's slow and steady but deep enough to make her gasp each time Connor bucks up into her as she's lowering herself onto him. Stephen is busying himself behind her - she expects him to concentrate on Connor but, as often happens, he surprises her. His hand comes to rest on her waist, steadying her as she pushes back down onto Connor's cock, and then he moves it up to the skin between her shoulder blades, pushing her gently forward until she has to put out her hands, one on either side of Connor's head, to steady herself.
Connor's hands come up to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling around her nipples. She lowers herself further, leaning in to press her mouth against his once more even as Stephen's fingers slide slickly over the curve of her arse.
They trace down along her cleft, wet and smooth, and she lets out a gasp of surprise that Connor swallows down. She doesn't need to see Stephen's face to be able to picture the small and slightly smug smile that he'll be wearing. Not that Connor would notice that; when she opens her eyes, Connor's are still closed, his hands busy kneading at her chest.
Even so, Connor's eyes fly open when the first of Stephen's fingers push into her and she jerks against him. He twists his head, trying to see down her body, trying to figure out what Stephen's up to, but then Stephen's finger pushes into her more deeply and maybe Connor gets it, or maybe Connor feels it, because his eyes widen and he lets out a heartfelt, muttered, "Oh, God."
Oh, God, she echoes, but she can't tell if that's out loud or in the confines of her own head. Her world has narrowed down to the feel of Connor stroking in and out of her, thick and hard, and the feel of Stephen's finger pushing into her from behind. Into her behind.
It shouldn't be this hot, the pair of them in her at the same time, even if it's not both of their cocks, and even thinking that - just the idea of that, Connor buried in her cunt and Stephen in her arse - sends the blood crashing around her body, a spike of heat and lust and something akin to shame. It's taboo and dirty and naughty and she wants it even if she doesn't think she'll be able to take it.
There's more pressure behind her as Stephen pushes another finger into her, and Connor catches hold of her hips, pushing up into her - grinding up into her - and another surge of heat flows through her.
Connor's moves are harder now, fiercer and more erratic, and Stephen curls his fingers inside her. She whines, low in her throat, but Connor whimpers, eyes squeezed shut and she gets it then. He can feel Stephen, can feel Stephen's fingers stroking along his cock, separated from him just by Abby's thin skin, and it must feel like he's being fucked and jerked off, both at the same time. The thought leaves her dizzy with lust, light-headed and breathless.
Connor's close, she can tell. He's thicker now in her, like he always is just before he comes, and there's no finesse in his moves. He's fucking her hard and he's fucking her fast, and she left steadying herself with one hand while Connor holds her up, pulls her down onto him, and the fingers of her other hand curl helplessly against his chest.
He comes before she does, and she shouldn't be greedy - she's already come once thanks to him, but she's so close herself, teetering on the cusp of flying apart. She's tingling, gasping as Stephen pulls his fingers out of her body, leaving her feeling bereft and empty. Stephen's hands settle on her hips, easing her up and off Connor's length until that it slips out of her as well, and she whimpers at the loss, fingers clutching greedily at Connor's skin.
Stephen presses up behind her. For a split second, she thinks he's going to slide his cock into her arse and - for that same split second - she wants him to, his cock in her arse and Connor's fingers in her cunt, and the thought makes her whimper again. But when Stephen pushes into her, it's into her pussy, still wet with Connor's come.
She closes her eyes and presses her face into Connor's neck, her fingers curling more tightly against Connor's skin. Stephen doesn't feel the same inside her as Connor did - they're both unique, different shapes, different sensations, different rhythms and moves - but he soon sets a pace that has her panting, riding the wave that is fast cresting back towards orgasm. Connor's fingers slide slowly down her body, slipping across her sweat-slicked skin until they reach her clit. The position's awkward, and his moves are jerky, lacking the smooth rhythm of Stephen's rolling hips, but the pressure is in just the right place and hard the way she needs it. Stephen's hands settle on her breasts, pulling her firmly back against him until all she's reduced to is the feel of his length buried in her, and the pressure of Connor's fingers against her clitoris.
Her orgasm doesn't roll over her this time; it crashes over her, shaking her apart as she comes again with a cry that breaks on the cusp of a sob. Connor pulls his fingers away just at the point where the feel of him against her clit is tipping from a sharp, fierce pleasure to something that's too much to bear. He pulls her to him instead, pressing mindless little kisses along her hairline, murmuring things she can't quite catch and still isn't sure she wants to, not when those same words still catch in her throat and threaten to choke her, not when she can't offer the same in return.
Stephen's hands move back to her shoulder blades, pushing her down onto Connor as his rhythm speeds up until he's almost slamming into her. It sends little aftershocks through her, waves of pleasure that threaten to drown her, and all she can do is cling to Connor as they roll over her and again and again. And then - finally - Stephen tenses behind her, letting out a gasp of his own as he empties himself into her.
He's considerate enough at least not to collapse on top of her, but rolls away to one side, slipping out of her. She has no qualms whatsoever about collapsing onto Connor, and he lets out a little 'oof' when her weight settles on him. It doesn't stop him from wrapping his arms around her, though, cuddling her to him as though he doesn't ever want to let go.
The sweat is drying on her body and she shivers, chilled again and trying to bury herself in the warmth of Connor's body. Stephen lets out a soft snort, tugging at the covers that both she and Connor are lying on until they shift their weight and he can pull it free.
She has to move off Connor to do that, and - given the opportunity - he slips out from underneath her. She could pout about it, but she has to admit that the mattress is far softer than he is - far fewer bony bits and hard angles - and she burrows down into it, relaxing with a soft sigh when Stephen throws the duvet back over her.
"I never did get that cup of tea," she murmurs, because somehow that seems important. She doesn't want them to think that they can get away with not doing what she wants just because they take the time to fuck her into complaisance.
Stephen laughs softly, and this time it's Connor who snorts. "We'll make a fresh one when you wake up," Stephen promises quietly, his fingers smoothing over her hair for a brief moment. She's sleepy enough now - exhausted enough now - to relax into that gentle caress as well, even coming from Stephen rather than the far more open Connor. "We promise, okay?" And there's more than tea in his words.
It's a promise she's going to hold them to.
The End
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Connor/Stephen
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Primeval and its characters belong to Impossible Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fanfiction, written solely for love of the show.
Word Count: 6,700
Author's Notes: Written for the
primevalathon Autumn 2010 ficathon for misura. Title and quote from 'Hardest of Hearts' by Florence and The Machine. Thanks go to aithine for the beta.Summary: Connor tastes of toothpaste and tea and toast, of sleepy mornings and brand new days. It's typical that just as she warms into it, her breath mingling with Connor's until she can't tell who is breathing in and who is breathing out, the front door slams open and Stephen's feet pound up the stairs.
---
There is love in your body but you can't get it out
It gets stuck in your head, won't come out of your mouth
Sticks to your tongue and it shows on your face that
The sweetest of words have the bitterest taste
---
There's no sign of Stephen when Abby gets back to the flat, still high as a kite and fizzing with it, but Connor's sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast. Her feet hurt and she's beyond tired - tired is a distant memory, a bit like sleep - but the euphoria has kept her going this far and it's going to have to keep her going a while longer.
Connor doesn't look up when she collapses in the seat opposite him, toeing off her boots and curling those same toes up with a sense of bliss. His attention is fixed on his laptop, but at least he spares her a grunt of acknowledgement, at least once she kicks his shin, before his attention drifts back to whatever website he's surfing. It's just a typical morning, chez them, so she pours herself a cup of tea from the pot sitting brewing in the middle of the table and steals his toast.
That gets finally his attention, at least when he reaches for it and comes up empty. When he looks up, looking at her accusingly, she smirks at him, completely unrepentant. He's smart enough by now not to say anything about it. He simply limits himself to a little pout, but it's just for show, just because she expects it.
Who says boys can't be trained?
"Everything go okay?" he asks, his attention still half-fixed on the screen in front of him. She reaches out and nudges him again with her foot, curling her toes so that they dig into his calf, and it's just enough to drag his focus back to her.
"Yeah," she says before stifling a yawn with one hand. The tea's not as fresh as she'd hoped - it's growing cold, with that slightly bitter taste that tells her it's steeped too long - but it's enough to keep her awake, helped by the fact that her whole body is vibrating with glee and she keeps wanting to grin. But she can't help wondering whether, if she was to bury her smile with a pout and complain about the cup in her hand, Connor would get off his backside and make her a fresh pot.
Probably not.
Connor's still waiting for the rest of her sentence, and it takes her a moment for her brain to catch up. Her foot's still resting against his leg, and she slides it up, then down, just a tiny caress if it can be called that. She's not very good with the whole showing affection thing but Connor smiles, a pleased little twitch to his mouth that warms her the way the tea hasn't.
"Yeah?" he asks, and she drags her brain back to the present.
"Claudia now has to find somewhere to stash not just one, but two pygmy mammoths." And, yeah, the whole giddy glee of it all comes through clearly in her voice. It was worth a cold and sleepless night. More than worth it.
Connor snorts, his gaze once again dropping from her face to his laptop. "Bet Lester's pleased about that."
Abby curls her toes again, and then stretches them out. It's a stretch that ends up running throughout her whole body, and she doesn't miss that way that Connor watches her t-shirt ride up. "His problem," she says, although she doesn't know what the hell Lester's problem actually is. He wasn't the one up all night with something from a species that's been dead for more than ten thousand years. "I only delivered the thing." And, okay, underneath the thrill of it all there might be some residual bitterness for all that her excitement is masking it. It's not that she minds the delivery, or the caring for animals all night if she needs to - last night wasn't the first time and it won't be the last, and at least she had some experience with the mammoth's much larger and much more modern relatives under her belt before she was thrown into the deep end and left to sink or swim. Plus, baby pygmy mammoth. There is no way that will ever stop being completely and utterly awe inspiring.
But she's a zookeeper, not a vet, and it's not like Lester even pays her for her time. More than that, though, she's a zookeeper, not a vet and last night she wasn't allowed one. It went well, thank God, but it so easily couldn't have.
Still. Baby mammoth! And at least today she doesn't have to go to work - proper, paid work. A whole day to catch up on her sleep, at least once she comes down from this height.
Connor doesn't usually notice when something's eating at her - at least not unless she hits him over the head with it, and she's been known to - but when he finally looks up again he frowns for a split second at whatever is showing on her face.
"Mother and baby doing fine, though?"
"Yeah," she says, and stretches again until it feels like her spine will crack. "They're doing great. You should have been there, Conn." At least she wouldn't have been on her own then, although, come to think of it, he'd have probably been useless the way Connor tends to be in any crisis that doesn't involve tech.
He smiles anyway, pleased for her, and, in turn, she's kind of pleased that her thoughts about his usefulness or lack thereof didn't show on her face. "'Nother cuppa tea?"
"God, yes." Maybe it's a little too fervent, but it makes Connor smile again. She's grown used to his smiles. When he's not being an idiot, there's just something about his smiles, an innate kind of sweetness she supposes. Even when he's pleased with himself, it's more like it's the whole thing they do that he finds delightful rather than him in particular. But she's not slow to notice that even though he offers her more tea, he's not exactly leaping to his feet to freshen the pot. She's damned if she's going to do it, not after the night she's had. "What's got you so interested?" she prompts, hoping that the hint will work, as though subtlety ever does with Connor.
"Hmmm?" He looks up again just in time to catch her gesture towards his laptop, and a fraction of a second too soon for her to make a gesture of another sort all together and get away with it. "Oh, just an article on the Beeb's news site."
"Yeah?" She pokes him with her foot again and he relents, turning the laptop around so that the screen faces her. It's an article about yet another fossil discovery - they're coming thick and fast, these days, like buses, maybe. Wait all that time and then three come at once. Although maybe it's just because, given what she knows and what they do day in and day out on top of their actual jobs, she's started noticing them.
This one is some kind of raptor - she's still a little fuzzy on some of the more esoteric details but then she doesn't need to be an expert, not when they have Connor and his infamous database to keep track of things like that - but it's the BBC. They don't dumb it down, exactly, but they do have a tendency to refer to Jurassic Park on a semi-regular basis in these things.
"Huh," she says, because that's all her brain is capable of at the moment. She stares at the 'artist's rendition' of this long dead beast, eyeing the sharp, razor like teeth and even sharper claws. "Glad we haven't run into anything like that yet."
Connor's expression grows wistful. "We haven't actually run into any dinosaurs at all, yet," he says, a little mournfully. The look on his face is too much for her to resist; she leans across the tiny kitchen table and ruffles his hair. If she was closer she'd kiss him.
"Make us a cup of tea, Conn," she suggests instead; he huffs and rolls his eyes but gets up from the table anyway. She catches hold of his hand as he walks past, sliding her fingers along his palm as he moves away towards the kettle. It's just a brief touch - so little in the grand scheme of things - but again it makes Connor smile, and that's almost as good as watching a baby mammoth take its first breath.
"Where's Stephen?" she asks as she debates with herself whether it's worth asking Connor to chuck another couple of slices into the toaster for her. On the one hand, she's still hungry, even though her tiredness is keeping most of that at bay. On the other hand, Connor tends to like his toast cremated, whereas Abby likes it on the whiter shade of pale side. Not so much toasted as wafted gently over some heated elements for just long enough for it to think about maybe heading towards being toasted, and Connor still hasn't got the hang of that in spite of the months they've shared a flat.
He's left his laptop on the table; she idly flicks through to the Entertainment section of the BBC news site and reads about the latest George Michael drug scandal. Pity. Her mum really liked him back in the day. Probably still has a Wham t-shirt buried in her wardrobe somewhere.
"Hmm?"
"Stephen?" She raises her voice as she reminds Connor of the question; he has the tap turned on full, again, and the sound of the water hitting the bottom of the kettle almost drowns her out. He always overfills it. She's given up nagging him about that when there are so many other, more worthwhile things to nag him about.
"Oh." He gestures vaguely at her with the kettle. Of course he hasn't put the lid back on again yet, so of course water slops over the side and onto his bare legs. She doesn't sigh but she doesn't smile either. She's far too used to Connor by now to do more than treat him to a slight roll of her eyes while he stands there with a frown on his face as if he's still trying to figure out what just happened. He leans down and wipes ineffectively at his legs with one hand while saying, "Stephen's out for a run."
Of course he is. It must be later than she thought if that's the case, but she supposes that explains why Connor was up when she got home.
Just the thought makes her tired; she's stifling another yawn before she can even think about it.
"He'll be back soon," Connor offers, finally switching the kettle on. "Better grab the shower before he does if you're going to." He gives her that lopsided little smile of his as he heads back towards the kitchen table, the one he always pulls out whenever he's feeling a little insecure about things. She could sigh and tell him - yet again - that it's not a competition, but she's feeling too happy, too tired, too much of everything to rehash old ground. Besides, she's always been more about actions than talking. Talking is Connor's gig, not hers, not that he actually says anything.
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Whether you're going to wash my back or not."
She waggles her eyebrows at him suggestively and he flushes, red and oddly pleased like he always is when she suggests something like that; she can't resist any longer, not when she's got no reason to resist, and leans over the table, catching hold of his face with both hands to kiss him soundly.
He tastes of toothpaste and tea and toast, of sleepy mornings and brand new days. It's typical that just as she warms into it, her breath mingling with Connor's until she can't tell who is breathing in and who is breathing out, the front door slams open and Stephen's feet pound up the stairs. Connor starts to pull back but she holds him steady, concentrating on exploring the contours of his mouth.
"Morning."
Stephen, damn him, doesn't even sound out of breath in spite of the fact that - when she finally lets go of Connor and turns her head to look at him - his t-shirt is clinging to his chest, damp with sweat.
"Morning."
"How did it go?"
She rolls her eyes, knowing Stephen's not going to take offence at it. "Fine. Mother and baby mammoth are both doing well."
"Baby mammoth." Stephen rolls the words around in his mouth, letting them fall out syllable by syllable. And then he grins, taking a swig from his water bottle. The water slides down his chin, rolling down to drip onto the t-shirt stretched darkly across the muscles of his chest. Abby pretends not to notice. Connor, on the other hand, isn't at all subtle about it. "Never thought that would be something I'd ever say, at least not without it being prefaced with the word 'fossilised'."
She snorts. "Try 'I delivered a baby mammoth' and see how that sounds."
Stephen grins at her, wide and open. He puts his water bottle down on the counter and reaches down to catch hold of the hem of his t-shirt, easing it away from his sweat-slick skin. The move's deliberate - Stephen can be a bloody tease at times - and Connor's response is both predictable and Pavlovian. His eyes drop automatically to the strip of skin revealed above Stephen's sweatpants.
Abby just rolls her eyes at the pair of them. Boys. Her boys.
"Shower," says Stephen, grinning at Connor, who - even these days - remains oblivious to the invitation in Stephen's voice.
"Nuh huh," she shoots back, quick as a whip and ignoring Stephen's raised eyebrow and the look of amusement that's slowly spreading across his face, a look he doesn't quite hide quickly enough. "Me first." She doesn't quite leap to her feet, but it's a close run thing, and the chair legs squeak as they slide across the lino of the kitchen floor.
"I'm all sweaty," Stephen says mildly, leaning against the counter, hip cocked and eyeing her over folded arms. He's not bothering to even try and hide his amusement now, but she doesn't call him on it.
"Yeah? Well, I delivered a baby mammoth," she repeats triumphantly because she figures that that pretty much trumps everything in the history of forever. Stephen doesn't seem to disagree judging by the way his laughter follows her down the hall.
While the shower is warming up, she cleans her teeth, humming happily along with the vibration of her toothbrush. It's a habit she's picked up from Connor, who can never seem to stay quiet or still for more than three or four seconds at a time and every good girl knows that it takes at least a couple of minutes before your teeth are properly clean. But at least she manages to put her dirty clothes into the washing basket rather than leaving them strewn across the bathroom floor - thankfully that's one habit she hasn't picked up from Connor, even if she hasn't managed to cure Connor of it entirely.
The water is wonderfully warm when she finally steps into the spray, letting it cascade down over her. She hadn't realised how cold she'd been until the heat of it starts to sink into her and she's caught on that cusp between shivering and not. She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting the water run down over her neck and chest, washing away the long night as she eases her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
There's a draft when the bathroom door opens and she's expecting Connor, come to wash her back like he'd promised - or, if not really promised, at least like she'd wanted him to promise - but the hands that settle on her hips are larger, more confident than Connor's. She keeps her eyes closed but she doesn't bother to hide her smile as she leans back into Stephen's lithe, firm body.
His hands slide over her skin, slick and slippery with shower gel. He finds all the places where she likes to be touched, stroking gently, his mouth pressing against the curve of her neck as she tilts her head to give him access. His hands move upwards, mapping her skin, until they're cupping her breasts and he presses up against her back, his erection thick and heavy against her backside.
The door opens again, and she hears Connor's stuttered, "Oh, right..." There's something in his voice - that same something she caught in his face earlier - and it has her opening her eyes and pulling away from Stephen. She doesn't sigh - not exactly - and Stephen doesn't say anything, but when she turns around and catches sight of Stephen's face, there's a familiar rueful look on it.
If she were better at saying the things that she should, if the words she needed to say didn't stick in her throat and lie heavily on her tongue instead of slipping smoothly out... If Stephen weren't a cagey bastard, locked up behind layers and walls, never letting the things show that needed to see the light of day...
If. If.
"Hang on, Connor," she says brightly, holding Stephen's eyes and not missing the understanding flashing through them. "I thought you said you were going to wash my back." She puts just the right amount of put out tone into the words, settles enough of a pout on her lips, to stop Connor in his tracks and start to stutter some apology or other - lots of words that trip over each other as they tumble out and that don't mean much other than a constantly litany that tells her that Connor is there.
"It's all right," she says eventually, stepping away from Stephen. His hands slip from her skin, soapy and slick, but he makes no attempt to stop her. His expression is still rueful, but she suspects that it's just for show, because his eyes are dancing with amusement. But who can tell with Stephen? He plays things even closer to his chest than she does, and that's saying something. "I've finished anyway," she continues, smirking at Stephen and not missing the flash of amusement at that either, because two can play at this game and while Connor might not be in their league, she's more than a match for Stephen.
Connor isn't even in the game, at least not this one. They don't send volleys in his direction any more. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel - and their reticence is less about the 'too easy' part of that and more about the inhumanity of it.
"Oh." Connor pinks up, back to looking oddly pleased, although his eyes dart between Abby and Stephen, almost as though he can't believe his luck, or can't believe that Abby might possibly - on this occasion at least - be choosing him over Stephen. He doesn't ever seem to grasp that the pair of them would choose him over each other, any and every time. It's an unspoken pact, almost. They look out for Connor, both of them. Take care of him but they don't need to take care of each other, not when they're both perfectly capable of taking care of themselves.
It works, for a certain value of 'works'.
She snags one of the towels off the radiator, wrapping it around herself and tucking the ends in while Connor watches her, rapt with attention. Stephen watches her as well, although his face isn't giving much away as he tips his head back, wetting his hair. "Sure you don't want me out as well?" he asks mildly, and she gives him a look of fake reproach.
"You still stink," she says, and his laughter follows her again, this time into the bedroom.
Connor follows her as well, hot on her heels, at least once they're both past the door to her bedroom. Then she spins around, catching hold of his face again and pulling him into another kiss. She makes it long and makes it deep, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer and closer as she slips her tongue into his mouth. He still tastes of tea and toast, but most of all he tastes of Connor, and it's a taste she's grown to both love and long for.
He pulls her closer, his hands a little clumsy at first but growing more certain as they move over her body. They trail lower, edging down towards her backside until he's pulling her tightly against him. He's hard inside his boxers when she slides her fingers underneath the tight elastic of his waistband and she shivers, sliding her tongue even more deeply into his mouth and tracing the line of his teeth.
His mouth leaves hers, tracing a line over her cheek and then down to her neck. He hasn't shaved yet, and the hairs on his face prickle against her skin, making her shiver even more, little chills running through her with every touch. She's impatient now, hungry for more than breakfast, and pulls at his t-shirt until he takes a step away from her, reaching down to pull it off over his head. She follows where he's led, pressing herself up against his bare chest as she sinks her fingers back into his hair, guiding his face lower, down into the hollow above her collarbone and then lower still.
His nimble fingers tug at the fabric of her towel and it falls free, pooling at her feet as he pushes her back towards the bed. She goes gladly, tumbling down onto the soft mattress and pulling greedily at him to drag him down with her. Her hands slide along his skin and then under the fabric of his boxers, pushing them down until he wriggles free of them, kicking them off to lie abandoned on her bedroom floor. His mouth moves lower, capturing the peak of her nipple between his lips as she arches into him, fingers still tangled in his hair.
His stubble scratches against her skin as he eases his way down her body, down along the valley between her breasts and over the gentle swell of her stomach as he wriggles further down the bed. He presses kisses against her skin as he goes, his tongue sometimes darting out to trace over the freckles that are scattered there. Her fingers flex against his scalp, soft breaths panting out of her each time his tongue paints over her sensitive flesh.
When she turns her head and opens her eyes, Stephen is standing in the doorway watching them, towel wrapped loosely around his waist and his hip cocked against the door frame. His arms are folded low across his chest, a study in nonchalance, but his eyes are anything but. They're heavy and hungry, focused first on Abby's face and then tracking along the smooth lines of her body, losing themselves in the curve of Connor's arse. It's too intense, too hungry for Abby, and she closes her eyes again as Connor parts her thighs and settles between them.
The first flick of his tongue against her clit has her back arching off the bed, but Connor's hand settles on her stomach, the weight of it keeping her anchored. The fingers of his other hand part her folds, his clever, agile tongue tracing down to where she's wet and wanting, writing patterns across her heated flesh. He doesn't tease her, not this time - Stephen's the tease, not Connor - and his tongue soon wends its way back up to her clit, flicking across the tight bundle of nerve endings as one of his fingers pushes into her.
It's soon followed by a second, thick and wonderful, both of them pushing in and out of her in a slow, steady rhythm as she clutches at the parts of Connor she can reach. It builds slowly, and she rocks into each touch as he continues to play with her body, at least until he catches her clit gently between his teeth, sucking on it and letting his tongue flicker across it. He keeps fucking her with his fingers, slow and steady, thick and heavy, and her whole body shakes as she comes apart.
She pushes him away from her when she starts coming down from that high, her body too sensitive, still tingling from her orgasm. He rolls away, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. His mouth and chin are slick and shiny with her come and, as she watches, his tongue flickers out again, tasting her on his lips.
The bed dips and Stephen joins them, leaning across her body to cup the back of Connor's head with one large, steady hand, pulling Connor into a deep kiss. She watches, fascinated, as Stephen takes his time with it, tongue exploring Connor's mouth, knowing all the while that the lingering taste of her will be on Connor's tongue. It sends another wave of heat through her, twitching deep in her core.
Connor's mouth is slack when Stephen pulls back, his eyes heavy lidded with lust. His erection bobs gently against his belly when he shifts position, settling on his back next to Abby, invitation in every line of his body - or at least as much as Connor can manage. He's not as comfortable with it as Abby is, or as comfortable as Stephen is in his skin, but now, with his synapses fried by Stephen's kisses, all of his inhibitions have been stripped away, leaving nothing but hunger and need.
Stephen reaches down and catches hold of Connor's hand, bringing Connor's fingers up to his mouth. His tongue darts out, swirling around Connor's middle finger, tasting the remnants of Abby's orgasm on Connor's skin, and Connor's eyes widen, black on brown. When Stephen's eyes meet hers then glance away towards the bedside table, she knows what Stephen wants - they're simpatico in that, as in many things, no words needed between them. She reaches in and rummages around until she finds the small tube and box they keep in there. It takes longer than it should, mainly because she can't take her eyes off the two of them, Stephen sucking on Connor's fingers like he usually sucks on Connor's cock.
She pulls out the small cardboard box first, pulling out one of the thin non-latex gloves in it to hand to Stephen. He sits back on his heels, eyes never leaving Connor's face as he starts rolling it on down his hand, smoothing it over each finger, one at a time.
Connor's lips part and his legs fall open, an unconscious invitation that she knows Connor too damned well to assume he's aware of. The glove will make everything smooth, no rough edges of Stephen's nails to catch at Connor's skin, not with Connor still new to this. Connor's skittish, caught between lust and nervousness, his tongue darting again and tracing over his lower lip, which is swollen with kisses. She wonders if Connor can still taste her, or whether Stephen's kisses have wiped that away. She wonders if Connor even remembers that she's there when his gaze is so transfixed by Stephen's fingers.
She hands Stephen the small tube of lube, and Connor swallows, nervousness or anticipation, she can't tell. It could be one, it could be the other, but she doesn't care right now. Right now all she wants to do is kiss Connor, and keep on kissing him until his world - his focus - narrows down to the feel of her lips on his and nothing else.
He sighs into her mouth, his tongue tracing lazily over her lips and his hand settling on the curve of her waist. It's slow and languid, and she'd be fooled by it if Connor wasn't still so hard, like steel under her touch when she drags her fingers down his length.
She pulls her mouth away and turns her head in time to watch Stephen's fingers settle on the soft skin of Connor's inner thigh. Stephen's fingers are slick and shiny, but from the lube this time, not from Abby, and he meets her eyes again with a slight smile as he starts tracing small, concentric circles over Connor's skin, drawing closer and closer to soft, delicate area beneath Connor's scrotum.
Abby leans closer, settling herself with one hand resting on Connor's chest. His heart is racing underneath her touch, and she turns her head, meeting Connor's eyes for a long moment. He swallows, but there's no fear in his eyes, just a blind trust in Stephen and the fact that Stephen won't hurt him. Just a blind trust in Abby, and the sight of that trust - and everything else shining in Connor's eyes - has her swallowing and looking away. It's easier to meet Stephen's eyes sometimes, which ask nothing more of her than she's comfortable giving, but then Stephen isn't comfortable with giving much in return. Not like Connor, who demands and gives in equal - more than equal - measure, bridging the gaps between them, if only he knew it.
Stephen's fingers slide lower, stroking over the soft, puckered opening to Connor's body, and Connor sighs, his head falling back and his eyes - when Abby turns her head to look again - closed. She leans forward, just a moment of weakness, and presses her mouth to Connor's again. His lips part for her automatically - so much trust - and she kisses him deeply, letting her mouth do her talking for her because the words still cling too tightly to her tongue, burying themselves safely in the confines of her head.
Connor jerks up into her, and she pulls back, looking down his body to catch sight of Stephen. His expression is serious, focused as he slides a single finger back into Connor, slow and careful as always.
Connor is still hard, and she reaches down and catches hold of his cock, stroking it gently. His skin is so soft, like velvet as it runs through her fingers, such a contrast to the hardness underneath. She strokes more firmly, and Connor sighs again, fingers flexing against the bedclothes beneath him.
She watches Stephen as he stretches Connor, first with one finger then with two, always so careful - more careful with Connor than he is with her, but then she doesn't break that easily. Connor's cock twitches beneath her fingers when Stephen finally eases a third finger into him, and she's not quite sure if that's pleasure or pain; Stephen's fingers are broad and strong, and she knows what three of them together feel like - like being split wide open, her whole body tight and tingling until it feels like her very skin will tear apart and something fly free.
But Connor takes it, rocking back and forth onto Stephen's fingers, pushing them in deeper. Connor's heels are dug firmly into the bed now as he moves, a small frown creasing the skin of his brow, but it's not pain, she doesn't think - just a restless kind of pleasure, with Connor blindly seeking more of it.
Stephen is a tease; she knows that, just like she knows exactly how Connor twitches in his sleep. He eases his fingers out of Connor's body and Connor's eyes open, his lips parting but - she thinks, imagines - with disappointment.
Connor's still hard in her hand, and she's still wet, greedy from watching Connor's pleasure. She's not willing to wait for whatever Stephen has planned - you snooze, you lose - and even as Stephen is peeling the glove from his hand, she swings her leg over Connor's hips, settling herself above him.
She still has one hand wrapped around his cock; it's easy to guide him into her, to sink down onto his length. He's thick and full inside her, enough length to him to make her take it easily at first, finding a rhythm that's slow and steady but deep enough to make her gasp each time Connor bucks up into her as she's lowering herself onto him. Stephen is busying himself behind her - she expects him to concentrate on Connor but, as often happens, he surprises her. His hand comes to rest on her waist, steadying her as she pushes back down onto Connor's cock, and then he moves it up to the skin between her shoulder blades, pushing her gently forward until she has to put out her hands, one on either side of Connor's head, to steady herself.
Connor's hands come up to cup her breasts, his thumbs circling around her nipples. She lowers herself further, leaning in to press her mouth against his once more even as Stephen's fingers slide slickly over the curve of her arse.
They trace down along her cleft, wet and smooth, and she lets out a gasp of surprise that Connor swallows down. She doesn't need to see Stephen's face to be able to picture the small and slightly smug smile that he'll be wearing. Not that Connor would notice that; when she opens her eyes, Connor's are still closed, his hands busy kneading at her chest.
Even so, Connor's eyes fly open when the first of Stephen's fingers push into her and she jerks against him. He twists his head, trying to see down her body, trying to figure out what Stephen's up to, but then Stephen's finger pushes into her more deeply and maybe Connor gets it, or maybe Connor feels it, because his eyes widen and he lets out a heartfelt, muttered, "Oh, God."
Oh, God, she echoes, but she can't tell if that's out loud or in the confines of her own head. Her world has narrowed down to the feel of Connor stroking in and out of her, thick and hard, and the feel of Stephen's finger pushing into her from behind. Into her behind.
It shouldn't be this hot, the pair of them in her at the same time, even if it's not both of their cocks, and even thinking that - just the idea of that, Connor buried in her cunt and Stephen in her arse - sends the blood crashing around her body, a spike of heat and lust and something akin to shame. It's taboo and dirty and naughty and she wants it even if she doesn't think she'll be able to take it.
There's more pressure behind her as Stephen pushes another finger into her, and Connor catches hold of her hips, pushing up into her - grinding up into her - and another surge of heat flows through her.
Connor's moves are harder now, fiercer and more erratic, and Stephen curls his fingers inside her. She whines, low in her throat, but Connor whimpers, eyes squeezed shut and she gets it then. He can feel Stephen, can feel Stephen's fingers stroking along his cock, separated from him just by Abby's thin skin, and it must feel like he's being fucked and jerked off, both at the same time. The thought leaves her dizzy with lust, light-headed and breathless.
Connor's close, she can tell. He's thicker now in her, like he always is just before he comes, and there's no finesse in his moves. He's fucking her hard and he's fucking her fast, and she left steadying herself with one hand while Connor holds her up, pulls her down onto him, and the fingers of her other hand curl helplessly against his chest.
He comes before she does, and she shouldn't be greedy - she's already come once thanks to him, but she's so close herself, teetering on the cusp of flying apart. She's tingling, gasping as Stephen pulls his fingers out of her body, leaving her feeling bereft and empty. Stephen's hands settle on her hips, easing her up and off Connor's length until that it slips out of her as well, and she whimpers at the loss, fingers clutching greedily at Connor's skin.
Stephen presses up behind her. For a split second, she thinks he's going to slide his cock into her arse and - for that same split second - she wants him to, his cock in her arse and Connor's fingers in her cunt, and the thought makes her whimper again. But when Stephen pushes into her, it's into her pussy, still wet with Connor's come.
She closes her eyes and presses her face into Connor's neck, her fingers curling more tightly against Connor's skin. Stephen doesn't feel the same inside her as Connor did - they're both unique, different shapes, different sensations, different rhythms and moves - but he soon sets a pace that has her panting, riding the wave that is fast cresting back towards orgasm. Connor's fingers slide slowly down her body, slipping across her sweat-slicked skin until they reach her clit. The position's awkward, and his moves are jerky, lacking the smooth rhythm of Stephen's rolling hips, but the pressure is in just the right place and hard the way she needs it. Stephen's hands settle on her breasts, pulling her firmly back against him until all she's reduced to is the feel of his length buried in her, and the pressure of Connor's fingers against her clitoris.
Her orgasm doesn't roll over her this time; it crashes over her, shaking her apart as she comes again with a cry that breaks on the cusp of a sob. Connor pulls his fingers away just at the point where the feel of him against her clit is tipping from a sharp, fierce pleasure to something that's too much to bear. He pulls her to him instead, pressing mindless little kisses along her hairline, murmuring things she can't quite catch and still isn't sure she wants to, not when those same words still catch in her throat and threaten to choke her, not when she can't offer the same in return.
Stephen's hands move back to her shoulder blades, pushing her down onto Connor as his rhythm speeds up until he's almost slamming into her. It sends little aftershocks through her, waves of pleasure that threaten to drown her, and all she can do is cling to Connor as they roll over her and again and again. And then - finally - Stephen tenses behind her, letting out a gasp of his own as he empties himself into her.
He's considerate enough at least not to collapse on top of her, but rolls away to one side, slipping out of her. She has no qualms whatsoever about collapsing onto Connor, and he lets out a little 'oof' when her weight settles on him. It doesn't stop him from wrapping his arms around her, though, cuddling her to him as though he doesn't ever want to let go.
The sweat is drying on her body and she shivers, chilled again and trying to bury herself in the warmth of Connor's body. Stephen lets out a soft snort, tugging at the covers that both she and Connor are lying on until they shift their weight and he can pull it free.
She has to move off Connor to do that, and - given the opportunity - he slips out from underneath her. She could pout about it, but she has to admit that the mattress is far softer than he is - far fewer bony bits and hard angles - and she burrows down into it, relaxing with a soft sigh when Stephen throws the duvet back over her.
"I never did get that cup of tea," she murmurs, because somehow that seems important. She doesn't want them to think that they can get away with not doing what she wants just because they take the time to fuck her into complaisance.
Stephen laughs softly, and this time it's Connor who snorts. "We'll make a fresh one when you wake up," Stephen promises quietly, his fingers smoothing over her hair for a brief moment. She's sleepy enough now - exhausted enough now - to relax into that gentle caress as well, even coming from Stephen rather than the far more open Connor. "We promise, okay?" And there's more than tea in his words.
It's a promise she's going to hold them to.
The End