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Author's Note: From the "Just Kiss Her Already" prompt "Sex in the armoury". Mild spoilers for series 4&5.

by LJC

It's the fear of discovery that did it. It was mad, insane, and reckless, doing this here and now, knowing any one of his security team could come in at any moment. Never mind it's gone two in the morning and the ARC is on a skeleton crew and they're the only two people on that entire level.

Maybe that's why they did it. Maybe that's why they can't seem to stop, and Becker's not sure if he really wants them to.

He'd just come off a difficult call: raptors in a council block who had killed three people—two civilians and one of his Security team—before they'd herded them back through the anomaly. They hadn't been quick or clean deaths. There was no such thing, really. And he'd stopped telling himself that after the first year, when he'd still been unable to turn a corner at the old ARC for seeing Sarah's ghost, and hear her screams as she'd been torn apart.

Jess had been pale and drawn as he'd returned his black box to her desk, his fingers sliding down to hers to grip them tightly. She'd had to watch on the CCTV, and though the tremors in her voice had faded moments after as she supplied them with a steady stream of information, paths through the estate, and updates on the anomaly, it never got any easier. Both of them had awakened more than once with echoes of friends and strangers screams in their ears, and at least now they had each other on those nights.

But it had been a long time since she'd had to watch. Just long enough to forget exactly how horrible it could be.

She'd followed him down to the armoury, high-heeled shoes clicking on the polished floors. He'd already stripped off his field gear, laying his stab vest atop one of the shining silver EMD cases. Before he could pull on a clean shirt, she had come up behind him and wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his naked back as she'd started to shake.

He'd turned in the circle of her arms, cradling her face in his hands and brushing away her tears with the balls of his thumbs before he bent his head to her mouth. He had just wanted to hold her and be held, knowing that as soon as the adrenaline wore off he'd be the one shaking. But this time was different. He hadn't been in any more danger than usual—not even a scratch on him. But that didn't change the fact that no matter how well they did their jobs, people still died. People always died.

Maybe that was why, instead of just resting his cheek atop Jess' hair and breathing in the clean, sweet scent of her shampoo, Becker lifted her off her feet and up onto the edge of the table, his lips never leaving hers. She clung to him, still shaking even as she kissed him back, her passion rising along with his.

She ran her small hands down over his shoulders, fingers with nails bitten raw on one hand digging into his biceps as his hands skimmed up her thighs, pulling her blue shirtdress up until he could press his fingers against her. She gasped into his mouth as he stroked her through the thin cotton of her pants and he took that moment to slide his tongue against hers, mapping the inside of her mouth with something like desperation.

Up until that point, their lovemaking had been playful, tender. They had been taking their time, exploring each other's bodies the few nights they'd managed to extricate themselves from the ARC and could spare a few hours to pretend they were normal people with normal lives that didn't include death and mayhem and the threat of global annihilation every other month.

In short: he had never been rough and fast with her, and she had never asked him to be. He expected her to make some sort of protest—some appeal to his rapidly diminishing sense of reason as he pulled his lips away from hers and looked down into her eyes blown wide in the dimness, dark pupils swallowing her startlingly blue irises almost completely.

Instead, she just opened her legs wider, arching into his touch as she wound her arms around his neck.

"We can't," he said resting his forehead against hers as he panted for breath, feeling light-headed and completely raw. He glanced back over his shoulder as if he expected Sanderson, Mitchell, or Tully to wander in even though he knew they had left hours ago. "The door—anyone could come in."

Jess gripped his jaw in one hand, wrenching his face back to hers.

"I don't care," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. It was his turn to be surprised as Jess cupped and stroked him through the stiff denim of his freshly laundered jeans as she arched against him and made a low needy sound in the back of her throat. "Please, Becker. Please. I need—"

He didn't let her finish, kissing her again despite the sour taste in the back of his throat, the feel of dried sweat between his shoulder-blades making him itch. She leaned back, bracing one arm behind her as she hooked one leg behind his and ground herself against him.

She slipped one hand between them, fumbling with the metal buckle of his belt, and he pulled back just far enough to get his jeans undone and low enough on his hips that she could free his hardening cock from his briefs. She wrapped one hand around him, pumping him and flicking her thumb over the head until he was as hard as he'd ever been and he tugged the crotch of her panties to one side. She was wet, but not wet enough, and he didn't want to hurt her. But she cut off his protest with a hungry kiss, and guided him to her, lifting her hips as he slipped the head of his cock inside her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and leaned back, using whatever leverage she had and then he was buried to the hilt in her tight, wet heat.

"Oh God, Jess," he said against her mouth as she tightened around him, and she made a sound halfway between a sob and a sigh as he began to move. He barely registered the clunk of one of her shoes falling to the floor as his hips stuttered, his rhythm erratic and frantic. She tipped her face back, neck bared, and eyes squeezed tightly shut, her body moving in time to his thrusts. Her lips parted, punctuating each snap of his hips with a soft cry as a flush began to climb up her neck and stain her cheeks like autumn apples. Her lips were swollen, and wisps of her fringe curling against her temple and he barely had time to pull out and come against her thigh. He felt her twitching and taut against him as he slipped his fingers inside her now-sodden pants, thumb rubbing her clit in tight circles as he stroked her through the crisp dark curls.

"Come on, sweetheart," he whispered into her hair. "Come on, that's my girl. That's my Jess." He whispered nonsense into her ear as he could feel her getting closer and closer, her hands clutching at the smooth edge of the table, knuckles white as she gripped the edge.

"Oh," her eyes snapped open as he quickened his pace, his fingers slipping through her wet folds to curl inside her. "Oh, God." Then she couldn't find words, just arch her back and bite her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

Suddenly the only thing that mattered in the world was making her come. He no longer cared if Lester himself walked into the Armoury at that moment and saw them shagging like teenagers next to the shiny silver cases of EMDs. He needed to see her come apart from his touch and his entire universe narrowed until it was just them and the sound of her short, gasping breaths, the feel of sweat prickling the back of his neck, and sliding hot and salty down his temple.

He found just the right pressure and angle—he could tell from the way she squirmed and writhed, her thighs gripping his hips almost painfully. One high-heeled shoe dug into the back of his thigh as she arched against his fingers and finally began to shudder, tiny shocks running through her until she collapsed boneless against him. He stroked her over-sensitised clit with slow, teasing touches as she gulped in mouthfuls of air.

Jess opened her eyes, looking dazed and loose and more than a bit shattered, and Becker kissed a path from her temple to the corner of her mouth, nipping at the pulse hammering below the sweet curve of her jaw below her ear. She turned her head, lips seeking his and kissed him deeply, sucking on his lower lip as her hips finally stopped rocking against his hand. He slid his still-wet fingers over the top of her thigh and tugged her dress back down just as he felt her eyelashes brush his cheek.

He stared down at her, something rising in him that felt like a bird's wings struggling to escape the tight cavity of his chest. Her eyes were still nearly black, and her hair had come loose, pins littering the top of the table where he would normally spend days assembling, checking, cleaning, and testing weapons. The sight of her perched on the edge, looking thoroughly debauched made him twitch against his thigh, and he reluctantly tucked himself back into his briefs, the sound of his belt buckle impossibly loud in the empty room.

She ran her fingers through the dark coarse hair on his chest, tugging slightly.

"Are we OK?" she asked him, her voice breathy, and he couldn't swallow a half-crazed laugh before it escaped his lips.

"I think that's what I'm meant to be asking you." Leaning over, Becker grabbed his soiled shirt and gently wiped away his come from the inside of her still-trembling thigh before stuffing the stained garment into the bottom of his bag. The entire time, he was still kneading her hip with his other hand, as if he couldn't bear to not be touching her. Meanwhile, Jess had wound her arms around his neck, and was carding her fingers through the damp hair at the base of his neck, the feel of her nails at the top of his spine making him shudder.

He pressed one last kiss to her swollen red lips before stepped back and she slid down off the table. He caught her as her legs buckled slightly. She was lopsided, one shoe on, one shoe off, and he realised he'd managed to undo three of her buttons, giving him tantalising glimpses of her small firm breasts in her lavender bra as she bent to retrieve her shoe and slip it back on.

She slapped his fingers away as he tried to help her do up her buttons, and he grabbed the clean shirt he'd been about to pull on from where it had fallen at their feet the second she had put her arms around him.

Combing her fingers through her tangle of brown hair, she picked as many of the hairpins she could find off the table, slipping them into her pocket. With her hair loose and dishevelled, she looked years younger than he knew her to be. Particularly as her carefully applied make-up was all but gone, and there were the beginnings of dark circles beneath her eyes.

Dropping his bag on the table, he pulled her into a fierce hug. She tucked her head beneath his chin, her cheek pressed against his chest and drew in unsteady breaths. Becker glanced at the watch face on the inside of his wrist. Only fifteen minutes since they walked down to the Armoury from the Hub. It felt like a lifetime.

"All I want to do right now is go back to your flat, shower for a thousand years, and then sleep for a week." Her words were muffled, said directly into his shirt, and he sighed.

"I doubt we'll be allowed to sleep for a week, but a shower sounds better than good right now."

She pulled back just far enough that he could drop an almost chaste kiss to her lips.

"Let's go home," he said, and she gave him a smile that—while only an echo of the blinding wattage he was used to—still made his heart leap in his throat. They left the armoury with her hand tucked in the back pocket of his jeans, and for once he didn't give a damn who noticed.


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