Primeval Fanfic: You're Still You
Title: You're Still You
Author: TalliW
Characters: Connor Temple, James Lester
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Primeval is the property of Impossible Pictures. I write just for fun. So don't bother me.
Acknowledgments: Thanks to Fredbassett for beta-reading. I couldn't have done it without you.
AN: Written for the LJ Denial prompt meme. Curia Regis wanted bloodplay! Lester/Connor
I'm not sure it is what you had in mind but I hope you like it anyway.
Lester watched as the boy stumbled into the ARC, only held upright by Danny Quinn. His trousers were in tatters and soaked in blood and told the civil servant their own story about the latest dinosaur chase.
It wasn't the first time Connor had been hurt. In the last few weeks, starting shortly after Cutters demise, it had sadly become a regularly occurance.
Lester had considered getting a shrink involved to give a psychological opinion on all team members, but with all the trouble Christine Johnson had brought he had totally forgotten about it.
Now, after he'd assured the Prime Minister of the efficiency of the team, didn't seem a good idea to incur expenses for a psychatrist.
Christine was still lurking in the background, waiting for an opportunity to take over his domain. He and his team couldn't afford to show any weakness.
And now Connor Temple was doing his best to get himself killed and them all fired.
As Sarah Page and Abby walked in, chattering animatedly with Becker, he almost looked daggers at the group. They weren't even scratched as far he could see. How dare they be so unconcerned when their team mate had been injured?
He'd expected Abby would care enough for the boy and draw him back from his suicidal actions but that had been before she had thrown him out of her flat without a good reason. At times it now appeared she didn't care at all for Connor but the next day she was flirting with him again. Her game of hot and cold really was the last thing the boy needed.
Giving the troubled boy a refuge hadn't been Lester's first choice, but he'd hoped a stable environment and steady rules would provide some security. It hadn't worked out and now he was nearly at his wit's end.
He had only seen glimpses of the real Connor so far. Not the cheerful easygoing lad he presented every day at work or when Abby was near, but the serious guy who had been hurt one time too many.
The real Connor was brooding; some days sitting in his room and staring at a point on the wall for hours without seeing anything. Lester had asked himself every time what dark thoughts were troubling the young man in those moments.
James Lester was perhaps the only one who could value what Connor had managed to do. It wasn't easy to develop a public face and play it to perfection all the time. Perhaps that was what had awoken his interest in the boy.
Lester had generated his cold bureaucrat persona in his teens, probably at the same young age as Connor had cultivated his gawky geek role.
With time it had become Lester's second nature until his real face had slowly faded away, only to be remembered in the few hours he was allowed to be himself in the sanctuary of his flat.
The presence of the boy had disturbed him, bringing back memories he'd locked up deep in his mind. Sometimes Connor even made him feel naked and vulnerable but oddly it also gave him a sense of relief, knowing he wasn't alone.
James Lester sighed and started to move down the ramp to the ground floor, too worried to wait for Becker's report in his office and determined to get the truth out of Danny Quinn.
Two hours later, Connor Temple was patched up and had changed into new clothes.
The civil servant was glad. There was no way he would have let the boy climb in his car with those bloody clothes. Blood stains on the seats were a pain in the arse after all and not easy to get rid of.
Connor had looked like a deer caught in the headlights when Lester had announced in the lift they needed to talk .
Now he sat hunched on the couch in the living groom, waiting for the bomb to drop.
Lester sat next to him and said quietly: "This has to stop, Connor. Cutter is dead. It will not change anything if you get yourself killed as well.
There is no reason at all to feel guilty. Just continue the Professor's work as he has requested. You are the only one who is really qualified to do this."
Connor was unsettled by this speech. "You aren't throwing me out?" he asked trembling with fear, afraid he had heard incorrectly.
Lester just shook his head.
"Hey, that's great." Connor smiled cheerfully, his persona firmly in place again.
"Stop it!" Lester demanded and Connor's cool exterior faltered. His breathing quickened and he tried to hide in the soft cushions on the couch.
"Stop playing the geek," Lester whispered and ran his hand wearily over his eyes.
"But I do. Every time, out there in the field," Connor mumbled, believing the other man wouldn't understand that explanation.
As if a dike was broken inside, unable to hold back his dark secret any longer, he carried on. "It isn't about guilt. It's about salvation. In those moments when I protect the others and feel the blood flow from my body, I'm me."
"There has to be another solution than playing bait for prehistoric creatures, Connor. Here in my flat you can be yourself. I'll not ridicule you nor will I tell anyone. It can be our little secret."
The younger man squashed his eyes shut in despair. "But I don't know how any more," he whimpered, tears pooling out under his closed lids and a sob shaking his body. "I don't know how else to get Connor back."
Connor Temple watched anxiously as Lester stood up and left the room. He came back a moment later with a small box in his hands and put it down on the couch.
Connor's breath hitched as Lester started to open his shirt, his eyes firmly glued as every button revealed more of the pale chest covered with patches of black hair.
Lester slipped out of the shirt and threw it over the back of the couch.
Connor, unsure, what Lester intended, observed the other man's naked upper body carefully.
At the right side on his ribs he saw a handful horizontal scars, properly healed but strangely disturbing in their straightness.
Lester opened the lid of the box and Connor stared at the small boning knife in a wonderful mix of silver and gold.
Connor froze in shock as he made the connection and eyed the other item in the box. Beside the knife, which shimmered alluringly, begging to be freed from the box, rested a flask filled with a clear liquid. "Can I touch it?" the young man asked, fascinated.
Lester's breath was laboured but he nodded.
Connor examined the flask and opened the screw top. The penetrating smell of disinfectant hit him and he closed the flask quickly.
After he had put it back in the box he took the knife out and tested the sharpness on his left thumb. Blood pooled up immediately, running down to his palm in a steady flow.
With a glitter in his eyes, Lester grasped his hand and licked the blood, his tongue eagerly lapping the red liquid and finally sucking the injured thumb in his mouth.
Connor, breathless with excitement, sank back in the couch and closed his eyes in delight.
"I can feel it. That's me," he declared and Lester smiled around the thumb, still drinking Connor's lifeblood with lust.
Only when Lester led go of his thumb did Connor remember the knife in his other hand, laying now on the couch. He breathed in relief, glad he had held it tilted and the leather of the couch wasn't damaged.
He put the knife back in the dark blue velvet of the box and faced Lester, his hand involuntarily moving to the scars on the older man's body.
Tentatively, Connor skimmed the first scar and Lester shivered.
"That I did when I was fourteen."
Connor draw a finger down the next line, fascinated by the accuracy of the scars.
"Those two were when I was fifteen and the rest were years after. Later I switched to my legs. It's easier to hide it there," Lester explained and bowed down to shove up his left trouser leg, effectively trapping Connor's hand between his thigh and belly.
Many similar scars marred the skin on Lester's leg, only visible under the dark leg hair when you knew where to look.
"Why?" Connor asked curiously and caressed gently the scarred skin.
"That's my way of feeling myself, being James again and not Lester, the bureaucrat."
Lester turned the knife in the box so Connor could see the engraved name on the handle.
"James," he read.
"Not quite yet."
"May I?" Connor asked excitedly and grasped the knife as Lester nodded.
"Drag the tip down my sternum, just nicking the epidermis. It will bleed but will heal fast without serious scaring."
Connor watched the movement of his hand, painting Lester's chest with a brushstroke of red and gasped as the older man groaned.
The blood tasted sweet and slightly metallic and Connor enjoyed licking it from Lester's skin.
"James?" he asked cautiously as the blood flow had finally stopped.
"I'm here."
"Good, me too."
They sat on the couch in silent until late into the night, contented just to be themselves for a while.
The next evening, a small wooden box stood in Connor's room.
After opening the lid, he peered at a beautiful shining boning knife lying in the dark blue velvet bed of the box together with a small flask of antiseptic.
The golden knife handle, engraved with the name Connor, was shimmering in the evening sun and promised salvation and peace.
Connor's eyes shone as he looked at Lester, who was watching him from the corridor.
It was the best gift he'd ever had and for the first time in years the real Connor smiled.