fredbassett: (Athos)
[personal profile] fredbassett
Title : Cat in a Basket
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Hugo Speer/Tom Burke
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Hugo had a bad ankle. Tom is relentlessly cheerful.
A/N : 1) Ahem, *looks shifty*, I appear to have written Musketeers RPF. I believe this is my very first time writing RPF. Another taboo trampled into the dust, even if it did take me a long time to get around it it!. 2) In my defence, it was written for the very lovely [livejournal.com profile] evilmaniclaugh’s birthday. I hope you like it, my dear, and I hope you have a very lovely day!

Cast and crew piled out of the vehicles, all making a beeline for a small hotel in the middle of nowhere in the picturesque but decidedly damp Czech countryside.

They’d been up since 5am, and it had been one of those days where nothing had gone according to plan, so Hugo wasn’t surprised to see one of the location managers hovering outside with a nervous look on her face. But as long as the bloody place hadn’t run out of beer, whatever it was couldn’t be too bad.

He got out of the vehicle carefully, trying not to put too much weight on the ankle he’d twisted during one of the afternoon’s swordfights. It had just been one of those stupid things. His foot had slipped slightly and he’d lurched sideways. Nothing broken, but it had started to swell almost immediately. One of the first aiders had taken a look and wound a crepe bandage around his puffy ankle. He’d managed to get his foot back into a trainer, but not his boot. Fortunately, most of his scenes for the day were already done, so he’d been able to sit on the sidelines, staying out of the rain, keeping his ankle up and being brought hot coffee.

The drive to the hotel hadn’t been too much fun, though, and his ankle was throbbing quite badly now, but it was nothing that beer and some painkillers wouldn’t put right. He started to limp gingerly towards the hotel.

“Are you OK?” Tom asked.

“Hurts like fuck,” he admitted.

Tom adjusted his pace to Hugo’s despite the rain that was still streaming down out of a leaden sky. By the time they got into reception, nearly everyone had grabbed room keys and disappeared in search of hot showers and dry clothes. The interior of the hotel was all wood-panelling and warm lighting, with a huge log fire blasting out heat at one end of the bar, opposite the reception desk.

The young location manager was hopping from one foot to the other, a look of acute embarrassment on her face.

“What’s the problem, Ginny?” Tom asked.

“I got the number of rooms we needed wrong,” she admitted. “I’m really sorry, but a few people are going to have to share.”

“And we’re last in,” Tom said with a grin. “What do we get, bunk beds in the attic?”

“It’s a nice room,” Ginny said, still sounding apologetic.

Tom rolled his eyes good-naturedly and held his hand out for the room key. “I presume that means we’ve got stuck with the double bed. If you snore, Speer, I’m kicking you onto the floor.”

“Says the man who snored all the way back here!”

“At least I don’t drool…”

They were still bickering like a couple of kids by the time he managed to limp up the stairs and along the corridor. A glassy-eyed stag’s head stared disapprovingly at them from one of the walls.

Tom turned the key in the lock and ushered him into the room. As expected, an impressive king-sized bed dominated a large room. A log fire burnt brightly in the hearth. A kettle and a tray of tea and coffee-making stuff sat on a dark wood table in one corner, and there was even a chaise longue and a sofa on either side of the fire. The décor was mainly red and gold, but thankfully there were no stuffed animal heads on any of the walls.

“Could be worse!” Tom said cheerfully. “Come on. You need a hot shower, you’re starting to shiver.”

“You’ll make someone a lovely mother.” Hugo sat down heavily on a chaise longue and bent down to wrestle with the laces on his soggy trainers. Tom was right, he was fucking cold. An hour’s drive in damp clothes hadn’t done him much good and he was feeling pretty crappy.

Tom batted his hands away and made short work of the laces, setting the trainers down underneath one of the radiators. “I draw the line at your socks,” he remarked. “Tea?”

Hugo shook his head. “I’ll have a shower and then investigate the mini-bar. If they’ve got any scotch, I’ll make a hot toddy.”

“Have I ever told you I make the best hot toddies in the world?”

Hugo grinned and played along with him. “What’s the secret?”

“A fuck-ton of whisky with added honey and lemon. I’ll go and bat my eyelashes at someone in the kitchen and see what I can come up with.” Tom stared down at him, an amused expression in his green eyes. “You look like shit, Speer.”

“I look manly and rugged, Burke.”

“In your dreams, sweetheart.” Tom draped his damp jacket on the back of a chair and moved it over to the radiator. “You get in the shower, I’ll see where the bags have got to and rustle up some hot drinks.”

Hugo gave up the unequal struggle. When Tom was in one of his relentlessly cheerful moods, the safest course of action was just to capitulate. He pulled his socks off and unwound the damp bandage from his ankle. The skin underneath was taut with swelling and discoloured on one side. An experimental poke with a finger brought an involuntary hiss of indrawn breath to his lips. It would need strapping up again as soon as he’d finished in the shower.

The bathroom was almost as palatial as the bedroom, with large marble tiles on the floor, fluffy white towels hanging from gleaming gilt, heated rails, a positively enormous bath against one wall, and a roomy shower in the opposite corner. Hugo hung his damp clothes up in the wardrobe and left the door open in the hope they’d dry out in the warmth of the room. His ankle was aching abominably and standing in a shower didn’t hold much appeal, so he started running himself a bath instead. The water pressure came a close second to the geyser in Yellowstone Park for ferocity, and in a matter of minutes, he was reclining like Cleopatra in a hot, steaming bath.

The warm water enveloped him and started to drive the chill out of his body. Hugo stretched out, his shoulders under water and his bad ankle propped up the lip of the bath. He closed his eyes and let the warmth seep into him.

A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of a pleasant doze.

“Are you decent?”

“No, I’m stark bollock naked, you prat.”

“Just checking you weren’t having a wank.” Tom stuck his head around the door. “Do you want your hot toddy in there or out here?”

“In here sounds good.”

Tom came in and put a mug down on the small table next to the bath. “That’ll put hairs on your chest.” He fished a foil packet out of a pocket, popped out two tablets and set then down next to the mug. “Got you some painkillers. Have those now and then you can have a couple more before you go to sleep.”

Hugo manoeuvred himself upright and picked up the mug. He took a sip and grinned up at Tom. “You weren’t bullshitting, were you?”

“Nope. I definitely make the best hot toddies in the world. None of that poncy crap with cloves, that’s just plain wrong. Like putting lemon in tea. Lemon goes in hot whisky, gin or cake.”

There was something faintly surreal about being naked in a bath discussing tea with one of his colleagues, but anyone who knew Tom Burke knew he took his tea seriously, and woe betide the person who took him on location without making sure that he was kept well supplied with his favourite beverage. Milk, no sugar, and very definitely no lemon. And if you knew Tom, you also knew that the whole naked thing wasn’t much of an issue, either. He’d been without clothes in front of the camera more than most, and found the concept of wearing a cock-sock even more ridiculous than just stripping off and letting it all hang out. That made him an entirely uninhibited roommate, as Hugo had discovered the few times they’d had to share.

Tom perched on the lid of the toilet and put his feet up on the side of the bath. “Can you hobble downstairs for food, or shall I just wait on you hand, foot and finger, Your Lordship?”

Until then, Hugo had been fully intending to get dressed after his bath and join the others for dinner, but the idea of a quiet evening in his battered old dressing gown in front of the fire held an undeniable appeal.

“What’s on offer?”

“Steak, veal, chicken, half a dead pig. The usual sort of stuff.”

Hugo took another mouthful of hot whisky. He was definitely starting to feel more like a human being. “I could murder chicken and chips.”

Tom grinned. “You’re a cheap date, Speer. OK, cat-in-a-basket it is. I’ll go and chat to my mate in the kitchen again. Anything else?”

“Another one of these would be good.” He nodded at the mug of whisky. Another one would probably lay him out cold, but that was another matter entirely.

“Your wish is my command. Now drink that before it goes cold.”

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, Tom wandered off, leaving Hugo to finish the mug of whisky and contemplate levering himself out of the bath. The latter proved to be somewhat easier said than done. Despite having been elevated, his ankle was still throbbing like buggery and didn’t enjoy taking his weight one little bit. He managed to sit on the edge of the bath and towel himself mostly dry, then with the towel wrapped around his waist in case anyone other than Tom wandered in, he limped back into the bedroom and wound the crepe bandage back around his ankle. The support helped, and he was able to rummage in his case for his dressing gown and a pair of equally battered slippers.

He chucked a log on the fire and settled down on the chaise longue with his ankle up. He hoped the stupid injury wouldn’t have him out of action for long. Time was money on location shoots – on any shoot, for that matter – and they were on a pretty tight timescale as it was. Fortunately, he’d always tended to heal quickly, and he had fewer scenes the following day and then was on a break for the next two days so provided he was sensible tonight and rested his ankle, it would probably hold up.

A thump on the door and a yell of “It’s me!” announced Tom’s return.

“Come in!” Hugo yelled unhelpfully.

Tom manoeuvred his way into the room carrying a tray that seemed wholly devoted to booze. There was another mug of steaming hot whisky, two litre glasses of beer and a bottle of red wine. A packet of frozen peas nestled incongruously in the middle of the drinks.

“Jesus, Burke, are you thinking of throwing a party?”

“Stick that on your ankle,” Tom said, chucking the packet of peas at him. “David says it’ll help bring the swelling down.”

David was Tom’s stunt double, and the man certainly knew how to take a hard knock and get back up again, grinning like a lunatic at the same time. Hugo was quite happy to take his advice. He unwound the bandage, settled the cold packet on his swollen ankle and wound the bandage back to hold it in place.

“You look a right twat,” Tom told him, handing over the whisky.

“I told you before, I look manly and rugged.”

“Saying it again won’t make it true, mate.”

“All right. I look like a manly and rugged right twat. Better?”

“More accurate.”

Tom set the beer down on a coffee table, put it in easy reach, then plonked himself down the other sofa next to the fire and stretched out, looking comfortable and relaxed.

The combination of the cold peas on his ankle and the hot whisky warming his stomach was a good one. The beer chaser didn’t go amiss, either.

One of the good things about sharing a room with Tom was that he didn’t always rush to fill a silence, unlike Luka. Sharing a room with that lad was rather like being confined in a small space with a hyperactive toddler. Sharing with Santi meant listening to his long, lovey-dovey conversations with his wife and sharing with Howie put him at risk of ending up on Instagram. Hugo didn’t entirely see the point of social media and, fortunately, neither did Tom.

The meal, when it came, was hot and delicious and seemed to consist of half a roast chicken covered with an enormous pile of thick-cut chips, golden brown on the outside and fluffy on the inside. The pair of them threw good manners to the four winds and attacked the food with their fingers and teeth, eating in companionable silence until the last chip had been devoured and the last bone was picked clean.

“I’ll never eat again,” he declared, as Tom relieved him of the tray.

“No pudding?”

“Burke, not even you could eat a pudding after stuffing your face with that lot.”

Tom grinned. “Bets?”

Hugo groaned. It was never sensible to bet against Tom. Not where food was concerned, anyway. The man had hollow legs.

Tom loaded the trays with the empty plates and Hugo’s whisky mugs and wandered back down to the kitchen. Probably in search of more food.

He was back ten minutes later, carrying an enormous bowl and a long spoon.

“Chocolate cake and cream.” He waved the spoon in Hugo’s direction. “I got a big portion in case you changed your mind.”

Hugo’s resolve lasted as long as it took Tom to spoon four mouthfuls of a delicious-looking chocolate dessert into his own mouth, looking for all the world like he was about to come any second. Tom’s love of chocolate had reached legendary proportions on the set and the directors knew that if they ever needed to coax him back into a good mood if things weren’t going well all they had to do was to ply him with chocolate.

“You want some, don’t you?”

“You didn’t bring two spoons.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “No communicable diseases that I’m aware of, Speer.” He brought his prize over to the chaise longue. “Budge up.” Hugo reached for the bowl but Tom held it out of reach. “Keep your paws to yourself. I don’t trust you that much.” He dipped the spoon into the chocolate and held it out.

Hugo leaned forwards and took the spoon in his mouth, feeling slightly self-conscious, but hell, the chocolate was good. It tasted like it had been liberally laced with brandy and contrived to be both light and sinfully delicious. The cream was ivory white, thick and tasty.

It was starting to get somewhat difficult to keep his mind focussed on just the food.

Tom made himself comfortable on the chaise longue and proceeded to share the rest of the dessert on the equitable basis of one spoonful for himself, one for Hugo. As far as Hugo could remember, the last person to have spoon-fed him was his mother, and he’d probably been in a high chair at the time. Being fed chocolate and cream by Tom was something entirely different. Tom’s enjoyment was infectious and Hugo found himself relaxing into the experience, letting Tom reach out with his left hand and swipe a smudge of chocolate away from the corner of Hugo’s mouth. They were soon pressed together, grinning like a pair of kids as Tom then ran his finger around the inside of the bowl, scooping up what was left of the chocolate and cream.

He held his finger out to Hugo, who promptly tossed caution out of the window and took the tip of Tom’s finger between his lips and sucked gently on it.

Tom closed his eyes and let out a filthy groan.

Hugo grinned. “Cut your teeth on porno films did you, Burke? I must have missed that bit on your IMDB listing.”

Mischief sparkled in Tom’s green eyes. He held the bowl out to Hugo. “Your turn.”

“You’re only letting me near the bowl now there’s nothing left.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “There’s at least two finger licks left, you daft bugger.”

Hugo took the bowl and scraped his finger around the inside and held it out.

Tom took the tip of Hugo’s finger in his mouth and ran his tongue lightly around it. The sensation jumped straight from Hugo’s fingertip to the tip of his cock, as though someone had attached an invisible string between the two and was now starting to tug on it. As Tom suckled his finger like a kitten on a teat, Hugo felt his cock start to harden. Doing his best to ignore a potentially inconvenient and embarrassing erection, he swiped his finger across the bowl again and held it out to Tom.

This time, Tom licked it delicately, his tongue flickering out between his lips and delicately touching Hugo’s finger before closing his lips around it and gently sliding his mouth down to rest his lips against Hugo’s clenched knuckles.

Jesus H Christ, it was digital sex, and the bastard knew exactly what effect it was having on him. Tom looked at him under those ridiculously dark eyelashes that were the envy of every woman – and several of the men – on the set and continued to perform oral sex on Hugo’s index finger.

Hugo leaned back on the cushions and managed to deposit the bowl on the floor before he dropped it. Tom sucking his finger was quite probably the single most erotic moment he’d ever shared with anyone, and his cock agreed. There was no point in attempting to hide it, not with Tom that fucking close. If he was mistaken about where this was leading, he’d happily apologise, but he didn’t think he was misinterpreting the looks he was getting from Tom.

A warm hand settled on his thigh. When Hugo didn’t object, Tom slid his hand under the edge of Hugo’s dressing-gown and lightly slid his fingers along skin that had suddenly become hyper-aware.

Hugo closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of Tom’s hand on his naked skin. It felt even better when Tom settled his fingers on Hugo’s cock and started to lightly stroke up and down.

“Do you need any more frozen peas on your ankle?” Tom asked.

Hugo’s eyes shot open.

Tom was longing there, Hugo’s hard cock in his hand, enquiring about the state of his ankle.

“Jesus, Burke, are you trying to break the mood?”

Tom leaned down and teased at Hugo’s slit with his longue, lapping at the translucent bead of come. “No, but I’ll get you some more peas if you need them”

Hugo ran his fingers through Tom’s silky hair, something he’d wanted to do for years. “My ankle’s fine, you great lummox. As long as I keep it up and don’t try to tap-dance, it’ll be fine.”

“No tap-dancing in tomorrow’s shooting schedule. Unless Adrian’s planning a surprise he hasn’t told us about…”

Seemingly satisfied on the subject of Hugo’s ankle, Tom turned his attention back to his dick. One of the things that made Tom Burke such a fucking good actor was the way he could turn the full force of his attention of someone, cutting out everything else, even the background chaos of a busy film set or location shoot, and he was now focussing that same attention on Hugo. Or rather on Hugo’s cock.

Tom ran a gentle finger up the shaft, tugging Hugo’s foreskin back to fully expose the head. Hugo was torn between the desire to just close his eyes and enjoy the sensation and the urge to watch Tom going down on him. The latter won. Hugo had wanked off a few times to fantasies of Tom sucking his cock, but the reality was far, far better than anything he’d imagined.

A moment later, Tom sat up. “Sorry, breaking my neck a bit at that angle.” He slid off the chaise longue and knelt on the rug before taking up where he’d left off, his lips stretched wide around Hugo’s cock. Hugo carried on playing with Tom’s thick dark hair, wondering at what point his erotic dream was going to come to an abrupt end.

One long-fingered hand was still working up and down his cock which Tom sucked enthusiastically, stopping occasionally to swirl his tongue around the head. The other hand slid up his thigh and his questing fingers found Hugo’s balls.

Hugo gasped and bit down on his lower lips. His balls were absurdly sensitive, as Tom was about to find out. The combined sensation Tom’s mouth and fingers were evoking was almost too much, but Tom unerringly kept everything just on the right side of that particular divide, the slight scrape of teeth only serving to accentuate the rapidly-rising tide of pleasure.

With his fingers tightening on Tom’ hair, Hugo said shakily, “In the interests of full disclosure, Burke, I have to warn you that I’m just about to come…”

Tom looked up at his, his green eyes warm and amused. “Go for it, I’ve wanted to watch you come for ages.” His fingers tightened around Hugo’s cock, sliding up and down faster now. Hugo could start to feel his climax coiling in his guts as his balls tightened and the heat was rushing through him as Tom’s talented fingers and tongue dragged him over the edge and milked his come from him in an arc to land on his stomach.

With the same degree of enthusiasm he’d shown for the chocolate cake and cream, Tom promptly proceeded to lap at the mess on Hugo’s stomach. When there was nothing left to clean up, Tom sat back on his heels, a satisfied look on his face.

Hugo laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re a daft bugger, Burke. Have I ever told you that?”

“Frequently.” Tom leaned forward and pressed a light, almost hesitant kiss on Hugo’s mouth, as if the act of kissing was somehow more intimate that sucking someone’s cock. Hugo opened his mouth and drew Tom into a deeper kiss, tasting a mixture of chocolate and his own come on Tom’s tongue. The kiss didn’t stay hesitant for long. When they finally drew apart, they were both as breathless as two teenagers snogging for the first time. It wasn’t the most sophisticated kiss Hugo had ever experienced, but it was certainly the most satisfying.

Hugo pulled Tom into his arms and somehow, they both managed to stretch out on the chaise longue without falling off. With some difficulty, Hugo manoeuvred Tom’s flies down and insinuated a hand past the zip to free Tom’s cock from his underwear. Hugo enjoyed the silken feel of Tom’s skin and the small whines of pleasure he found he could draw out quite easily. Tom’s cock was hot and hard against Hugo’s stomach, moisture already beading at the tip, which Hugo used to slick the movement of his hand. Tom was clearly already close to the edge and Hugo knew it wouldn’t take much to tip him over. Much as he wanted to prolong Tom’s pleasure, there was the not inconsiderable danger of his companion falling onto his arse on the floor to be considered, so on this occasion, Hugo decided to go for speed rather than finesse.

A few moments, later, Tom’s hips bucked and he groaned filthily into the crook of Hugo’s neck.

Hugo had always suspected Tom of being a cuddler, and that was soon proved true as he found himself with the human equivalent of a friendly octopus wrapped around him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Tom’s head. “How about you get naked and we transfer to the bed?”

Tom looked up at him, pupils so wide that only a faint rim of green surrounded them, “Sounds good, but lose the peas, mate.”

Hugo grinned. “Just remember to stick them in the bin, not back in the freezer.”

“Waste of food,” Tom grumbled, extricating himself from the tangle of limbs on the chaise longe.

He carefully unwound the bandage holding the peas in place, dropped them into the dessert bowl and then gently rewound the damp crepe.

“Don’t say I never do anything for you, Speer.”

Hugo grinned up at him. He was beginning to hope that this wasn’t just a one off, and the look of fond amusement on Tom’s face told him that his luck was almost certainly in.
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