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It was the perfect arrangement; Matt was under orders and Becker had lost too much. Both of them had sworn off attachment. Their reasons weren’t perfect, but no argument they could raise made them want to stop. So when Becker tapped Matt on the arm and told him to meet him in the armoury in a half an hour, or Matt called Becker into his lab and the door slipped shut behind him, they thought nothing of it.
They would corner one another in empty corridors, out of view of the CCTV and ease their pain of loneliness by losing themselves in primal bliss: lips, teeth and hands clashing, pulling, fighting to get away, fighting to get closer. Sudden noises would startle them apart and they would straighten their clothes and rejoin the normal routine, aching for the next time they could slip away and keep the darkness at bay with frantic touches and hungry kisses.
What neither of them expected was that each time it was getting harder and harder to let go.
They told themselves it would pass, that it was nothing, and Becker would ignore the little voice screaming in the back of his mind and focus on the heat and the friction of their bodies as they collided again and again, his fingers clawing at Matt’s hair until he collapsed, sweaty and shivering, breathing raggedly into his lover’s neck, his lips ghosting over the pulse thundering just beneath the skin. It was nothing, and the fact that he needed this so much he dreamt about it when he wasn’t here didn’t mean a thing.
They told themselves it was just an agreement; they had agreed on no strings, and Matt repeated this to himself over and over as Becker moved in him just the right way, making his spine arch with pleasure, intense enough to tear moan after moan from his throat. This is nothing, he would swear as he came with Becker’s name on his lips, and then miss the heat as he moved away, feeling more than physical emptiness when Becker left him. It was nothing, and the fact that he woke in the morning expecting to find Becker beside him didn’t mean a thing.
(It also meant that it didn’t hurt when he didn’t find him there. And he didn’t have to remind himself that it was his fault for striking the deal in the first place because he wasn’t getting attached and he didn’t need the reminder.)
It meant that it didn’t mean anything when they ended it, after a long day and a close call that ended with Becker bleeding out from beneath Matt’s fingers and Matt feeling the reality settle in that this was real and the fear of that loss scared him more than letting Becker go.
It didn’t mean anything when five days later Becker showed up unannounced at his flat with rage in his eyes and hardly gave Matt a chance to open the door before he was pinned to the wall with Becker’s lips on his, hands reaching for his belt and they were so close before a quiet feminine cough from within the flat reminded Becker why he was angry and he left Matt aroused and wanting with a bitter taste on his tongue.
It didn’t mean anything when Matt cornered him in the car on the way home from an anomaly and kissed him, hard and demanding as he channeled his confusion into something he could understand.
And he kept telling himself that it didn’t mean anything when Becker threaded his fingers into his jacket and kissed him back, even though it left him breathless and more than needy, especially when Becker broke away and demanded with a smirk on his face, “Drive.”
(It didn’t mean anything that he knew exactly where to go.)
It didn’t mean anything that they’d ended up at Becker’s flat and hardly made it through the door before they stripped each other of clothing and Matt had Becker pinned and naked against the back of the sofa, too desperate to make it to the bedroom. It didn’t matter that they had sworn never to do this again because by the time the thought hit them they were far too gone to care.
What mattered, Matt would tell himself later, as he lay beside Becker, spent and satisfied and tracing lazy circles over lightly tanned skin, was that he hadn’t broken his vow or his agreement, because he wasn’t attached, despite the way his heart stirred with a warmth he hadn’t known for years as Becker murmured Matt’s name in his sleep.
What mattered, Becker would swear later, when he woke in the morning to find Matt tucked against his side, one of his arms wrapped casually around his waist, was that he wouldn’t get hurt again, because he hadn’t allowed anyone in, despite the warmth in his eyes as he drank in the peaceful form of the sleeping man beside him and thought of what they’d have for breakfast in the morning.