The Synthetic Aesthetic

toestastegood-fic:

Becker’s eyes linger on the cuts and scrapes on Connor’s face. Every single one is a sign of his own failure.Becker knows the dangers of their work better than anyone else. He is the one that is paid to protect the others: him and his men are the soldiers, the first men on the ground to deal with emergencies. Theoretically, anyway. Somehow, Connor always seems to manage to get into harm’s way first. Connor and the others are like magnets for bad news and grumpy creatures. How is Becker supposed to protect anyone when they all insist on running head-first into trouble?He reaches out to brush his thumb around the edge of the wound on Connor’s forehead, but Connor only grins and bats him away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine,” he insists, chuckling a little.The graze on his head looks sore but shallow. It will heal over quickly enough, as will the lesser wounds that he’s managed to gather. It’s nothing but superficial.That doesn’t help the knot of uncomfortable tension that has managed to settle in Becker’s chest.As if he can sense that, Connor reaches out for him and places his hands on Becker’s hips. He hooks his fingers into Becker’s belt loops and then draws him forward, although Becker is far from capable of putting up any defence. He follows where he is led, right into Connor’s personal space. The heat of him is overwhelming, and the sight of his warm eyes up close is almost always enough to make Becker melt. He still doesn’t quite know what to make of all of this, how to handle it; Connor knocks him off balance so easily.“You’re cute when you’re worried,” Connor says, tilting his head back slightly in order to look up at Becker. “Especially when there’s nothing to be worried about. You think this is the worst I’ve ever had?”He knows for a fact that it isn’t. He knows equally well that Connor is bound to take a far worse injury at some point in the future: it seems unlikely that either one of them is going to make it to retirement age.So when Connor kisses him, lightly and playful, Becker has no option but to take what he can get, returning the kiss with restrained desperation. His arms curl around Connor to hold onto him tightly, closing every inch of space between them as if that might be all it would take to finally, finally keep him safe.

#bless this fandom and it’s ability to ship all the things
I don’t ship it myself, but boy is that cute! meenjoysmesomeoverprotectivebecker

Becker’s eyes linger on the cuts and scrapes on Connor’s face. Every single one is a sign of his own failure.

Becker knows the dangers of their work better than anyone else. He is the one that is paid to protect the others: him and his men are the soldiers, the first men on the ground to deal with emergencies. Theoretically, anyway. Somehow, Connor always seems to manage to get into harm’s way first. Connor and the others are like magnets for bad news and grumpy creatures. How is Becker supposed to protect anyone when they all insist on running head-first into trouble?

He reaches out to brush his thumb around the edge of the wound on Connor’s forehead, but Connor only grins and bats him away. “Stop fussing. I’m fine,” he insists, chuckling a little.

The graze on his head looks sore but shallow. It will heal over quickly enough, as will the lesser wounds that he’s managed to gather. It’s nothing but superficial.

That doesn’t help the knot of uncomfortable tension that has managed to settle in Becker’s chest.

As if he can sense that, Connor reaches out for him and places his hands on Becker’s hips. He hooks his fingers into Becker’s belt loops and then draws him forward, although Becker is far from capable of putting up any defence. He follows where he is led, right into Connor’s personal space. The heat of him is overwhelming, and the sight of his warm eyes up close is almost always enough to make Becker melt. He still doesn’t quite know what to make of all of this, how to handle it; Connor knocks him off balance so easily.

“You’re cute when you’re worried,” Connor says, tilting his head back slightly in order to look up at Becker. “Especially when there’s nothing to be worried about. You think this is the worst I’ve ever had?”

He knows for a fact that it isn’t. He knows equally well that Connor is bound to take a far worse injury at some point in the future: it seems unlikely that either one of them is going to make it to retirement age.

So when Connor kisses him, lightly and playful, Becker has no option but to take what he can get, returning the kiss with restrained desperation. His arms curl around Connor to hold onto him tightly, closing every inch of space between them as if that might be all it would take to finally, finally keep him safe.

#bless this fandom and it’s ability to ship all the things

I don’t ship it myself, but boy is that cute! ~~meenjoysmesomeoverprotectivebecker~~

(via captainlincolnlee)

Source: toestastegood-fic