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jooles34Fandom: Primeval
Characters: Lester/Becker/Connor
Words: 3,695 this chapter, approx 40,000 for the series.
Rating, Warnings: 18. The whole series is about a Dom/switch/sub relationship and contains various BDSM themes.
Disclaimer: Nope, don't own Primeval.
Spoilers: None. Not set in any specific season.
AN: A very special mention to jaynedoll at this point. An age ago, when this verse was still in its infancy, she gave me the idea that led to these chapters, and it is this point that the rest of the fic has been building up to. Thank you so much.
AN2: Huge thanks to the lovely lukadreaming for a great beta and to lsellersfic for my fabulous artwork.
AN3: Chapter one here. Previous chapter here
Connor and Abby sat in Abby’s lab at the ARC eating their lunch. Connor refused to eat in the canteen or break area or spend any more time out of the lab than he had to.
The atmosphere in the ARC was heavy, the tension palpable. The reasons were not known by most, but Connor had refused to talk to or even look at Lester or Becker for three days now. Becker’s rotas mysteriously changed each morning so he was no longer patrolling the control room. Connor went about his work quietly, but a wall of ‘stay away’ hung over him. It seemed only Abby could get through and she calmed and soothed him, drying his tears when they were alone in her flat.
“Why don’t you just talk to them, let them explain. They both just want to talk to you, Connor.”
“What can they possibly have to say?”
“I don’t know and neither will you until you hear them out.”
Connor looked at her; her eyes were sad and sincere. She’d been saying the same thing since Connor had left home, but everything she said had been ideas, suggestions. Abby had been careful to not once try to tell him what to do or give him anything that could be interpreted as an order.
“Fine. If we get through to the end of the day shift without an anomaly then I’ll talk to them in the canteen.”
“But Conn, we haven’t had an alarm for three days. You know the odds are against it holding out for another day.”
“Yup, but it’s the best odds they’re getting.”
Abby sighed sadly and nodded. They finished their lunch in silence and Abby stood, quietly gathering her things.
“I’ll go and speak to them.” She leaned over and kissed Connor on the cheek. He followed her a few minutes later and headed for his own workstation in the middle of the main room. He’d wanted to move his current projects into one of the smaller, more private, labs but it wasn’t practical.
With a deep breath he sat down and got to work. He was aware of Lester’s gaze down on him.
As the day wore on Connor checked and re-checked the anomaly detector but it was working perfectly; there really hadn’t been any new anomalies for three days. It was five to six now and he was running out of time. Five minutes later and the day shift were officially released and the anomaly detector was stubbornly silent.
Within ten minutes the large room was almost deserted, the skeleton night shift just starting. And still the alarms regarded him with soundless persistence.
Connor risked a glance up and saw Lester looking down at him from the balcony outside his office. He had a look on his face Connor had never seen before. The older man looked broken, his guard down now that everyone had gone. He looked tired, as though sleep had been eluding him. Connor heard a door open at the far end of the room and Becker walked through. His eyes sent out a plea to Connor.
Connor took a deep breath and let it out as a sigh. Shaking his head, he turned back to his computer and, tapping a couple of keys to save his work, powered it down, just leaving the detector running for the night shift.
He slipped off his stool and walked silently to the double doors that led to the main corridor. He knew the others would be following him and he quickened his pace, easily getting to the canteen first.
He knew how much Lester disliked coming into the staff areas of the ARC and Connor sat down at a table in the middle of the room. He chose a seat facing the door meaning that Becker would have to sit opposite him, in the middle of the room with his back to the door, a position that would immediately make him uncomfortable.
He stared at the door, waiting for them, slouched and trying to affect an air far more casual than he felt. But his stomach was a knot of nerves and he was already struggling to keep his emotions in check. The urge to fidget was intense, but he trapped his hands under his thighs so he couldn’t. He needed to look like he was in control of this situation.
When Lester and Becker walked into the room he kept his eyes on them, refusing to look away as the approached. He had no reason to be cowed by either of them. Neither of them owned him, or had any power over him and he owed them nothing.
They sat opposite him, next to, but not close to, each other.
“How are you, Connor?” Lester spoke first.
“Fine, thank you,” he replied, proud that his voice was steady, giving nothing away.
“We miss you,” Becker said.
Connor snorted and looked away. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
“Will you let us explain?” Lester asked.
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Connor swallowed. The bitterness in his voice sounded alien even to him.
And so Lester started talking, falteringly, slowly, clearly dredging up memories he had fought for years to suppress. Becker helped him, filling in when he could when Lester needed him to. Connor listened quietly, his heart breaking a little more with each word.
James Lester had worked hard, damn hard, to get where he was. And he hadn’t worked that hard to stand in front of a room full of snivelling grunts who didn’t give a shit.
He had already experienced more than many career army officers did. He’d excelled at Sandhurst, later been handpicked for Special Forces and seen more action than he frequently cared to remember. Then wrong place, wrong time had seen him medically relieved from active duty. In his mind the torture that caused the middle ear injury leading to the partial deafness was nothing compared to watching his career disappear in front of his eyes.
But James Lester was never beaten. He managed to move himself into military intelligence, proving that his brains could serve him just as well off the battle field as on. But his desire to work his way through the ranks had left when he realised that all he was now able to become was one of those commanding officers who ordered their men into war from the comfort of their safety zone. James knew he wasn’t the kind who would ever be able to send his men somewhere where he couldn’t follow.
And so he took medical retirement, but remained working for the army as a civilian in intel gathering and interpreting. It wasn’t long before the challenge of the role left him and he needed something more. So now, at the ripe old age of 33, he found himself back at Sandhurst training the next generation of British army officers. Or to be more accurate, he was getting increasingly frustrated with a room full of cadets who thought they were smarter than he was. They were too well trained to be blatantly disobedient, but disdain rolled off them at the very idea that he, a civilian, and one very young to be in his position, was addressing them and claiming any sort of authority over them. This was a part of his training that always annoyed him. The first rule of military intelligence he taught was never to underestimate the knowledge the enemy may posses. To illustrate this he kept his history hidden from the cadets until halfway through his course or until one of them slipped up enough that they needed to have an example made of them. It was a practical lesson that was always well learnt.
But it wasn’t time for the reveal yet; no, he would push them some more first. Including the one at the front, the worst of the bunch. Officer Cadet Becker was his name. Eighteen, straight out of school – clearly a private school at that, boarding, James would guess – clever, no two ways about that, and cocky. Far too fucking cocky. James had figured out quickly that he was easily the cleverest in the room, aside from himself naturally, and the boy knew it too.
He sat, perfectly presented, with a ghost of a smug smile on his lips as he watched James with a disturbing intensity. The look on his face seemed to infer that he didn’t need to be here and that he could learn all this on his own, thank you very much. Nothing the cadet said could be taken as disrespectful, but was delivered with an air of someone who believed themselves to be intrinsically superior.
James ignored him with years of careful professionalism and finished the class for the day. He dismissed the group of men and women and decided to go to the gym to work off some of his frustrations. He changed, grabbed a towel and water bottle and headed off for what promised to be a good workout.
He warmed up, spent half an hour pulling weights, then moved onto a hard and fast cardio-vascular workout. But he was still wound up. And James was increasingly frustrated with himself for having let the young cadet get under his skin. He decided to top-up his workout with some time in the sparring room, perhaps with a punch bag or a partner if anyone was willing to take on a training officer.
He walked into the room and glanced around, rolling his eyes when he spotted the cause of his annoyance in the corner working a punch bag. The cadet finished a combination of jabs with a vicious roundhouse, before bouncing back on his feet, dropping his arms and looking over towards the door.
“Sir,” he said with a nod of acknowledgement.
“Becker,” James replied. He glanced around for another bag, but the room was full of soldiers, sweating and working out, grunting as they pummelled bags, and each other.
“Sir, are you looking for a sparring partner?” Becker called over.
James raised an eyebrow. “Are you offering, Officer Cadet?”
“Sir, yes sir.”
James smiled inwardly. This could release a few of his frustrations in one go, with the added benefit the cadet probably had no idea what he was letting himself in for. “Then let’s go.”
The young man grinned at him, and headed for one of the sparring rings. James threw his towel and water bottle into a corner and climbed in after him.
“No protective gear, Becker?”
“Do you think you need it, sir?”
“Oh, I am quite sure I won’t, I was more concerned about you.”
“I tell you what, sir, I’ll box, you can use whatever manoeuvres and styles you like. Don’t feel the need to stick to the Queensbury rules.”
The cadet smirked at him with a confidence and cockiness born of youth, inexperience and clear confidence in his own skill.
“All right, as you wish. In that case I will let you throw the first punch.”
The words were barely out of his mouth when the cadet’s right hand was swinging towards his face. James went to sidestep and realised almost too late that the right had been a feint. The young man’s left arm instead came up in what would have been a blistering uppercut had James not reacted as quickly as he did. He weaved the punch and grabbed the cadet’s elbow as his fist flew millimetres past his face. He used the other man’s own momentum to spin him, at the same time bringing his other arm up to grip the fist that had been aiming for him. James’ leg shot out and half a second later Officer Cadet Becker found himself face-down on the canvas floor, his left arm uncomfortably high up his back and James straddling his waist.
James smiled as the smug expression was finally wiped from the man’s face.
“First rule of military intelligence, Cadet?”
James saw realisation dawn on the man underneath him and felt him sigh.
“Never underestimate the knowledge your enemy may possess, sir.”
“Good boy.”
With that James got up and, suddenly feeling much better, climbed out of the ring, collected his things and headed back to his room.
A few days later James found himself drawn to the sparring room again. Watching through the window he could see that Officer Cadet Becker was there once more. This time he looked up as soon as James entered the room.
“Sir,” he acknowledged.
“Officer Cadet Becker.”
Since their last meeting in the gym things had changed between them. The cadet still watched him as intently as ever during the classes, but the look of distain was gone. Instead there was an intensity in the look that resembled scrutiny. James felt like he was being examined under the gaze, but didn’t think enough of it to challenge it.
But now it was his turn to scrutinise. Becker was clearly a fit young man, as well as being exceptionally clever. His body had moved fluidly as he’d worked the bag and his sleeveless T-shirt and shorts showed off a lean, muscular body without a trace of excess fat. James had to admit that as fit as he still was, he was no longer in that kind of shape. But then, he was no longer 18.
Becker walked over to him.
“I wondered if you would like to spar again, sir. This time I know not to underestimate my enemy. And this time I will not weight the rules in your favour.” He gave a small, almost shy smile which James returned.
“Okay, Cadet, you’re on. Any style, but no head shots.”
“Sir.”
They both climbed into the ring. They started by squaring off against each other, trying to get the measure of one another. They both led feints, backing off again from the counterattacks. They used the ring, dancing around each other. Blows fell and landed, but all were inconsequential, testing for response, reaction, looking for weak points.
Gradually, their movements became more confident, more determined. Punches and kicks began to land with more regularity, accuracy and power. They drew each other into locks and holds, wrestling to the floor, before breaking free and finding their feet again.
Both were sweating and grunting with the effort and exertion. As they squared off against each other once more, the cadet grinned.
“What is my prize when I win, sir?” he panted.
“You expect more than the glory of victory? Which will not be yours, incidentally.”
“When I win you take me to dinner.”
James was caught off-guard, but refused to let it show.
“You won’t win and there will be no dinner.”
“If you win I’ll take you to dinner.”
Becker lunged forward at that moment and tackled James to the canvas. He leaned over him and smirked again.
“Either way you get dinner and me.”
James convulsed his body, moving out of Becker’s hold and dropping the cadet to the floor, quickly rolling on top to pin him. Leaning into his ear he said, “There will be no dinner and I don’t want you.”
He stood quickly, retrieved his things from the corner and jumped out of the ring, heading out of the room.
Becker called after him, “Yes you do. You underestimate how much your enemy knows, sir!”
James sat at the desk in his room, his work going unnoticed. He’d have to be an idiot not to be attracted to the young cadet; a blind idiot at that. But getting involved with a student was reckless and irresponsible and was not something he wanted his reputation tarnished with. The fact that the man was nearly half his age was another damned good reason to ignore the cadet’s advances and make sure to avoid him until the lad’s training was over.
When the knock sounded at his door a few minutes later Lester knew who it would be and he crossed the room to open it in seconds. A moment later all thoughts were banished as he lost himself in the warm embrace of the young man.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
There was a smart, but soft knock on his door. James opened it to find Becker standing on the other side, stiff to attention.
“At ease, Cadet. And you may enter.”
“Sir, thank you, sir,” Cadet Becker said smoothly, before stepping inside and closing the door behind him. As soon as the door was shut Becker grinned and pulled James to him. Their mouths met in a familiar, but passionate kiss. Breaking apart Becker let himself flop down onto the bed.
“It’s my birthday on Monday.”
“I’m very pleased for you.” Lester leaned back against his desk.
Becker pulled a face. “It’s my birthday Monday and I have a pass for this weekend. I thought we could go somewhere. Down to Brighton for the weekend or something. We can leave Friday evening, be back Sunday night. What do you think?”
“If it’s your birthday and you have a leave weekend, wouldn’t you rather see your family?”
“Let me see; a weekend playing nice with the family in Hampshire, or one being fucked royally by you at the seaside? It’s not much of a contest, James.”
Becker leapt back off the bed and in two strides was next to Lester, pushing him gently backwards on the desk, kissing him again.
“Imagine it; two nights together James, two whole nights. After all these weeks we can fuck as leisurely as we like, take our time, properly explore each other. God, you can be as loud as you want, and then we can actually fall asleep with each other.”
His young face was so open and earnest that James couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I’ll book something. Call it your birthday present.”
The smile was kissed from him as Becker pressed him more firmly against the desk, bending him further backwards over it. Hands roamed, moving under clothes and over warm flesh as they swallowed each other’s moans, coming over each other seconds apart.
They re-dressed quickly and shared kisses as Becker prepared to leave again.
“Three days, James. Three days and then a whole weekend with no sneaking around.”
James was quiet as they travelled back from Brighton. The weekend had been everything that Becker had promised. They hadn’t needed to hide being together; they had played stupid arcade games, chased each other along the pier, held hands as they walked along the beach at night.
They had fucked in a leisurely manner, exploring each other’s bodies unhurriedly, not having to worry about who was watching for Becker’s return, or who had seen someone enter James’s room. They had found secret places on each other’s bodies they hadn’t had the time to find before; those unexpected wells of pleasure that become evident only with careful searching.
They had talked and shared, able to exchange more in one weekend than weeks of snatched and whispered conversations, their knowledge of each other growing in mind as well as body. They took the time to make each other laugh, getting pleasure just from the light in the other one’s eyes.
And the weight of Lester's enjoyment lay heavy on his chest.
They were two stops away from where they would need to alight from their train. Becker was leaning against him feigning sleep and Lester shifted his weight so he could stand up.
“Don’t even think it,” Becker muttered.
“We talked about this. We’re nearly there. I should move to another carriage.”
Becker finally straightened up and he looked James in the face. “No one is going to think anything if they see us both getting out of the same carriage. And so what if they do? It’s legal now.”
“It may be legal, but that doesn’t mean it’s accepted. And I’m your training officer.”
“You are not the only training officer to ever fuck one of your students James.”
James sighed and closed his eyes briefly. “That’s not the point. This is my career we are talking about. What happens to you while you are a cadet can be brushed off. It will eventually stop following you around. My career, or what is left of it, is all I have. I’m not willing to jeopardise it for you to have some fun.”
“Is that what you think this is for me, James? A bit of fun?”
James sighed again. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Becker stood and grabbed his bag. “And I’m sorry you think your career is all you have. Don’t worry about moving carriages, I’ll go.”
James let him leave.
He tried to catch up with him when they left the train, but Becker had headed towards the front carriages when he had left him and short of running after the man, he couldn’t catch him.
The next day James tried to wish him a happy birthday after his class, but Becker just shook his head and followed his fellow cadets out of the room.
As training finished James was called to the general’s office.
“James, a situation has come up. Officer Cadets are being pulled out early to fill places in regiments. I am not at liberty to say why, but we need someone young with an aptitude for intelligence. Can you suggest someone?”
Two or three names leapt immediately into James’ head, but only one would solve his immediate problem.
“Becker, sir. Officer Cadet Becker.”
James spent the night alternately pacing his room and sitting on his bed with his head in his hands. When the urgent knocking came at his door he kept quiet and the door stayed shut. No matter how insistent the knocking became James kept still and silent. Eventually the knocking stopped and James allowed himself a moment to grieve what he had given up before he’d really had it.
He wouldn’t see the young officer for another seven years and when he did his back would be a little stiffer, his smiles rare and forced when they came, and he would wear the eyes of a man who had seen too much.
Just like his.
