A/N: I backtracked in my Lester/Becker 'verse to write what's basically a PWP. Sorry? There's a bit of emotional stuff, but mostly it's just smut, so if that's not your thing, feel free to ignore. This is what happens after they leave the pub at the end of "Sometimes It Hurts Instead", which was the story in which they semi-broke up. I think, though, if you haven't read that, it should work as just smut, keeping in mind that it's makeup sex.
Conversation Got Boring
On the drive back to his flat after they'd left the pub, it was entirely possible that James might have gone above the speed limit. He thought he couldn't be blamed for it; who wouldn't speed a little if they had the promise of Becker in their bed when they got home?
It took roughly thirty seconds (and that was probably generous) after they had exited their cars for Becker to push James up against his car door, capturing his mouth in a kiss. James allowed himself a short time to appreciate Becker's talented mouth and the sensation of Becker's body against his because, after all, it had been a while. But when Becker transferred his attentions to James' neck, giving him the chance to breathe again, James said, "You do know there are security cameras in here."
"I'm sure the security guard will appreciate the entertainment."
"I'd rather not have it be at the expense of my dignity."
Becker nipped at James' ear and stepped away. "Fine, be a killjoy if you want."
Rolling his eyes, James said, "It takes less than five minutes to get to my flat from here. I think we can manage that."
Which was probably the wrong thing to say, because Becker seemed determined to prove James wrong. It started casually with a hand to James' low back, which then turned into a hand around James' hip, his fingers stroking circles on James' hipbone through his trousers. Becker was walking inappropriately close to him, so close it was almost like they were fused together at the side. James didn't know why he felt so warm, why it felt like Becker's heat was seeping into him. He wanted to adjust his collar but he cringed at the thought of letting Becker see him give in like that.
When they reached James' door, Becker ratcheted things up a notch. He rubbed James' shoulders and kissed the back of his neck, sucked on James' skin until James began to worry he was going to leave a mark. It was quite possible that James honestly didn't care if Becker left a mark. While James tried to focus despite the fact that his blood was rushing in a southerly direction, Becker's hands started to tug James' shirt up and out of his trousers.
Bollocks, where had he put his damn keys? He couldn't concentrate with Becker doing that. Focus, James, focus. "You have the self-control of a fifteen-year-old," he said, his head tipping back slightly without him actually meaning to do it.
"But I last longer," Becker told him, his breath tickling James' skin.
"I suppose we'll see about that soon enough. Really, though, if you would just let me be for a moment we'd probably be inside by now."
"I missed you. Can you blame me for not being able to keep my hands off you?"
James had a theory that Becker worked hard on perfecting the timing of statements like that. He seemed to make them just when James was feeling particularly irritated. How could he even pretend to protest after hearing something like that? "All right, but let's try and keep the exhibitionism to a minimum from now on."
"Hello, boys," came a woman's voice from entirely too close.
"Hello, Mrs. Fielding. Lovely evening, isn't it?" Becker said cheerfully while James tried frantically to keep Becker's hands above the belt or, at the very least, entirely out of sight.
"It is, rather." She was smirking at them and James could hardly stand to look at her, he was so embarrassed. He was probably red as a tomato.
"It's so good to see you around again, Becker, but don't let me interrupt you."
"Have a good night," Becker called as James' neighbour continued down the corridor.
James smacked the back of Becker's head. "That is why we wait until we're inside the flat, Hils. And when did you become so friendly with my neighbour?"
"I bump into her now and again, don't I? It would be rude not to say anything."
"Oh yes, so rude. But it's perfectly polite to fondle my arse in plain sight of anyone who walks by."
Apparently taking that as an invitation, Becker grabbed James' arse again, making him drop the keys. James scowled and bent over to retrieve them while Becker whistled.
"You're completely incorrigible!" James said, sticking the key into the lock and glancing back at Becker, who was attempting to look innocent. Becker having a bit of an exhibitionist streak wasn't anything new, but it was usually a lot less blatant than this. James wondered if Becker could really have missed him this much.
"Really I'm just horny, darling," Becker said and pressed himself up against James' back.
"That's obvious," James said to himself and pushed the door open. They tumbled inside, James managing to get the door closed mostly through momentum as Becker shoved him back against it, kissing him.
They were interrupted by loud chirruping noises coming from around their feet and Becker very reluctantly let James go, dropping into a crouch. "Hello, there," he said, rubbing Sid and Nancy's heads and wriggling bodies.
"They've been pining for you," James said.
"Have they? That's sweet. I missed you, too, but go on for now because I want to have sex with your daddy." Becker got back to his feet, nudging the diictodons gently until they got the idea.
James stared at him. "I'm not sure what to ridicule first."
"Good, then let me save you both the thought and the energy and suggest we simply get back to where we were."
Really, how could James object to that? Or to the enthusiastic application of Becker's mouth to James' neck? He was only a man, after all. He wedged a leg in between Becker's thighs and pressed him back to the wall, the pictures rattling in their frames. Becker's hands tightened around James' back, fisting into his suit jacket, and he trailed his mouth wetly up along the line of James' jaw back to his mouth.
James bit at Becker's lips and slid his hand down Becker's side, forcing it under his shirt until he could find skin. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this needy, this completely desperate.
Becker was grinding his hips against James, cock hard through the layers of their clothing. James found himself suddenly curious as to whether he could actually make Becker come just like this, fully clothed, no touching. He wanted to find out.
"I wanked so many times thinking about you," James started, keeping his voice low and intimate. "No matter how angry or upset I was, I couldn't stop wanting you. I touched myself and thought about how you feel around my cock, how you look when I'm balls deep inside you, the way your skin reddens and bruises under my fingers and my mouth and those fantastic sounds you make. Mmm, like that one," James said as Becker moaned, rubbing himself shamelessly against James. "Did you think about me?"
"Yes," Becker said in a breathy exhale.
"Did you touch yourself and wish it was my hand on you? Did you think about my mouth on your cock, the way I can swallow you all the way down? Did you lie in your bed thinking about me licking out your arse until you can't think straight? I'm sure you must have imagined me on top of you, fucking you so hard you can't stand up properly, so hard that you feel it all the next day. I hope I was as good in your memory as I'm going to be right now."
And then Becker was shuddering against him, gasping, one hand gripping James' neck and the other clenching his waist. James realised there was a slight problem with this plan because he was about two seconds away from coming himself. He had underestimated the power of being able to not just see but to hear and feel Becker's orgasm, knowing that it had been brought on only by the images and sensations James could invoke simply by talking, by the heat and pressure of their bodies even through their clothes.
He dug his nails into the palm of his hand and sucked in air through his nose, trying to calm himself enough that he wouldn't follow Becker's example and come in his trousers. "What was that you were saying about lasting longer than a fifteen-year-old?" he asked.
"Bastard. No worries, though, I'll be able to go again soon enough."
James wasn't quite sure how it happened, but they seemed to have opposing ideas of what should occur next. James meant to shove Becker around so that his front ended up pressed to the wall and he thought Becker might have wanted to swap their positions. Regardless, their feet ended up tangled together and then they ran out of wall. Becker fell backwards with James on top of him, which was lucky for James but not so much for Becker. They landed with a loud thud, Becker's back taking the brunt of the fall while James only knocked his was a distant skittering sound as Sid and Nancy presumably fled the room at the noise.
"Shit," Becker hissed through his teeth.
"Are you all right?" James tried to ask but he started laughing halfway through and then couldn't stop.
"I appreciate your sympathy," Becker said but he was laughing a little.
"Would you like me to kiss it and make it better, sweetheart?"
"I'd rather you fuck me. That will really make it better." Becker's fingers moved to the waistband of his trousers.
"On the floor?"
"Sure. It's unlikely to cause any more damage to my back than you already did by falling on me."
He was too old for this. He was too old for fucking on floors, he was sure of it. So why was he considering it? Why was he thinking that they had better do it here because he couldn't wait until they got to the bedroom? James forced himself to say, "But the lube is still in the bedroom, so-"
"Forget the lube. I want you to fuck me here, just like this. Fuck me like you said, so hard I can't stand, right? I want it to burn, I want to be able to feel what you did to me all day tomorrow."
"Christ," James muttered and considered, not for the first time and likely not for the last, that Becker could get him to do all manner of things he would ordinarily scorn. He shrugged out of his suit jacket and laid it on the floor. "Lie on this at least, please."
"Now that's love," Becker said, getting up so he could kick off his shoes and shimmy out of his trousers and underwear before settling back onto the jacket.
Easily distracted by the sight of Becker removing his clothes, James sat there staring stupidly until he remembered that his own cock was still uncomfortably trapped within his trousers. When he started to undo the fastening, Becker knocked his hands away.
"No, let me, please." Becker slid down the zip, his eyes intent on James' crotch, and slipped his hand inside. "Fuck yes," he said with a small sigh. "I missed your cock." His tone was perhaps a bit too reverent for the circumstances.
James probably would have rolled his eyes and made a scathing remark, but instead he had to bite his lip to keep from coming in Becker's hand. "Thank you for the sentiment," he was able to say.
"Any time, gorgeous." Becker brought his knees up to his chest, giving James an excellent view of precisely what he had been missing these past weeks.
Sinking his teeth harder into his lip, James tried to think of the unsexiest things he could bring to mind to stop himself from simply spurting out all over Becker's waiting body. It worked about as well as he could hope for, which wasn't much.
Becker raised one hand and drew his fingers into his mouth. James had never been with anyone who could make that seem quite as hot and filthy as Becker could. Watching James' face carefully, Becker dropped his hand back down between his legs and pushed his fingers into his own arse.
"Fucking hell, oh, Christ, Hils," James said while Becker moaned and scissored his fingers, his intentions clearly being more along the lines of putting on a show rather than preparing himself.
He withdrew after only a few moments and pulled his knees up higher. "Your turn," he suggested.
Cursing again under his breath, James settled into position, lining his cock up at Becker's entrance. James slid in, making himself go slowly because Becker was tight, fuck, he was so tight. He pushed in and then pulled back, pushed in a bit farther and then back again, then in once more until his cock was sheathed all the way to his balls. They hadn't bothered to switch on the lights but in the dimness, James could just make out the darkness of Becker's eyes and the flush to his tanned skin as he hugged his knees into his chest.
James rocked into him, hearing Becker groan and knowing he'd hit his prostate. He set a rhythm, steady and deep, driving in so he hit the right spot as often as possible. Becker was gasping beneath him, his head thrown back to reveal the line of his throat, and James leaned further over him, balancing himself on his arms.
His pace quickened, started to stutter, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer. "Hils," he said, and then again, like he could capture everything he was feeling in that one word, that one small word that managed to mean so much.
"Yes," Becker was saying, "yes, James, God," the words tumbling out in a barely coherent stream.
James tilted his hips and drove deeper and felt himself come apart.
Becker swore, his arse spasming around James' cock, and came for the second time, short white bursts shooting over his dark shirt and splattering up onto James' suit.
They sat there trying to catch their breath, James toppling over to lie on his back on the floor next to Becker. Becker snuck his hand up under the untucked edge of James' shirt to rest on his stomach, fingers rubbing the line of his scar.
"So... when can we go for round two?"
James turned his head to the side, unable to even pretend he was surprised. "Unfortunately, the price of my experience comes at the need for a while longer to recover from that, Hils."
Becker patted him reassuringly. "That's okay, I can wait. I'm sure I'll be able to think of something I can do to help you along."
"I've no doubt. Go on into the bedroom and wait for me. I'll get you some ice."
"Okay, love." Becker rolled over to sit astride James and bent down for a long kiss before standing up. He did look a bit shaky getting to his feet, like he was sore, and James assumed he'd done a good job, then, given Becker exactly what he wanted.
Unable to pass up the opportunity to admire Becker as he walked off, James sat there a while longer before forcing himself up and onto his feet. He zipped up his fly again to ensure his trousers wouldn't fall off and then started to clean up. He put Becker's shoes by the door and collected their dirty clothes for the laundry basket, and then went into the kitchen to get a small bowl of ice.
James paused for a moment in the door of his bedroom, simply appreciating the sight of Becker in his bed again. Becker had shucked the rest of his clothes and was lying on his stomach on top of the bedspread, head cushioned on his forearms. "Well, that's a sight for sore eyes."
Becker grinned at him. "Get your arse over here. I'd like you to do a lot more than look."
So James set down the ice and took off his clothes, letting them fall in a heap because they were hopelessly filthy anyway and a few extra wrinkles were unlikely to make a difference. He sat down next to Becker, stroking his hand down the long length of Becker's back and over his arse. "Fuck, I missed you," he murmured, unable to hold it in. "I just want…"
Becker reached down to grab James' wrist and brought it to his lips, kissing his knuckles. "I know. It's okay."
It was all getting a bit uncomfortably soppy so James picked up one of the ice cubes and ran it over Becker's back, all the way down to his tailbone. His skin was already red and splotchy, guaranteeing some nice bruising.
"Shit, that's cold," Becker said, flinching away.
"That's the general idea." James made random patterns on Becker's back with the ice, watching as his skin turned redder from the cold. The ice gradually melted from the heat of Becker's body until James was left with nothing and he simply swirled his fingers over Becker's wet skin. A few days ago James had thought he would never have this again, had tried to convince himself that he didn't care, but having Becker here, now, made James admit that there wasn't anything he wanted more. Becker looked good in James' bed, in James' flat. In the doorway, on the floor, wherever he was so long as he was James'.
"You're quiet," Becker said into the silence. "Tell me what you're thinking."
I was thinking about how much I love you, how desperately I need you. "I was thinking about how pretty you look naked in my bed with my come leaking out your arse."
"I'll look even prettier with my lips around your cock." In one graceful movement, Becker turned over and sat up, putting his hands against James' chest to push him down.
Well, James certainly couldn't argue with that. As he watched Becker slide down the bed, he thought that Becker was going to look very pretty indeed.
End