Fic, The Two Fs, Stephen/Ryan, 18, Slash
Jan. 20th, 2010 09:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : The Two Fs
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Nick, The Management
Disclaimer : Not mine no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warnings : Hell, you don’t want one of those, do you, ladies? It would spoil all the fun.
Summary : More fun and games in Sanctuary!
A/N : The awesome concept of Sanctuary was created by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mysteriousaliwz , and thanks to fififolle for the beta. This is for the very lovely lukadreaming ’s birthday. I hope you have a lovely day!
Stephen flopped down on his stomach on the bed, wide-eyed and panting.
Jesus, they’d been at it like bunnies for days. Not that he minded. No matter how sore his arse was when they packed up for the night, the following morning it was fine again, not even slightly stretched. He was beginning to feel a bit like that boar in Norse mythology; the one that got killed and eaten every night, only to come back to life again the next morning.
He glanced up at the ceiling, hoping Management had taken their eye off the ball for a moment when he’d had that last thought. He didn’t want to start giving them ideas. Not that sort, anyway. They got enough of their own as it was.
By his side, as if Ryan knew what Stephen was thinking – which knowing this place he probably did, some of the time at least – his lover gave a soft laugh and reached out to run a warm hand down Stephen’s back. He felt Ryan’s fingers dip lower, trailing down the crack of his arse, playing with his hole and running his fingertips through the come leaking out of Stephen’s body after their last, extremely energetic bout of sex.
Stephen groaned as he felt himself getting hard again. Bloody hell, what were Management on at the moment?
Ryan shifted position and replaced fingers with mouth. The girls positively loved it when they did this, the dirty little buggers, but Stephen wasn’t complaining. Not when it felt this good. Ryan’s tongue circled him slowly while the soldier’s large hands spread Stephen’s arse-cheeks to allow him better access to lap at his own bodily fluids, purring like the cat that got the cream. Stephen could just imagine the look on the Duty Manager’s face at the moment. She’d probably already dragged the others to their screens with an all-points alert. He was only surprised that some sort of klaxon-horn hadn’t sounded.
Stephen spread his legs wider and wriggled to accommodate a rapidly-growing erection. Behind him, Ryan’s tongue dipped inside his open, relaxed body. Stephen could almost taste the collective intake of breath in the Management Suite and wondered what the girls had in mind for them next. They did at least seem to have got over their flogging phase, which was something to be thankful for.
A bang on the door made Ryan roll onto his side and demand, somewhat grumpily, “Yeah, what?”
“Thought you two might want a coffee,” called Cutter cheerfully, putting paid to Stephen’s idea of a threesome. Blimey, the girls must be slipping.
“Give us five minutes, mate,” called Ryan. “I don’t think the Ladies would thank us for stopping right now.”
Stephen could imagine the grin on Cutter’s face, but the professor didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. Lester had visited a couple of weeks ago and the pair of them had fucked like a couple of demented stoats for two days solid, even eating meals in their room. The civil servant had gone back Outside now, but Stephen was still finding Dover sole in the bloody fridge even though they all seemed to have eaten nothing but fish, to the accompaniment of classical music, for days. He was starting to long for beef-burger and chips and a blast of Black Sabbath.
The feel of Ryan’s tongue curling inside him was enough to take Stephen’s mind off food and music and he gave himself over to the pleasure of being thoroughly tongue-fucked.
Ten minutes later dressed only in a pair of loose silk bathrobes that had appeared from nowhere to hang from the hook on the back of the bedroom door, they joined Cutter in the kitchen.
Mugs of coffee were waiting for them on the table and the whole kitchen smelled of baking.
“Are we expecting company?” Stephen asked, wondering if they were due another visit from Lester.
“Not that I know of,” said Cutter, “but a whole load of ginger seems to have appeared in the fridge so I thought I’d see if I could remember my gran’s recipe for ginger fudge cake.”
Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Could you?”
Cutter opened the oven door. “We’ll find out when this lot cools down,” he said retrieving a tray and standing it on top of the oven while he rooted around for something to put it on.
“Try that,” said Stephen, pointing to where Management had just made a large wire cake-rack appear.
“Have you made enough for us>?” asked a hopeful voice, sounding like it was coming from somewhere in the ceiling.
“I wouldn’t dare do anything else,” said Cutter. “Not if I wanted my back to stay in one piece.” He glanced up. “Have you lot given up on the flogging?”
The three of them could almost hear the Duty Manager squirm. “Er, probably not,” she admitted, sounding distinctly shifty. “There’s a spate of birthdays coming up, and you never know what might get requested.”
Cutter raised his eyebrows. “Floggings? For birthdays? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
Ryan grinned. “That’s vanilla for this lot. They think nothing of rape for both Christmas and birthdays when they’re in the mood.”
“Rape?” Cutter glanced up at the ceiling. “Bloody hell. Would you like me to bring some ginger fudge cake up, ladies, while it’s still warm?”
Cutter was clearly hoping that the ‘apple for the teacher’ principle might be enough to spare him from some of management’s worst excesses. Stephen didn’t have the heart to disillusion him.
He and Ryan had learnt soon enough that the laydees, as they sometimes called themselves, didn’t mean any harm by any of it, and even he had to admit that the comfort sex afterwards was something not to be missed, but he could see that the idea took a bit of getting used to. They’d have to check the calendar to see if that gave them any clue as to what might be coming next. He and Ryan had started to make notes, just to stay ahead of the game.
Cutter sliced the results of his labours into neat squares, placing half of the ginger fudge cake on a plate to take upstairs, while Stephen and Ryan helped themselves to the rest. It was still too hot, but that never stopped anyone where freshly-baked cake was concerned.
Juggling a piece in his fingers, Stephen watched Ryan stare thoughtfully into the vegetable rack. He got up to take a quick look. As far as he could see, it contained the usual stuff: potatoes, carrots, parsnips (rather a lot of parsnips, actually), onions and ginger. Loads and loads of ginger, in a variety of shapes and sizes. It looked like Management had been replacing the stuff as fast as Cutter had been using it up.
Ryan reached down into the rack and picked up a large chunk of it. He then started to peel it, still with that same half-bemused, half-lustful look on his face. It was a look that Stephen had started to associate with some of Management’s weirder ideas.
“Ryan, what the hell are you doing?”
“Peeling a piece of ginger, what does it look like, Hart?”
“It looks like you’re considering using it for non-culinary purposes, if you must know,” sighed Stephen, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Management, what the hell are you lot playing at? What’s with all the bloody ginger? Is it meant to be an aphrodisiac or something?”
“Not quite,” said a female voice, and Stephen could swear that he’d just heard Claudia Brown – or was it Jenny Lewis? – giggle in the background. Those two were buggers for egging Management on when they got together with the rest of the girls. “There are er … other … uses for it, you know,” said the Duty Manager, with surprising coyness.
Stephen’s eyebrows shot up to his hair-line. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Ryan favoured him with a sultry grin. “Come on, Hart, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Taking a well-earned rest,” Stephen retorted.
“Try it, you might like it,” the Duty Manager wheedled, and yes, that was Claudia – or Jenny – or both – in the background, sniggering.
“I am not letting Ryan stick vegetables up my backside!”
“Is it a vegetable?” mused Ryan, glancing over to the rack from which the parsnips had suddenly disappeared.
“I have no bloody idea, but it’s staying away from my arse.” Stephen was slightly worried that he was starting to sound petulant rather than manly, but there was something slightly disconcerting about the way that Ryan was diligently carving an enormous hand of ginger into something that bore an uncanny – and distinctly disconcerting – resemblance to a large butt-plug.
Ryan put the paring knife down and was regarding his handiwork with a lascivious smile. “Play like a nice puppy and I’ll rim you afterwards.”
“You’ve just done that,” Stephen pointed out, fighting against a growing feeling of being engaged in a losing battle.
“Come on Stephen, be nice.” Yep, Management was definitely wheedling now. “We’ve been working ever so hard on setting up some lovely fun for you lot Outside in a few weeks.”
Stephen glanced upwards. “Outside?”
Ryan’s eyes lost their dreamy look for a moment. “Again? Thanks, Management, that’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be even bigger and better this year,” the voice promised. “Trust us, boys, it’s going to be awesome.”
“And because of that you want me to let Ryan stick a piece of peeled ginger up my arse?”
“No. That would be blackmail!” The Duty Manager managed to sound affronted, but the giggles in the background rather detracted from the effect. “Go on, you’ll like it, honest you will.”
Stephen sighed. They’d gone beyond wheedling into positively crawling now. And he noticed that Cutter hadn’t come back. He’d obviously decided to stay out of the kitchen while there were negotiations going on.
“She’s right, you know,” grinned Ryan, touching the tip of his tongue to the carefully-carved root then running it suggestively round his lips. “You know you like it when we spice things up a bit.”
“Why my arse? Why not yours?”
“Because you look seriously hot when you’re writhing around.”
“And you don’t?”
“It’s your turn,” said Ryan, changing the subject and clearly trying to get the conversation back onto what he thought was the right track. “Anyway I’m normally the one who gets raped, so fair’s fair.”
Stephen did roll his eyes at that, even if it was true. However, it occurred to him that only around here could a statement like that be regarded as even vaguely normal.
But Ryan had a point, and it did sound … interesting … and … oh bloody hell, who was he kidding? Of course he fancied the idea, he was already half-hard and Ryan knew it.
Stephen stood up and let the silk robe fall open. “Come on, soldier boy. But next time round I get to choose who does what. OK?”
Ryan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ll have to take that up with the Management, lover boy.”
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Nick, The Management
Disclaimer : Not mine no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Warnings : Hell, you don’t want one of those, do you, ladies? It would spoil all the fun.
Summary : More fun and games in Sanctuary!
A/N : The awesome concept of Sanctuary was created by
mysteriousaliwz , and thanks to fififolle for the beta. This is for the very lovely lukadreaming ’s birthday. I hope you have a lovely day!Stephen flopped down on his stomach on the bed, wide-eyed and panting.
Jesus, they’d been at it like bunnies for days. Not that he minded. No matter how sore his arse was when they packed up for the night, the following morning it was fine again, not even slightly stretched. He was beginning to feel a bit like that boar in Norse mythology; the one that got killed and eaten every night, only to come back to life again the next morning.
He glanced up at the ceiling, hoping Management had taken their eye off the ball for a moment when he’d had that last thought. He didn’t want to start giving them ideas. Not that sort, anyway. They got enough of their own as it was.
By his side, as if Ryan knew what Stephen was thinking – which knowing this place he probably did, some of the time at least – his lover gave a soft laugh and reached out to run a warm hand down Stephen’s back. He felt Ryan’s fingers dip lower, trailing down the crack of his arse, playing with his hole and running his fingertips through the come leaking out of Stephen’s body after their last, extremely energetic bout of sex.
Stephen groaned as he felt himself getting hard again. Bloody hell, what were Management on at the moment?
Ryan shifted position and replaced fingers with mouth. The girls positively loved it when they did this, the dirty little buggers, but Stephen wasn’t complaining. Not when it felt this good. Ryan’s tongue circled him slowly while the soldier’s large hands spread Stephen’s arse-cheeks to allow him better access to lap at his own bodily fluids, purring like the cat that got the cream. Stephen could just imagine the look on the Duty Manager’s face at the moment. She’d probably already dragged the others to their screens with an all-points alert. He was only surprised that some sort of klaxon-horn hadn’t sounded.
Stephen spread his legs wider and wriggled to accommodate a rapidly-growing erection. Behind him, Ryan’s tongue dipped inside his open, relaxed body. Stephen could almost taste the collective intake of breath in the Management Suite and wondered what the girls had in mind for them next. They did at least seem to have got over their flogging phase, which was something to be thankful for.
A bang on the door made Ryan roll onto his side and demand, somewhat grumpily, “Yeah, what?”
“Thought you two might want a coffee,” called Cutter cheerfully, putting paid to Stephen’s idea of a threesome. Blimey, the girls must be slipping.
“Give us five minutes, mate,” called Ryan. “I don’t think the Ladies would thank us for stopping right now.”
Stephen could imagine the grin on Cutter’s face, but the professor didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. Lester had visited a couple of weeks ago and the pair of them had fucked like a couple of demented stoats for two days solid, even eating meals in their room. The civil servant had gone back Outside now, but Stephen was still finding Dover sole in the bloody fridge even though they all seemed to have eaten nothing but fish, to the accompaniment of classical music, for days. He was starting to long for beef-burger and chips and a blast of Black Sabbath.
The feel of Ryan’s tongue curling inside him was enough to take Stephen’s mind off food and music and he gave himself over to the pleasure of being thoroughly tongue-fucked.
Ten minutes later dressed only in a pair of loose silk bathrobes that had appeared from nowhere to hang from the hook on the back of the bedroom door, they joined Cutter in the kitchen.
Mugs of coffee were waiting for them on the table and the whole kitchen smelled of baking.
“Are we expecting company?” Stephen asked, wondering if they were due another visit from Lester.
“Not that I know of,” said Cutter, “but a whole load of ginger seems to have appeared in the fridge so I thought I’d see if I could remember my gran’s recipe for ginger fudge cake.”
Ryan’s eyes lit up. “Could you?”
Cutter opened the oven door. “We’ll find out when this lot cools down,” he said retrieving a tray and standing it on top of the oven while he rooted around for something to put it on.
“Try that,” said Stephen, pointing to where Management had just made a large wire cake-rack appear.
“Have you made enough for us>?” asked a hopeful voice, sounding like it was coming from somewhere in the ceiling.
“I wouldn’t dare do anything else,” said Cutter. “Not if I wanted my back to stay in one piece.” He glanced up. “Have you lot given up on the flogging?”
The three of them could almost hear the Duty Manager squirm. “Er, probably not,” she admitted, sounding distinctly shifty. “There’s a spate of birthdays coming up, and you never know what might get requested.”
Cutter raised his eyebrows. “Floggings? For birthdays? That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
Ryan grinned. “That’s vanilla for this lot. They think nothing of rape for both Christmas and birthdays when they’re in the mood.”
“Rape?” Cutter glanced up at the ceiling. “Bloody hell. Would you like me to bring some ginger fudge cake up, ladies, while it’s still warm?”
Cutter was clearly hoping that the ‘apple for the teacher’ principle might be enough to spare him from some of management’s worst excesses. Stephen didn’t have the heart to disillusion him.
He and Ryan had learnt soon enough that the laydees, as they sometimes called themselves, didn’t mean any harm by any of it, and even he had to admit that the comfort sex afterwards was something not to be missed, but he could see that the idea took a bit of getting used to. They’d have to check the calendar to see if that gave them any clue as to what might be coming next. He and Ryan had started to make notes, just to stay ahead of the game.
Cutter sliced the results of his labours into neat squares, placing half of the ginger fudge cake on a plate to take upstairs, while Stephen and Ryan helped themselves to the rest. It was still too hot, but that never stopped anyone where freshly-baked cake was concerned.
Juggling a piece in his fingers, Stephen watched Ryan stare thoughtfully into the vegetable rack. He got up to take a quick look. As far as he could see, it contained the usual stuff: potatoes, carrots, parsnips (rather a lot of parsnips, actually), onions and ginger. Loads and loads of ginger, in a variety of shapes and sizes. It looked like Management had been replacing the stuff as fast as Cutter had been using it up.
Ryan reached down into the rack and picked up a large chunk of it. He then started to peel it, still with that same half-bemused, half-lustful look on his face. It was a look that Stephen had started to associate with some of Management’s weirder ideas.
“Ryan, what the hell are you doing?”
“Peeling a piece of ginger, what does it look like, Hart?”
“It looks like you’re considering using it for non-culinary purposes, if you must know,” sighed Stephen, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Management, what the hell are you lot playing at? What’s with all the bloody ginger? Is it meant to be an aphrodisiac or something?”
“Not quite,” said a female voice, and Stephen could swear that he’d just heard Claudia Brown – or was it Jenny Lewis? – giggle in the background. Those two were buggers for egging Management on when they got together with the rest of the girls. “There are er … other … uses for it, you know,” said the Duty Manager, with surprising coyness.
Stephen’s eyebrows shot up to his hair-line. “You’ve got to be kidding!”
Ryan favoured him with a sultry grin. “Come on, Hart, where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Taking a well-earned rest,” Stephen retorted.
“Try it, you might like it,” the Duty Manager wheedled, and yes, that was Claudia – or Jenny – or both – in the background, sniggering.
“I am not letting Ryan stick vegetables up my backside!”
“Is it a vegetable?” mused Ryan, glancing over to the rack from which the parsnips had suddenly disappeared.
“I have no bloody idea, but it’s staying away from my arse.” Stephen was slightly worried that he was starting to sound petulant rather than manly, but there was something slightly disconcerting about the way that Ryan was diligently carving an enormous hand of ginger into something that bore an uncanny – and distinctly disconcerting – resemblance to a large butt-plug.
Ryan put the paring knife down and was regarding his handiwork with a lascivious smile. “Play like a nice puppy and I’ll rim you afterwards.”
“You’ve just done that,” Stephen pointed out, fighting against a growing feeling of being engaged in a losing battle.
“Come on Stephen, be nice.” Yep, Management was definitely wheedling now. “We’ve been working ever so hard on setting up some lovely fun for you lot Outside in a few weeks.”
Stephen glanced upwards. “Outside?”
Ryan’s eyes lost their dreamy look for a moment. “Again? Thanks, Management, that’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be even bigger and better this year,” the voice promised. “Trust us, boys, it’s going to be awesome.”
“And because of that you want me to let Ryan stick a piece of peeled ginger up my arse?”
“No. That would be blackmail!” The Duty Manager managed to sound affronted, but the giggles in the background rather detracted from the effect. “Go on, you’ll like it, honest you will.”
Stephen sighed. They’d gone beyond wheedling into positively crawling now. And he noticed that Cutter hadn’t come back. He’d obviously decided to stay out of the kitchen while there were negotiations going on.
“She’s right, you know,” grinned Ryan, touching the tip of his tongue to the carefully-carved root then running it suggestively round his lips. “You know you like it when we spice things up a bit.”
“Why my arse? Why not yours?”
“Because you look seriously hot when you’re writhing around.”
“And you don’t?”
“It’s your turn,” said Ryan, changing the subject and clearly trying to get the conversation back onto what he thought was the right track. “Anyway I’m normally the one who gets raped, so fair’s fair.”
Stephen did roll his eyes at that, even if it was true. However, it occurred to him that only around here could a statement like that be regarded as even vaguely normal.
But Ryan had a point, and it did sound … interesting … and … oh bloody hell, who was he kidding? Of course he fancied the idea, he was already half-hard and Ryan knew it.
Stephen stood up and let the silk robe fall open. “Come on, soldier boy. But next time round I get to choose who does what. OK?”
Ryan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ll have to take that up with the Management, lover boy.”
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Date: 2010-01-21 08:35 am (UTC)