Title: Triage: Abby
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Becker/Connor
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set post 3.3
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: ~900.
Status: Complete. Part of a series of 3.
Author's Notes: Posted as part of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fandom_stocking for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
textualdeviance. Thanks to ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
aithine for the beta.
Summary: Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way that Becker looks at Connor.
Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way that Becker looks at Connor. It's a lean, measured look, much like the man himself, like he's weighing Connor up. Lean and hungry, like he's weighed Connor up and it's Becker who's found wanting.
Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way Connor looks back.
He's a good guy, Becker. He's smart and brave and he's risked his life for them more than once. He goes someway towards filling the hole in their team that's been left by Stephen. Nothing could fill the Cutter-shaped hole but maybe that's why she brought this up. They've lost so much - Stephen, Cutter. She doesn't want to lose Connor, too.
He loves her. She knows he does, but...
Becker's a good guy, and mixed in with that are all sorts of other things she doesn't want to think about, like the fact that sometimes when he smiles, he ducks his head like Stephen used to and something in her chest jerks hard and painfully. Like sometimes when he's there, just there, he makes her feel something close to safe when the only other person she's ever felt like that with, now that Stephen's dead, is Connor, and Connor can't shoot for shit.
Like how when he called her 'Abigail', his voice hard and tight, and something deep and low in her belly clenched just as hard.
She thought about it later, about Becker calling her that, getting in her face. Slamming her into the wall, tongue in her mouth and fingers in her hair, and something tightened again, lower still, aching and needy. She was wet when she slid her fingers into her underwear, her fist in her mouth so that Jack wouldn't hear her.
Becker's fingers aren't in her hair; they're in Connor's and Connor's fingers are wrapped about Becker's hard-on, moving slowly, up and down. Connor's mouth is slick and wet, his lips red, as flushed as his cheeks.
She watches Connor's fingers move, the way that Becker's foreskin slides with them as they slide up towards the red, wet tip of Becker's dick, rising from Connor's fist. She watches and she listens as Becker murmurs it again.
"I want to fuck you."
She shivers, her eyes meeting Connor's, everything showing in his and nothing - hopefully - showing in hers. He wants permission or absolution, or may just an excuse to say no. She can't tell which.
She wants to watch.
She swallows and risks a small nod, one that says okay or whatever you want or please and he turns away from her again, licking his lips nervously, making them more wet, more shiny. More red.
"Okay," he says, his voice a little high, and she swallows again, the weight of that word settling low in her belly, leaving her wet and swollen and aching between her legs, where her thighs press together.
Connor is awkward and clumsy, barely conscious of the way his body moves but Becker is cool efficiency, even in this. He slicks up his fingers with lube, easing them into Connor's body, starting slowly. He slides a single finger in and out and it's probably hotter than hell to see but she's not watching that; she's watching Connor's face.
Connor has a smile for every occasion - wide and goofy, quick and nervous, she loves them all, even when her patience is worn thin. He's not smiling now, his dark eyes wide and a little scared even though Becker's supposed to stop that, make it so they aren't scared.
No. Becker stops her from being scared but with Connor, that's her job.
She leans forward and touches Connor's face, feeling him relax, feeling the gasp he lets out as Becker's fingers slide in more deeply, two this time. She kisses him and swallows that gasp down and the next one.
When she pulls back, his eyes aren't scared anymore. They're lost in whatever Becker is doing to him, in all the pleasure and maybe even a little pain, and she's lost in Connor.
She waits until Becker's pushing his cock into Connor before she slides her fingers into herself, feeling her body clench around them, tight and wet. Connor watches her as she strokes herself, finding the rhythm in Becker's thrusts, in his hand moving along Connor's cock, making it hard again.
She comes to the sound of her name on Connor's lips; he pants it out each time Becker's cock drives into him, twisting his fingers in the bed sheets and his cock hard and red, curving beneath his belly.
She touches his face with fingers that are still wet and holds him still as her tongue slides into his mouth, the sounds he's making as Becker fucks him becoming part of her.
He's hot to the touch when she slides her hand - still wet, still slick from her own body - down his belly and takes hold of him, matching the rhythm of her hand to the rhythm of Becker's jerking hips.
Connor calls her name again when he comes, spilling wetly over her fingers, and the sound spills out of her mouth, too, around the edges where their lips press together. She tastes him, pulling back to lick his come from her fingers as her eyes meet Becker's over Connor's shoulder.
She's not scared anymore. Not even of him. Instead something else twists in her chest, something like pity or grief or guilt.
Abby's not stupid. Even now, it's Becker who's left wanting.
Author: alyse
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Abby/Becker/Connor
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Set post 3.3
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: ~900.
Status: Complete. Part of a series of 3.
Author's Notes: Posted as part of
fandom_stocking for textualdeviance. Thanks to aithine for the beta.Summary: Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way that Becker looks at Connor.
Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way that Becker looks at Connor. It's a lean, measured look, much like the man himself, like he's weighing Connor up. Lean and hungry, like he's weighed Connor up and it's Becker who's found wanting.
Abby's not stupid. She's seen the way Connor looks back.
He's a good guy, Becker. He's smart and brave and he's risked his life for them more than once. He goes someway towards filling the hole in their team that's been left by Stephen. Nothing could fill the Cutter-shaped hole but maybe that's why she brought this up. They've lost so much - Stephen, Cutter. She doesn't want to lose Connor, too.
He loves her. She knows he does, but...
Becker's a good guy, and mixed in with that are all sorts of other things she doesn't want to think about, like the fact that sometimes when he smiles, he ducks his head like Stephen used to and something in her chest jerks hard and painfully. Like sometimes when he's there, just there, he makes her feel something close to safe when the only other person she's ever felt like that with, now that Stephen's dead, is Connor, and Connor can't shoot for shit.
Like how when he called her 'Abigail', his voice hard and tight, and something deep and low in her belly clenched just as hard.
She thought about it later, about Becker calling her that, getting in her face. Slamming her into the wall, tongue in her mouth and fingers in her hair, and something tightened again, lower still, aching and needy. She was wet when she slid her fingers into her underwear, her fist in her mouth so that Jack wouldn't hear her.
Becker's fingers aren't in her hair; they're in Connor's and Connor's fingers are wrapped about Becker's hard-on, moving slowly, up and down. Connor's mouth is slick and wet, his lips red, as flushed as his cheeks.
She watches Connor's fingers move, the way that Becker's foreskin slides with them as they slide up towards the red, wet tip of Becker's dick, rising from Connor's fist. She watches and she listens as Becker murmurs it again.
"I want to fuck you."
She shivers, her eyes meeting Connor's, everything showing in his and nothing - hopefully - showing in hers. He wants permission or absolution, or may just an excuse to say no. She can't tell which.
She wants to watch.
She swallows and risks a small nod, one that says okay or whatever you want or please and he turns away from her again, licking his lips nervously, making them more wet, more shiny. More red.
"Okay," he says, his voice a little high, and she swallows again, the weight of that word settling low in her belly, leaving her wet and swollen and aching between her legs, where her thighs press together.
Connor is awkward and clumsy, barely conscious of the way his body moves but Becker is cool efficiency, even in this. He slicks up his fingers with lube, easing them into Connor's body, starting slowly. He slides a single finger in and out and it's probably hotter than hell to see but she's not watching that; she's watching Connor's face.
Connor has a smile for every occasion - wide and goofy, quick and nervous, she loves them all, even when her patience is worn thin. He's not smiling now, his dark eyes wide and a little scared even though Becker's supposed to stop that, make it so they aren't scared.
No. Becker stops her from being scared but with Connor, that's her job.
She leans forward and touches Connor's face, feeling him relax, feeling the gasp he lets out as Becker's fingers slide in more deeply, two this time. She kisses him and swallows that gasp down and the next one.
When she pulls back, his eyes aren't scared anymore. They're lost in whatever Becker is doing to him, in all the pleasure and maybe even a little pain, and she's lost in Connor.
She waits until Becker's pushing his cock into Connor before she slides her fingers into herself, feeling her body clench around them, tight and wet. Connor watches her as she strokes herself, finding the rhythm in Becker's thrusts, in his hand moving along Connor's cock, making it hard again.
She comes to the sound of her name on Connor's lips; he pants it out each time Becker's cock drives into him, twisting his fingers in the bed sheets and his cock hard and red, curving beneath his belly.
She touches his face with fingers that are still wet and holds him still as her tongue slides into his mouth, the sounds he's making as Becker fucks him becoming part of her.
He's hot to the touch when she slides her hand - still wet, still slick from her own body - down his belly and takes hold of him, matching the rhythm of her hand to the rhythm of Becker's jerking hips.
Connor calls her name again when he comes, spilling wetly over her fingers, and the sound spills out of her mouth, too, around the edges where their lips press together. She tastes him, pulling back to lick his come from her fingers as her eyes meet Becker's over Connor's shoulder.
She's not scared anymore. Not even of him. Instead something else twists in her chest, something like pity or grief or guilt.
Abby's not stupid. Even now, it's Becker who's left wanting.