Fic, Later That Night, Part 2, Stephen/Ryan Series, Slash, 18

[fredbassett]

Title : Later That Night, Part 2
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Lester/Lyle
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle), no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None 

Summary : Immediately follows the Devil’s Crowll. This is the sort-of Epilogue I promised to adafrog and has been written for her and all the people who wanted Lester/Lyle slash. There will be one more short part, titled Coffee.
Tags : fic, slash, Lester,  Lyle

Hazel eyes stared steadily into his. A smile started to form on the pale face. But the eyes and the smile were on a face that wasn’t attached to a body. The head floated in the water. Upright. A red mist spread slowly around the ruins of the neck. Then slowly and carefully the head began to sink down into the mud, settling there like a puppy in a basket. Looking almost pleased with itself, as though it expected a pat.

Lester’s scream echoed round the bedroom.

*          *          *

Lyle was awake inside of a second, arms encircling the other man, smelling his fear, feeling it on skin made rough with raised hairs. He held Lester while the tremors wracked him. He felt him shake and all he could do was stroke down the long line of a thin back, murmuring soft reassuring nonsense, not even really conscious of what he was saying, But it seemed to be working, so he carried on.

He’d known this was going to happen. That was why he’d followed Lester upstairs. The guy’d been strung so tight he was in danger of snapping if anyone had so much as breathed on him. Lyle had seen enough blokes in the same state to recognise the signs. He’d asked Ditzy for a sedative, but the medic had shaken his head, saying he’d seen too many painkillers and booze consumed to make more drugs a sensible idea.

The medic’s refusal had left Lyle with only one option. And he’d wondered what sort of trouble his flirting was about to land him in. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said he didn’t go with men. The nearest he’d got until last night to a same-sex experience had been jerking off with the guys sometimes to get rid of post-action tension.

They all did it, occasionally taking bets on who’d get there quickest, or last longest or be noisiest/quietest or whatever. It was a good way of reminding yourself you were still alive. And it was normally accompanied by copious amounts of booze and followed by a hangover.

He grinned in the darkness, remembering yesterday. Ryan had definitely swept the board. Even Lyle had admitted he’d expected to waste his money on that bet, but the captain had come through after all. It hadn’t been a bad take either.

And a couple of hours after that, the memory of Hart, on his knees in front of a bloody, battered Ryan, still nuzzling and licking, had come back to mind rather forcefully at a unexpected moment in the shower.  

Those memories were surfacing again now in an even more wholly inappropriate way, and he found himself starting to get hard. 

He had an armful of shuddering civil servant and he was starting to get an erection. The situation was degenerating, in more ways than one.

One option was to make a tactical withdrawal to the bathroom, but at the moment, letting go of Lester didn’t seem like a good idea. Not until the other man had stopped shaking at least.

The panic attack took longer to control than the one in the cave but eventually, Lester appeared to drift back into an exhausted sleep, leaving Lyle with an armful of disconcertingly damp civil servant, contemplating his own erection.

Eventually, a numb arm drove him into movement and he was forced to turn over onto his side.

Immediately, a warm and by now somewhat drier body followed him, pressing against his back, one arm looping comfortably round his waist.

Breath tickled the hollow between his shoulders and it felt nice. Companionable. Lyle found he was liking the company, even though it wasn’t quite what he was used to.

A hand trailed down over his hip and he started to wonder if Lester was actually awake.

The hand stroked his hip bone. Yep, it’s owner was awake. And so was a certain part of Lyle’s anatomy.

The soldier closed his eyes.

The hand continued stroking.

Lyle found himself hoping the hand would shift round a bit further.

It didn’t.

He had a sudden uncomfortable feeling that the next move was being left up to him. His cock decided matters for him and twitched, demanding attention. Escaping to the bathroom now would be embarrassingly obvious. And probably rather lonely.

Acting on the sort of impulse that had landed him in deep shit more times than he cared to remember, Lyle turning onto his back, letting Lester’s hand slide down further. And then he found himself being touched, being held. Held hesitantly, the way he remembered being hesitant himself earlier.

Lester stroked him slowly and carefully and gradually, Lyle started to relax. It felt much like his own hand really, but without the gun calluses. And he was hard. There was no denying that.

The hand movements continued, still light, almost teasing and he found his hips were starting to move, not thrust exactly, but definitely move. And it still felt good.

His body took charge and decided the matter for him. A rather dirty noise escaped his lips as he made his first proper thrust into Lester’s hand. A moment later he felt a soft kiss being pressed into the hollow of his neck.

Abruptly Lester shifted position and started to slither lower in the bed, his lips tracking down Lyle’s side, over his stomach, past his hips, then lower.

OK, this really was a first.

He was about to be on the receiving end of a blow-job from a bloke and he wasn’t objecting. But he was flushing again, and since when had he started to play the blushing bride, for fuck’s sake?

Lyle consoled himself with the thought that at least the cause of his flush wasn’t in any position to notice it.

Then a tongue slid around the head of his cock, followed by a pair of warm, wet lips and it really was all Lyle could do to stop himself pushing deeper into Lester’s mouth. He was breathing though his own mouth now, shallow, almost panting and it felt more than just good.

He ran his hands through Lester’s short black hair and stroked those angular cheekbones making small, encouraging noises in his throat and it didn’t bloody well matter any more that it was another bloke.

The sensations started to go beyond good and find their way into bloody amazing. It was like getting a blow-job off yourself. The mouth steadily working on him seemed to know exactly what he liked and so did the hands. One was moving lightly over his balls, and the other was still stroking his hip and Lyle’s entire focus had suddenly become so narrow that he could have been staring down a sniper scope.

The soldier’s next groan could have been straight out of a bad porno movie. But it was way too late for embarrassment now. Not when he was further down a throat than he’d ever managed in his life, and the part of his brain that was still functioning was very, very impressed.

Then rational thought was swamped by sensation and his thrusts descended into ragged jerks as he felt Lester swallowing around him and that was it, he was losing control, hands twisted in hair, and he was damned certain that he’d started babbling and that whatever he was saying wasn’t polite and he just didn’t bloody well care. It was too damned good for that.

It was so damned good that it almost hurt and then he came, in one long ripped curse.

And afterwards it was Lester who held him while he sweated and shuddered and finally let go of the tension he hadn’t even known he’d still been holding onto.

And then there were no nightmares.