Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 60
Sep. 15th, 2010 06:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Silk and Steel, Part 60
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek/Lyle, Finn
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : It’s the end of a long, difficult day and Leek is worried he’s in danger of losing Lyle’s goodwill.
Warning : Slave!fic.
*****
“Clear,” called Finn from the first floor landing, following a rapid but professional search of Leek’s house. He clattered down the stairs, a sophisticated bug-detector in his hand. “Do you want me to stay outside in the car, boss?” He addressed his question to Lyle.
“Mr Leek?” Lyle asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Leek replied. “I imagine he can do his job as well from inside as out.” He gestured down the hallway, nodding to the young soldier. “You’ll find tea and coffee in the kitchen. There might even be something edible in the fridge, if the contents haven’t already let themselves out and made a break for freedom in the park.”
Finn grinned. “Sounds like the fridge in our rec-room. Thanks, master. That’s kind of you.”
The soldiers were a forgiving lot, Leek reflected, as he hung his jacket up in the hall. Ryan’s men seemed to be taking their cue from Lyle, but at the moment, Leek was having a hard job gauging his bodyguard’s reactions. The lieutenant had been unusually quiet on the drive. He was exhausted, Leek could see that, but there was an unfamiliar brittle quality to his silence that was serving to keep Leek on edge.
Finn took himself off into the kitchen and Leek heard him filling a kettle.
“Coffee or something stronger?” Leek asked, hoping to break through Lyle’s reserve and relieve the simmering tension.
The lieutenant hesitated, his expression still more guarded than Leek was used to. “A beer would be good,” he finally admitted.
“I’ll bring a couple upstairs,” Leek said. “You heard what Thomson said, Lyle, you need sleep as well.”
The mention of Thomson’s name lit a spark of anger in Lyle’s hazel eyes and left Leek cursing his mistake. Without waiting for Lyle to reply, he turned on his heel and joined Finn in the kitchen, grabbing a six-pack of cold, strong beer from the fridge. Until he’d ended up with a Special Forces bodyguard, Leek had never kept beer in the house, preferring wine or spirits, but now the fridge probably contained more alcohol than food. A sign of his recently changed priorities, no doubt.
Lyle was upstairs, pacing the carpeted floor of Leek’s spare room with the kind of restless energy normally seen in caged zoo animals. The soldier had thrown his black jacket and tactical vest carelessly over the back of a chair, leaving him still wearing two heavy calibre pistols, one strapped to his right thigh and the other in a shoulder-rig. The combat shotgun he had taken to carrying since their encounter with the future predators was lying on the dressing table in easy reach, a band of extra shells next to it.
He took the beer Leek handed over to him, popped the tab and swigged direct from the can. Lyle had watched his commanding officer, a close friend, being tortured and raped only a few hours ago. Somehow Leek didn’t think he’d stop at one beer. The sharp metallic crackle of the can being crushed in Lyle’s fist broke the silence. From the look on Lyle’s face, he clearly wished it was the Section 42 captain’s throat under his fingers, or Sergeant Miller’s neck. The soldier grabbed another can and opened it.
“Ryan doesn’t stand a fucking chance, does he?” Lyle ground out, his voice low and dangerous. “Thomson doesn’t even believe he’s guilty but those bastards in Downing Street will still want his head on a spike.”
Leek opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again without speaking. Lyle was right, but he didn’t think agreeing with him was going to help relieve the tension. He reached for one of the beers instead. He disliked the taste, but it was cold and it was alcoholic, both factors that counted for quite a lot at that point.
“I’ll delay things as long as I can,” Leek said. “I’ve already told the PM that I think there is considerable doubt about Ryan’s part in all of this. We’ll play for time, Lyle. As you’ve just said, Thomson doesn’t believe he’s guilty.” Leek wished he’d had the presence of mind to quiz the captain more closely about his belief in Ryan’s innocence, but he’d been too surprised by the revelation to drill down into any detail, and even more distracted by Thomson’s calm assertion that Helen Cutter was about to make a bid for more power, hard on the heels of her appointment as Director of Science.
“Thomson’s a ruthless fucker who’d sell his own mother for dog-meat.”
Leek took a long drink. Lyle was right in his assessment of the captain, but at the moment Leek was actually quite glad of the man. He appeared to have Helen Cutter’s measure, which was interesting in itself. Tomorrow, if he was still stuck with the job of Acting Director, he needed to dig a bit more deeply into the woman’s background, and discover what Thomson already knew about her.
“Where do you stand in all this, Mr Leek?” Lyle had stopped pacing and was now leaning against the dressing table, his left hand resting idly on the barrel of his shotgun. The lieutenant’s eyes were shrewd and appraising, and distinctly unfriendly.
“Trying to stay alive,” said Leek bitterly.
He knew immediately it had been the wrong answer. Lyle’s right hand tightened on the beer can, causing some of its contents to slop onto the carpet. The lieutenant’s face had set into a hard mask and the simmering tension coming off him hung in the air like smoke. Leek loosened his tie, which suddenly felt like it was choking him. He owed his life to Lyle and, much to his own amazement, he’d come to trust the soldier, and might even have gone so far as to say he liked him, but he could see Lyle’s goodwill slipping inexorably away from him.
“I bet you enjoyed the encore this evening. That must have been right up your street.” Lyle’s eyes held open challenge. “Did it get you hard, master?”
“No, it made me want to puke,” Leek countered, telling the truth for once, but not expecting the soldier to believe him.
“It did make me puke,” snapped Lyle. He lifted the can and started to pour the alcohol down his throat, taking long swallows, as though trying to rid himself of the sour taste of his earlier vomit. Afterwards, Lyle crushed that can as well and dropped it onto the carpet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and ripped the ring-pull off a third beer.
Leek took a step forward, one hand raised placatingly. “Lyle, I’m sorry. For what it’s worth – which probably isn’t a lot – I did not enjoy watching what Miller did to Ryan. You can believe me or not, but it’s a fact.”
“You raped him yourself, or have you conveniently forgotten that, master?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. Yes, I raped him. I was engaged in a pissing contest with Lester, and Ryan made a convenient lamppost.”
For a moment Leek wondered if he’d made another mistake, then Lyle’s face twisted into a wry grin. “That’s one way of fucking putting it,” he muttered, taking yet another long swig from the can. “So, it’s every man for himself now, is it, Mr Leek?” Lyle challenged.
If it was, then Leek didn’t think much of his own chances of survival. Someone had been quite happy to see him dead during the attack on the ARC and he still didn’t know who had been behind that episode. If anything, he felt even more vulnerable now. Lyle’s rock-steady presence at his side had given him something to latch onto, and he was starting to feel like a kid who was in danger of having his comfort bear ripped away from him.
“If it is, then I’m stuffed,” Leek said quietly, but with feeling. He reached up and ripped his tie off, dropping it onto the floor. His mouth was dry, he still felt like his breath was constricting in his throat, he almost gagged on the next mouthful of beer, and he was all too aware of the fact that his survival depended on keeping Lyle’s loyalty. “What will it take to convince you that we’re on the same side, Jon? Do I need to take a leaf out of Lester’s book and let you fuck me? Will that be enough?”
Lyle’s eyes widened, disbelief written so clearly on his face that it could have been tattooed on his forehead.
Leek pressed home his advantage. “Why the hell do you think Ryan tried to drown himself? It wasn’t because he was guilty of treason, Jon, it was to stop Miller finding out that he’d had his cock up Lester’s arse. You certainly can’t fault the captain’s loyalty; it was a hell of a distraction technique. The joke of it is that I don’t think Miller even realised what he was onto: the high and mighty Sir James Lester taking it up the arse from one of his slaves. It wouldn’t do his career any good if that got bandied about in the corridors of power. Standards have to be maintained.”
“Plenty of shirt-lifters in Westminster,” sneered Lyle. “Always have been.”
“I think you’ll find the phrase you’re looking for in this context is ‘pillow-biters’,” said Leek with a twitch of his lips, in spite of the situation, referring to a long-ago political scandal that was still dredged up whenever the subject of homosexual politicians was discussed in the tabloid press. For some reason that he’d never been able to fathom, it was politically acceptable to fuck the Indentured, but not to be fucked by them. Someone had once told him it had been the same in Ancient Rome, but his classical education fell somewhat short in that regard.
He reached down and slowly unbuckled his belt, drawing it out through the hoops of his trousers and dropping the thin strip of leather on the floor. “Well, you haven’t answered my question, Lieutenant Lyle? If I let you fuck me, will that be enough? Will you trust me then?” He toed off his shoes and flipped open the top button of his trousers. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage, but he could now see the uncertainty in Lyle’s eyes. Whatever the soldier had expected, it hadn’t been this. “Or would you prefer me to suck your cock?” One glance told Leek that his words were having their desired effect.
The thigh-straps on both legs, one holding Lyle’s pistol, the other a combat-knife, accentuated the bulge at the front of his trousers. The soldier was sporting a raging hard-on, fuelled by anger and adrenaline, and Leek knew they were playing a dangerous game, one that would end in tears before bedtime. Probably his own.
He slowly drew the zip down on his trousers and let them slide off his thin hips to pool at his feet, pushing his boxers down after them, leaving him standing in his shirt and socks, feeling more than faintly ridiculous. In an embarrassing parody of a strip-tease, Leek forced his fingers into action, unbuttoning the plain white shirt to reveal the vest he habitually wore. The part of his brain that wasn’t making a desperate play to secure the soldier’s loyalty was all too aware of how unattractive he must have looked, but Oliver Leek knew better than anyone that rape was rarely about sex, so his looks almost certainly didn’t matter.
In a vain attempt to muster some dignity, he bent down and pulled off his socks, but couldn’t bring himself to dispense with either his shirt or the vest. His cock hung limply between his legs but, in contrast, Lyle’s erection was straining at the front of his black combat trousers. In spite of that outward sign of arousal, Leek half-expected Lyle just to finish the beer and storm out and if he did, Leek knew that would mean he had lost him.
“How do I know you aren’t just going to cry rape?”
“What would be the point in that? If I’d wanted you arrested I could have done it without the need for this sort of charade. It’s a genuine offer, Lyle. Take it or leave it. I won’t ask you again.”
Lyle upended the beer can and poured the last of the beer down his throat. Some spilled, running in rivulets through the day-old stubble to drip onto the black tee-shirt. The soldier ignored it in favour of dragging his own zip down and pulling his hard cock out of the thick material of his trousers.
A surge of relief flooded Leek’s body, sending blood into his own cock. In an attempt to make things easier for himself, Leek dropped gracelessly to his knees and wrapped his lips around the head of Lyle’s cock, putting one hand up to pull the soldier’s foreskin back. He could smell the musk of Lyle’s arousal mingling with the sharp smell of sweat. This was the first time he’d ever gone down on anyone, but he didn’t think the lieutenant was in any state to be handing out marks for artistic merit. He got Lyle’s cock as wet as he could before pulling back and positioning himself at the side of the bed, head buried in the duvet, arse in the air. Spit made a lousy lube, but it was probably all he was going to get.
Oliver Leek hadn’t bottomed since his schooldays, and it was something he’d sworn never to endure again, but it was now a case of needs must, and on this occasion the devil was very much in the driving seat. He heard the thump of Lyle’s knees hitting the floor behind him and, a moment later, something cool started to trickle down between his arse cheeks. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent, one that clung to the soldiers almost as much as the ever-present smell of cordite. Lyle was about to fuck him using gun-oil for a lubricant.
Large hands spread his cheeks and, with nothing by way of preparation, Lyle positioned his cock at Leek’s entrance and started to push inexorably inside him. Leek gasped. It hurt as much as he remembered. He tensed, his sphincter muscle tightened and Lyle cursed. The soldier’s strong hands took a grip on his hip bones; Lyle drew in a deep breath and then forced himself brutally into Leek’s body. The penetration ripped a cry of pain out of Leek’s mouth, which he hastily muffled in the duvet. He didn’t want Finn arriving to see what the problem was. That would just complicate matters even further.
He could feel the straps on Lyle’s legs scraping the backs of his thighs. The webbing of the soldier’s gun holster dug uncomfortably into his flesh and he could feel the other pistol strapped across Lyle’s chest pressing into his back. Lyle’s weight pinned him to the bed and there was nothing Leek could do to alleviate the pain being forced deep inside him. His arse was stretched wide; the gun oil was thin and provided barely enough lubrication to ease the passage of Lyle’s cock. It took all of Oliver Leek’s self-control to suppress the scream that wanted to escape his lips. He’d been banking on nothing more than a few quick thrusts being enough to bring the soldier to climax. That was all he was usually able to manage in a similar situation. But he had clearly been wrong.
Lyle was breathing hard through his mouth, panting in time with the movement of his hips. Analogies involving red-hot pokers flitted through Leek’s mind as he tried desperately to ride out the pain in silence. His own adrenaline-fuelled erection had wilted at the first moment of penetration. He’d got off on inflicting pain often enough, but boarding school had cured him of any desire to be on the receiving end of it.
A slight shift in Lyle’s position as the soldier chased an elusive climax sent a sudden spike of painpleasurepain through Leek’s over-strung nerves. The next thrust nailed the same spot with equal effect. Instinctively, Leek pushed back, gasping. Lyle’s right hand slid off his hip, brushing across the tangle of hair at Leek’s groin, cupping his limp cock and balls. Leek could feel hot breath on his neck as a gun-calloused hand closed around his cock. Memories of the first time he’d felt that touch on his body fought their way through the fog that gripped his brain and, with something approaching shame, Leek realised his body was responding to Lyle’s touch, in spite of the situation.
Lyle’s cock was repeatedly nailing his prostate now, causing sweat to break out of Leek’s pores as he threw his head back and started to moan, unable to maintain his silence any longer. The soldier’s hand moved faster now, too tight, too rough, but that didn’t stop Leek thrusting up into Lyle’s fist. The mix of pain and pleasure swirled around in his head like a drug. Lyle was starting to lose his rhythm now but, whereas moments before Leek had been praying to a God he didn’t even believe in to end this, he was now begging for release of a different kind, for something to blot out, even if just for a single second, the horrors of the day.
Slick now with the fluid leaking from his cock, Lyle’s hand no longer dragged painfully over Leek’s skin, and each jerk of those strong fingers carried Leek closer and closer to the edge. With a low groan, Lyle thrust one final time, hard and deep, at the same time as his hand twisted on the upstroke, precipitating a climax that caused Leek’s arse to spasm painfully around Lyle’s cock as the soldier thrust raggedly through his own orgasm.
Leek slumped forward onto the bed, sucking gasping breaths into his lungs. Lyle’s weight pinned him down again, and the soldier’s breathing was harsh in his ear and the gun strapped across Lyle’s chest dug painfully into his spine. Leek’s heart was still racing as Lyle leaned back on his heels, his softening cock slipping from Leek’s abused body. A moment later, he felt Lyle struggle to his feet behind him, retching, and make a precipitous dash for the small en suite bathroom.
The sour smell of vomit filled Leek’s nostrils for the second time that evening as Lyle threw up the four cans of beer he’d consumed. The noise combined with the smell made Leek’s own stomach churn, but he forced himself to his feet and made his way into the bathroom where Lyle was still bringing up every morsel of food and mouthful of drink he’d taken in the last few hours into the toilet bowl.
The rim of the bath was cold on his skin as Leek sat down gingerly, trying – and failing – to hold back a hiss of pain. He reached out and settled one hand on Lyle’s shoulder while he tried to prevent himself vomiting.
How long they stayed like that, Leek had no idea, but eventually, when Lyle had finally finished retching and spitting, he gave the soldier a slight shake. “Come on, Lyle, my arse is getting cold.”
Lyle raised his head, his hazel eyes now burning with shame rather than anger. “You could have me killed,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
“You could ruin my career and let the next opportunistic bastard that wants me dead have an easy time of it,” Leek replied, equally quietly. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
The look in Lyle’s hazel eyes told him all he needed to know. Leek’s gamble had paid off.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek/Lyle, Finn
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : It’s the end of a long, difficult day and Leek is worried he’s in danger of losing Lyle’s goodwill.
Warning : Slave!fic.
*****
“Clear,” called Finn from the first floor landing, following a rapid but professional search of Leek’s house. He clattered down the stairs, a sophisticated bug-detector in his hand. “Do you want me to stay outside in the car, boss?” He addressed his question to Lyle.
“Mr Leek?” Lyle asked.
“That won’t be necessary,” Leek replied. “I imagine he can do his job as well from inside as out.” He gestured down the hallway, nodding to the young soldier. “You’ll find tea and coffee in the kitchen. There might even be something edible in the fridge, if the contents haven’t already let themselves out and made a break for freedom in the park.”
Finn grinned. “Sounds like the fridge in our rec-room. Thanks, master. That’s kind of you.”
The soldiers were a forgiving lot, Leek reflected, as he hung his jacket up in the hall. Ryan’s men seemed to be taking their cue from Lyle, but at the moment, Leek was having a hard job gauging his bodyguard’s reactions. The lieutenant had been unusually quiet on the drive. He was exhausted, Leek could see that, but there was an unfamiliar brittle quality to his silence that was serving to keep Leek on edge.
Finn took himself off into the kitchen and Leek heard him filling a kettle.
“Coffee or something stronger?” Leek asked, hoping to break through Lyle’s reserve and relieve the simmering tension.
The lieutenant hesitated, his expression still more guarded than Leek was used to. “A beer would be good,” he finally admitted.
“I’ll bring a couple upstairs,” Leek said. “You heard what Thomson said, Lyle, you need sleep as well.”
The mention of Thomson’s name lit a spark of anger in Lyle’s hazel eyes and left Leek cursing his mistake. Without waiting for Lyle to reply, he turned on his heel and joined Finn in the kitchen, grabbing a six-pack of cold, strong beer from the fridge. Until he’d ended up with a Special Forces bodyguard, Leek had never kept beer in the house, preferring wine or spirits, but now the fridge probably contained more alcohol than food. A sign of his recently changed priorities, no doubt.
Lyle was upstairs, pacing the carpeted floor of Leek’s spare room with the kind of restless energy normally seen in caged zoo animals. The soldier had thrown his black jacket and tactical vest carelessly over the back of a chair, leaving him still wearing two heavy calibre pistols, one strapped to his right thigh and the other in a shoulder-rig. The combat shotgun he had taken to carrying since their encounter with the future predators was lying on the dressing table in easy reach, a band of extra shells next to it.
He took the beer Leek handed over to him, popped the tab and swigged direct from the can. Lyle had watched his commanding officer, a close friend, being tortured and raped only a few hours ago. Somehow Leek didn’t think he’d stop at one beer. The sharp metallic crackle of the can being crushed in Lyle’s fist broke the silence. From the look on Lyle’s face, he clearly wished it was the Section 42 captain’s throat under his fingers, or Sergeant Miller’s neck. The soldier grabbed another can and opened it.
“Ryan doesn’t stand a fucking chance, does he?” Lyle ground out, his voice low and dangerous. “Thomson doesn’t even believe he’s guilty but those bastards in Downing Street will still want his head on a spike.”
Leek opened his mouth to reply and then shut it again without speaking. Lyle was right, but he didn’t think agreeing with him was going to help relieve the tension. He reached for one of the beers instead. He disliked the taste, but it was cold and it was alcoholic, both factors that counted for quite a lot at that point.
“I’ll delay things as long as I can,” Leek said. “I’ve already told the PM that I think there is considerable doubt about Ryan’s part in all of this. We’ll play for time, Lyle. As you’ve just said, Thomson doesn’t believe he’s guilty.” Leek wished he’d had the presence of mind to quiz the captain more closely about his belief in Ryan’s innocence, but he’d been too surprised by the revelation to drill down into any detail, and even more distracted by Thomson’s calm assertion that Helen Cutter was about to make a bid for more power, hard on the heels of her appointment as Director of Science.
“Thomson’s a ruthless fucker who’d sell his own mother for dog-meat.”
Leek took a long drink. Lyle was right in his assessment of the captain, but at the moment Leek was actually quite glad of the man. He appeared to have Helen Cutter’s measure, which was interesting in itself. Tomorrow, if he was still stuck with the job of Acting Director, he needed to dig a bit more deeply into the woman’s background, and discover what Thomson already knew about her.
“Where do you stand in all this, Mr Leek?” Lyle had stopped pacing and was now leaning against the dressing table, his left hand resting idly on the barrel of his shotgun. The lieutenant’s eyes were shrewd and appraising, and distinctly unfriendly.
“Trying to stay alive,” said Leek bitterly.
He knew immediately it had been the wrong answer. Lyle’s right hand tightened on the beer can, causing some of its contents to slop onto the carpet. The lieutenant’s face had set into a hard mask and the simmering tension coming off him hung in the air like smoke. Leek loosened his tie, which suddenly felt like it was choking him. He owed his life to Lyle and, much to his own amazement, he’d come to trust the soldier, and might even have gone so far as to say he liked him, but he could see Lyle’s goodwill slipping inexorably away from him.
“I bet you enjoyed the encore this evening. That must have been right up your street.” Lyle’s eyes held open challenge. “Did it get you hard, master?”
“No, it made me want to puke,” Leek countered, telling the truth for once, but not expecting the soldier to believe him.
“It did make me puke,” snapped Lyle. He lifted the can and started to pour the alcohol down his throat, taking long swallows, as though trying to rid himself of the sour taste of his earlier vomit. Afterwards, Lyle crushed that can as well and dropped it onto the carpet. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and ripped the ring-pull off a third beer.
Leek took a step forward, one hand raised placatingly. “Lyle, I’m sorry. For what it’s worth – which probably isn’t a lot – I did not enjoy watching what Miller did to Ryan. You can believe me or not, but it’s a fact.”
“You raped him yourself, or have you conveniently forgotten that, master?”
“No, I haven’t forgotten. Yes, I raped him. I was engaged in a pissing contest with Lester, and Ryan made a convenient lamppost.”
For a moment Leek wondered if he’d made another mistake, then Lyle’s face twisted into a wry grin. “That’s one way of fucking putting it,” he muttered, taking yet another long swig from the can. “So, it’s every man for himself now, is it, Mr Leek?” Lyle challenged.
If it was, then Leek didn’t think much of his own chances of survival. Someone had been quite happy to see him dead during the attack on the ARC and he still didn’t know who had been behind that episode. If anything, he felt even more vulnerable now. Lyle’s rock-steady presence at his side had given him something to latch onto, and he was starting to feel like a kid who was in danger of having his comfort bear ripped away from him.
“If it is, then I’m stuffed,” Leek said quietly, but with feeling. He reached up and ripped his tie off, dropping it onto the floor. His mouth was dry, he still felt like his breath was constricting in his throat, he almost gagged on the next mouthful of beer, and he was all too aware of the fact that his survival depended on keeping Lyle’s loyalty. “What will it take to convince you that we’re on the same side, Jon? Do I need to take a leaf out of Lester’s book and let you fuck me? Will that be enough?”
Lyle’s eyes widened, disbelief written so clearly on his face that it could have been tattooed on his forehead.
Leek pressed home his advantage. “Why the hell do you think Ryan tried to drown himself? It wasn’t because he was guilty of treason, Jon, it was to stop Miller finding out that he’d had his cock up Lester’s arse. You certainly can’t fault the captain’s loyalty; it was a hell of a distraction technique. The joke of it is that I don’t think Miller even realised what he was onto: the high and mighty Sir James Lester taking it up the arse from one of his slaves. It wouldn’t do his career any good if that got bandied about in the corridors of power. Standards have to be maintained.”
“Plenty of shirt-lifters in Westminster,” sneered Lyle. “Always have been.”
“I think you’ll find the phrase you’re looking for in this context is ‘pillow-biters’,” said Leek with a twitch of his lips, in spite of the situation, referring to a long-ago political scandal that was still dredged up whenever the subject of homosexual politicians was discussed in the tabloid press. For some reason that he’d never been able to fathom, it was politically acceptable to fuck the Indentured, but not to be fucked by them. Someone had once told him it had been the same in Ancient Rome, but his classical education fell somewhat short in that regard.
He reached down and slowly unbuckled his belt, drawing it out through the hoops of his trousers and dropping the thin strip of leather on the floor. “Well, you haven’t answered my question, Lieutenant Lyle? If I let you fuck me, will that be enough? Will you trust me then?” He toed off his shoes and flipped open the top button of his trousers. His heart was pounding in his chest and his mouth felt like the bottom of a parrot’s cage, but he could now see the uncertainty in Lyle’s eyes. Whatever the soldier had expected, it hadn’t been this. “Or would you prefer me to suck your cock?” One glance told Leek that his words were having their desired effect.
The thigh-straps on both legs, one holding Lyle’s pistol, the other a combat-knife, accentuated the bulge at the front of his trousers. The soldier was sporting a raging hard-on, fuelled by anger and adrenaline, and Leek knew they were playing a dangerous game, one that would end in tears before bedtime. Probably his own.
He slowly drew the zip down on his trousers and let them slide off his thin hips to pool at his feet, pushing his boxers down after them, leaving him standing in his shirt and socks, feeling more than faintly ridiculous. In an embarrassing parody of a strip-tease, Leek forced his fingers into action, unbuttoning the plain white shirt to reveal the vest he habitually wore. The part of his brain that wasn’t making a desperate play to secure the soldier’s loyalty was all too aware of how unattractive he must have looked, but Oliver Leek knew better than anyone that rape was rarely about sex, so his looks almost certainly didn’t matter.
In a vain attempt to muster some dignity, he bent down and pulled off his socks, but couldn’t bring himself to dispense with either his shirt or the vest. His cock hung limply between his legs but, in contrast, Lyle’s erection was straining at the front of his black combat trousers. In spite of that outward sign of arousal, Leek half-expected Lyle just to finish the beer and storm out and if he did, Leek knew that would mean he had lost him.
“How do I know you aren’t just going to cry rape?”
“What would be the point in that? If I’d wanted you arrested I could have done it without the need for this sort of charade. It’s a genuine offer, Lyle. Take it or leave it. I won’t ask you again.”
Lyle upended the beer can and poured the last of the beer down his throat. Some spilled, running in rivulets through the day-old stubble to drip onto the black tee-shirt. The soldier ignored it in favour of dragging his own zip down and pulling his hard cock out of the thick material of his trousers.
A surge of relief flooded Leek’s body, sending blood into his own cock. In an attempt to make things easier for himself, Leek dropped gracelessly to his knees and wrapped his lips around the head of Lyle’s cock, putting one hand up to pull the soldier’s foreskin back. He could smell the musk of Lyle’s arousal mingling with the sharp smell of sweat. This was the first time he’d ever gone down on anyone, but he didn’t think the lieutenant was in any state to be handing out marks for artistic merit. He got Lyle’s cock as wet as he could before pulling back and positioning himself at the side of the bed, head buried in the duvet, arse in the air. Spit made a lousy lube, but it was probably all he was going to get.
Oliver Leek hadn’t bottomed since his schooldays, and it was something he’d sworn never to endure again, but it was now a case of needs must, and on this occasion the devil was very much in the driving seat. He heard the thump of Lyle’s knees hitting the floor behind him and, a moment later, something cool started to trickle down between his arse cheeks. He caught a whiff of a familiar scent, one that clung to the soldiers almost as much as the ever-present smell of cordite. Lyle was about to fuck him using gun-oil for a lubricant.
Large hands spread his cheeks and, with nothing by way of preparation, Lyle positioned his cock at Leek’s entrance and started to push inexorably inside him. Leek gasped. It hurt as much as he remembered. He tensed, his sphincter muscle tightened and Lyle cursed. The soldier’s strong hands took a grip on his hip bones; Lyle drew in a deep breath and then forced himself brutally into Leek’s body. The penetration ripped a cry of pain out of Leek’s mouth, which he hastily muffled in the duvet. He didn’t want Finn arriving to see what the problem was. That would just complicate matters even further.
He could feel the straps on Lyle’s legs scraping the backs of his thighs. The webbing of the soldier’s gun holster dug uncomfortably into his flesh and he could feel the other pistol strapped across Lyle’s chest pressing into his back. Lyle’s weight pinned him to the bed and there was nothing Leek could do to alleviate the pain being forced deep inside him. His arse was stretched wide; the gun oil was thin and provided barely enough lubrication to ease the passage of Lyle’s cock. It took all of Oliver Leek’s self-control to suppress the scream that wanted to escape his lips. He’d been banking on nothing more than a few quick thrusts being enough to bring the soldier to climax. That was all he was usually able to manage in a similar situation. But he had clearly been wrong.
Lyle was breathing hard through his mouth, panting in time with the movement of his hips. Analogies involving red-hot pokers flitted through Leek’s mind as he tried desperately to ride out the pain in silence. His own adrenaline-fuelled erection had wilted at the first moment of penetration. He’d got off on inflicting pain often enough, but boarding school had cured him of any desire to be on the receiving end of it.
A slight shift in Lyle’s position as the soldier chased an elusive climax sent a sudden spike of painpleasurepain through Leek’s over-strung nerves. The next thrust nailed the same spot with equal effect. Instinctively, Leek pushed back, gasping. Lyle’s right hand slid off his hip, brushing across the tangle of hair at Leek’s groin, cupping his limp cock and balls. Leek could feel hot breath on his neck as a gun-calloused hand closed around his cock. Memories of the first time he’d felt that touch on his body fought their way through the fog that gripped his brain and, with something approaching shame, Leek realised his body was responding to Lyle’s touch, in spite of the situation.
Lyle’s cock was repeatedly nailing his prostate now, causing sweat to break out of Leek’s pores as he threw his head back and started to moan, unable to maintain his silence any longer. The soldier’s hand moved faster now, too tight, too rough, but that didn’t stop Leek thrusting up into Lyle’s fist. The mix of pain and pleasure swirled around in his head like a drug. Lyle was starting to lose his rhythm now but, whereas moments before Leek had been praying to a God he didn’t even believe in to end this, he was now begging for release of a different kind, for something to blot out, even if just for a single second, the horrors of the day.
Slick now with the fluid leaking from his cock, Lyle’s hand no longer dragged painfully over Leek’s skin, and each jerk of those strong fingers carried Leek closer and closer to the edge. With a low groan, Lyle thrust one final time, hard and deep, at the same time as his hand twisted on the upstroke, precipitating a climax that caused Leek’s arse to spasm painfully around Lyle’s cock as the soldier thrust raggedly through his own orgasm.
Leek slumped forward onto the bed, sucking gasping breaths into his lungs. Lyle’s weight pinned him down again, and the soldier’s breathing was harsh in his ear and the gun strapped across Lyle’s chest dug painfully into his spine. Leek’s heart was still racing as Lyle leaned back on his heels, his softening cock slipping from Leek’s abused body. A moment later, he felt Lyle struggle to his feet behind him, retching, and make a precipitous dash for the small en suite bathroom.
The sour smell of vomit filled Leek’s nostrils for the second time that evening as Lyle threw up the four cans of beer he’d consumed. The noise combined with the smell made Leek’s own stomach churn, but he forced himself to his feet and made his way into the bathroom where Lyle was still bringing up every morsel of food and mouthful of drink he’d taken in the last few hours into the toilet bowl.
The rim of the bath was cold on his skin as Leek sat down gingerly, trying – and failing – to hold back a hiss of pain. He reached out and settled one hand on Lyle’s shoulder while he tried to prevent himself vomiting.
How long they stayed like that, Leek had no idea, but eventually, when Lyle had finally finished retching and spitting, he gave the soldier a slight shake. “Come on, Lyle, my arse is getting cold.”
Lyle raised his head, his hazel eyes now burning with shame rather than anger. “You could have me killed,” he said, in a voice barely above a whisper. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
“You could ruin my career and let the next opportunistic bastard that wants me dead have an easy time of it,” Leek replied, equally quietly. “But you’re not going to, are you?”
The look in Lyle’s hazel eyes told him all he needed to know. Leek’s gamble had paid off.