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fredbassettTitle : The Challenge
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Lyle, Stringer, Blade, other OCs.
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : The SF lads need to let off steam. Knives are involved. Set in my Ryan/Stephen ‘verse.
Ryan was leaning against the ivy-covered wall of the hotel that they used as an operations base in the Forest of Dean, watching a long-anticipated scene play out in front of him with an air of detached interest. “Reckon your lad can take him, Joel?”
His fellow captain shrugged. “Barratt’s a cocky little fucker, but he’s good with a knife.”
Lyle pulled the tab on a can of beer and took a long swallow before passing the drink to Stringer who did the same and handed it on to Ryan. “The smart money’s still on Blade,” the lieutenant commented.
Stringer nodded, his eyes hooded against the glare of the midday sun.
Ryan glanced sideways and grinned. “Challenger’s your lad. You call it and we’ll referee.”
Stringer grinned and held his hand out for the beer. “Sounds fair to me. I’ll make ‘em play to ten hits, that’ll sort the men from the boys.”
Ryan’s own smile turned feral. All three units had been playing knife-tag for the last hour and only Blade and Barratt, the latest addition to Stringer’s team, were still unbeaten. Custom dictated that the two men now faced off against each other. So far the game had been played to three hits only, but even so both men were sweating freely, in spite of the fact that the day, although bright, was still cold. Stringer’s suggestion of changing the rules to force the winner to take a minimum of ten hits off their opponent, rather than three, would push both men to the point of exhaustion.
Barratt had joined the back-up response team three weeks previously. He’d been anxious to prove himself, as all new personnel were, and he’d also been determined to make his mark in what he saw as his chosen specialism. But to do that, there was one person he would have to take on and beat.
Ryan and Lyle took up position on opposite sides of the courtyard, each standing so they had a good field of vision.
“Change of rules, gentlemen,” drawled Stringer in the cut-glass, public school accent that disguised the fact that he had been educated in the toughest comprehensive in the back streets of Liverpool. “You’re playing to best of ten…” He hesitated a moment and then added, “But unless one of you can take a two-point lead, you keep playing.”
Blade acknowledged the additional change with an expressionless nod whereas Barratt’s smile widened as he moved smoothly into a lightening fast lunge, without waiting for anyone to signal that the game was actually on again. Blade side-stepped, his face betraying no surprise. None of the officers commented. Stunts like that were considered normal practice.
Ryan watched the deadly dance, remembering the time he’d faced off against Blade in the same courtyard. It was the first time they’d sparred, and the only time he’d managed to take on Blade and win. He still fondly remembered the adrenalin-fuelled fuck with Stephen afterwards. A lot of water had gone under any number of bridges since then, but Blade was still one of the hardest, craziest bastards that Ryan had ever worked with. He could – and frequently did – get a hard-on in circumstances that would have even other Special Forces lads pissing themselves with fright.
The two men were as evenly matched as Ryan had ever seen. In Barratt’s favour was the fact that he topped Blade by nearly two inches in height and had a slightly longer reach that he knew all too well how to capitalise on. He was also three years younger and had a wiry strength in his whip-cord thin body that was perfect for this sort of skirmishing. But he lacked the one thing that made Blade so dangerous. For all his quiet demeanour and apparent good humour, it was an open secret that Blade got his rocks off from killing and if he couldn’t do that, then a practice fight with no holds barred was the next best thing.
In an effortless move that Ryan had seen practised countless times, Blade shifted the knife to his left hand and closed on Barratt with a speed that probably only Lyle with his uncanny powers of anticipation would have had a hope of countering. The leather-sheathed blade struck a glancing blow down Barratt’s left arm, painting a red line down his sweat-slicked flesh.
“Hit to Blade. One - nil,” Stinger announced.
A faint smile quirked Blade’s lips at the sight of blood. Ryan knew full well that when he wanted to, Blade was capable of maintaining a poker face throughout even the most heated of actions, so without a doubt he was sending a subtle message to his opponent.
But Barratt wasn’t a man to rattle easily and for the next ten minutes, the two soldiers traded blow for blow, with neither gaining more than a one hit advantage at any time. Blood was running freely from a number of shallow cuts on their arms, although Kevlar vests protected their torsos, and Ditzy would no doubt liberally dispense antiseptic, plasters and sarcasm in equal measures when the bout was finally over. When the score stood at six all, Ryan traded glances with Lyle and quirked an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Lyle gave an almost imperceptible nod. He’d taken note of the same thing Ryan had. Blade was subtly establishing a pattern, feinting high to Barratt’s chest, pulling the blow just as it was countered and switching to a lower line of attack. Ryan had seen him play this game before and as soon as Barratt had subconsciously started to react to what he expected to happen, Blade would break the pattern.
Blade jabbed an arm out in the beginning of the same high-line move and in the instant Barratt reacted, he shifted the angle of attack, driving the point of the sheathed knife hard into Barratt’s right thigh. It was a move that left Blade open to a counter and, to Barratt’s credit, he seized the opportunity for a strike of his own, but it was nothing more than a glancing blow to Blade’s upper arm that didn’t even break the darkly-tanned skin.
A low-line strike like the one Blade had just pulled off always carried the risk of a successful counter, but Ryan would have laid any amount of money on Blade pulling the same stunt again. The chances of receiving a return hit serious enough to be judged a killing stroke were slight, and set against the gain from slowing his opponent down by inflicting that sort of damage carried little risk, other than that of giving away another point. He watched as Blade subtly shifted to another pattern, sending a series of sharp, straight-armed jabs to Barratt’s stomach, all of which were easily deflected. The two men were circling slowly, constantly testing the other’s defences, and the cold breeze wafted the sharp smell of sweat to Ryan’s nostrils, combined with the darker scent of something else, the musk of male arousal.
Ryan grinned. Blade would no doubt be sporting an erection hard enough to knock a nail into wood and Barratt was probably the same. Ryan’s own cock was starting to take a distinct interest in the proceedings as well. Stephen was closeted with Cutter somewhere working on the notes for a lecture the professor was meant to be giving the following week, so Ryan would almost certainly end up taking care of himself, but after the afternoon’s outpouring of testosterone, he very much doubted he’d be the only one who ended up bringing his dick out to play.
A low grunt of pain was followed by the cry of “Hit!”
Blade had just jammed the point of his knife with all his considerable strength into the same point on Barratt’s thigh, side-stepping fast enough to avoid the inevitable counter. Barratt failed to mask his pain and Ryan watched as Blade grinned widely and pressed home a blindingly fast series of strikes that Barratt only barely fended off. The fight was entering its closing stages, although Ryan doubted that the younger guy even realised that yet. Blade was in full control now, dictating both the pace and the pattern. If this had been real action, he would have ended it as quickly as possible, almost certainly by opening his opponent’s throat, but lives weren’t at stake here, just reputations. Blade would prolong the fight just long enough for Barratt to know he was being played with and once that realisation had sunk in he’d make the final hit.
Ryan’s cock was hot and heavy, pressing against the zip of his black trousers. A quick glance around told him he wasn’t the only one in that position and he didn’t even bother being surreptitious about arranging himself into a more comfortable position.
“Stop fannying around, you two, the boss wants to jerk off!” Finn yelled, grinning widely.
Ryan flipped him off good-humouredly, his eyes never leaving the virtuoso game of cat and mouse that Blade was now directing. It was impossible to miss the predatory gleam in the young soldier’s emerald eyes and from the set of Barratt’s thin lips, it was clear that he now knew he was being played.
“He’s not the only one,” grumbled Lyle, pressing the heel of his hand against his own erection. “Come on, Blade, finish it, I need a bloody wank as well!”
Credit where it was due, Ryan thought, as he rubbed absently at his hard cock. The lad might have known that he was about to be filleted but Barratt wasn’t for giving up, even though his movements now lacked precision and sweat was running freely down his face. His left leg was obviously heavy with pain and he’d have a bruise the size of a dinner plate on his thigh before the night was out. Adrenalin would be flooding his system now and his muscles would be quivering like an over-strung bow. Ryan had felt like that often enough when sparring with Blade.
Blade’s expression was now as blank as a mask but his green eyes were glittering with pleasure. That more than anything else was clearly starting to spook Barratt as Blade now drove him inexorably backwards towards the side wall of one of the barns. The minute you lost the ability to manoeuvre in a fight like this, you were stuffed and Barratt knew that as well as the watchers did. In a last-ditch display of bloody-minded determination, the younger man held his ground, fighting back with a raw surge of pure energy. Blade parried with deceptive ease, producing a turn of speed that almost defeated Ryan’s ability to process the sequence of strike, counter, feint, parry, strike as each movement segued smoothly into the next.
Blade was already one hit ahead and the next would clinch his victory. He knew it, the audience knew it and, more importantly, his opponent knew it.
Barratt sucked a ragged breath into his heaving lungs and threw himself forward in a move designed to force Blade onto the back foot and make him give ground. What it lacked in finesse it made up for in brute force. Blade countered with a dancer’s precision, moving smoothly sideways, grabbing Barratt’s right wrist in his left hand and using the other man’s momentum against him, jabbing the point of his knife against Barratt’s ribs in what would have been a killing stroke. The blow was hard enough to be felt even through the protection of the body armour.
Air exploded from Barratt’s lungs and he dropped to his knees, the knife falling from nerveless fingers as he retched painfully. The climax had been as swift and brutal as any Ryan had ever seen. He felt a sudden warm rush in his groin and barely stifled his own gasp as his cock pulsed and he came without even touching himself.
On the pitted tarmac of the courtyard, Barratt swayed on his knees and managed to stare up at Blade, exhaustion etched in every line of his face. Blade looked down at him, finally allowing the heat to bleed back into eyes that only moments ago had been as cold as chips of green ice. He tossed the sheathed knife lightly to his left hand and dropped his right hand to the zip of his own trousers freeing his hard cock. He stripped his hand down his dick as it pulsed white come onto Barratt’s upturned face. The younger man didn’t flinch, but he did gasp and jerk his hips upwards. It looked like Ryan wasn’t the only one who had just come in his pants.
Blade quickly tucked his cock away, zipped up his trousers and held a hand down to Barratt. The younger man took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Blade steadied Barratt with an arm around his waist and swept his eyes across the assembled watchers, carefully not making eye contact with Ryan, Stringer or Lyle, but making sure he held everyone else’s gaze long enough to unsettle.
“Any of you think you could do better than him?” Blade asked in a quiet, almost conversational tone of voice that did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he would very happily take on anyone who was suicidal enough to challenge him.
The silence stretched out for a moment longer than was comfortable, before Finn shook his head and said with a good-natured grin, “No fucking chance. He’s almost as psycho as you, mate.”
The tension broke and suddenly cans of beer appeared from nowhere and were tossed carelessly around. Blade caught one, pulled the tab and offered it first to Barratt.
Barratt took it, said something too low for Ryan or anyone else to catch, and then emptied the contents of the can over his face and down his throat. Blade smiled one of his rare smiles and caught the next can that Finn tossed over to him, following Barratt’s lead, tipping the cold liquid over his face, catching some in his mouth and using the rest to cool himself.
The inevitable money started to change hands as Lyle sauntered over to Ryan and Stringer and said casually, “Someone tell me I’m not the only one who just came in my pants.”
“I imagine Finn was running a book on that as well,” Ryan said, tugging at the damp material at his crotch.
“He was,” Stringer commented. “And I suspect I have just creamed that bet as well, so to speak, gentlemen.”
And from the grimace on Finn’s face, Ryan suspected his fellow captain was right about that.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Ryan, Lyle, Stringer, Blade, other OCs.
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : The SF lads need to let off steam. Knives are involved. Set in my Ryan/Stephen ‘verse.
Ryan was leaning against the ivy-covered wall of the hotel that they used as an operations base in the Forest of Dean, watching a long-anticipated scene play out in front of him with an air of detached interest. “Reckon your lad can take him, Joel?”
His fellow captain shrugged. “Barratt’s a cocky little fucker, but he’s good with a knife.”
Lyle pulled the tab on a can of beer and took a long swallow before passing the drink to Stringer who did the same and handed it on to Ryan. “The smart money’s still on Blade,” the lieutenant commented.
Stringer nodded, his eyes hooded against the glare of the midday sun.
Ryan glanced sideways and grinned. “Challenger’s your lad. You call it and we’ll referee.”
Stringer grinned and held his hand out for the beer. “Sounds fair to me. I’ll make ‘em play to ten hits, that’ll sort the men from the boys.”
Ryan’s own smile turned feral. All three units had been playing knife-tag for the last hour and only Blade and Barratt, the latest addition to Stringer’s team, were still unbeaten. Custom dictated that the two men now faced off against each other. So far the game had been played to three hits only, but even so both men were sweating freely, in spite of the fact that the day, although bright, was still cold. Stringer’s suggestion of changing the rules to force the winner to take a minimum of ten hits off their opponent, rather than three, would push both men to the point of exhaustion.
Barratt had joined the back-up response team three weeks previously. He’d been anxious to prove himself, as all new personnel were, and he’d also been determined to make his mark in what he saw as his chosen specialism. But to do that, there was one person he would have to take on and beat.
Ryan and Lyle took up position on opposite sides of the courtyard, each standing so they had a good field of vision.
“Change of rules, gentlemen,” drawled Stringer in the cut-glass, public school accent that disguised the fact that he had been educated in the toughest comprehensive in the back streets of Liverpool. “You’re playing to best of ten…” He hesitated a moment and then added, “But unless one of you can take a two-point lead, you keep playing.”
Blade acknowledged the additional change with an expressionless nod whereas Barratt’s smile widened as he moved smoothly into a lightening fast lunge, without waiting for anyone to signal that the game was actually on again. Blade side-stepped, his face betraying no surprise. None of the officers commented. Stunts like that were considered normal practice.
Ryan watched the deadly dance, remembering the time he’d faced off against Blade in the same courtyard. It was the first time they’d sparred, and the only time he’d managed to take on Blade and win. He still fondly remembered the adrenalin-fuelled fuck with Stephen afterwards. A lot of water had gone under any number of bridges since then, but Blade was still one of the hardest, craziest bastards that Ryan had ever worked with. He could – and frequently did – get a hard-on in circumstances that would have even other Special Forces lads pissing themselves with fright.
The two men were as evenly matched as Ryan had ever seen. In Barratt’s favour was the fact that he topped Blade by nearly two inches in height and had a slightly longer reach that he knew all too well how to capitalise on. He was also three years younger and had a wiry strength in his whip-cord thin body that was perfect for this sort of skirmishing. But he lacked the one thing that made Blade so dangerous. For all his quiet demeanour and apparent good humour, it was an open secret that Blade got his rocks off from killing and if he couldn’t do that, then a practice fight with no holds barred was the next best thing.
In an effortless move that Ryan had seen practised countless times, Blade shifted the knife to his left hand and closed on Barratt with a speed that probably only Lyle with his uncanny powers of anticipation would have had a hope of countering. The leather-sheathed blade struck a glancing blow down Barratt’s left arm, painting a red line down his sweat-slicked flesh.
“Hit to Blade. One - nil,” Stinger announced.
A faint smile quirked Blade’s lips at the sight of blood. Ryan knew full well that when he wanted to, Blade was capable of maintaining a poker face throughout even the most heated of actions, so without a doubt he was sending a subtle message to his opponent.
But Barratt wasn’t a man to rattle easily and for the next ten minutes, the two soldiers traded blow for blow, with neither gaining more than a one hit advantage at any time. Blood was running freely from a number of shallow cuts on their arms, although Kevlar vests protected their torsos, and Ditzy would no doubt liberally dispense antiseptic, plasters and sarcasm in equal measures when the bout was finally over. When the score stood at six all, Ryan traded glances with Lyle and quirked an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Lyle gave an almost imperceptible nod. He’d taken note of the same thing Ryan had. Blade was subtly establishing a pattern, feinting high to Barratt’s chest, pulling the blow just as it was countered and switching to a lower line of attack. Ryan had seen him play this game before and as soon as Barratt had subconsciously started to react to what he expected to happen, Blade would break the pattern.
Blade jabbed an arm out in the beginning of the same high-line move and in the instant Barratt reacted, he shifted the angle of attack, driving the point of the sheathed knife hard into Barratt’s right thigh. It was a move that left Blade open to a counter and, to Barratt’s credit, he seized the opportunity for a strike of his own, but it was nothing more than a glancing blow to Blade’s upper arm that didn’t even break the darkly-tanned skin.
A low-line strike like the one Blade had just pulled off always carried the risk of a successful counter, but Ryan would have laid any amount of money on Blade pulling the same stunt again. The chances of receiving a return hit serious enough to be judged a killing stroke were slight, and set against the gain from slowing his opponent down by inflicting that sort of damage carried little risk, other than that of giving away another point. He watched as Blade subtly shifted to another pattern, sending a series of sharp, straight-armed jabs to Barratt’s stomach, all of which were easily deflected. The two men were circling slowly, constantly testing the other’s defences, and the cold breeze wafted the sharp smell of sweat to Ryan’s nostrils, combined with the darker scent of something else, the musk of male arousal.
Ryan grinned. Blade would no doubt be sporting an erection hard enough to knock a nail into wood and Barratt was probably the same. Ryan’s own cock was starting to take a distinct interest in the proceedings as well. Stephen was closeted with Cutter somewhere working on the notes for a lecture the professor was meant to be giving the following week, so Ryan would almost certainly end up taking care of himself, but after the afternoon’s outpouring of testosterone, he very much doubted he’d be the only one who ended up bringing his dick out to play.
A low grunt of pain was followed by the cry of “Hit!”
Blade had just jammed the point of his knife with all his considerable strength into the same point on Barratt’s thigh, side-stepping fast enough to avoid the inevitable counter. Barratt failed to mask his pain and Ryan watched as Blade grinned widely and pressed home a blindingly fast series of strikes that Barratt only barely fended off. The fight was entering its closing stages, although Ryan doubted that the younger guy even realised that yet. Blade was in full control now, dictating both the pace and the pattern. If this had been real action, he would have ended it as quickly as possible, almost certainly by opening his opponent’s throat, but lives weren’t at stake here, just reputations. Blade would prolong the fight just long enough for Barratt to know he was being played with and once that realisation had sunk in he’d make the final hit.
Ryan’s cock was hot and heavy, pressing against the zip of his black trousers. A quick glance around told him he wasn’t the only one in that position and he didn’t even bother being surreptitious about arranging himself into a more comfortable position.
“Stop fannying around, you two, the boss wants to jerk off!” Finn yelled, grinning widely.
Ryan flipped him off good-humouredly, his eyes never leaving the virtuoso game of cat and mouse that Blade was now directing. It was impossible to miss the predatory gleam in the young soldier’s emerald eyes and from the set of Barratt’s thin lips, it was clear that he now knew he was being played.
“He’s not the only one,” grumbled Lyle, pressing the heel of his hand against his own erection. “Come on, Blade, finish it, I need a bloody wank as well!”
Credit where it was due, Ryan thought, as he rubbed absently at his hard cock. The lad might have known that he was about to be filleted but Barratt wasn’t for giving up, even though his movements now lacked precision and sweat was running freely down his face. His left leg was obviously heavy with pain and he’d have a bruise the size of a dinner plate on his thigh before the night was out. Adrenalin would be flooding his system now and his muscles would be quivering like an over-strung bow. Ryan had felt like that often enough when sparring with Blade.
Blade’s expression was now as blank as a mask but his green eyes were glittering with pleasure. That more than anything else was clearly starting to spook Barratt as Blade now drove him inexorably backwards towards the side wall of one of the barns. The minute you lost the ability to manoeuvre in a fight like this, you were stuffed and Barratt knew that as well as the watchers did. In a last-ditch display of bloody-minded determination, the younger man held his ground, fighting back with a raw surge of pure energy. Blade parried with deceptive ease, producing a turn of speed that almost defeated Ryan’s ability to process the sequence of strike, counter, feint, parry, strike as each movement segued smoothly into the next.
Blade was already one hit ahead and the next would clinch his victory. He knew it, the audience knew it and, more importantly, his opponent knew it.
Barratt sucked a ragged breath into his heaving lungs and threw himself forward in a move designed to force Blade onto the back foot and make him give ground. What it lacked in finesse it made up for in brute force. Blade countered with a dancer’s precision, moving smoothly sideways, grabbing Barratt’s right wrist in his left hand and using the other man’s momentum against him, jabbing the point of his knife against Barratt’s ribs in what would have been a killing stroke. The blow was hard enough to be felt even through the protection of the body armour.
Air exploded from Barratt’s lungs and he dropped to his knees, the knife falling from nerveless fingers as he retched painfully. The climax had been as swift and brutal as any Ryan had ever seen. He felt a sudden warm rush in his groin and barely stifled his own gasp as his cock pulsed and he came without even touching himself.
On the pitted tarmac of the courtyard, Barratt swayed on his knees and managed to stare up at Blade, exhaustion etched in every line of his face. Blade looked down at him, finally allowing the heat to bleed back into eyes that only moments ago had been as cold as chips of green ice. He tossed the sheathed knife lightly to his left hand and dropped his right hand to the zip of his own trousers freeing his hard cock. He stripped his hand down his dick as it pulsed white come onto Barratt’s upturned face. The younger man didn’t flinch, but he did gasp and jerk his hips upwards. It looked like Ryan wasn’t the only one who had just come in his pants.
Blade quickly tucked his cock away, zipped up his trousers and held a hand down to Barratt. The younger man took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet. Blade steadied Barratt with an arm around his waist and swept his eyes across the assembled watchers, carefully not making eye contact with Ryan, Stringer or Lyle, but making sure he held everyone else’s gaze long enough to unsettle.
“Any of you think you could do better than him?” Blade asked in a quiet, almost conversational tone of voice that did absolutely nothing to disguise the fact that he would very happily take on anyone who was suicidal enough to challenge him.
The silence stretched out for a moment longer than was comfortable, before Finn shook his head and said with a good-natured grin, “No fucking chance. He’s almost as psycho as you, mate.”
The tension broke and suddenly cans of beer appeared from nowhere and were tossed carelessly around. Blade caught one, pulled the tab and offered it first to Barratt.
Barratt took it, said something too low for Ryan or anyone else to catch, and then emptied the contents of the can over his face and down his throat. Blade smiled one of his rare smiles and caught the next can that Finn tossed over to him, following Barratt’s lead, tipping the cold liquid over his face, catching some in his mouth and using the rest to cool himself.
The inevitable money started to change hands as Lyle sauntered over to Ryan and Stringer and said casually, “Someone tell me I’m not the only one who just came in my pants.”
“I imagine Finn was running a book on that as well,” Ryan said, tugging at the damp material at his crotch.
“He was,” Stringer commented. “And I suspect I have just creamed that bet as well, so to speak, gentlemen.”
And from the grimace on Finn’s face, Ryan suspected his fellow captain was right about that.
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Date: 2011-11-08 12:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 09:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 06:35 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-11-07 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 09:20 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-11-07 08:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 08:49 pm (UTC)Jesus fucking Christ. *raises my hand too*
*collapses in a sticky heap*
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Date: 2011-11-07 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 08:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 09:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 07:13 am (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-11-07 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-07 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 12:48 am (UTC)I do think my favourite part of this, though, was Finn. *veg*
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Date: 2011-11-08 09:03 am (UTC)Finn is always such fun.
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Date: 2011-11-08 02:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-08 09:04 am (UTC)*g* I like it when they get like that, too.
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Date: 2011-11-08 11:36 am (UTC)How hot was that? Nearly counts as a pwp!
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Date: 2011-11-08 02:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-14 07:29 pm (UTC)*turns into a puddle all over again*
So sorry I didn't manage to mop up my drooley remains the first time I read this hon but it has not changed the fact that it's so smoking hot I nearly sizzled out of existence :)
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Date: 2011-11-14 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 07:48 pm (UTC)I was practising writing action scenes. *g*
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Date: 2011-11-16 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-08-22 07:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-22 07:49 pm (UTC)I am always so chuffed when people like the OCs.