Title: Downtime Redux
Fandom: Jurassic World
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~2000 words
Notes: Owen/Barry, set pre-movie. A PWP sequel to Downtime. Thanks to mergatrude for beta. <3
Summary: Shameless PWP.

Downtime Redux

On Friday, Owen and Barry are in the restricted raptor-handling area, working to acclimate the girls to human touch. Blue is wild-eyed and straining against the metal harness, furious at having her head restrained. Owen pauses with his hand on her neck, and says casually, "Hey, you want to come back to my trailer after work?"

"Sounds good," says Barry, without looking away from Charlie and her flaring nostrils.

Barry's matter-of-fact as always, but Owen's pretty sure they're finally going to fuck. It's been a few days since they've been doing stuff, and it's been good—quick, heated encounters in the office or the storage shed, where they make out and jerk each other off or rub together till they both come or, one time, Barry dropped to his knees and blew him—but Owen's ready for more. He wants to get properly naked and horizontal, stretch out and take his time. Enough with the stolen-moments adolescent bullshit.

Four hours. In four hours, they'll be alone together. He licks his lips, and Blue snorts, relaxing slightly, as if she's laughing at him.


*


Owen's trailer has never felt so small and crowded. The two of them stand in the tiny gap next to the kitchenette, and Owen flips on the A/C and says, "Beer?"

"Maybe later." Barry reaches for him.

Owen goes from feeling like a trapped raptor to a dude with a hard-on in about a second and a half. His shirt is sticking to his back, and he starts to pull it off, lets Barry finish the job, negotiate around the limitations of the low ceiling. Lets Barry put his big hands on him, his hot mouth sucking the corner of his jaw, licking down his neck. Teeth closing lightly on his shoulder, hands curled around his hipbones. Owen gasps and jerks forward helplessly. "Okay," he says. "We're definitely doing this. Only—"

Only he wants to top, and it's not about being alpha. It's about experience. He doesn't have any. And he wants this fast, now, and he's pretty sure if Barry fucks him, it's going to take hours, seeing as how Barry is infinitely patient and methodical, and not suffering under the same burning curiosity and need that's chewing up Owen's insides.

"Definitely. Come on." Barry shoves Owen toward the bed, not stopping to discuss who's doing who, and Owen yanks back the rumpled blanket, relieved the sheets are reasonably clean. He didn't think this through enough to plan it properly, and even if he had, it's not like it's a date. There's a line between clean sheets and dirty washing shoved out of sight, on the one hand, and the kind of candles-and-sappy-music scenario Owen sometimes pulls with girls, on the other. This is Barry, and they're firmly on the clean sheets side of the line. Sappy music would be weird.

Barry begins to strip, maybe not so patient after all, and Owen copies him, bravado and desire carrying him along, making him careless. They've already got each other off half a dozen times. How different can this be? But they're naked, and they're properly alone, and it is different. Owen's breath keeps catching in his throat. So he kisses Barry, and that helps, gives somewhere for the nervous energy to go, and sweet fuck, Barry's naked body is pressed right up against his, hot and a little sweaty, his arms sliding around Owen pulling him even closer. Their cocks caught between them, both of them hard, Barry's hips hitching up. Not patient at all.

It's Owen's turn to shove. He sends Barry sprawling onto the bed, on his back, and crawls up over him, running his hand over the smooth dark skin, the defined abs, the scar by his nipple. You're super-hot, he thinks, but it's Barry, so he doesn't say it.

Barry's panting now, but he swallows and manages to say, pretty calmly, "You know, I heard a rumor the park is going to have to close. Too expensive. Not enough funding."

They smirk at each other. There are always rumors flying. A few months ago, someone ran off "The End of the World is Nigh" t-shirts, with "World" in the official park font, and sold them around the place until Claire put a stop to it.

Owen banishes Claire from his mind, grabs the condoms and lube from the windowsill and holds them up like a question. In answer, Barry grins, snakes a hand around his neck and drags him down into a kiss, his lips and tongue welcoming and unafraid. "Start with a finger, then two and three," he says. "It's been a while."

Either he's picked up on Owen's desire to top, or he just wants to take it. Either way is a turn-on. Everything about this is a turn-on.

Owen clears his throat. "Got it. Roll over."

While Barry turns over and arranges himself in the narrow space, Owen tears the plastic wrapping from the lube and condom packets—he bought them yesterday, deliberately not dwelling on the implications, refusing to psych himself out—and lubes up his fingers. Rubs across Barry's asshole. Anyone else would tense up at that, but Barry sighs and stretches, and if anything, he melts a little. "That's good. You know, it might not be a bad thing if the park were to close. It sends a bad message."

"That dinosaurs are cool?" Owen slides a cautious finger in, and it's tight and hot, and he can't wait to get his cock in there, but he's determined to get this right. He pushes in a couple of times, then adds another finger.

"That we can be careless, and science will fix our mistakes." Barry sounds hoarse, distracted, but they've had this conversation before. He can probably recite his philosophical objections to the park in his sleep.

Owen doesn't know about moral hazards and ecological free passes. He just knows he's loved dinosaurs his whole life, finally has his impossible dream job, and without de-extinction, none of them would be here, not Blue, Charlie, Delta and Echo, and not him and Barry. They wouldn't be here here. He bends forward and kisses Barry's ass, bites at it. Barry shivers.

"You don't believe in second chances?" Owen says, teasing. He adds a third finger. It slides in easily, and everything about Barry's body shows he's ready, he wants Owen to fuck him as much as Owen does. Owen nudges his legs apart, condoms up and gets into position.

"I believe in taking responsibility," says Barry. He lets out a rush of air as Owen enters him, sliding inside in a smooth, fantastic motion that sets Owen's pulse pounding. They both take a moment to settle, to breathe. "I believe in consequences," Barry adds, faintly.

Owen holds himself over him, admiring his strong back, the brutal knife scar on his shoulder blade, the jagged gash low on his narrow waist. Both are old scars, part of his body. A swell of affection flows through Owen, connection. He has his own share of scars, old and new. He pulls out and thrusts in, and it's fucking amazing.

"I believe in you," he says, and that's borderline incoherent, but he's going a little crazy here. They haven't talked about feelings, this has been friends with benefits the whole way up till now, but Barry is his partner in everything else, and even lying here, seemingly passive, they're partners in this too. Owen starts rocking in, he can't help himself, and Barry pushes back in the same rhythm, amping everything up to eleven, and Owen hardly knows himself anymore. "Fuck, that's so—so good. Wait, turn over again."

He pulls out, and Barry rolls onto his side, swinging his leg high in the air to get it past Owen, then skooches over and swings the other leg back. Lies spread out before Owen, gazing up at him, one eyebrow raised.

"We can do it like this, right?" Owen waits for the nod, the go-ahead, then kneels down and pulls Barry's ass into his lap, hooks Barry's legs over his arms. It takes a few tries, but he finds his way back in, and this is better, much better, now he can see Barry's face, the pleasure washing across it in waves, his eyelids drifting shut, and the small crease between his eyebrows. Owen can't reach to kiss him from here, but it's still a damn good view. It's also more effort, driving into Barry's weight, but Owen's never minded hard work in a good cause, and this is the best of causes. He drives in deeper, relishing Barry's bilingual swearing even if he doesn't understand half of it, and they're both slippery with sweat, and Owen's thighs are pretty much on fire, but he doesn't care at all. Barry's ass is tight and perfect, and he could do this forever.

It's almost a letdown when the tension rises up in him, inexorable and primal, but then he comes hard, groaning and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, his toes clenching, his whole body singing with it, and there's no letdown there, just a fucking revelation.

Barry's still hard, and Owen pulls out and throws caution to the wind. Basically pounces on Barry's cock and sucks it. No point freaking out now, right? No point holding back. He wraps his hand around the base and sucks and licks, slides his fingers back into Barry's ass, and about ten seconds later, Barry growls out a warning, and then he's pulsing in Owen's mouth, spilling, salty and strong-tasting, and it's one of the sexiest moments of Owen's life to date.

He gets rid of the condom and collapses onto the tiny strip of bed between Barry and the window. Well, mostly onto Barry. "Whoa," he says. "Man, I can't believe no one ever told me how hot gay sex is."

Barry snickers and kisses him, long and deep and slow. "You should try it from the other side," he murmurs. "You'd like it. Of course, you'd have to give up control—"

"I can do that." Owen cracks a gigantic yawn. "Later."

"Yeah. Later." Barry slips out from under him, wipes up with Owen's discarded t-shirt and goes to the fridge, while Owen sprawls on the bed and admires his ass. Been there, done that, he thinks, smugly. Definitely doing it again. It should be more complicated than it is. It's not complicated at all.

Then Barry comes back with a couple of beers, and Owen forces himself to sit up and attain some level of coherence. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, squashed onto the bed. Barry taps his beer can against Owen's and drinks. "If the park ever did close, where would you go?"

"With Blue and the girls, wherever they end up." Owen doesn't have to think about it. He's the alpha; the raptors are his responsibility. "Maybe one of the big zoos, if they can build a secure enough enclosure—Toronto, South Africa, Beijing—or maybe a sanctuary."

Barry nods. He looks relaxed and comfortable, the calm at the center of everything that matters. Owen can't imagine losing the girls, but he can't lose Barry either. Not now he sees how great they are together. He reaches to the other end of the windowsill and flicks on the radio, a Costa Rican station that plays endless Latin music. It's a little bit sappy. That's okay.

Then he elbows Barry. "We'll stick together, all of us."

Barry's smile is like the sun coming out. He rests his beer can on his knee and twists to meet Owen's mouth. "We'll stick together."


END