I wrote this very short piece as a part of a game on the Livejournal 'ConbyKink' community. The sentence I chose to incorporate into my ficlet was 'This was not the last time they'd be doing this.' And this was what came out of it. It's AU for S.3 and contains spoilers for early in that season.
Disclaimer: I do not own Connor or Abby or anything else you might find familiar within these 500-odd words.
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Their first time was almost a joke—an accident—something they probably would never had dared to do or even think of, had they been quite themselves, and something that would have, should have, never happened again.
But they were not quite themselves. They were angry and in shock, tired—exhausted, really, as tired was a day-to-day regularity they were used to—and dirty and smelly and Connor's whole body was soot-blackened and he barked with an alarming cough from inhaling smoke and fumes in the burning building. And the shock—there comes a point at which time the sadness and pain and fear and hate and anger are all so violently intense that the body just shuts down and refuses to acknowledge any of them, the mind deals with its problems by deciding simply to not deal with them at all.
Connor was supposed to be temporarily displaced while Jack was commandeering his loft, but he came back to the flat with Abby in a dumb daze on auto-pilot and she let him because in truth they neither of them wanted to be alone in the wake of what had just happened, what they'd just seen and heard and felt. Nick Cutter was gone and there was nothing anyone could do and so much everyone had to do. But for the time being Connor and Abby fell desperately into each other's arms and didn't let go.
It was a strange, frenzied sexual romp, not quite rough enough to be a hard fuck but still too intense to be 'lovemaking'—both of them desperately in need of reassurance that the other was there and solid and alive. It came as something of a surprise, when Abby later thought of it, how well they fit together. Tight and snug and fitted perfectly in curves and crevasses, her body gripping and gloving his so tightly and their steady rhythm, totally in sync with one another without even having to try—as if they'd been this way, together like this, for years and years.
That night they slept close together, body to body, when they slept at all, but with sleep came dreams and their dreams were not pleasant. A few times they'd awaken and face each other and one would climb atop and silently—not daring to break the quiet they'd chosen to keep—asked for permission.
The next night Connor didn't come back to the flat but the night after that he did and he slept in her bed, even though they stayed chastely pajamaed the whole night. On the second night she caught him in the shower and he took her to bed and that was how it stayed.
That first time should have been a one-time thing, the desperate need for validation from two people whose worlds had just been shattered—affirmation, as it were. A frenzied stumble into each other's arms and beds but nothing more. That was how it should have been. But not how it was. That was definitely not the last time they'd be doing this.
And somehow... that was all right.
