Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 61, AU, 18
Sep. 22nd, 2010 06:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : Silk and Steel, Part 61
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lyle/Stephen, Finn, Leek
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Stephen is summoned to Leek’s house.
Warning : Slave!fic.
Stephen hesitated on the pavement outside Oliver Leek’s house. He’d parked the car in a quiet, tree-lined avenue outside a tall, narrow Victorian property with a small, neat front garden. The phone call he’d received fifteen minutes ago, just as he’d been about to settle down in one of the bunkrooms for the night, hadn’t given him much by way of explanation, but he wore a collar, so he’d done as he’d been told. Thomson had given him permission to leave the ARC. He’d picked up a pool car from the cavernous garage and followed the directions he’d been given.
He started up the steps to the front door, which opened before he’d even raised a hand to the bell.
Finn waved Stephen into the hallway while the soldier checked to ensure he hadn’t been followed.
“Just me being paranoid,” Finn said, closing the door and shooting two solid-looking bolts. “The boss’s fine,” he added quickly, obviously recognising the concern on Stephen’s face.
“So why am I here?” Stephen asked quietly, staring around him, feeling distinctly uneasy after the summons to Leek’s house late at night.
“Your boyfriend has had a difficult day, Mr Hart,” said Oliver Leek, appearing in a doorway at the end of the corridor. “I thought he would appreciate your company.”
Stephen tried to keep the expression on his face neutral while he fought against a sudden wave of revulsion. If Leek expected to get his rocks off watching Lyle fucking him, or vice versa, the slimy little bastard could think again. Stephen would rather take his chances with Helen Cutter than put on a show like that.
Leek sighed. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, Mr Hart, I can assure you that, on this occasion, my intentions are strictly honourable. The kettle’s just boiled, Finn, I’ll show Stephen upstairs.”
Stephen had to admit that Leek didn’t look much like a man in search of a cheap thrill at the moment. His eyes were faintly red-rimmed and he smelled of stale sweat, with a sickly sweet odour of something that might have been vomit. His white shirt was rumpled and, for once, he wasn’t wearing a tie. He preceded Stephen up the stairs, walking slowly and carefully, his narrow feet bare and pale. It looked like Lyle wasn’t the only one who’d had a difficult day. But no one had had as difficult a day as Ryan. News of the captain’s torture had spread around the ARC like a flash fire. On top of that, one computer technician and two security guards were still being held in custody, and it was no secret that Lester was under what amounted to house-arrest in his rooms in the ARC.
By the time Stephen had received Leek’s summons, Jenny Lewis and Annie Morris had still been riding shotgun for Cutter, doing their best to keep Helen at bay while the new Science Director made herself at home, regardless of the lateness of the hour, casually baiting Cutter whenever the opportunity presented itself. To put it mildly, the atmosphere had been tense enough to cut with a knife. It wasn’t much better in Leek’s house, although Finn had seemed surprisingly at ease, although there were times when Stephen thought that someone could explode a roadside bomb next to the young soldier and he still wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Finn followed orders and left the worrying to others.
Leek opened the door to what looked like a spacious guest bedroom. Lyle’s black jacket and tactical vest were thrown over a chair, his combat shotgun was resting on the dressing table next to the pile of webbing straps that held the lieutenant’s other weapons, and the rest of Lyle’s clothes were in an untidy heap on the floor. The room smelled of beer, sex and hastily applied air-freshener.
The noise of water running in the en suite signified that Lyle was taking a shower.
“I’d be grateful if you could remove him from there while there’s still a thimbleful of hot water left in the tank,” commented Leek, before he stepped back onto the landing and closed the door behind him.
Stephen pulled open the bathroom door. Warm, damp air surrounded him, but the smell of citrus shower gel didn’t entirely mask the fact that someone had thrown up in there very recently.
“Jon?” He could see his lover standing in the shower cubicle, facing the white-tiled wall, letting the water cascade down over his strong shoulders and recently-scarred back. Lyle gave no sign that he’d even heard him. Stephen raised his voice, “Jon!” He knew perfectly well that to take any Special Forces-trained soldier by surprise was to invite physical violence, but his lover wasn’t leaving him much of a choice.
Stephen slid the shower doors open, reached in and shut the water off. “Jon,” he said, more softly. “What the hell’s happened?”
Lyle turned around and put up a hand to dash the water out of his eyes. “Towel?” he asked, avoiding both Stephen’s eyes and the question.
A large white towel was draped over a gleaming chrome rail, underneath the shoulder-rig that held Lyle’s Glock 19. Stephen handed it to his lover and stepped back, his eyes raking Lyle’s body for any fresh scars or other signs of abuse.
The lieutenant gave a humourless laugh. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. How’s Ryan?”
“According to Ditz, he’s as well as can be expected.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I told him you’d say that,” Stephen said, attempting a smile. “It means that Ditzy’s got him doped up, sewn up and asleep, with no immediate complications. There’s still a risk of infection in his lungs, apparently, but Ditz thinks he’ll be fine.”
“Right up until the moment he gets flogged to death for dereliction of duty, treason, parking on a double yellow line or whatever else the fuckers want to dream up.”
“Connor’ll find something that clears him,” said Stephen, finding a metaphorical straw and clutching it.
“Kid’s good, but he ain’t that good. And anyway, Higher Up needs someone to take the fall for what happened this morning. Ryan’s name’s all over that ticket.”
Lyle was right. He knew that and so did Stephen. But it wasn’t like the lieutenant to give up without a fight, although they had precious little left to fight with. Instead of dredging up some meaningless platitude, Stephen simply pulled the soldier into his arms and stood there with Lyle’s face pressed into his neck, his arms wrapped around a damp, tense body.
“Jon, what did you mean by saying I was barking up the wrong tree a minute ago? What’s Leek done to you?”
Lyle pulled back, staring Stephen almost defiantly in the face. “He let me rape him. That’s what he’s done.” Lyle turned away abruptly, towelling fiercely at his body, every muscle in his back and shoulders taut with strain.
Stephen opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again, not knowing what the hell to say. He opted for walking into the other room and sitting on the bed instead, staring at Lyle, naked apart from his collar, scrubbing at his skin with the towel as if he wanted to efface the memories of whatever had gone on in that room.
“It’s not rape if he let you do it,” said Stephen weakly.
“It was rape, all right,” Lyle said bitterly. “I did it, I know. I’m no fucking better than that cunt Miller.”
Stephen was on his feet in an instant, both hands on Lyle’s shoulders. “Crap and you know it. Look, Jon, I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on between you and Leek, or why you didn’t just let the little fucker get taken apart in the siege, but if he let you do something like that, then there’s something in it for him, you can be sure of that.”
A flash of genuine humour lightened Lyle’s face for a moment. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Hart?”
Out of habit, Stephen gave him the finger. He’d originally been dubbed ‘Pretty Face’ by Lyle and his team, but the name had been dropped when he’d conclusively thrashed Lyle and Finn, the unit’s best sniper, on both the indoor and outdoor ranges. Not long after that, an adrenaline-fuelled mutual wank in the showers, following a particularly fraught call out, had led to their current relationship. Cutter had disapproved, but on this occasion that hadn’t stopped Stephen, although Cutter’s attitude did seem to have mellowed recently. Most people thought he was actually Cutter’s bit on the side, but apart from a few indiscretions, mostly when the professor was drunk, Cutter hadn’t actually ever slept with him, although Stephen had never bothered to disabuse anyone of the notion. It had saved him from quite a lot of unwanted attention down the years.
Stephen pulled back the duvet on the bed. “Jon, lie down before you fall down. I presume this is why Leek got me over here; either that or he really was in danger of running out of hot water if you’d stayed in the shower much longer.”
To his surprise, Lyle did as he was told, for once without an argument. Stephen quickly shed his own clothes, slid in alongside him and turned out the light. There were some conversations it would be easier to have in the dark.
Lyle lay on his back, body still rigid with tension. Stephen ignored that and insinuated one arm around Lyle’s shoulders, pulling him over until his head was resting on Stephen’s chest, and Lyle had one arm looped loosely over his waist.
“So what really happened?” Stephen asked quietly.
The soldier sighed. “I wasn’t joking, you know.”
“I’m not saying you were, but there’s more to it than that. Why did he let you do it?”
“So I’d stop tarring him with the same brush as Miller, I guess. I … I was pretty strung out. He thought he was losing my loyalty and wanted to prove that I could trust him.”
“Extreme,” commented Stephen dryly. “He must have been taking lessons from you.”
Lyle gave a muffled laugh in spite of the situation. Stephen knew his lover couldn’t deny the truth of his previous statement. Lyle had been the one to engineer his own flogging at Leek’s hands purely to provoke Lester’s assistant into a serious sexual assault using the handle of the whip he’d just flogged Lyle with. It had all been a ploy to give Lester an excuse to order Leek to leave the military contingent alone, thus preventing his pursuit of young Kermit: the only one of the soldiers who was both still happily married and entirely straight.
“Why did you save his life, Jon? I’d’ve thought you would’ve been the first one to dance on his bloody corpse.”
“Professional pride,” Lyle answered eventually. “I’m a soldier, it’s what I do.”
Stephen ran his hand up the skin of Lyle’s back, feeling the lumps and ridges left behind by Leek’s flogging. On top of the physical scars that Lyle would take to his grave, Oliver bloody Leek had now managed to leave the soldier with other scars, ones that would probably never entirely heal either. Given one bullet and a clear shot, Stephen wasn’t sure in that moment who would be on the receiving end if he was ever given the choice: Miller or Leek.
He pressed a kiss onto Lyle’s still-damp hair. “Go to sleep. It’s been a long day. It looks like Leek got what he wanted out of the deal, so I wouldn’t waste your guilt on him. Save it for something that matters.”
Lyle didn’t answer, but his arm did tighten around Stephen’s waist, although it was a long time before the soldier finally drifted off. Stephen simply held Lyle in his arms and lay there in the darkness, eyes open, staring at nothing. It was an equally long time before he joined his lover in sleep.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lyle/Stephen, Finn, Leek
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Stephen is summoned to Leek’s house.
Warning : Slave!fic.
Stephen hesitated on the pavement outside Oliver Leek’s house. He’d parked the car in a quiet, tree-lined avenue outside a tall, narrow Victorian property with a small, neat front garden. The phone call he’d received fifteen minutes ago, just as he’d been about to settle down in one of the bunkrooms for the night, hadn’t given him much by way of explanation, but he wore a collar, so he’d done as he’d been told. Thomson had given him permission to leave the ARC. He’d picked up a pool car from the cavernous garage and followed the directions he’d been given.
He started up the steps to the front door, which opened before he’d even raised a hand to the bell.
Finn waved Stephen into the hallway while the soldier checked to ensure he hadn’t been followed.
“Just me being paranoid,” Finn said, closing the door and shooting two solid-looking bolts. “The boss’s fine,” he added quickly, obviously recognising the concern on Stephen’s face.
“So why am I here?” Stephen asked quietly, staring around him, feeling distinctly uneasy after the summons to Leek’s house late at night.
“Your boyfriend has had a difficult day, Mr Hart,” said Oliver Leek, appearing in a doorway at the end of the corridor. “I thought he would appreciate your company.”
Stephen tried to keep the expression on his face neutral while he fought against a sudden wave of revulsion. If Leek expected to get his rocks off watching Lyle fucking him, or vice versa, the slimy little bastard could think again. Stephen would rather take his chances with Helen Cutter than put on a show like that.
Leek sighed. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, Mr Hart, I can assure you that, on this occasion, my intentions are strictly honourable. The kettle’s just boiled, Finn, I’ll show Stephen upstairs.”
Stephen had to admit that Leek didn’t look much like a man in search of a cheap thrill at the moment. His eyes were faintly red-rimmed and he smelled of stale sweat, with a sickly sweet odour of something that might have been vomit. His white shirt was rumpled and, for once, he wasn’t wearing a tie. He preceded Stephen up the stairs, walking slowly and carefully, his narrow feet bare and pale. It looked like Lyle wasn’t the only one who’d had a difficult day. But no one had had as difficult a day as Ryan. News of the captain’s torture had spread around the ARC like a flash fire. On top of that, one computer technician and two security guards were still being held in custody, and it was no secret that Lester was under what amounted to house-arrest in his rooms in the ARC.
By the time Stephen had received Leek’s summons, Jenny Lewis and Annie Morris had still been riding shotgun for Cutter, doing their best to keep Helen at bay while the new Science Director made herself at home, regardless of the lateness of the hour, casually baiting Cutter whenever the opportunity presented itself. To put it mildly, the atmosphere had been tense enough to cut with a knife. It wasn’t much better in Leek’s house, although Finn had seemed surprisingly at ease, although there were times when Stephen thought that someone could explode a roadside bomb next to the young soldier and he still wouldn’t bat an eyelid. Finn followed orders and left the worrying to others.
Leek opened the door to what looked like a spacious guest bedroom. Lyle’s black jacket and tactical vest were thrown over a chair, his combat shotgun was resting on the dressing table next to the pile of webbing straps that held the lieutenant’s other weapons, and the rest of Lyle’s clothes were in an untidy heap on the floor. The room smelled of beer, sex and hastily applied air-freshener.
The noise of water running in the en suite signified that Lyle was taking a shower.
“I’d be grateful if you could remove him from there while there’s still a thimbleful of hot water left in the tank,” commented Leek, before he stepped back onto the landing and closed the door behind him.
Stephen pulled open the bathroom door. Warm, damp air surrounded him, but the smell of citrus shower gel didn’t entirely mask the fact that someone had thrown up in there very recently.
“Jon?” He could see his lover standing in the shower cubicle, facing the white-tiled wall, letting the water cascade down over his strong shoulders and recently-scarred back. Lyle gave no sign that he’d even heard him. Stephen raised his voice, “Jon!” He knew perfectly well that to take any Special Forces-trained soldier by surprise was to invite physical violence, but his lover wasn’t leaving him much of a choice.
Stephen slid the shower doors open, reached in and shut the water off. “Jon,” he said, more softly. “What the hell’s happened?”
Lyle turned around and put up a hand to dash the water out of his eyes. “Towel?” he asked, avoiding both Stephen’s eyes and the question.
A large white towel was draped over a gleaming chrome rail, underneath the shoulder-rig that held Lyle’s Glock 19. Stephen handed it to his lover and stepped back, his eyes raking Lyle’s body for any fresh scars or other signs of abuse.
The lieutenant gave a humourless laugh. “You’re barking up the wrong tree, mate. How’s Ryan?”
“According to Ditz, he’s as well as can be expected.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
“I told him you’d say that,” Stephen said, attempting a smile. “It means that Ditzy’s got him doped up, sewn up and asleep, with no immediate complications. There’s still a risk of infection in his lungs, apparently, but Ditz thinks he’ll be fine.”
“Right up until the moment he gets flogged to death for dereliction of duty, treason, parking on a double yellow line or whatever else the fuckers want to dream up.”
“Connor’ll find something that clears him,” said Stephen, finding a metaphorical straw and clutching it.
“Kid’s good, but he ain’t that good. And anyway, Higher Up needs someone to take the fall for what happened this morning. Ryan’s name’s all over that ticket.”
Lyle was right. He knew that and so did Stephen. But it wasn’t like the lieutenant to give up without a fight, although they had precious little left to fight with. Instead of dredging up some meaningless platitude, Stephen simply pulled the soldier into his arms and stood there with Lyle’s face pressed into his neck, his arms wrapped around a damp, tense body.
“Jon, what did you mean by saying I was barking up the wrong tree a minute ago? What’s Leek done to you?”
Lyle pulled back, staring Stephen almost defiantly in the face. “He let me rape him. That’s what he’s done.” Lyle turned away abruptly, towelling fiercely at his body, every muscle in his back and shoulders taut with strain.
Stephen opened his mouth to speak, and then shut it again, not knowing what the hell to say. He opted for walking into the other room and sitting on the bed instead, staring at Lyle, naked apart from his collar, scrubbing at his skin with the towel as if he wanted to efface the memories of whatever had gone on in that room.
“It’s not rape if he let you do it,” said Stephen weakly.
“It was rape, all right,” Lyle said bitterly. “I did it, I know. I’m no fucking better than that cunt Miller.”
Stephen was on his feet in an instant, both hands on Lyle’s shoulders. “Crap and you know it. Look, Jon, I don’t pretend to understand what’s going on between you and Leek, or why you didn’t just let the little fucker get taken apart in the siege, but if he let you do something like that, then there’s something in it for him, you can be sure of that.”
A flash of genuine humour lightened Lyle’s face for a moment. “You’re not just a pretty face, are you, Hart?”
Out of habit, Stephen gave him the finger. He’d originally been dubbed ‘Pretty Face’ by Lyle and his team, but the name had been dropped when he’d conclusively thrashed Lyle and Finn, the unit’s best sniper, on both the indoor and outdoor ranges. Not long after that, an adrenaline-fuelled mutual wank in the showers, following a particularly fraught call out, had led to their current relationship. Cutter had disapproved, but on this occasion that hadn’t stopped Stephen, although Cutter’s attitude did seem to have mellowed recently. Most people thought he was actually Cutter’s bit on the side, but apart from a few indiscretions, mostly when the professor was drunk, Cutter hadn’t actually ever slept with him, although Stephen had never bothered to disabuse anyone of the notion. It had saved him from quite a lot of unwanted attention down the years.
Stephen pulled back the duvet on the bed. “Jon, lie down before you fall down. I presume this is why Leek got me over here; either that or he really was in danger of running out of hot water if you’d stayed in the shower much longer.”
To his surprise, Lyle did as he was told, for once without an argument. Stephen quickly shed his own clothes, slid in alongside him and turned out the light. There were some conversations it would be easier to have in the dark.
Lyle lay on his back, body still rigid with tension. Stephen ignored that and insinuated one arm around Lyle’s shoulders, pulling him over until his head was resting on Stephen’s chest, and Lyle had one arm looped loosely over his waist.
“So what really happened?” Stephen asked quietly.
The soldier sighed. “I wasn’t joking, you know.”
“I’m not saying you were, but there’s more to it than that. Why did he let you do it?”
“So I’d stop tarring him with the same brush as Miller, I guess. I … I was pretty strung out. He thought he was losing my loyalty and wanted to prove that I could trust him.”
“Extreme,” commented Stephen dryly. “He must have been taking lessons from you.”
Lyle gave a muffled laugh in spite of the situation. Stephen knew his lover couldn’t deny the truth of his previous statement. Lyle had been the one to engineer his own flogging at Leek’s hands purely to provoke Lester’s assistant into a serious sexual assault using the handle of the whip he’d just flogged Lyle with. It had all been a ploy to give Lester an excuse to order Leek to leave the military contingent alone, thus preventing his pursuit of young Kermit: the only one of the soldiers who was both still happily married and entirely straight.
“Why did you save his life, Jon? I’d’ve thought you would’ve been the first one to dance on his bloody corpse.”
“Professional pride,” Lyle answered eventually. “I’m a soldier, it’s what I do.”
Stephen ran his hand up the skin of Lyle’s back, feeling the lumps and ridges left behind by Leek’s flogging. On top of the physical scars that Lyle would take to his grave, Oliver bloody Leek had now managed to leave the soldier with other scars, ones that would probably never entirely heal either. Given one bullet and a clear shot, Stephen wasn’t sure in that moment who would be on the receiving end if he was ever given the choice: Miller or Leek.
He pressed a kiss onto Lyle’s still-damp hair. “Go to sleep. It’s been a long day. It looks like Leek got what he wanted out of the deal, so I wouldn’t waste your guilt on him. Save it for something that matters.”
Lyle didn’t answer, but his arm did tighten around Stephen’s waist, although it was a long time before the soldier finally drifted off. Stephen simply held Lyle in his arms and lay there in the darkness, eyes open, staring at nothing. It was an equally long time before he joined his lover in sleep.