From Mud We Came... - (Becker/Connor, NC-17)
From Mud We Came
Pairing: Becker/Connor
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: bare-backing, unsafe sex
Sequel to: A Warning Sign…
Author’s Notes: Written in chunks in polyonymous tumblr askbox (coulsonian on tumblr)… I’m sorry.
Connor is a mess, covered in mud and laughing his fucking head off as Becker tries to wiggle out of his mud caked jeans in, he assumes, a sexy manner. Connor thinks he looks like a very filthy octopus, but if this ends with him getting fucked he's not going to argue, especially when Becker throws a packet of lube at his head to get him to shut up and finally gets his flies open, falling to his knees over Connor and leaning forward to wrap mud coated hands in Connors hair and pull his head back.
“Stop laughing” he near-growls as he presses dry lips to Connor's neck before opening his mouth and biting down on an old bruise, pinning Connor down with his hips as he worries the skin back to red with a hint of bruise.
Connor can't help laughing even harder as Becker's hand, nails scratching at his stomach and hips, shoves into his trousers, flipping the button open and shoving the zipper down, so hard the damn thing breaks. Before wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking upwards, hard.
Connor can’t move his legs, pinned as they are by mud and Becker. He wraps one hand around the back of Becker’s head, pressing mud into the roots and he pulls hard and forces Becker up to kiss him, more teeth and tongue than anything else. He grunts harshly at the little twist of the wrist that Becker knows destroys him faster than anything else.
‘Gonna fuck you, so hard. Where’s the lube?’ Becker says in between bites to Connor’s lips. Connor’s hand flails around next to his head but fail to find the shiny packet.
'Don't know.' He pants, hips digging down further into the mud as Becker's hand gets faster, stripping him harder and harder.
'Plan B.' Becker groans, pulling away from Connor's mouth and moving down him, Connor tries to ignore the squelch of mud at his hips as Becker twists like a fucking pretzel and sucks Connor down in one breath. Connor's hips buck, no longer as constrained by Becker's weight and he lets his hand twist even harder where it still rests in Becker's ruined hair, he feels when a few strands come lose in his fingers and winces, he'll be paying for that later.
He comes embarrassingly quickly, moaning when Becker pulls back to catch his come in his mouth. He sits up whilst Connor is still twitching, and after rapidly wiping a hand, mostly, clean on Connor's shirt and stomach, he spits Connor's come into his hand, and starts pawing at Connor's hip for him to turn over. It takes a few tries, but he manages it finally, the squelch as he pulls free of the mud sounding disgusting to his ears, but he manages to pull himself up to hands and knees as Becker's remaining hand scratches down his back to grip at his waistband and pull his trousers and pants down enough that he can thrust two slicked fingers into Connor's still twitching, from his orgasm and how fucking turned on he is right now, hole. It takes a few seconds for Connor's brain to realise that the slick is his own come. And he groans loud and low cock twitching at the thought.
He hears the slick sound of Becker slicking up his own cock, and groans as he lines up the head. He can hardly move for the state of his jeans and the mass of fabric bunched at the top of his thighs, but his hands slip in the mud as Becker starts fucking him. Hard sharp thrusts, designed less for the pleasure of fucking and more to get himself off as soon as possible. Connor can feels himself getting hard again already, head of his cock dragging wetly against the ruined denim bunched at his hips.
Becker's hand is almost dry when he grabs Connor's half hard cock, his come and Becker's spit long since used up, and with every thrust it gets harder for him to move, knees digging into the mud further and further. Come and spit drying as it trickles out of his arse, mud covering what feels like every inch of skin and fabric. He thrusts his hips as much as he can, trying to get more friction and bucking away when it's too much, too bright, too sharp. Near painful against his oversensitive skin.
He feels it building after a few near dry thrusts have him gasping in painpleasurepain, unable to distinguish the two. Becker's hand grips him tight as the soldier comes, thrusting through his orgasm, and Connor reaches a hand down, flailing trying to grab Becker's clenched but unmoving hand and get him going again.
The mud on his palm slicks the path slightly and he manages to push himself over, before the one hand holding him up gives out, and he has the foresight to turn his head to the side before he gets a mouthful of mud, but can't think through anything else. Becker's hips are still circling weakly as he starts pulling out, making Connor whimper into the ground. Becker falls off to the side, gasping on his back, cock lying on his jeans. And he pushes at Connor's hip to make him roll over. Shoving him onto his back and pressing a kiss to his mouth.
“Still the best present ever.”