Title: Captain Becker’s Nightmare
Warnings: Death of a small furry mammal
Disclaimer: Not mine. ITV and Impossible Pictures own them.
Word count: approx 655
Summary: Becker and Connor are in a sticky situation.
AN: Written as a result of conversations in yesterday’s Denial daily chat. I would like to blame kristen_mara, but unfortunately my subconscious is wholly responsible for this insanity.
“Stop being such a baby, Becks.”
“Well stop pulling it!”
“Look, just stand still,” Connor said, not even trying to keep the amusement out of his voice.
Becker glared, but complied with the instruction. Connor turned the shower spray down a little, and then returned his attention to gently massaging a handful of foamy shower gel onto Becker’s chest. This ought to have been sexy and romantic, but in the circumstances it was anything but sexy.
“I suppose you think this is funny?”
Connor couldn’t suppress a grin.
“A bit, yeah.”
“This is your fault, you know.”
“You agreed to be tied up.”
“You were the one who decided to introduce food. And why the hell couldn’t you use something sensible? They make chocolate body paint specifically for that sort of thing.”
“We didn’t have any of that. I was improvising.”
“You improvised with golden syrup!”
Connor just rolled his eyes and appeared to be focussing his attention on the removal of said syrup. Becker knew he was beginning to sound petulant, but he wasn’t letting this one go.
“And besides, what made you think it was a good idea to get it anywhere near my chest hair?”
“That was an accident,” Connor muttered for about the fifth time. “Not my fault you’re so fuzzy.”
“It’s not my fault you can’t aim straight. Ow!”
This time Connor looked mildly concerned as he tugged on the sticky matted mess of chest hair again.
“What the hell does ‘um’ mean? I don’t want to hear ‘um’, Connor.”
“I don’t want you to worry, but I think my fingers have got tangled.”
He tugged again, and Becker let out a particularly unmanly yelp.
“I’m not the one moving!”
Connor carefully extricated his fingers, wincing every now and then as Becker whimpered. Eventually he was free, and Becker poked warily at his chest. It still felt sticky, despite ten minutes of soap and showering.
“I think it might be a lost cause, mate,” Connor admitted, at least having the grace to look guilty. He leaned out of the shower to snag something from the shelf above the sink, and Becker stared in horror as Connor brandished a razor at him.
“Here you go. Sausage and bacon and fried egg butty.”
Connor gave him an apologetic smile along with the peace offering breakfast. Becker stared at it glumly, even the thought of his favourite pig in a bun combination not enough to distract him.
“I feel cold and naked now.”
Connor’s eyebrows went up, and he didn’t try very hard to suppress a smile.
“I think it looks nice. All smooth and sexy like that.” He reached out to run a hand over Becker’s chest, but Becker pulled away.
Connor rolled his eyes. “You know what? You’re right. You’re bald and hideous and I don’t want to cuddle you at all any more.”
“Oh, shut up. Besides, you really will be complaining in a couple of days when it starts to grow back and it’s all stubbly and scratchy.” A horrible thought occurred to him. “Oh god, it’s going to itch like mad!”
“But think of it this way; once it’s finished being itchy, it’ll grow back even thicker and fluffier than it was before. And then I’ll get my cosy furry pillow back again.”
Becker briefly entertained the threat of never letting Connor anywhere near his chest ever again, but quickly decided that would probably be counterproductive the next time he wanted sex. He bit into his breakfast butty, careful not to let the runny egg yolk drip anywhere except on the plate. He had to admit Connor made good apology breakfasts. Messy, but good. Kind of like the man himself, Becker mused.
Connor seemed to be deep in thought as he watched.
“If it bothers you so much you could get a chest wig.”
“Oh, shut up.”