Primeval fanfic: True Love
Title: True Love
Author: SCWLC
Disclaimer: I own nothing that anyone recognises.
Summary: Connor's got a history of helping people, but sometimes the helper needs help
Pairing: Stephen/Connor
Rating: NC-17 maybe R, but I'll go to the max for safety's sake. I do sometimes tend to blurry watercolours than explicit scenes, though.
Series: Two. Kinda has to be, all things considered.
A/N: So . . . Connor PoV, and I'm making up an angsty backstory for Connor that probably bears little to no relation to anything that has appeared on any official site or bio for him. However, since I haven't read any of those, I am cheerfully claiming ignorance and stating that I'm taking the view that it's only really canon if they say it on the show. Naturally, I am following this up by slashing Connor and Stephen, but . . . well, that's the point of fanfic, isn't it? Also, for the record, if anyone reading this wants to brit-pick in the comments, feel free.
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Connor knew that most people thought he was probably a virgin. He couldn't blame them. He was awkward and silly and socially stunted in a lot of ways. It was something that came with the territory of being smarter than all the other kids you knew without having athleticism or something else they respected to defray the problems created by being that smart. It meant that adults thought you were maturer than you were, just because you were smart enough to see longer term than the other kids, rather than actually having some sort of real understanding of life and people. It put you into a sort of strange void, where you were too adult for the other kids, but too childish for the adults and brought on stages of adolescence to soon, but keeping you from all the maturation that would come with actually dating and spending time with your peers.
No wonder all the smart kids were weird.
He wasn't a virgin though. It just hadn't come about in any sort of normal way. Not really.
One of his closest friends growing up had turned out gay. Connor had hardly cared, he'd figured out around the same time for himself that he went both ways, so the revelation hadn't bothered him. But in a conservative small town, a boy who didn't like girls at all like that was put through a lot of trouble. Ned had first been bullied when he'd taken the advice of too much American TV and just come out to everyone. Then he'd been shunned. By the time he was sixteen, Ned had been knocking back anything with alcohol in it just to keep from thinking too hard about things and how awful everything was.
Connor couldn't stand to lose his best friend that way, so he'd stepped in, quietly, and one night had just started kissing Ned when the other boy was too drunk to think about things. He'd made himself into Ned's boyfriend, made himself into a support and a steadying influence and got him into a college in London, giving up on Cambridge and a Canadian university near to Drumheller, Alberta where they had some of the best paleontologists in the world teaching and easy access to the dinosaur-rich badlands to go to university in London as well. He'd let himself fall in love with Ned, which was why he'd been so destroyed when Ned had left him for someone else just a few weeks after.
"You've been wonderful, Conn," he'd said. "But I really love Josh, and you shouldn't give up everything for me. I know you've just been doing this to help me, but I need to do this without you as a crutch."
The fact that Ned didn't seem to realise Connor really had fallen in love with him had been about all that kept Connor from a screaming fit.
Crystal, in the co-ed residence he moved to in second year had been suicidal. He'd come across her, and had forced his way into her life to keep her from doing something everyone around her would regret. Sex had been the one therapy he could use to reassure her that someone would care and notice if she died, and he'd been there for her whenever she needed it. This time he'd kept himself from falling in love, which was a good thing, because he was good enough at doing this that she'd up and scarpered off with some car mechanic she met. She was doing well, living in Liverpool with him, married with two children and a steady home life.
It was just something he did a lot, he found. It was like he had a sort of wounded hearts radar that kept getting him into these situations where he'd wind up just sort of falling into bed with someone to walk them back out of depression.
Still, it was a little depressing that not one of the people, Ned, Crystal, Iris, Vick, Shaun and Shawna, none of them seemed to want him back. His awkwardness in social situations kept people from really even seeing how he got about with boys and girls and the clinically depressed who he could never seem to talk into going to therapy.
When the ARC came into being and Connor found himself working with competent and strong people who never seemed to have any issues, it almost came as a relief. He might never have sex again, but that felt like a small price to pay for never having to to be faced with another person to play helpmeet cum boyfriend to.
For the first time in a long time, he just let himself crush on strong, occasionally terrifying Abby and strong, cool, confident Stephen. It was equal opportunity for dreaming, and he let himself hope that the part of his life where he let someone use him for comfort before moving on to better pastures was over. Even if he never landed either of them, and how could he expect that, nerd that he was? Even if he didn't land them, surely this new milieu would afford him a chance to find someone who wanted Connor, not just comfort in the form of sex.
It was with a sinking sense of familiarity that he showed up at Stephen's flat. The other man had called him, drunk, and Connor had heard something in his voice that rang as familiar and Ned and Crystal and a bottle of pills.
He was barely through the door and seated on an armchair when Stephen began to talk as he toyed with the tequila bottle. "It just happened, you know? She lied about everything and I just . . . couldn't . . ."
Maybe he could still talk Stephen down. "At a guess, you're talking about Professor Cutter's wife," Connor said, wanting to be sure what was going on before he tried anything, particularly getting the bottle away from Stephen before the other man got alcohol poisoning.
"Yes. Helen." Stephen looked up, glassy-eyed but with something that left Connor sick with its familiarity. "I thought I was in love with her. Hell, I thought she loved me but cared too much about Nick to make a clean break." The swallow he took was rather impressive actually, visibly decimating the amount in the bottle of cheap liquor. "Then she's back with all the coy looks and kissing me in the university and . . ." he trailed off.
A deep breath. "You need to step back from her, Stephen," Connor tried. It wasn't going to work, it hadn't worked when Iris had insisted her abusive boyfriend really loved her. There was a sort of self-defensive denial that there was anything wrong with being hit and belittled, used and broken. Connor owed most of his success at not dying from prehistoric creatures to learning how not to be killed by an infuriated and strung out bastard who wanted to kill the pissant shagging his ex. He still had a few scars from that. Still, you had to try that route first, and clearly Helen Cutter was no good for Stephen if she was making him try to find the worm at the bottom of the bottle.
Glancing around the room, Connor winced. Make that find the worms at the bottoms of a few bottles.
"Just don't play her games, Stephen. If she left without even caring about either of you, she can't be what you thought she was." Connor edged closer, aiming to get the bottle away as soon as Stephen let it go enough.
Stephen snorted. "Well, she's not, at that. But then, I'm not such a prize either, am I? Sleeping with the wife of one of the best friends I've ever had." He was sitting on the sofa, but with those words he suddenly shifted, sprawling out, one foot on the floor, the other outstretched down the length of the furniture, leaning against an arm, and with his back to Connor.
This wouldn't work if he couldn't see Stephen properly, so Connor went and plopped onto the sofa, deliberately taking a relaxed but still a little prim sort of seat there. Nothing threatening, nothing that would make it look like he wasn't listening. He'd made that mistake with Shaun, and had nearly lost him to to his self-loathing. Shaun hadn't wanted to die, precisely, he'd just thought everyone else would be better off without him.
By then, Connor had managed to practically cordon off his heart from what Tom had once called his 'sex therapy', and it hadn't hurt to cut Shaun loose once he stopped hating himself.
That hadn't meant he hadn't buried himself for the next year in nothing but Star Wars and conspiracy theories with Tom and Duncan. They were equally as socially inept as he was, though Duncan had never been all that perceptive in general. It was Tom who'd kept Connor from sinking into depression himself, offering a pure and uncomplicated friendship that let Connor unload and was straighter than the flight of an iron filing into an anomaly. There was never and never could be a romance there, and they'd provided a steady influence of something real in his life for years.
Ruthlessly he quashed the guilt of how he'd repaid Tom for keeping him sane.
Right now, Stephen looked like Shaun had, when he'd explained his theory of the economic and social drain of the subpar musician on family and friends.
"And you fell for her telling you that she was in love with you," Connor pointed out. "You were convinced she was something other than what she was, and it's not the same as setting out to steal Cutter's wife."
"It takes two to tango," Stephen pointed out bitterly, taking another swig.
Connor nodded. "Yes," he said, pointedly. "It does. Helen did as much, if not more, than you did."
"Cheers," Stephen said with a blinding grin that was a mockery of the flirtatious one he turned on women to talk them around. "So, I'm not only worthless, I'm stupid too."
"You were a gullible undergrad," Connor snapped. "A lot of people have been there."
The smile that was like shattered glass eased into something softer. "You know why I called you, Connor?" Stephen asked.
He couldn't help but feel a little bitter. It was the same question Shawna had asked when she'd called him for a, "Straight boy's opinion of my figure." He hadn't enlightened her about being bi, because it wouldn't have been useful, but she'd said just what Stephen was saying now.
"You're just . . . nice. And honest. And I know I can trust you because you're just . . . dependable."
She'd made doe eyes at him, and he'd walked her through eating a bloody apple before she passed out from low blood sugar, caused by her tendencies to anorexia. Shawna he'd gotten into therapy eventually, but not before spending months feeling bulimic because of all the times her sometimes skeletal self had made him feel sick with horror about it all.
Was there something about being dependable that made him attractive to people with issues?
Just once he'd like someone to lean on for himself.
But this wasn't about him. "Stephen," he got up and moved to where Stephen was leaned against the arm of the couch. It was a practiced gesture by now, hand on the shoulder, look them in the eyes. "Listen. I know you're all about honesty, that's why this is hitting you so hard. Helen lied and convinced you to lie, whether by omission or out and out, she did. It's why hiding the anomalies is so tough on you, and I get it's coming to a head." He got a hand on the bottle and eased it away. "But drinking yourself into a stupor isn't going to help."
Stephen blinked, slowly. "You know what I miss?" he asked.
"What?" Connor asked. He was taken rather by surprise then, when Stephen leaned forward and kissed him. He'd never pegged Stephen as bi, and it was a bit of a shock. He'd figured Stephen would be that pipe dream of a crush on someone who literally couldn't return his affections. He'd thought this would end up like with Vick, who he'd played gay admirer for, been half in love with anyhow, until he'd really started to make Vick uncomfortable. They hadn't spoken since that day, and Connor had marked that as the last time he was going to let someone crush his heart like that.
He'd figured on this being a prop-up-the-ego thing, with him playing admirer in the background until Stephen stopped feeling like he was valueless.
But long, clever fingers were threading into his hair, and Connor pressed forward, because he honestly missed the affection. Something in his overstrained and overtrained heart made him let go and let Stephen pull him forward and let himself moan and start looking for the right place to put a love bite on Stephen's neck by feeling for it with his lips and tongue.
Stephen was stronger than him, and soon he was pulled up onto the couch, straddling the other man's lap as they pressed together, both of them hard from the sight, sound and touch of the other. Easily settling into the familiar role of secondary player, the one who gives just what his partner needs, he let himself be led to the bed. Like lovers instead of a couple boys after a quickie shag.
He shoved away the pang he always felt about the idea of a lover who took care of him. It made him useful, didn't it? Sometimes his da's words questioning how useful a degree in paleontology could be would sting in unexpected moments.
They tumbled to the bed, and Connor set himself to the way he always played it, getting Stephen out of his clothes, pressing kisses down the other man's chest, even as he cupped the lovely bulge in the front of Stephen's trousers. A hoarse cry erupted from Stephen's lips, and Connor's name. He pulled Connor into a fervent open-mouthed kiss, which left Connor wanting so badly. It was instinct not art that made him let go of Stephen's cock and desperately grind himself against the other. He hadn't been this hard since . . . ever. He couldn't even think of anything but pressing harder and closer, and it was Stephen who slowed them, pushing Connor away long enough to get them both out of their trousers, and rolling Connor under him to press down and drive Connor mad with the slick and slippery feel of their erections pressed together between them.
There wasn't coherent thought enough to consider getting out a condom for some proper sex, they were both too far gone now, and Connor only barely had the presence of mind to roll them both again (it was a lovely big bed Stephen had), and get a hand around both of them, pumping both hardened cocks as he and Stephen bucked their hips together, eyes locked on each other.
He was so frantic and mad with the desire that had simply ripped away any sense from him, that the orgasm took him by surprise in it's way. One moment he's frantically moving against Stephen, unable to do anything but buck faster and kiss harder, the next the world's gone in an explosion of white and ecstasy.
They both came back down, sinking into a satiated tangle of limbs, and Connor fell asleep, draped around Stephen.
Sometime in the night, their positions shifted, and Connor woke up, curled up next to his friend and colleague, Stephen's arms loosely wrapped around him, his head on Stephen's chest, and the full realisation of what had just happened made him cringe. With the ease of long practice, Connor slipped out of bed, had a fast shower, and settled in to wait in a chair in the corner, wearing nothing but his boxers and vest.
He couldn't abandon Stephen, not unless and until he knew that vanishing wouldn't cause trouble. He couldn't stay either, because Stephen wouldn't want him. Not after this. Stephen wasn't in as bad a way as the others, he'd be over his bad evening quickly and wouldn't want a lovesick techie hanging around. So, Connor had to strike a balance of not threatening to be too clingy, but not dumping Stephen in disgust or taking the appearance of taking advantage of him. Connor just barely schooled his face in time as Stephen woke up and saw him.
"Can I get you some water? That was a hell of a lot of tequila you had last night," Connor said, cautiously offering Stephen any number of outs.
"Thanks," Stephen rasped, looking like he was trying to figure out what was happening. "The analgesics are in the lefthand cabinet in the bathroom."
Connor slipped out quickly, pausing to lean against the hall wall and take in a shaky breath as he looked for the self-control not to burst into tears. He'd sworn he wouldn't let this happen to him again, but something about Stephen had just waltzed right past his defenses. When he was sure he'd be able to pretend, he scurried back into the bedroom, to where Stephen was seated on the edge of the bed, looking like he was contemplating whether death was better than the hangover.
They moved awkwardly through the morning, Connor cautiously keeping Stephen from saying something that might put an obligation on the older man, Stephen looking like he was still trying to understand what was going on.
For once, he was grateful that tech assistance was so invisible to most people as he made himself scarce in plain sight, hiding behind adjustments he thought might help the ADD that weren't really necessary but gave him an excuse not to look Stephen in the eye.
As the day wore on, though, Stephen seemed to have reached some point of inner equilibrium, and Connor felt a little better that, even if he'd broken his promise to himself to never fall for anyone he was, 'sexually healing', Tom's words, not his, at least he hadn't lost his touch with it. For two days, life seemed to settle into its usual groove, and Connor began carefully packing away his feelings for bright, funny, sharp, honest and stalwart Stephen in the same place he'd put the feelings for Vick and Crystal and Ned.
He was staying over late, finishing up reports, when Stephen was suddenly in the door to his office. "We need to talk," he said.
Connor felt his eyes go wide in panic. No! Stephen was supposed to move on now, not either drag Connor's feelings through the mud or feel obligation to him. He was also pretty sure he hadn't clamped down on his panic fast enough either. "Really? Why?"
"Does playing therapist and then a night of some of the best sex I've ever had not ring any bells?" he asked Connor dryly.
He tried to look understanding and worldly, and was pretty sure all he'd managed was a really weird facial expression if the look on Stephen's face was anything to go by. "It's fine. You needed a friend to talk to, and we both let things go further than we should. It's fine. I mean, it doesn't have to mean anything, we can just . . . let it go. It's fine."
Eyebrows raised in disbelief, Stephen said, "You do realise you just informed me that it's fine three times just now?" Before Connor could do more than wince at that observation, he continued. "Is it that common for you to play therapist, then sex therapist?"
"Common enough," Connor muttered before clapping a hand over his mouth. What was it about Stephen that made him ignore all his own rules?
"Connor?" The voice was gentle. Too gentle. If he let himself, he'd fall into the trap of thinking he'd found someone who'd want to play turnabout and take care of him, for once.
He bolted to his feet, voice getting higher in his distress as he said, "Just . . . it's not important, okay? You needed . . . I just . . . you have what you needed, right? So, we can pretend it didn't happen." He tried to get away, because this was Stephen, like it had been Ned, someone he cared deeply for and who was already rooted in his heart when he'd given up that bit of himself to make sure the other came through okay and he couldn't pretend if Stephen didn't let him.
"It is important, Connor," Stephen caught his arm, easily keeping him inside the office and shutting the door. "You made me see Helen more clearly than I ever have and . . ." he paused, swallowed looking nervous, and what would make Stephen nervous? "You made me see you as more than just a friend last night, Connor. You're more than just dependable, you're brilliant and sometimes even funny and I want to see where that night can take us."
Something inside Connor cracked. Stephen had to be lying. He had to be feeling guilt and not wanting to harm Connor or . . . something. It had to be, because no one ever really wanted Connor once they'd gotten what they needed. Not, silly, geeky, baggy-clothed, Connor. He'd made his peace with it, or so he'd thought. But this hurt. He couldn't make a clean break and deal with things if Stephen sat there being all noble. It would hurt all the more when it was over that he'd let himself believe it.
"Just stop!" Connor gasped around the lump in his throat. He wrenched himself away, taking refuge on the far side of the desk. "You don't have to feel any obligation, Stephen. I didn't do it for that. Please. Don't . . . don't make it into something else." As Stephen's mouth opened to respond to this, the words slipped out. "I can't do it again, Stephen. I can't let myself fall for someone who just needed someone to get them over a rough patch. It hurts when you leave and act like I didn't feel anything."
There was something in Stephen's eyes, his face, and expression that made Connor tremble, and he wasn't sure quite why. "You said it's common enough, Connor. What does that mean?" he asked. He was moving, stalking really, and Connor somehow couldn't get away. Couldn't avoid Stephen who was so much faster and stronger and more competent physically than Connor could ever be, and had him boxed in and gentle hands that were cupping his face and gently wiping away the tears with his thumbs.
And the something cracked inside Connor broke and a flood of words about Ned and Crystal and all the others poured out, and instead of letting him shatter, warm arms wrapped around him and held him together, being strong for him for once, and he spared a fleeting thought for Tom, who'd always promised him that someday someone would be there for him the way he'd been there for other people.
When those warm lips closed over his, Connor let himself just feel, let Stephen hold him and slip and hand down and pull him out of his spiral of memory with the sharp pleasure of a warm hand cupping his aching cock and letting him cling to something solid and warm and real as pleasure sang along his nerves. He let himself be dressed again and led like a child to the car, from the car to the flat with its stark white walls and comfortable plaid comforter on the bed that was so like Stephen, where they wound up skin to skin and body to body again.
This second time wasn't strategy and comfort and therapy, it was warmth and something that he dared wonder if it was love.
Most of all, though, it was waking up that next morning that was really bliss, because as he woke wrapped up in warm arms that asked nothing but that he be there, and a brilliant smile that lit up sharp blue eyes, it was like he'd finally had a real first time, because this was something real.
Fin
To True Love: from the other side
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