A/N:- I wanted to write a short and innocent one-shot. However my newly found Becker muse, who turned out to be the Devil, had me write this. Hence I whiled away an entire day of revision writing what is essentially porn. Reviews may make this worthwhile *vbg*

Soldier Boy

Sometimes, in moments of rare reflection, Connor thought his life had turned into something of a television drama. A year ago, he had just been a geeky student, struggling to finish his dissertation and spending more of his spare time in the Land of Science Fiction than in the Real World.

Then, wham, a rip in space and time appeared, and through some weird twist of fate, he, and an odd collection of other people had randomly come together and starting this entire fantastic business of saving the world. In Connor's humble opinion it could have made a halfway decent TV program.

In fact, if you thought about it (and he had a sneaking suspicion he was doing this too much), they even had the kind of Mismatched but Functioning team you often see on televised dramas. Abby was the Kick-Ass Tomboy, Lester was the Snarky but Secretly Warm-Hearted Boss, he was the Geeky Hero, Danny was the Man of Many Talents Who Managed to Rub Everyone up the Wrong Way, and Becker was the Pretty Muscle. And despite the fact that the five of them were such a spectacularly random combination they might as well have been collected from Lost Property, they did what they had to do, i.e. saving the world from Jurassic Park, astoundingly well. At least, not too many people had been eaten yet, and they had avoided mass panic and hysteria, so really, that could be defined as success.

That first anomaly had caused Connor's life to take a twist for the scarily bizarre, and really, he'd been delighted. After all, modern-day dinosaurs were practically a science fiction geek's wet dream. Just recently though, things had become slightly more complicated. And it was all the fault of the new and quite irritatingly attractive Special Forces Captain.

It wasn't as though Connor had never worked with attractive men before; after all, he had spent a good year working with Stephen Hart, who was quite possibly the reason for the phrase 'god's gift to men'. But there had never been any doubt in Connor's mind about where Stephen's interests lay. He obviously worshipped the ground Cutter worked on, something which had only been confirmed when the first overseas anomaly had been reported and Cutter had decided to head out to South America to head up a research team there, Stephen leaving to support him without giving his life in England so much as a backwards glance.

Connor hadn't even thought about the reasons he hadn't really reacted to Stephen until he had left, Becker had appeared, and Connor's libido had gone haywire. It would appear that Connor's brain had, unbeknown to him, registered the fact that Stephen was so unattainable he might as well live on the moon, and used this to keep his unruly hormones under control. Sadly there had been no such unconscious registry with Becker, and every time he was in any kind of close proximity, Connor found himself feeling very…uncomfortable.

Thankfully, Becker appeared completely and utterly oblivious to the effect he had on Connor. The man was the sheer epitome of professionalism. Connor didn't even know his first name, for God's sake, and that wasn't for want of trying. He had been meaning to ask Lester or Danny about that. What kind of Government personnel record doesn't even include a first name?

But still, despite Becker's apparent oblivion, little awkward moments kept occurring that Connor had no control over, such as the horrible few minutes he had spent seated on Becker's lap whilst chasing a G-Rex. And as it had turned out, you could forget modern-day dinosaurs, that was actually the stuff of a science fiction geek's wet dreams.

As the days wore on, Connor knew he had to do something, anything about this…situation, because he had to work with Becker, for fuck's sakes, and at the moment he found himself doing everything in his power to avoid the man. And as they were both a part of the same saving-the-world racket, he obviously couldn't continue to do so forever.

However, for once in his short life, the Gods appeared to be on his side, because other than a very awkward incident at the ARC when Connor had rounded a corner and found himself practically nose to nose with the Captain, and had swerved back so violently he had actually fallen over, life at work continued with minimum embarrassment.

They dealt with another woolly mammoth (child's play after the one on the motorway), a strange herd of prehistoric penguins (a complete disaster until Lester got involved, and somehow managed to use his contact with a local fish shop to commandeer half a ton of haddock) and last, but certainly not least, a Leedsichthys (which was deposited in a local reservoir by an anomaly which promptly closed, and caused something of a horrible dilemma. Yes it was a 'gentle giant' and unlikely to actually eat anyone, but getting it out of the reservoir had proved almost impossible, it being twenty seven metres long and all that).

Everything was going so well, and he was seeing so little of Becker, that Connor had almost forgotten there was a problem. Something that, with hindsight, had probably been unwise.

On Friday 13th June, Connor had awoken with a pounding headache. Sadly, unlike a normal student, it was not because he was hung-over. It was because the previous day he had received a decent whack from the tail of a diplodocus that had sent him careening into a tree. The tail, which Abby had been convinced had a mind of its own, had then swung back the other way and almost taken Danny's head off. In fact, by the time the stupidly large creature had stopped huffing, stomping and swinging itself in circles and had gone back through the fucking anomaly, there had been something of a scene of carnage.

Connor had been slumped against a tree feeling like his head was about to go nuclear, Abby had been cowering under a bush, dangerously close to where one stomping foot had been moments before, Danny had been halfway up a tree, trying desperately to avoid the tail swinging below and the neck swinging above, and a large number of the special forces contingent had been scattered around the clearing groaning. In fact, the only one still standing was Becker, who had taken his sweet time in firing a couple of bullets just clear of the reptile's flank in order to gently encourage it forwards. His hair hadn't even been ruffled, and really, if Connor hadn't already hated him for complicating his life, he certainly had done then.

But he wasn't one to sulk (well, not often anyway) and he'd rolled out of bed, taken two painkillers, and headed into work. Once at the ARC he had noted the date, and, taking extreme care not to let anyone catch him (he didn't really want to be laughed into the middle of next week), had thrown a pinch of salt over his shoulder exactly how his grandmother did, just to ward off any bad luck. Then feeling extremely superstitious and slightly stupid he had made his way to the main laboratory to continue work on the artefact.

Three hours later, Connor was bored out of his brains. Seeing as he couldn't remember exactly what he had previously done to trigger the map inside the artefact, his only real option, as he had been tartly informed by Sarah, was to try absolutely everything until he made it happen again. This had been fine at first, almost exciting, but now, with his head gently pounding, and the artefact resolutely inanimate, he was running out of both patience and ideas.

Several people had come down to the lab, under the pretence of seeing how he was getting on, but he highly suspected that they were just as bored with their assigned tasks as he was.

Danny had been told in no uncertain terms by Lester that he would have his balls for breakfast if three weeks of reports did not appear on his desk by the end of day, but all Danny had done was type a header and then come down to see how Connor was getting on. He had sat in the corner for forty-five minutes talking non-stop.

Sarah had been trying to sketch a map to predict the anomalies based off of Cutter's model and what she remembered of the artefact one, but all she had done was draw two lines and then appear in the doorway. She had sat in a different corner and blasted him with theories for forty-two minutes.

Abby had been analysing some plant samples they had found growing near an anomaly that didn't look strictly British, but all she had done was prepare the slides, before materialising at his side. She had sat on his desk for fifty-six minutes and gossiped.

In fact, the only welcome visitor he had had was the cup of strong coffee that had accompanied Abby, and so it was no wonder that he had never been more grateful when the anomaly alert blared through the speakers. It might mean more running, more ducking, and possibly more injuries but at least it would get him out of the bloody lab.

Twenty minutes later, Connor was deeply regretting wishing for an anomaly alert. They were crammed into one SUV, because apparently the tangle with the diplodocus had put the other one out of action for a while, and for some reason they only had two cars. Danny was riding shotgun, Sarah, Becker and Connor were crammed in the back, and there were six Special Forces men clinging on behind. Connor was rammed in the middle, with Sarah's unnaturally pointy elbows jabbing him in the ribs on one side, and some random piece of army equipment digging into his stomach on the other. It probably would have been fine; the three of them would probably have been able to keep themselves wedged upright, had Abby not been driving.

Abby was a wonderful person in Connor's opinion, she was beautiful, brave, funny and intelligent with only one tiny flaw. If you put her behind the wheel of a car, she turned into a cross between a F1 driver and a maniac. And right now, as they screeched around corners at ridiculous speeds, and swerved backwards and forwards between lanes on the motorway, Connor was praying for both his life and his sanity. Because every time Abby swerved, accelerated or decelerated, Connor was finding himself either draped across Sarah, which was bearable, or plastered across Becker, which was not.

He was just about coping, until one particularly violent U-turn, accompanied by Abby cursing the SatNav, sent him sprawling sideways into Becker, and culminated with his face pressed into the other man's neck. In this position, Connor could smell both Becker's shower gel, and the underlying scent of his skin. And he smelt fantastic. Connor hadn't been able to stop himself inhaling, and a shift of Becker's shoulders told him the other man had noticed.

Flushing peony, and inwardly cursing, he had attempted to lever himself upright, trying to find a handhold. He had been aiming to brace himself against the back of Danny's seat, but as Abby whizzed around a roundabout, his hand swerved sideways and he ended up levering himself into a vertical position using Becker's thigh. Which was awkward enough, but would perhaps have been recoverable from had Connor not already sniffed him and had it not been for the fact that, when he said thigh, he meant upper thigh, and sadly, pretty much inner thigh as well. It was as near to a grope as an unintentional gesture can be and by the time he had regained his balance and snatched his hand back like it had been burned, he had by-passed peony and reached magenta.

He hardly dared to look at Becker, but thought maybe the situation could be saved by attempting to laugh it off in a manly fashion. Looking at the Special Forces Captain, he offered a weak smile, and was about to stutter an apology, when Becker merely raised one eyebrow, the quirk of the corner of his mouth, and sparkle in his eyes making Connor suspect the man was inwardly laughing at him. His apology froze on his lips and he could feel the tips of his ears burning.

Thankfully Becker just gave his head a tiny shake as though to indicate Connor was forgiven, and god what it must be to be able to keep your cool in situations like this. Connor could, however, forgive him for the indiscretion of being so unfairly composed, because he turned to look out of the window, and didn't so much as glance at Connor for the rest of the journey, giving himself sufficient time to compose himself before they arrived.

When they arrived at the site of the anomaly alert, Connor was feeling calmer, and managed to avoid even flushing (quite a feat for him) simply by not even acknowledging to himself that Becker existed, and throwing himself whole heartedly into the task at hand.

Their surroundings were not, for once, particularly isolated and Connor suspected that every member of the team was praying that wherever this anomaly was nothing with teeth and a bad temper had come through it, because frankly if it did they were screwed. Because where they were standing was in front of number 46, Weston Lane, in the middle of a suburban housing estate.

Exchanging nervous glances, they had shuffled awkwardly up the path of number 46 in single file, trying not to kick over a garden gnome, or trample the colourful flowerbeds. Connor and Danny were in front and they had just rung the doorbell when the dying wail of the detector announced the anomaly must have closed. A couple of seconds later, the door was opened by an elderly woman who peered at them over the top of half-moon glasses with a kindly and somewhat confused expression. Connor could forgive her the confusion, he'd feel the same if they turned up on his doorstep, and unfortunately he was fairly sure she couldn't actually see Becker and the rest of the Special Forces men yet.

Danny turned on the charm.

'Good afternoon madam, terribly sorry to disturb you on such a lovely afternoon. We're from the…local council and we've been commissioned to carry out a free survey on all the houses in the area.'

The old woman smiled at him benevolently.

'Not at all, dear. What sort of free survey, may I ask? I don't think there are any problems with my house.'

Danny blinked at her.

'What sort of survey? Oh, uh…just a…quick check to ensure structural stability and health and safety and the like.'

The old woman nodded, still smiling, but was clearly expecting more of an explanation. Danny looked blankly at Connor, who shrugged back, indicating that he too, had nothing. However, at that moment, Becker elbowed Connor sideways, none to gently, and stepped forward to smile at the old woman.

'Yes, madam, it's part of a new government policy to ensure the worth of all housing and to make certain that all property transactions are carried out at the proper worth. You can imagine, what with the current economic downturn, there have been several property dealings involving buildings that do not meet with structural and health and safety regulations being priced much too highly. It is our job to ensure that the members of the British public are not cheated in this way. The survey is completely free, will have no effect on your property, and will only take a few minutes. Any problems we do encounter will be completely covered by your insurance.'

Becker accompanied this little sales speech with a winningly white smile, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that the old woman was gaping in shock at his gun and black combat uniform, and Danny and Connor were gaping in shock at his outrageously outstanding ability to lie.

After several seconds of silence, Danny apparently thought the woman needed a prompt.

'Madam…?'

The old lady visibly shook herself, tore her eyes away from Becker, and beamed, stepping back to welcome them in with a wave of her hands.

'Of course, of course, do come in. Wonderful of the Government to do something so helpful. Can I get you all a cup of tea?'

Danny issued a winning smile of his own, and they all trooped past the old woman into the crowded hall, Danny and Connor exchanging disgusted looks at the praise of the Government. Once in, they split up into two teams, Danny, Abby and three soldiers vanished upstairs, Becker and three soldiers set about checking downstairs and the garden, and Connor went through to the kitchen to keep the old lady out of the way, under the pretence of helping her with the tea.

Also, he probably thought someone should stay with her, firstly in case they found something, and secondly because if her shock at seeing Becker had been nasty, it had been nothing to the shock she got standing in her lounge doorway and watching six other similarly attired Special Forces men stomping through her narrow hall. She had turned the colour of old porridge, and at Danny's frantic hand flap, Connor had whisked her through to the kitchen and shut the door.

Now, as he bumbled about, attempting to make tea without breaking anything, the woman, who had told him her name was Mrs Delson, was attempting to make normal conversation, doing an excellent job of ignoring the thumping and stomping that echoed around the house, as the team hunted for anything prehistoric and still breathing. In fact, she lasted an admirable three minutes before snapping and asking,

'I don't mean to pry dear, but those…those…nice young soldier boys…why are they here?'

Connor smiled, trying to look nonchalant and not at all as if his brain was whirring at light speed trying to think of a lie. In the end he settled for one Cutter had told, months and months ago, right back at the start. He smiled weakly.

'Pest control.'

She blinked.

'But…the guns…'

Connor's smile was now a forced grimace and he had a horrible feeling he might look like he wanted to eat Mrs Delson.

'Just a precaution. You never know what you might find these days.'

She nodded, not looking hugely reassured but too well mannered to make anything of the issue. Thankfully at that moment the door started to open, and Connor prayed briefly to anyone that might be listening that it wouldn't be Becker. As astonishingly excellent as his lie had been, he didn't think Mrs Delson's heart would take her kitchen being half-filled by a 'nice soldier boy'. The door swung fully open, and Connor heaved a sigh of relief as Danny reappeared, cobwebs in his hair. He smiled.

'You're all clear as far as we can tell, Mrs Delson, absolutely no problems. We've checked all upstairs, all downstairs, the garden, and the attic. Absolutely nothing.'

The old woman smiled at him happily, and proffered a biscuit tin.

'Do you need to check the cellar dear?'

Danny stopped with a digestive halfway to his mouth.

'The what?'

'The cellar. My husband used to have it as his workshop, but since he died I haven't been down there except to clear it out. I should think if anywhere was structurally unstable, that would be it.'

Danny nodded vigorously, ignoring Connor's eye roll.

'That would be great, Mrs Delson. If you'd care to just show us where it is…?'

'Of course, dear.'

She shuffled out of the kitchen, missing Connor's exasperated hiss of, 'Seriously, Danny, you forgot the cellar?!' and the pained yelp that followed as Danny thumped him.

Following her down the hall, they stopped in front of a door set into the staircase. It wasn't really visible save for the key hole, which might explain how Becker's team had managed to miss it completely. After a five minute break whilst the old woman fiddled with a large bunch of keys, trying one after the other, and eventually finding that the penultimate one on the chain was the one that fit, the door swung open, and the collection of people gathered in the hallway were hit by a gust of the foulest smelling air Connor had ever had the misfortune to encounter.

Choking and spluttering, everyone staggered back a few steps, trying very hard not to breathe. It smelt like a horrible mixture of decay, damp and something that reminded Connor strongly of bad fish. Safe to say it was not the dusty, musty smell one normally expects of a cellar, and one glance at Danny confirmed he knew this too.

Mrs Delson hovered in the background, clearly fretting.

'Oh dear, it didn't smell like that last time I went down there. It shouldn't smell quite like that should it? Do you think something has gone bad?'

Abby took charge, seizing the old woman by the shoulders and steering her back to the kitchen with the words, 'I think we'd better let the professionals have a look, don't you? Now, how about that cup of tea?'

Connor groped around the wall at the side of the door and eventually his fingers encountered a light switch. Flicking it on, the staircase and room below were flooded with weak yellow light, illuminating a paved stone floor and walls that might once have been grey but were now covered with a thick layer of strange orange fungus. Becker, who was now at Danny's side (the three of them crowded into a space not meant for that many people) gently poked the disgusting growth with the butt of his gun. It compressed with a damp sounding squelch, and the stench intensified.

'Oh, that's just wrong.'

Becker sounded a combination of disgusted and queasy, and both Danny and Connor hurriedly stepped back and away from him. Becker shut the stair door with a grimace. There were a few seconds silence before Sarah, Danny and Becker all turned questioning eyes on him.

'What?!'

'Well what is it?'

Danny sounded impatient, probably because the remnants of the smell still lingered in the air.

'I'm not sure…some kind of fungi.'

The look Danny gave him did not speak of satisfaction.

'I'd got that far, funnily enough. What time period?'

'Not sure, but if I had to hazard a guess, I'd say after the Permian-Triassic extinction event. Fossil records prove that there was a fungal spike after that, nearly one hundred percent of all life was some kind of fungus. And the colour and shape match with what we know of the group Chytridiomycota.'

Danny summarised.

'Right. So it's old fungus. Any idea if this Chytrid…stuff is dangerous?'

Becker interjected.

'And more importantly, any ideas how we can get rid of it?'

'Well, I don't think it's dangerous to humans, no. I know the modern-day version has been responsible for a fatal disease in frogs…and they haven't been able to find a cure for that disease because there is no chemical compound that kills it.'

Danny sighed.

'Great. So it's Frog Killer Fungus, and can't be killed with chemicals. What other options do we have?'

Sarah spoke up for the first time.

'Well…if it's just an ordinary fungus from the past, and not a weird mutated one from the future, we could always try flame throwers again?'

Danny grinned.

Four hours, a lot of smoke, and enough tea to fill Lake Victoria later, Mrs Delson's cellar was hazy with smoke, charred but fungus free.

The team, faces blackened with soot, and reeking of mould, thanked the now very alarmed old woman for her time, assured her all was well with her house, told her the iron bolt across the cellar door was just a precaution and that they'd send her a key for the padlock, trooped back down the narrow path, and piled into the SUV to head for the ARC.

They were exhausted. Uninjured, but exhausted. Sarah swore she was suffering from smoke inhalation, Danny had a large burn mark down the side of his jeans where Abby had got too close, and both of Connor's eyebrows were singed and still gently smoking. Much to Connor's frustration, Becker handled a flame thrower with the same skill and dexterity he handled a gun, and remained in one immaculate piece, although he did at least have streaks of soot on his cheeks and smelt just as foul as the rest of them.

Luckily Danny was driving this time so Connor, Becker and Sarah managed to stay in their own seats, and the soldiers on the back had a much easier ride. They tore down the roads with the windows wide open, everyone trying not to breathe in too deeply, and when they arrived at the ARC, the whole team simultaneously departed for the showers. That is, with the exception of Becker and Danny who were ordered to Lester's office to explain away the use of eight flame throwers.

Sarah and Abby vanished for the women's locker room, and the contingent of soldiers clattered down the corridors to the men's. Connor realised with a start of guilt that he still wasn't sure of any of their names, apart from the tall, dark one, whom he thought he'd heard Becker refer to as 'Squid', although he was sure he must be mistaken. He also realised that as there were only six showers in the locker room, he'd probably be better off waiting in the kitchen area than lurking outside like some kind of stalker.

A scarily short time later, the peace in the kitchen was disturbed by the soldiers, who had clearly finished cleaning up and were back on their infamous tea break. Most of them nodded at Connor, or clapped him on the shoulder with matey smiles, and Connor did his best to smile back and not feel terrifyingly inadequate.

Taking their appearance to mean the showers were now free, Connor set off to clean himself up. Once in the locker room, he stripped fast, and ducked into the nearest shower cubicle. The skinny little boy inside him that had been bullied to within an inch of his life at school thanked the Gods the showers weren't communal.

Washing the soap out of his hair, and scrubbing as much of the soot out from under his nails as he could took Connor a shamefully long time compared to the soldiers, and half an hour later, he was finally ducking out from under the spray. He turned the shower off, and was surprised to find that he could still hear running water. Danny must have come back from his meeting with Lester.

Towelling his hair dry with one hand and using the other to wriggle into his jeans, Connor made himself decent, just in case Danny should emerge. Five minutes later, he was fully dressed, and went next door to use the loo and summon courage before he had to look in the mirror and see exactly how much damage had been done to his eyebrows.

When he emerged a couple of minutes later, his brain was registering that the showers had stopped before he had even re-entered the locker room. Sadly this did nothing to quell his shock when he walked in and was met with the sight of a freshly showered Becker.

The Captain looked up at the sound of footsteps, and Connor thought his heart might have stopped. Becker was bare foot, dressed only in a pair of dark blue jeans that were unbuttoned at the top. From what Connor could see he wasn't wearing underwear. Connor had a perfect view of Becker's broad chest and flat stomach and of the trail of dark hair that lead tantalisingly down into the open waist of his jeans.

Becker smiled at him, but didn't say anything, turning away slightly (and at the same time presenting Connor with a perfect view of his shoulders and back), and continued drying his hair, one handed.

Connor watched, almost perversely fascinated with the play of powerful muscles in Becker's arm and shoulder, and his mouth was suddenly very very dry. When Becker dropped the towel and turned to face him, Connor knew that all the luck he had thought the Gods had been bestowing on him had in fact just been to lull him into a false sense of security so that they could achieve the maximum effect when they sprung this.

Because Becker's hair was properly mussed up for the first time since Connor had known him, and it was sticking in all directions, the ultimate just-got-out-of-bed look. And this combined with the slight flush his skin still had from the heat of the shower gave him a look that screamed 'well-fucked'. It suited him so unbelievably well that Connor couldn't help a slightly strangled noise escaping his throat.

Becker looked up; seemingly completely oblivious to just how edible he currently looked.

'Problem, Connor?'

Connor blinked.

'Uh, no, no, not at all. Nothing.'

Becker narrowed his eyes.

'You just squeaked…' he pointed out, showing off that Special Forces training.

Connor nodded.

'Um, yes, yes I did. I was just surprised, that's all. Because you're, you know…'

Oh nice one Connor. Was there a way to end that sentence that wouldn't humiliate him beyond al recognition?

'I'm what?'

And obviously, Becker wasn't going to let it go. Connor attempted an innocent smile.

'You're uh…wearing jeans.'

Well…as far as sentence endings went it wasn't brilliant but it was a hell of a lot better than 'You look fuckable' or 'You're shirtless.'

Becker looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

'Yes, Connor. I'm wearing jeans.'

Explanation clearly needed.

'Well, it's just I've never seen you in anything other than combat uniform so you know…bit of a shock.'

He tried for a smile. Becker raised an eyebrow. Probably in disgust.

'Yes well, Connor, I do have a life outside of this place you know. Lester doesn't put me back in a box at the end of each day.'

'Yes, well, yeah, I uh…know that, of course I do. Just forget I said anything, yeah?'

Becker made an exasperated gesture with his hands, and then turned away to continue getting dressed. His hands went down to fasten his fly, and as much as Connor tried to turn his eyes away, he found he simply couldn't. This of course was terrible, especially when he finally dragged his eyes upwards and found that Becker's eyebrows had practically hit the ceiling and that the other man was perfectly aware where Connor's eyes had been only seconds before.

Oh God.

'Uh…I…'

Connor got no further than those two stuttered syllables before he was pinned to the locker by a very strong and still very shirtless Becker. He swallowed roughly, finding himself harder, faster than he'd been in a long time.

'I…uh…'

He uttered the same two syllables, the other way around for variety, and tried to ignore the fact that his bare chest and Becker's were millimetres away from touching and that the other man really did smell fantastic.

'What do you think of me, Connor?'

Becker's voice was half an octave deeper, and sounded a little throaty, and Connor was so concentrated on that and the fact that he didn't think he'd ever been this hard, that he almost missed the question. When his brain registered what Becker had asked, he blinked at the other man in confusion.

'What?'

His voice, far from being throaty, was shamefully squeaky, and he prayed he wouldn't have to speak again. Becker shifted infinitesimally closer, and Connor had to physically stop himself from thrusting up against him. Something which Becker, he was sure, would not have appreciated. He resisted the urge to look down, not wanting to do anything to attract Becker to the fact that he was almost painfully hard.

'I said, what do you think of me?'

Becker repeated his question, which, damnit, meant Connor was going to have to speak, and he really had no idea why Becker was asking him that now. He also had no idea what he was going to say. Only that he absolutely wasn't going to say that he'd wanted him since he first laid eyes on him. That would be stupid. And inappropriate. And he'd probably get punched.

'I think you're uh…a great soldier and…'

Becker interrupted him.

'You'd say that you respect me then?'

Connor nodded hesitantly; slightly alarmed by the turn this was taking, but determined to do nothing to alert Becker to his current state. He was having enough trouble trying to keep his breathing normal, the soldier's close proximity having an unfortunate effect on his heart rate.

'You see, I've worked with a lot of men who respect me, Connor, but I've never worked with any who showed that respect by smelling my neck, unashamedly gawping at me whilst I'm dressing and getting turned on whenever I'm in any kind of close proximity.'

And with that, he turned his eyes quite deliberately downwards.

Shit. Connor was so screwed. He gave up even trying to find an explanation for his behaviour, and closed his eyes in defeat, allowing his head to thump back against the lockers.

There was a brief second of silence, in which he felt, as well as heard Becker sigh in exasperation and then he nearly levitated off the floor when he felt something warm brush across his lips.

His eyes flew open in shock. Had Becker just…?

The other man was even closer than before, his lips only a centimetre away from Connor's and he had brought his hands up, bracing them on either side of Connor's head, effectively caging him in.

Becker's eyes were dark, and there was no doubt about it, he had just kissed Connor. Connor felt a rush of want, hands aching to touch, and he leaned in almost instinctively. That, it appeared, was all the encouragement Becker needed, because the other man leaned in to meet him, lips crashing down onto Connor's. Becker tasted just as good as he smelt, faint tangs of coffee and smoke underlying a taste that was purely him. Oh God.

One of Becker's hands went down to Connor's hip to hold him in place, and Connor finally gave into the urge to touch, tangling one hand into Becker's hair, ruffling it further, the soft strands still slightly damp from the shower. He brought the other hand up to run across Becker's chest, skimming the light covering of hair there, before sliding it down his bare side to his hip. Becker squirmed slightly, and Connor grinned into the kiss. Who would have thought the tough soldier was ticklish?

Becker got his own back by biting Connor's lower lip, drawing a groan from the younger man, and running his own hand sideways across the skin of Connor's stomach. Connor' stomach muscles twitched, and he bit back another moan, desperately trying to hold onto the last vestiges of his pride and not thrust up against Becker.

That went to hell, when Becker broke the kiss, breathing heavily. His lips were swollen, eyes dark, and he didn't pull away, merely rested his forehead against Connor's so they were breathing the same air.

Connor finally, finally couldn't stand the lack of contact anymore. He untangled his hand from the other man's hair, and brought it down to his hips, pulling Becker firmly against him. His cock rubbed up against Becker's and even through two layers of thick denim it set off sparks behind his eyelids, and he gasped. Becker groaned deep in his throat, and thrust back, kissing Connor again, and Connor's knees gave out completely. He clung to the taller man, thrusting against him, moaning at the friction that was almost sinfully good. He knew he must look desperate, but he was this close to coming, and he really couldn't bring himself to care.

Becker's hands were everywhere now, stroking down his sides, across his stomach, coming up to pinch at his nipples, and it was just…overwhelming, and –Oh God- too much, and with a groan that was swallowed by Becker, Connor was coming, collapsing back against the locker his vision whiting out momentarily.

He was vaguely aware of Becker thrusting once, twice more and then coming with a strangled gasp, head thrown back, and then the last of whatever strength he had left his muscles and he slid down the lockers to the floor.

What felt like hours later, Connor re-opened his eyes. Becker was sitting about a foot away, leaning back against the lockers, still shirtless and looking well-fucked (probably with more reason now) but infinitely more composed than Connor felt. Becker was looking at him steadily, and clearly Connor was now supposed to say something.

'Well...that was unexpected.'

Becker shrugged. Connor hastened to clarify.

'In a good way though, in a…really good way.'

That raised a smile, and Connor was struck afresh by just how good Becker looked when he smiled. He still hadn't said anything though.

'So um…what now?'

As soon as he'd voiced the question, Connor wanted to bang his head on the floor and hide. He barely knew Becker, what was he doing asking that kind of question?!

Becker didn't seem to mind though. He shifted until he was sitting directly in front of Connor. Leaning over, he brushed a surprisingly gentle kiss over Connor's lips. When he drew back, his smile was devilish.

'Well, you've seen how I look in jeans. Fancy coming back to mine and seeing how I look out of them?'