Claire (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
moonlettuce) wrote2008-06-30 11:27 pm
moonlettuce) wrote2008-06-30 11:27 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: One More Time, Primeval, Nick/Stephen
Title: One More Time
Author: Claire
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Stephen/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Because of all the reasons Nick can give, of all the words Nick can say, it really all comes down to one thing.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lukadreaming for the Primeval Ficathon. The Master List is here.
It wasn't like Nick had been looking for the letter he was holding. All he'd wanted was Stephen's notes on the year two Pliocene lecture, but Stephen had been back at the ARC and Nick hadn't been sure Stephen would have told him where the notes were even if he'd asked. After all, the only words that had been between them recently were harsh and ugly and shot through with undertones of betrayal and Helen and why.
It had seemed pointless to wait when Nick was sure he'd seen Stephen put the file in his bottom drawer. And even though it was Stephen's desk, it was still Nick's office, so there was nothing wrong with him just getting the notes. Nothing wrong with him using the key on his keyring, the spare Stephen had given him after that night when they'd staggered out of the pub, drunk and loud and singing an off-key version of In The Navy for some reason and Stephen had dropped his keys down a drain in the gutter.
So he'd unlocked the drawer and gone into it, pulling out all the files and not even looking at them. Not even looking, because his eyes are too caught up in the letter on top of them all; too caught up in words like position within the team and offer and any time, in the flourish of Professor Michael Cairns's signature on the bottom, in the logo of Durham University that adorns the page. The date on the letter is over a year ago, but that doesn't explain why it's sitting on the top of Stephen's files. It certainly doesn't explain why there's a phone number scribbled in Stephen's handwriting, next to a note that just says Ecuador and a date that's still a month away.
"You know, I could have sworn I'd locked that."
Nick looks over at Stephen, backpack over one shoulder and door to the office still open behind him as he stares pointedly at Nick standing next to the open desk drawer. And Nick knows there are words that he should be saying right now; words about how he didn't want to disturb Stephen, about how he was just after the Pliocene file. They're the words he should be saying, but instead he knocks the drawer shut with his leg and steps forward.
"So when were you going to tell me?" Nick demands, brandishing the letter like it's a weapon, all sharp lines and cutting words.
"What is there to tell?" Stephen closes the door as he moves further into the office, each step laced with defiance, with barely contained anger. "Mike Cairns offered me a place on his Ecuador team when he was putting the expedition together."
"That was last year," Nick snaps, not needing the date on the letter to know. He knows because Stephen got a letter in the original timeline as well, told Nick about it over Chinese, footie and lager. Nick remembers not saying a word, barely breathing until Stephen had said that he was tempted, but he wasn't going. But that was a different time, a different Stephen. Hell, for all that's happened, it may as well have been a different Nick.
"And last year my answer was no," Stephen says, dropping his backpack to the floor.
"And now?" Because a letter that should have been thrown away months ago and a scribbled date can mean other things apart from the one that makes Nick's gut clench.
Stephen just looks at him. "What do you think?"
"I think that you'd have to be a bloody idiot to leave the opportunity of a lifetime." Because how can Stephen stand there and think that Ecuador, bloody Ecuador, could be anywhere near what they have now.
But Stephen laughs at Nick's words, the sound sharper and harsher than he's ever heard from Stephen. "Jesus Christ, Nick, what would I be leaving? The silence? The recriminations? The fact that you haven't even looked at me since Helen dropped her little bombshell?"
Nick wants to deny it, to tell Stephen that he's wrong, but he's not. Nick doesn't look at him any more, can't look at him anymore, not without seeing Helen's touch over every inch of Stephen's body. And that burns more than Nick cares to admit, although he still doesn't know if it's because Helen got there at all or because she got there first that pains him the most.
Stephen's shoulders slump slightly as he picks up his backpack, the anger visibly draining out of him. "It was a long time ago, Nick," he says quietly. "I was young, I was stupid and I thought I was in love. And I'm sorry." He meets Nick's gaze. "For what it's worth, and I appreciate that's not a whole hell of a lot for you right now, I'm sorry, okay."
Stephen turns away and Nick knows, knows, that if he walks out of the office then he won’t come back.
"Don't go." And the words are easier to say than Nick thought they'd be.
Stephen pauses. "Why shouldn't I?" His voice is careful, tired.
Because of Connor, because of Abby, because we walk with fucking dinosaurs and people would kill to know what we know, to do what we do. Because we're a team. All of the reasons well up in Nick's throat, words ready to tumble out and block Stephen's exit, but they don't. Because of all the reasons Nick can give, of all the words Nick can say, it really all comes down to one thing.
Nick closes the distance between them, hand reaching out and fingers wrapping around Stephen's arm as he pulls the younger man around to face him. "Because I don't want you to." The words are a whisper across Stephen's lips as Nick leans forward and kisses him.
But Stephen's not kissing back and Nick thinks that maybe the next thing he's going to feel is Stephen's fist against his cheek. He pulls away, rocks back on his heels slightly as Stephen watches him, confusion written in blue.
"Stephen?"
Stephen glances away, gaze sliding to the left for a second before coming back to Nick, confusion giving way to a myriad of other emotions. "Oh, you bloody, stupid idiot--"
But the retort that springs to Nick's lips is swallowed by Stephen, by a mouth sealing over his and a tongue demanding entry.
Stephen's backpack hits the floor again as fingers scrabble at Nick's jeans, popping open buttons and diving inside to wrap around flesh that jumps at Stephen's touch.
They manage to make it across the room to Nick's desk, papers scattering as they sweep them out of the way. And Nick's pretty sure the noise he just heard was one of the pieces on loan from Manchester Uni smashing into the floor, but he can't bring himself to care, not when Stephen's cock is against his, not when Stephen's fingers are wrapped around both their dicks.
There's skin and breath and more than a few words that Nick has held inside himself for too long where Stephen Hart is concerned. And it's too bright and too hot and too there, and Nick is spiralling up and out, arching into Stephen's grasp as he comes.
The office is silent except for the harsh gasps of breathing slowly returning to normal and the rustling sounds of clothes being adjusted as they tuck themselves back into a semblance of decency. There's paper everywhere and Nick thinks that more than one student will have to resubmit their dissertation, whole and in order and not splattered with stains Nick would rather not explain to them.
Nick reaches out, running fingers through Stephen's hair. His legs are hanging off the desk and he's pretty sure that's his stapler digging into his arse, but it pales when Stephen fucking purrs and moves into Nick's touch.
"Tell me you're not going."
Stephen tenses for a moment and Nick's heart skips a beat, because, after this, how can Stephen still be considering going? And Nick knows he should say something, tell Stephen no and please and stay but he can't seem to get the words past the rock in his throat. For one moment, there's the awful thought that Nick is going to lose Stephen anyway, before Stephen relaxes against Nick's side.
"No, Nick, I'm not going."
And all it takes is five words to make Nick breathe again.
Author: Claire
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Stephen/Nick
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Because of all the reasons Nick can give, of all the words Nick can say, it really all comes down to one thing.
Notes: Written for
lukadreaming for the Primeval Ficathon. The Master List is here.It wasn't like Nick had been looking for the letter he was holding. All he'd wanted was Stephen's notes on the year two Pliocene lecture, but Stephen had been back at the ARC and Nick hadn't been sure Stephen would have told him where the notes were even if he'd asked. After all, the only words that had been between them recently were harsh and ugly and shot through with undertones of betrayal and Helen and why.
It had seemed pointless to wait when Nick was sure he'd seen Stephen put the file in his bottom drawer. And even though it was Stephen's desk, it was still Nick's office, so there was nothing wrong with him just getting the notes. Nothing wrong with him using the key on his keyring, the spare Stephen had given him after that night when they'd staggered out of the pub, drunk and loud and singing an off-key version of In The Navy for some reason and Stephen had dropped his keys down a drain in the gutter.
So he'd unlocked the drawer and gone into it, pulling out all the files and not even looking at them. Not even looking, because his eyes are too caught up in the letter on top of them all; too caught up in words like position within the team and offer and any time, in the flourish of Professor Michael Cairns's signature on the bottom, in the logo of Durham University that adorns the page. The date on the letter is over a year ago, but that doesn't explain why it's sitting on the top of Stephen's files. It certainly doesn't explain why there's a phone number scribbled in Stephen's handwriting, next to a note that just says Ecuador and a date that's still a month away.
"You know, I could have sworn I'd locked that."
Nick looks over at Stephen, backpack over one shoulder and door to the office still open behind him as he stares pointedly at Nick standing next to the open desk drawer. And Nick knows there are words that he should be saying right now; words about how he didn't want to disturb Stephen, about how he was just after the Pliocene file. They're the words he should be saying, but instead he knocks the drawer shut with his leg and steps forward.
"So when were you going to tell me?" Nick demands, brandishing the letter like it's a weapon, all sharp lines and cutting words.
"What is there to tell?" Stephen closes the door as he moves further into the office, each step laced with defiance, with barely contained anger. "Mike Cairns offered me a place on his Ecuador team when he was putting the expedition together."
"That was last year," Nick snaps, not needing the date on the letter to know. He knows because Stephen got a letter in the original timeline as well, told Nick about it over Chinese, footie and lager. Nick remembers not saying a word, barely breathing until Stephen had said that he was tempted, but he wasn't going. But that was a different time, a different Stephen. Hell, for all that's happened, it may as well have been a different Nick.
"And last year my answer was no," Stephen says, dropping his backpack to the floor.
"And now?" Because a letter that should have been thrown away months ago and a scribbled date can mean other things apart from the one that makes Nick's gut clench.
Stephen just looks at him. "What do you think?"
"I think that you'd have to be a bloody idiot to leave the opportunity of a lifetime." Because how can Stephen stand there and think that Ecuador, bloody Ecuador, could be anywhere near what they have now.
But Stephen laughs at Nick's words, the sound sharper and harsher than he's ever heard from Stephen. "Jesus Christ, Nick, what would I be leaving? The silence? The recriminations? The fact that you haven't even looked at me since Helen dropped her little bombshell?"
Nick wants to deny it, to tell Stephen that he's wrong, but he's not. Nick doesn't look at him any more, can't look at him anymore, not without seeing Helen's touch over every inch of Stephen's body. And that burns more than Nick cares to admit, although he still doesn't know if it's because Helen got there at all or because she got there first that pains him the most.
Stephen's shoulders slump slightly as he picks up his backpack, the anger visibly draining out of him. "It was a long time ago, Nick," he says quietly. "I was young, I was stupid and I thought I was in love. And I'm sorry." He meets Nick's gaze. "For what it's worth, and I appreciate that's not a whole hell of a lot for you right now, I'm sorry, okay."
Stephen turns away and Nick knows, knows, that if he walks out of the office then he won’t come back.
"Don't go." And the words are easier to say than Nick thought they'd be.
Stephen pauses. "Why shouldn't I?" His voice is careful, tired.
Because of Connor, because of Abby, because we walk with fucking dinosaurs and people would kill to know what we know, to do what we do. Because we're a team. All of the reasons well up in Nick's throat, words ready to tumble out and block Stephen's exit, but they don't. Because of all the reasons Nick can give, of all the words Nick can say, it really all comes down to one thing.
Nick closes the distance between them, hand reaching out and fingers wrapping around Stephen's arm as he pulls the younger man around to face him. "Because I don't want you to." The words are a whisper across Stephen's lips as Nick leans forward and kisses him.
But Stephen's not kissing back and Nick thinks that maybe the next thing he's going to feel is Stephen's fist against his cheek. He pulls away, rocks back on his heels slightly as Stephen watches him, confusion written in blue.
"Stephen?"
Stephen glances away, gaze sliding to the left for a second before coming back to Nick, confusion giving way to a myriad of other emotions. "Oh, you bloody, stupid idiot--"
But the retort that springs to Nick's lips is swallowed by Stephen, by a mouth sealing over his and a tongue demanding entry.
Stephen's backpack hits the floor again as fingers scrabble at Nick's jeans, popping open buttons and diving inside to wrap around flesh that jumps at Stephen's touch.
They manage to make it across the room to Nick's desk, papers scattering as they sweep them out of the way. And Nick's pretty sure the noise he just heard was one of the pieces on loan from Manchester Uni smashing into the floor, but he can't bring himself to care, not when Stephen's cock is against his, not when Stephen's fingers are wrapped around both their dicks.
There's skin and breath and more than a few words that Nick has held inside himself for too long where Stephen Hart is concerned. And it's too bright and too hot and too there, and Nick is spiralling up and out, arching into Stephen's grasp as he comes.
The office is silent except for the harsh gasps of breathing slowly returning to normal and the rustling sounds of clothes being adjusted as they tuck themselves back into a semblance of decency. There's paper everywhere and Nick thinks that more than one student will have to resubmit their dissertation, whole and in order and not splattered with stains Nick would rather not explain to them.
Nick reaches out, running fingers through Stephen's hair. His legs are hanging off the desk and he's pretty sure that's his stapler digging into his arse, but it pales when Stephen fucking purrs and moves into Nick's touch.
"Tell me you're not going."
Stephen tenses for a moment and Nick's heart skips a beat, because, after this, how can Stephen still be considering going? And Nick knows he should say something, tell Stephen no and please and stay but he can't seem to get the words past the rock in his throat. For one moment, there's the awful thought that Nick is going to lose Stephen anyway, before Stephen relaxes against Nick's side.
"No, Nick, I'm not going."
And all it takes is five words to make Nick breathe again.