Title: A Suitably Manly Afternoon
Disclaimer: Not mine. ITV and Impossible Pictures own them.
Word count: approx 1410
Summary: Matt and Becker have a very manly afternoon of beer and rugby and... snuggling?
AN: Matt fic for the primeval_denial July Team Fest. Eligible for bonus points for using the first square from the Fluff Bingo Card - Snuggling
Matt was still settling down when Becker dropped onto the sofa next to him with the beer. He passed one to Matt, kept one for himself, and dumped the rest on the coffee table where it was still within easy reach.
“Finally,” Becker sighed, as he cracked the can open.
It had been a hell of a couple of days. They’d had three anomalies right after one another, and Becker had been awake and in the field for well over 36 hours by the time they finally got home. Matt, somewhat to his annoyance, was forced to sit out the last two after he sprained his ankle chasing a tillodont (it was an early rodent-like creature, Connor had tried to explain, although Becker had quickly christened it ‘Fluffysaurus’, and the name had, unfortunately, stuck). Matt suspected it was a sign of just how tired Becker must be that he hadn’t made any sarcastic or teasing comments about his injury.
Becker took control of the remote, and switched the TV on just in time for the rugby match that Matt knew he’d been looking forward to all week. Matt still hadn’t really grasped the rules, or indeed the point of rugby, but it was always entertaining watching Becker watching rugby, because he became so engrossed and enthusiastic. A running commentary and occasional tirades about the eyesight and the ancestry of the referee and linesmen was also a frequent feature. Plus, there was always the added bonus that once the match had ended, all that energy had to be channelled somewhere else, and more often than not they ended up in the bedroom. Sometimes they didn’t even make it as far as the bedroom.
They were about fifteen minutes into the match when Matt noticed something odd. Becker was being strangely quiet, and he hadn’t once called into question the mental capacity of the referee, despite what even Matt could see was a dodgy call. He glanced sideways, and saw that Becker’s eyelids were drooping, and, more urgently, the can resting on his knee was beginning to lean at an alarming angle.
“Oi!” Matt jabbed him sharply with an elbow, and Becker jerked back to attention, managing to look both confused and pissed off at the same time.
“If you’re going to go to sleep, at least put the beer down first.”
“I’m not going to sleep,” Becker countered, contradicting all available evidence.
Matt snorted, but didn’t press the matter, as one of the players was suddenly making a mad dash for the try-line, and Becker was going to sulk for hours if Matt had distracted him at an exciting moment.
When the try was indeed scored, Becker made a show of being impressed and cheering, probably just to prove the point. Matt rolled his eyes and took another swig of beer.
Things settled down again for a while, and they both finished the first beers, and Becker put the cans on the table, saving Matt the bother of trying to move, since his ankle was propped up on a pile of sturdy books and a pillow. Matt couldn’t help noticing that Becker didn’t open a second can, and simply sat back in the spot next to him.
It was quite sweet really, Matt decided. Becker was quite obviously exhausted, and now he had finally stopped moving and settled down, his body had decided it was time to get some much needed sleep. Of course, Becker, being the stubborn bugger that he was, had decided that he was watching the rugby and that was that. He had also possibly decided that falling asleep was in some way thoroughly unmanly, and appeared to be hell bent on proving that he was, in fact, a machine and didn’t need such things.
Matt was just enjoying watching out of the corner of his eye the way that Becker’s head would begin to droop, until he suddenly jerked upright again, and tried to look nonchalant.
“Can you pass me a beer?” Matt eventually asked. The cans had been taunting him, sitting there on the table.
Becker arched an eyebrow at him. “What did your last slave die of?” he grumbled, but leaned forward and grabbed one of the beers anyway.
“I’m injured,” Matt pointed out, gesturing at his ankle.
Becker just rolled his eyes and settled back down, rather closer than he had been before, Matt noticed. In fact, Becker was practically leaning against him, and a moment later he tucked his legs up on the sofa and shuffled cushions, and Matt’s arm, around until he was satisfied.
“Comfortable now?” Matt inquired, not even trying to hide his amusement.
Becker frowned. “Not really.”
He poked the cushion a few more times, and then dragged it out and dumped it onto Matt’s lap, and then lay down on it.
Matt stared in disbelief for all of ten seconds. Captain ‘I’m a manly macho soldier of manliness’ Becker, was curled up on the sofa with his head in Matt’s lap. There was another bout of shuffling and poking and rearranging before Becker settled properly, one arm loosely curled around Matt’s knees. Of course, he was still watching the rugby while he was doing this, but after a minute his fingers began to trace random patterns on Matt’s leg. It quite nice, Matt thought, but completely unexpected and...
“Are you snuggling?”
Becker made an unattractive snorting noise, and kept his gaze firmly locked on the TV.
“You are, aren’t you? You’re watching probably the manliest, most testosterone fuelled sport in the world, and you’re snuggling.” Matt couldn’t keep the amused delight out of his voice. This had to be good for weeks of teasing.
“I’m just getting comfortable,” Becker muttered.
Matt wondered how much Becker would try to hurt him if he rested his beer can on Becker’s head. He eventually decided against it, mostly because he actually wanted to drink the beer, rather than watch it go all over the carpet.
They were both distracted at that moment by a suddenly quite exciting passage of play. They were so engrossed, in fact, that Becker stopped cuddling Matt’s leg, which Matt realised he was quite disappointed about when he finally noticed.
Matt finished the beer without spilling any of it on Becker, which was something of a miracle considering how much the man was wriggling. With nothing else to do with his hand once the can was abandoned on the floor, he found himself playing with Becker’s hair. All jokes aside, he did rather like Becker’s hair. It was soft, and had an adorable tendency to go wavy when left to its own devices, sans hair product.
He was still waiting for Becker to object when he noticed that his legs were being cuddled again. Okaaaaay. He waited until a particularly tense line-out and then, when he was sure Becker was suitable distracted, Matt tentatively stroked Becker’s hair. There was still no obvious objection, so he continued.
Becker curled up a bit more, and nestled closer.
Matt was seriously beginning to wonder what had happened to the real Becker. This was just strange and unnatural. Okay, it was also highly entertaining, and, he grudgingly had to admit, quite cute, but it just wasn’t normal.
He briefly stopped stroking to scratch his nose, and he could have sworn he heard a quiet, yet strangely disgruntled noise from Becker.
“Not snuggling. Right.” Matt commented with a smirk. “Of course you’re not.”
Becker shifted enough to turn and look up at him.
“Are you actually objecting at all?” Becker asked, with slightly more of a challenge to his tone than Matt had been expecting.
“I wouldn’t say objecting, as such,” he replied.
Becker gave a small huff and returned his attention to the TV.
“Good. Now shut up and watch the game.”
He briefly kneaded Matt’s thigh with his shoulder until he was comfortable again, leaving Matt rolling his eyes. He resumed stroking Becker’s hair, and was eventually rewarded with a soft sound that could only be described as a purr. Matt smiled, and wished he could reach his phone to get a recording of this.
Not snuggling. Of course not. Although, Matt suspected, if he played his cards right there was a good chance that when the match had finished he would be able to persuade Becker into some rather more energetic not-snuggling.
Becker snuffled quietly, and gave a soft snore.
Or then again, maybe not.