fredbassett | Fic, Eyes That Fire and Sword Have Seen, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Eyes That Fire and Sword Have Seen
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Lester/Lyle, Ralph Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Sequel to I'll Take The Low Road, in which Lyle returns from three months away. Lester uses Lyle’s own methods of therapy to good effect.
A/N : 1) Written as a birthday present for my two wonderful friends

knitekat and

cupidandpsycho. Sorry it’s late, guys! Thanks to

lukadreaming for the emergency beta. 2) The title comes from the poem The Road Goes Ever On and On in The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. This poem also appears in the fic, Streams That Never Find the Sea, in which the boys are exploring the same cave.

James Lester stood up, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. Three nights sleeping on the sofa in his own flat had taken their toll, but it was obvious that Lyle hadn’t yet reached the stage of wanting any physical contact.

He knew from the brief conversations he’d had with Ryan that Lyle had passed the medicals and was deemed physically, and even mentally, fit to return to work. However, he also knew that the lieutenant had been told, in no uncertain terms, by both his commanding officer and the unit medic that he was taking some leave, whether he wanted to or not. As a result, Lester had concluded that neither Ryan nor Ditzy was as easily fooled as the assembled doctors and shrinks in Hereford, or wherever the hell those people hung out.

A noise from the kitchen told him that Lyle was already up. Lester grabbed a dressing-gown off the back of the sofa and wandered in to join him, making sure he telegraphed enough warnings of his impending presence.

Lyle was bent over, rooting around in the fridge, dressed in a tee shirt and a pair of ancient running shorts, clearly still uncomfortable with his own nakedness, although he had stopped attempting to cover the barely-healed scars on his forearms.

The soldier turned round and forced a tired smile. It was clear to Lester he was still sleeping badly.

“Coffee and a bacon bap?”

“You’re an angel in human form,” acknowledged Lester. “I have a nasty feeling that the House of Commons has started to economise on the quality of its wine.”

Lyle’s answering smile slid into something approximating one of his trademark grins. “Either that or you drank too much of it last night.”

Lester winced delicately. There was some truth in that statement. It had been one of those functions he would have preferred to have avoided, but the anomaly project wouldn’t last forever, and he needed to keep up with his contacts. And even if the current plague of dinosaurs didn’t end any time soon, you never knew when you’d need a favour in this business, and connections were all-important.

He pulled one of the chairs out from the kitchen table and settled down to watch Lyle cooking breakfast. The coffee was strong, brewed just the way he liked it in the mornings. The bacon was fried - Lyle swore that grilling ruined it, refusing to subject a dead pig to such indignities – and plentiful. Even Sir James Lester had to acknowledge that there was nothing like fried food for taking the edge off a hangover. Two large mugs of coffee and two bacon baps later, he was starting to feel more human, even though he did still have a crick in his neck.

“Are you working from home today?” queried Lyle, glancing at the kitchen clock.

Lester shook his head. “Day off. I’m ducking a meeting with the contractors at 11, but nothing else was scheduled, so bugger it. It’s Claudia’s turn to deal with Cutter and his ever-increasing demands. The man thinks this country is made of money.”
“So when’s this new HQ going to be open?”

“Another month, if the contractors are to be believed. Another two or three, by Claudia’s reckoning, and I’m more inclined to believe her than I am them.”

“Hope you’ve got some decent penalty clauses in the contract.”

Lester sighed, and poured himself another mug of coffee. “Procurement couldn’t find their arses with both hands and a searchlight, so I very much doubt there’s any such thing as penalties written into the copious small-print. But the lovely Miss Brown is remarkably good at cajoling and threatening, and the same contractors have got their eye on some more work the MOD is putting out to tender for Abbeywood, so they’re somewhat more malleable than usual on the subject of deadlines.”

“Hope the rec room facilities are good,” said Lyle, clearly trying to muster some enthusiasm for the new project. “Swimming pool?”

“We have a very large holding tank in case we get stuck with marine visitors. Cutter and Maitland were most insistent on its inclusion. I am reliably informed that your lot have already got their eyes on it when it’s not in use for its intended purpose. And before you ask, yes, there will be a firing range and a fitness room.”

Lyle’s eyebrows went up a notch and he let out an appreciative whistle. “How did you swing that lot?”

“Training facilities,” said Lester smoothly. “Can’t have you lot getting fat and lazy, Jon.”

“So what are we doing for a long weekend?” asked Lyle, doing his best to hide the flicker of apprehension in his hazel eyes.

Lester clamped down hard on the hurt that look engendered inside him. They could work through this, he knew they could, but it was still hard to experience the distance between them and not know how to bridge the gap before it turned into a chasm. “I thought we’d head off to the cottage this afternoon. Maybe get a caving trip in tomorrow.”

“You got anywhere in mind?” The apprehension gave way to interest, and Lester knew he’d made a good choice.

“Charterhouse. Ralph’s been roped into doing the geology for publication. He got as far as Portal Pool a month ago, but then it pissed down overnight and they couldn’t get back in to finish the job. I thought you could keep him company on a run to the end while I help Midge and Jack with the survey of the inlets.”

Lyle’s eyes lit up for the first time since his return. “So how far have the buggers got, while I’ve been out of circulation?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” said Lester, dryly. “Get dressed and I’ll find the latest survey.”
* * * * *

The traffic out of London was light for a Friday, and for once, the journey down the M4 was uneventful. A brief stop in Wootton Bassett saw them loaded up with enough food and drink for a small army, and then it was on to Drove Cottage, the Lester brothers’ stone-built house, nestling beside an isolated drove road in the heart of the Mendip Hills.

The car was soon unpacked and while Lyle was loading the fridge with beer, Lester picked up his bag and said, “I’ll take the guest room, Jon.”

Lyle froze for an instant, then shook his head. “I don’t want to bring my shit down here, James. I’ll be fine. I’ve spent enough time on my own.”

But the look in his eyes told a different story.

Lester opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it in the face of a distinctly mutinous look on the soldier’s face.

The sound of a car approaching down the drove put an end to any further debate on the subject. A silver Range Rover pulled onto the driveway, crunching onto the gravel, and disgorged Lester’s elder brother, grinning widely and lugging a large crate of beer.

“You told me to do the shopping,” observed Lester.

“Never could trust you to buy enough beer, even with Jon’s civilizing influence.” Ralph grinned and thrust the crate into Lester’s arms. “I’ll dump my kit in the garage and you can tell me what the hell I’ve been missing around here. I saw the latest survey – bloody amazing. The damn thing’s heading straight for Bone Hole. That’ll wind the fucking MCG up.”

“It already has,” commented Lyle, who’d spent an hour before they left London surfing the main caving forums on the internet for gossip. The soldier grabbed one of Ralph Lester’s bags out of the back of the vehicle and slung a tackle bag over his shoulder.

If Lester’s brother noticed the scars on Lyle’s arms, the geologist gave no sign of it. He simply traded grins with the younger man and promptly demanded to be brought up to speed on what he’d missed during the three weeks he’d spent down a Brazilian copper mine.

Two cold beers later, sitting in chairs outside, and soaking up the sun, it was obvious to Lester that Jon Lyle was finally starting to relax. Ralph was an undemanding companion, and the two men shared a mutual passion for anything and everything related to caves and mines. All Lester needed to do was interject the occasional comment or question, and apart from that, the pair of them would gossip happily for hours.

However, when Lyle went inside to fetch another round of drinks, Ralph scratched thoughtfully at his close-cropped beard, in which the first flecks of grey were starting to appear, and commented, “I presume we aren’t allowed to talk about whatever happened to Jon.”

Lester exhaled quietly, and shook his head. “No, we aren’t. All I know was that the op he was on turned to rat-shit. He came back with a load of scars, inside and out, and I haven’t been able to get near him since. I’m hoping you’re going to run the legs off him tomorrow so the awkward bugger gets a decent night’s sleep.”

Ralph laughed. “Midge will run the legs off the bloody lot of us. And I’m by no means certain I’m going to get past that blasted duck.” He tapped his chest with a rueful expression on his face. “This doesn’t compress the way it used to.”

“Ditzy got through and he’s bigger than you are,” remarked Lyle, reappearing through the garage with three more beers dangling from one hand and a large bag of peanuts in the other.

“He’s also ten years younger than me,” said Ralph. “You wait till you get to my age, kiddo, then you’ll know what I mean.”

For the first time since he’d walked back into Lester’s flat, Lyle smiled with his eyes, as well as his mouth. “Yeah, right, old man. Shall I fetch a wheelchair for the trip to the pub?”

“The pub,” declared Ralph, draining half of the bottle in one gulp. “Now you’re talking, soldier boy. I feel one of Roger’s faggot and peas calling to me. A faggot the size of an elephant’s turd, to be quite precise.”

Lester groaned. “I am not caving behind you tomorrow if you’ve spent the evening gorging yourself on faggot and peas.”

Ralph waved a hand airily. “You’ll still be struggling through the Narrows, dear boy. Now drink up. The inestimable Lieutenant Lyle mentioned the pub, and I have no desire to see his innocent little face pucker up with disappointment.”

* * * * *

Several hours – and an impossible amount of alcohol later – the two brothers and Lyle made their way back to the cottage, Ralph Lester and Jon Lyle still squabbling happily on the subject of who would be forced to go last through a particularly thin, tortuous stretch of passage the following day. Lester never ceased to be amazed by the capacity of cavers and soldiers alike to find fart conversations endlessly entertaining. It also amused him to think what his work colleagues would make of Sir James Lester lowering himself enough to join in.

Lester smiled into the darkness and found himself reaching out, without thinking, to brush the back of his hand against Lyle’s arm. As soon as he realised what he’d done, his heart sank, and he expected Lyle to immediately sidestep out of reach. Instead, the soldier turned to him and offered a shy half-smile, just visible in the moonlight. The touch was returned. It was fleeting, but it was progress, and Lester knew better than to push his luck too far.

“I’m going to bed,” declared Ralph. “We need an early start tomorrow, boys.”

“In which case why have you and Jon just drunk at least ten pints each?” queried Lester.

“And you have been abstaining, have you, little brother? Can’t say as I’d noticed.”

“I’ll have you know I stopped at five,” said Lester, archly.

“And went straight onto whisky,” Lyle pointed out, as he headed upstairs to the bedroom.

Ralph stared at his brother for a moment, concern registering clearly in the brown eyes. Not much got past Ralph’s sharp gaze. The geologist had done a good job of distracting Lyle from his worries tonight, for which Lester was grateful. The two men in his life got on well. Lester had been relieved when Ralph had finally met Lyle and had signified his approval of the soldier. The Lester brothers were close, even though they often went from one six months to the next without seeing each other, but it meant a lot to James to know that his choice of partner had Ralph’s blessing.

Coming out to his extremely straight brother had been one of the hardest steps James Lester had ever taken, but all Ralph had done was nod thoughtfully and ask if James was happier now. The answer had been yes, and that was as far as the discussion on his sex life had gone, but it had been enough. Ralph Lester was only two years older than his brother, but he had a protective streak a mile wide. And that compassion had grown to encompass the Special Forces lieutenant with whom Lester had chosen to share his life.

Ralph gave his brother a gentle pat on the shoulder and gestured up the stairs. “Don’t push him and he’ll be fine, Jim. He’s a survivor.”

Lester nodded, acknowledging the truth of his brother’s words, but he still had a hard knot of fear nestling in his stomach. He’d spent three months not knowing if his lover was alive or dead. Three interminable months. And three days and nights since his return when he had been unable to touch Jon had been almost as hard.

He made his way up the stairs and into the small en suite bathroom, careful not to look at Lyle who appeared to be shedding clothes with something approaching his usual abandon.

Five minutes later, he slipped under the duvet and turned out the bedside light.

Lyle muttered something unintelligible and turned over.

Lester led there in the darkness, listening to the quiet rise and fall of the soldier’s breathing. When he was finally convinced that Lyle really was asleep, he shifted onto his side and pressed a soft kiss between his lover’s shoulder blades, before following him into sleep, aided and abetted by several pints of beer and a quarter of a bottle of whisky.
* * * * *

James Lester watched his brother’s Wellington boots disappearing through the first of the many constrictions in the cave passage and started – not for the first time that morning – to regret the amount of alcohol he’d consumed the night before.

Eleven hours later, he was still of the same opinion, but the look of exhilaration on his lover’s face was enough to make up for the exhaustion, the bruises and the fact that he was chilled to the bloody bone. Midge Taylor, a diminutive female about his own age, who had been instrumental in forcing what was now Mendip’s deepest cave to give up its secrets, gave him a tired, and distinctly muddy, grin.

“He’ll sleep tonight,” she muttered, nodding in Lyle’s direction, where the soldier was still happily debating with Ralph which leads should be pushed next.

Lester grinned, and heaved himself out to the surface, feeling the wind on his face for the first time in a long, but satisfying day. “He won’t be the only one,” he said quietly, rolling onto his back and looking up at the clear evening sky.

His brother poked him in the ribs with an unsympathetic foot. “Come on, you’re missing valuable drinking time.”

“Leave me alone. I’m dead, if you hadn’t noticed.”

A hand reached down and started pulling him to his feet.

Lyle’s hand.

He felt the familiar gun calluses on the soldier’s fingers, and clung for a moment to the warm flesh, eyes closed, not wanting the moment to end.

He heard a familiar chuckle and found himself enveloped in a surprisingly unselfconscious hug. “Can we go to the pub, sweetie, pretty please?”

“Before I get to relax in a hot bath?” Lester’s muddy eyebrows practically made contact with an equally muddy hairline. “Are you some sort of sadist?”

The soldier slipped an arm round his waist. “Well you don’t want to have to cook, do you?”

“Stop it. Jon, you’re wheedling.”

“Successfully, by the look of it,” commented Ralph, picking up a tackle bag containing the surveying kit and slinging it over his shoulder, looking remarkably bright for someone who had just spent the best part of a day in what was now almost certainly the most strenuous cave under the Mendip Hills. “Come on, last one to finish getting changed gets the beers in.”

Less than half an hour later, they were propping up the bar in the Hunter’s Lodge Inn, eating steaming hot chilli con carne, accompanied by wedge-shaped slabs of fresh bread and butter, part way down their second pint, and doing their best to field questions from a bar full of cavers on the day’s activities.

Lester leaned against the wall, letting the warmth of the pub seep into his tired limbs, as the food brought heat back into his belly. A second pint followed the first, sliding down all too easily, even though he’d been vowing mid-morning never to touch alcohol again, as long as he lived.

Lyle met his eyes and gave a sympathetic grin, mouthing the words, ‘Do you want to go home?’ over Ralph’s shoulder.

Lester smiled and shook his head. Lyle was enjoying himself. That was enough for him. He could stay awake a while longer. A moment later, the ever-perceptive landlady slid a mug of coffee across the bar to him, liberally laced with brandy, which Lester accepted gratefully.

An hour later, Ralph was still going strong, but his brother was fading fast. Lester felt an arm loop casually around his waist, squeezing slightly, and Lyle muttered in his ear, “Home, James?”

With a nod to Ralph, the two men slipped quietly out of the crowded bar. Outside, the night was dark, thin clouds partially covering the pale, sickle moon. Lester shivered slightly in the sudden cold and pulled his jacket around him more tightly. His lover’s arm slid around him with the same easy familiarity that Lester had missed so much over the past three days, and stayed there.

They walked back to Drove Cottage in companionable silence. The outside light glowed dull yellow, warm and welcoming in the darkness. Lyle hesitated on the threshold, turning to Lester, uncertainty clearly written on a face still streaked with cave mud.

“Thanks for today.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lester, forcing his tone to stay light and teasing. “But if I don’t get tea and bacon butties in bed tomorrow morning, I may be forced to sulk.”

Lyle leaned forwards and placed a light kiss on Lester’s lips. “Take me to bed and hold me, James. Please?”

Lester linked his fingers with his lover’s, and towed him gently into the darkened cottage. “Bed sounds like a good idea. I’ll even forgo the shower for once.”

Lyle’s smile flashed white teeth in the gloom. “How about I volunteer to change the sheets tomorrow?”

“Who are you, and what have you done with the real Jon Lyle?”

A hand reached out and brushed Lester’s hair back from his forehead. “Come on, you look fit to drop.”

“While you, on the other hand, are as fresh as a daisy?”

“Nope, I’m fucking knackered, and I blame that psycho brother of yours.”

The banter continued up the stairs and into the bedroom. Lester mustered enough energy to brush his teeth, but that was it. Lyle was right, they would just have to change the sheets tomorrow. He sprawled out in the bed, welcoming the feel of the crisp sheets, tugging the duvet round him to drive out the slight chill in the air.

This time, Lyle didn’t turn away from him, and a tentative hand reached out and found his. Lester rubbed the back of Lyle’s grubby paw with his thumb, feeling the rasp of dried mud against his skin. The soldier’s hand tensed, then started to relax. Lester kept up the movement and was rewarded by Lyle shifting slightly towards him.

“Do you really want me to hold you, Jon? If it’s too soon, I’ll understand.”

He felt, rather than saw, the shake of Lyle’s head on the pillow.

“I’m knackered, half-pissed and I need a hug,” said the soldier, with something approximating to amusement in his voice. “And if your brother suggests another caving trip tomorrow, I won’t be answerable for my actions. I’ve had more than enough therapy for one weekend.”

Lester reached out and pulled Lyle into his arms. “I’m that transparent, am I? Only taking a leaf out of your book, darling.”

Lyle sighed, and his breath raised the hairs on Lester’s chest, sending a pleasant shiver down his spine. “Yes, you’re that transparent, sweetie, so’s Ralph, but it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your efforts.” His arm slid around Lester’s waist as he pillowed his head on the waiting shoulder. With a soft grunt, Lyle snuggled close, one thigh coming to rest across Lester’s leg and in a matter of minutes, the soldier was sound asleep.

* * * * *

James Lester came slowly awake from a deep, and for once, dreamless sleep. He was lying on his side, spooned tightly against the body of his still-sleeping lover, one arm wrapped protectively around Lyle’s waist.

A light snore from the soldier brought a smile to his lips. An eleven hour caving trip, followed by copious amounts of alcohol, had worked better than any sleeping pill. Much to his surprise, he seemed to have escaped a hangover this time around, and he presumed the same would be true of Lyle, whose capacity for drink was legendary, even amongst the Special Forces soldiers.

The snore turned into a waffle, and Lyle shifted backwards, making Lester uncomfortably aware of his morning erection, now pressed up against the other man’s buttocks. He had a nasty feeling that Lyle might not be ready for reminders like that, given the way the soldier had studiously avoided any intimacy since his return. So it was to his surprise when his lover, now obviously awake, turned onto his side and dropped a hand down to Lester’s cock.

The feel of a hand other than his own touching him for the first time in just over three months sent pleasure dancing along Lester’s nerve endings and it was all he could do to stop himself thrusting up into Lyle’s grasp. Mustering all the self-control he could find, Lester dragged in a long, shaky breath, and exhaled slowly. Lyle’s grip tightened and he ran his fingers along the length of Lester’s shaft.

“That’s nice, Jon,” he murmured, conscious of the fact that his heart rate had speeded up noticeably. “But don’t do anything you don’t feel ready for …”

In answer, Lyle swept his thumb over the head of Lester’s cock, gathering the beads of moisture he found there and massaging them gently into the tip. Following Lyle’s lead, Lester reached down between them and tentatively ran the backs of his fingers up Lyle’s half-hard cock. He was rewarded with an involuntary twitch and the soldier’s erection continued to grow.

Lyle’s eyes were still closed, but his face was relaxed and Lester felt his breathing deepen in response to the gentle touches. Lyle’s grip on Lester’s cock became less tentative, jacking him gently but firmly. He followed suit, matching his pace to Lyle’s. It felt good. Not just the sensations running up and down his cock, but also the renewed feelings of closeness and intimacy. His own eyes fell shut, as the pressure of Lyle’s fingers drew a low groan from his throat.

Lester dipped his hand lower and cupped the soldier’s balls, fondling him. Lyle stiffened almost imperceptibly, the movement of his own hand falling still for a moment, then he drew in a deep, shuddering breath, letting Lester continue to stroke and caress him, drawing him gently past whatever unseen barrier had come back between them for a moment, and when the movements of Lyle’s own hand resumed as well, Lester started to allow himself a glimmer of hope.

The pleasure was building slowly and inexorably deep inside him, but Lester didn’t want to be the one to climax first, not until he knew that Lyle was beyond the point of no return. Their heads were close together on the pillow, breath mingling, foreheads resting together as fingers worked at each other cocks. A slight twist on the upstroke brought a mewl of pleasure to Lyle’s lips and Lester leaned forwards, sweeping his tongue gently across the soldier’s mouth. Lyle moaned and thrust up hard into his hand, his own grip tightening in response.

Lester gasped and spilled over Lyle’s hand. A moment later, Lyle’s hips rose up to meet his strokes and suddenly the soldier was coming hard, his open mouth seeking Lester’s lips in a desperate kiss. Lester took Lyle in his arms as their hips ground together, chasing the last sweet sensations of orgasm. Lyle gasped into his mouth, his hands gripping Lester’s shoulders as if he never wanted to let go.

And then the tears began to fall, silently at first, then with more passion, as Lyle finally started to let go of the demons that had been haunting him.

Lester stroked Lyle’s hair, and rubbed circles on his back, muttering soothing nothings until his lover eventually lay quiet in his arms, breathing deeply and evenly, finally at peace with himself for the first time since his return.

“Welcome back, Jon,” murmured Lester, kissing him softly on the lips.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

lukadreaming.livejournal.com

This is fabulous! The angst is there, but the matter-of-fact tone of the story is spot-on. I particularly like the clear affection between the three characters, but they speak to each other and insult each other just like blokes do!

And yay for the quiet, snuggly bit at the end . . . *g*.

From:

Fic, Eyes That Fire and Sword Have Seen, Lester/Lyle, 18

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