fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2011-11-09 08:41 pm
fredbassett) wrote2011-11-09 08:41 pm
Entry tags:
- au,
- fic,
- lester/ryan,
- lorraine,
- nick
Fic, Miles To Go Before I Sleep, Ryan/Lester, 18
Title : Miles To Go Before I Sleep
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Ryan/Lester, Nick, Lorraine
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ryan’s first day in his new posting sets the scene for things to come.
Warning : Slave!fic set in the Silk and Steel universe.
A/N : My Evil Twin and I were well into production of the final plot arc in the Silk and Steel universe when events forced us into a longer hiatus than we’d planned. This prequel to the main series has been written as a get well soon present for my beloved munchkinofdoom and is also offered as a thank you to our readers for their much-appreciated patience. The title is from the song From the North by Runrig.
Ryan brought his Range Rover to a halt in front of the barrier and lowered all the windows in preparation for a standard security check. The guard who approached was dressed in black, carried an M4 across his chest and looked like he wouldn’t have any hesitation in using it.
“May I see your authorisation, sir?”
He handed his identification through the window. The man took the time to read it properly and check his photo before handing the ID card back.
“Thank you, sir. Follow the road to the main building and then take the ramp to the internal car park. There is a space reserved for you to the right of the doors. You can’t miss them.”
While the man had been checking his papers, one of the other guards had walked around the Range Rover staring into each window. Ryan was unarmed and dressed in civvies. The vehicle contained nothing more than a Bergen with a few changes of clothes as he’d been told that he’d be supplied with everything else he needed on arrival. After four months in the Middle East, it was nice to be back in the UK but he’d barely had time to draw breath in Credenhill before he’d been handed his marching orders again. The only information he’d been given was that he’d be acting as Head of Security for a Home Office operation that had recently moved into an old MoD facility just outside Reading. The building itself was relatively new, a multi-million pound monstrosity, all glass, metal and curves. He’d been told to report to someone called Sir James Lester and to take orders from him. As briefings went, it had been short and to the point. And about as informative as a railway station announcement.
The indoor garage at the top of the long, curving ramp looked like an aircraft hanger, and the gate guard had been right, you certainly couldn’t miss the doors. A coach could have gone through them and still had room to spare on all sides. They led to an enormous atrium containing a bank of assorted flat screens, computer terminals and keyboards. On the floor above, an impeccably-dressed man stared down into the atrium for a moment as though surveying his domain and then turned away at the sound of approaching footsteps along the upper corridor and made his way back into a glass-walled office.
A dark-haired young man wearing an odd set of clothing topped off with a hat and a pair of fingerless gloves, despite the warmth in the building, was sitting in front of one of the terminals busily tapping away at a keyboard. He turned around as Ryan walked in and gave him a friendly, albeit slightly wary smile. Ryan noticed that he wasn’t wearing a collar.
“You’ll be the new Head of Security,” the young man commented.
Ryan nodded. “Where can I find Sir James Lester?”
The young man waved a hand at a curving ramp leading up to the first floor. Whoever had designed this place had liked ramps and curves. “His office is up there. Top of the ramp. I’m Connor, Connor Temple.” He stuck his hand out and Ryan shook it. “You’re Captain Ryan, right?”
As Ryan made his way up the ramp, he wondered what the hell this set up was all about and why they needed a head of security. But no doubt all would become clear when he finally met his new boss. He walked into an outer office where a pleasant-looking woman with short, frizzy black hair was sitting behind a desk with a pile of paperwork in front of her. Her dark skin was untouched by make-up but she was wearing clear nail varnish. She was uncollared as well. The only Indentured he’d seen so far had been the security guards.
Ryan could hear a raised voice in the inner offer saying loudly in a pronounced Scottish accent, “I do not want to have to do my job surrounded by bloody idiots who think they can solve any problem by just fetching a bigger gun! That last moron was bad enough. I don’t want another one like him!”
“I’ll thank you to let me be the judge of what this project needs by way of military support, Cutter,” replied an urbane, but clearly irritated voice that Ryan guessed belonged to Sir James Lester.
The woman behind the desk looked up, smiled at him and said, “Captain Ryan, I presume? I’m Lorraine Wickes, Sir James’s secretary. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She stood up, smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle from her black skirt, and knocked respectfully on the open door. “Captain Ryan has arrived, Sir James.”
“Send him in.” The voice was clipped and cool.
Out of habit, Ryan knocked on the door to signal his presence and waited for an acknowledgment before proceeding further. A moment later, Ryan entered the office, saluted the man sitting behind the desk and then sank to his knees, head bowed. He had no idea what the protocols were like here and no one had seen fit to brief him on the subject so he’d just have to play safe.
“You may stand.” Lester’s accent was bland Home Counties. He was wearing an obviously expensive suit, grey with thin stripes, a light pink shirt and a bold, red tie. Ryan put him at very early forties. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead and he stared at Ryan down an aquiline nose, his thin lips set in a hard line.
The other man was about the same age, but dressed casually in an open-necked shirt and what looked like an army surplus jacket that had obviously seen a lot of wear. His blond hair was practically standing up on end and the man had at least a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. He stared appraisingly at Ryan out of shrewd blue eyes.
Ryan adopted a position of parade rest, knowing better that to meet either man’s eyes. There was an air of tension in the room and he had a feeling he’d arrived in the middle of a well-worn argument.
“What have your superiors told you about this assignment, Captain?” Lester demanded.
“Just that I am to take up the position of Head of Security here, sir.” As the last word left his lips, Ryan cursed his absence of information on the man he was now reporting to. He would have preferred to have known whether ‘sir’ or ‘master’ was the usual mode of address. Lester’s expression gave nothing away so Ryan had no idea whether he’d just got off on the wrong foot or not. “And that I am to take my orders from you,” he added.
“Nice to know that someone will,” Lester snapped with a sideways glance at the man called Cutter.
Cutter laughed. “Oh dear, it’s all going to come as rather a shock to him, isn’t it? Will you enlighten the poor man, or shall I?”
Lester rolled his eyes. “Be my guest.”
* * * * *
By the time Cutter had finished, Ryan was finding hard to maintain a neutral expression. Dinosaurs? Rips in time? Neither of the two men facing him looked mad, and a significant amount of money had clearly been poured into this place, so someone was obviously taking the situation very seriously indeed. The government’s response to the problem appeared to be in keeping with their attitude to most things: keep the general public in the dark and feed them shit. The well-known mushroom treatment. The sad thing was that it usually worked, especially in a country where people had successfully been conditioned not to question authority. Especially when the authority in question was dressed in black and carrying a big gun.
As far as he’d been able to gather, his job was two-fold. Firstly, to ride shotgun for a team of civilian dinosaur-hunters headed by Professor Nick Cutter, lately of the Central Metropolitan University, and secondly to be responsible for the security of the Anomaly Research Centre itself. It looked like the whole operation had been thrown together on the fly. The building had been originally intended for use by the newly-formed National Crime Agency, but a short – and no doubt bloody – turf-war had ensued. The losers were probably still licking their wounds and firing off terse memos.
The reports of past operations would no doubt make interesting reading, but from what Ryan gathered, the soldiers assigned to the project, drawn from a number of operational units, had suffered a high attrition rate, with their previous CO meeting a messy fate in the jaws for something that Ryan wouldn’t even attempt to pronounce. After that, the decision had been taken to send in some heavier back-up and a call had been made by Downing Street itself to the Director of Special Forces.
“You’ll have a reasonably free hand in choosing your own men, Ryan,” Lester told him. “The Director says he’ll provide you with a list of available personnel. This project has the highest priority, but I would appreciate it if you’d put a stop to the way we’ve been haemorrhaging soldiers. In the field, you’ll defer to Professor Cutter but, as you’ll discover for yourself, Cutter does have rather… idiosyncratic views on the preservation of the creatures that the anomalies disgorge on an all too regular basis but it’s your job to keep his team and the general public safe, Ryan, and don’t forget that.” Lester waved his hand at the door in a gesture of obvious dismissal. “Lorraine will show you to your office.”
* * * * *
Six hours later, Ryan had read countless reports, drunk more coffee than was good for him and had read the files on every member of the security team. The internal security seemed competent enough – judging by the lads he’d seen on the front gate – but the mismatched lot that had been assigned to the field team seemed to have been drawn from the dregs of at least three different regiments. He was beginning to wonder if a memo had been sent to various COs asking them to send along anyone they wanted to get rid of. Their previous captain had been fresh out of Sandhurst and wholly unsuited to a job like this.
Considering the amount of money that had been poured into other aspects of the project, the military side had been far more haphazard, but he was beginning to suspect that wrangling between the Home Office and the MoD was to blame for that. This was exactly the sort of project that the MoD would love to get their hands on, but the Home Office had got in first and were intending to stay in charge. So the MoD had promptly played hard-ball and assigned a sub-optimum team, no doubt hoping to receive a heart-felt plea for assistance that would enable them to step in and take charge.
Lester was some sort of government hatchet man, fresh from a stint in the Ministry of Justice. He had plenty of friends in high places and a reputation for getting the job done, whatever the job happened to be. His secretary had proved to be a mine of useful information and Ryan was determined to keep on the right side of her. She’d also given him a briefing on Cutter’s team, none of whom Ryan had met yet, apart from the lad who’d been in the main atrium when he’d arrived, a former university student by the name of Connor Temple. The other two were Stephen Hart, Cutter’s research assistant, and an animal expert called Abby Maitland.
Ryan rubbed his eyes. He’d been hunched over a desk for most of the day and really needed to take a break. He knew where his quarters were, a single room near the bunkrooms used by the rest of the security contingent. He’d already tossed his Bergen in there and picked up a couple of uniforms from the stores. His CO back at base had been right when he’d said Ryan would find everything he needed here. The armoury was well-stocked with everything short of heavy artillery, but from some of the reports Ryan had read, that was a lack he wouldn’t mind remedying, although he had a feeling Cutter would have something to say on that subject.
A walk around the building would be a good way of starting to find his feet, but Ryan could hardly do that in a pair of old jeans and a faded shirt. A quick shower went a long way to waking him up and the black combat trousers and a black teeshirt he’d picked made him look more the part he’d been sent to play. A Glock 19 holstered on his right thigh completed the ensemble. The building had an underground firing range and Ryan had a deep dislike of carrying a weapon he hadn’t practised with, so that seemed as good a destination as any.
The time was approaching 7pm and the building appeared to be running on a skeleton staff now. The lad in the jumble sale clothes had been replaced by a woman. From what Ryan had gathered from the reports, a team of technicians under Connor Temple’s guidance had access to the Police National Computer, monitored calls to and from the various emergency services and also received information from GCHQ in Cheltenham. On top of that they kept a watching brief on a number of fringe-nut websites dedicated to everything from UFO sightings to crop circles to the Beast of Bodmin.
The firing range was accessed using a combination of Ryan’s security pass and an entry code. Two members of the security team were just packing up to leave. They came smartly to attention and seemed both surprised and pleased when he addressed them by name. The two hours he’d spent with the personnel files clearly hadn’t been wasted, but by mid-day tomorrow he wanted to be sure of knowing the name of everyone who worked in the ARC, not just the military contingent and he still needed to meet the rest of Cutter’s team.
The sound of gunshots was loud in the enclosed space, signalling that Ryan wasn’t alone. He grabbed a pair of ear-defenders and made his way to a firing position. To his surprise, the other occupant of the range was Sir James Lester. The man’s jacket was draped over the back of a chair and he had adopted a relaxed and professional stance, using a classic two-handed grip.
He glanced across at Ryan and acknowledged his presence with a brief nod. According to Lorraine Wickes, Lester was generally content to be addressed as ‘sir’ by anyone wearing a collar, but she had warned him that in certain circumstances – but what those might be she hadn’t seen fit to specify – ‘master’ would be a wise choice. Ryan was beginning to wish that he’d had the forethought to ask her to elaborate.
Lester’s stare was cool and contained an undercurrent of something that Ryan couldn’t quite put his finger on. The man’s eyes travelled down Ryan’s body, lingering for a moment on the gun strapped to his thigh and then Lester turned back to his target. Four quick shots later, he’d blown the bull’s eye out, empting his magazine in the process. Ryan stepped up to his own firing position, ejected the magazine and proceeded to reload the clip himself. He’d already stripped down and reassembled the weapon in the armoury, finding it and everything else in there well-maintained and in immaculate condition.
Ryan ran through his usual routine, first using the double-handed posture that Lester had adopted, then firing single-handedly with both his right and left hands. Satisfied with both the weapon and his own skills, Ryan ejected the magazine, gathered up the spent cartridges and reeled his target in. Nothing had gone outside the centre ring. Not bad considering he hadn’t been on a range in several months.
He was conscious of the fact that Lester was leaning against the rear wall watching him intently. When he turned around, Lester’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes were betraying him, the pupils blown wide, dark with arousal and Ryan knew that if he looked down, he’d almost certainly discover that his new boss was sporting an erection.
So, that was how things were going to be, was it? Ryan couldn’t say he was particularly concerned by the idea of having sex with his new boss. Ryan’s tastes ran more to men than women, although wearing a collar didn’t come with the right of refusal, but most people didn’t take advantage of that fact, especially if the person wearing the collar was military. After all, civilians never knew when they’d need their backs protecting in the field and making an enemy of someone in his line of work wasn’t the wisest thing to do.
Lester’s eyes lingered again on his thigh holster and Ryan found that his own cock was starting to sit up and take notice as well. Ordinarily, his trousers would have been loose enough to disguise that fact, but he did have the straps on his thigh rig drawn quite tightly and so it was probably accentuating his hard-on rather than disguising it. A slight shiver of anticipation ran down Ryan’s spine. It was a while since he’d been fucked and if truth be told, the idea of taking it up the arse from his new boss wasn’t entirely without its attraction.
The longer the silence drew out, the harder Ryan was getting, a fact that was now almost certainly becomingly abundantly clear to Sir James Lester.
A slight smile quirked Lester’s lips. “Sadly, I think the thigh holster will need to be removed, Captain.” The words sent another shiver through Ryan’s body. Without taking his eyes from Lester’s face – although he had still stopped short of actual eye contact – Ryan pressed the catches on the straps and laid it down on the wooden counter of his firing position next to the Glock 19 and his ear-defenders. He let his arms fall to his sides, again adopting a position of parade rest, wondering what the next order would be.
“Undo your trousers, Ryan. I think we both know where this is leading, don’t we?” Lester’s voice was low and held an unmistakeable measure of amusement.
Ryan allowed his eyes to briefly make contact with the other man’s as he said, equally quietly, “Yes, master.”
Lester’s smile broadened.
Ryan undid his belt, flipped open the button at the top of his trousers and slowly eased the zip down over his erection before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both trousers and underwear and slipping them far enough down his hips to let his erect cock spring free, but not far enough to impede movement – yet.
His cock was already leaking pre-come and his balls were heavy with anticipation. Moving slowly and carefully, Ryan turned around to face the firing range and slipped his clothing down over his thighs to expose his arse, spreading his legs far enough to prevent everything ending up around his ankles. Without a word, Lester stepped up behind him and Ryan heard the sound of a zip being pulled down. A moment later, a trickle of liquid ran down between his arse cheeks and Ryan recognised the unmistakeable smell of gun oil. Long-fingered hands spread his buttocks and Ryan felt the head of Lester’s cock pressing against his entrance.
Drawing in a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, Ryan forced himself to relax. Lester clearly wasn’t intending to expend any time or energy on preparing him and it had been a while since he’d been fucked. Ryan knew there was always the chance of tearing in a situation like this especially as gun oil needed to be liberally applied to be effective.
Lester pushed hard. Ryan felt the inexorable pressure as his body reflexively tightened, he fought hard to suppress a gasp as he was quickly breached, the gun oil doing little to ease the passage of the other man’s cock. His hands tightened on the wooden rail and he pushed back against the intrusion, knowing that it would help him to take the penetration.
“Very good, Captain,” Lester murmured approvingly. “I can see that you and I are going to deal extremely well together.”
“Thank you, master,” Ryan responded automatically. He presumed this was one of the ‘certain circumstances’ in which it was advisable to address Lester as something other than simply ‘sir’.
Lester’s thumbs drew his arse-cheeks apart and Ryan knew the other man was watching intently as his cock slid slowly in and out of Ryan’s body. A moment later, one hand released its hold and Ryan felt the trickle of more gun oil down his crack before Lester went back to holding him open again and fucking the oil into him by pulling out almost to the tip and then driving back in, balls deep. That process was repeated twice more until Lester was sliding easily in and out with little friction, setting up an unrelenting pace, reaming him hard and deep. Ryan knew his hole would be reddened and slick with oil now, Lester’s thumbs still pressing deep into his buttocks hard enough to bruise. He was clearing intending Ryan to feel the effects of this fucking for some while to come.
Ryan was under no illusions about what was happening. Lester was marking his territory. It was as simple as that. Ryan might be Head of Security, but Lester was the man he answered to and every time he moved or sat down for at least the next 24 hours, he’d be reminded of that. Taking him here, on the firing range, where anyone could walk in on them, just reinforced that. And at some point in the next week, Ryan was sure that he’d end up being fucked in Lester’s office over his desk, as well, just to reinforce the point. But he also knew that Lester would be completely punctilious about ensuring others deferred to Ryan’s authority in all appropriate circumstances.
A subtle shift in Lester’s position sent white-hot pleasure leaping through Ryan’s cock and he wasn’t able to bite back the gasp that forced its way past his lips. Strong hands tightened on him, drawing his flesh apart again as Lester withdrew fully before slamming back in again, driving directly at his prostate. Sweat sprung out on Ryan’s body and he had to bite down on his lower lip to stop himself crying out. He found direct stimulation like that hard to take in silence. Lester repeated the action, this time waiting for Ryan’s hole to close before thrusting in again, maintaining that same angle, forcing Ryan ever closer to the fine dividing line between pleasure and pain…
Ryan cock throbbed hot and hard between his legs and he knew that if he didn’t come from being fucked he’d get no release apart from his own hand, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to be the likely outcome from this encounter. Behind him, Lester was breathing harder now, his breath rasping in Ryan’s ears. Gun oil was dripping down the inside of Ryan’s thighs and his legs were starting to tremble slightly. He felt Lester drawing slowly out and steadied himself for what he knew would follow.
The moment stretched out endlessly, then Lester demanded, “I’m waiting, Captain Ryan…”
The bastard… but Ryan was too far gone to care. He needed to come and he needed to come now…
“Make me come, master.” Ryan hesitated and then added, “Please…”
Lester’s laughter ghosted over the back of his neck as he slammed back hard into Ryan’s slick, well-fucked hole, nailing his prostate and driving a gasp from his lungs as Ryan’s orgasm coiled in his belly and washed through him in a hot rush. Lester’s own rhythm faltered and he thrust once more, hands tightening on Ryan’s hips as he emptied himself deep inside him.
Ryan’s heart pounded in his chest as he drew deep gulps of air into his lungs and he allowed his head to sink onto his arms on the wooden counter as he felt Lester’s softening cock slip from his over-sensitised body. He was dimply aware of the sound of Lester straightening his clothing and pulling up his zip.
“I think I’d like to see you on your knees again now, Captain,” Lester said.
Ryan pulled his underwear and trousers up, already feeling Lester’s come leaking out of his body and mingling with the trails of oil steadily making their way down his thighs. He turned around and sank as gracefully as he could to his knees, head bowed, hands loosely linked behind his back.
“Welcome to the ARC, Ryan.”
Ryan stayed on his knees while Lester picked up his jacket and his gun and left the armoury. It seemed the most appropriate course of action in the circumstances.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Ryan/Lester, Nick, Lorraine
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ryan’s first day in his new posting sets the scene for things to come.
Warning : Slave!fic set in the Silk and Steel universe.
A/N : My Evil Twin and I were well into production of the final plot arc in the Silk and Steel universe when events forced us into a longer hiatus than we’d planned. This prequel to the main series has been written as a get well soon present for my beloved munchkinofdoom and is also offered as a thank you to our readers for their much-appreciated patience. The title is from the song From the North by Runrig.
Ryan brought his Range Rover to a halt in front of the barrier and lowered all the windows in preparation for a standard security check. The guard who approached was dressed in black, carried an M4 across his chest and looked like he wouldn’t have any hesitation in using it.
“May I see your authorisation, sir?”
He handed his identification through the window. The man took the time to read it properly and check his photo before handing the ID card back.
“Thank you, sir. Follow the road to the main building and then take the ramp to the internal car park. There is a space reserved for you to the right of the doors. You can’t miss them.”
While the man had been checking his papers, one of the other guards had walked around the Range Rover staring into each window. Ryan was unarmed and dressed in civvies. The vehicle contained nothing more than a Bergen with a few changes of clothes as he’d been told that he’d be supplied with everything else he needed on arrival. After four months in the Middle East, it was nice to be back in the UK but he’d barely had time to draw breath in Credenhill before he’d been handed his marching orders again. The only information he’d been given was that he’d be acting as Head of Security for a Home Office operation that had recently moved into an old MoD facility just outside Reading. The building itself was relatively new, a multi-million pound monstrosity, all glass, metal and curves. He’d been told to report to someone called Sir James Lester and to take orders from him. As briefings went, it had been short and to the point. And about as informative as a railway station announcement.
The indoor garage at the top of the long, curving ramp looked like an aircraft hanger, and the gate guard had been right, you certainly couldn’t miss the doors. A coach could have gone through them and still had room to spare on all sides. They led to an enormous atrium containing a bank of assorted flat screens, computer terminals and keyboards. On the floor above, an impeccably-dressed man stared down into the atrium for a moment as though surveying his domain and then turned away at the sound of approaching footsteps along the upper corridor and made his way back into a glass-walled office.
A dark-haired young man wearing an odd set of clothing topped off with a hat and a pair of fingerless gloves, despite the warmth in the building, was sitting in front of one of the terminals busily tapping away at a keyboard. He turned around as Ryan walked in and gave him a friendly, albeit slightly wary smile. Ryan noticed that he wasn’t wearing a collar.
“You’ll be the new Head of Security,” the young man commented.
Ryan nodded. “Where can I find Sir James Lester?”
The young man waved a hand at a curving ramp leading up to the first floor. Whoever had designed this place had liked ramps and curves. “His office is up there. Top of the ramp. I’m Connor, Connor Temple.” He stuck his hand out and Ryan shook it. “You’re Captain Ryan, right?”
As Ryan made his way up the ramp, he wondered what the hell this set up was all about and why they needed a head of security. But no doubt all would become clear when he finally met his new boss. He walked into an outer office where a pleasant-looking woman with short, frizzy black hair was sitting behind a desk with a pile of paperwork in front of her. Her dark skin was untouched by make-up but she was wearing clear nail varnish. She was uncollared as well. The only Indentured he’d seen so far had been the security guards.
Ryan could hear a raised voice in the inner offer saying loudly in a pronounced Scottish accent, “I do not want to have to do my job surrounded by bloody idiots who think they can solve any problem by just fetching a bigger gun! That last moron was bad enough. I don’t want another one like him!”
“I’ll thank you to let me be the judge of what this project needs by way of military support, Cutter,” replied an urbane, but clearly irritated voice that Ryan guessed belonged to Sir James Lester.
The woman behind the desk looked up, smiled at him and said, “Captain Ryan, I presume? I’m Lorraine Wickes, Sir James’s secretary. I’ll let him know you’re here.” She stood up, smoothed out a non-existent wrinkle from her black skirt, and knocked respectfully on the open door. “Captain Ryan has arrived, Sir James.”
“Send him in.” The voice was clipped and cool.
Out of habit, Ryan knocked on the door to signal his presence and waited for an acknowledgment before proceeding further. A moment later, Ryan entered the office, saluted the man sitting behind the desk and then sank to his knees, head bowed. He had no idea what the protocols were like here and no one had seen fit to brief him on the subject so he’d just have to play safe.
“You may stand.” Lester’s accent was bland Home Counties. He was wearing an obviously expensive suit, grey with thin stripes, a light pink shirt and a bold, red tie. Ryan put him at very early forties. His dark hair was swept back from his forehead and he stared at Ryan down an aquiline nose, his thin lips set in a hard line.
The other man was about the same age, but dressed casually in an open-necked shirt and what looked like an army surplus jacket that had obviously seen a lot of wear. His blond hair was practically standing up on end and the man had at least a day’s growth of stubble on his chin. He stared appraisingly at Ryan out of shrewd blue eyes.
Ryan adopted a position of parade rest, knowing better that to meet either man’s eyes. There was an air of tension in the room and he had a feeling he’d arrived in the middle of a well-worn argument.
“What have your superiors told you about this assignment, Captain?” Lester demanded.
“Just that I am to take up the position of Head of Security here, sir.” As the last word left his lips, Ryan cursed his absence of information on the man he was now reporting to. He would have preferred to have known whether ‘sir’ or ‘master’ was the usual mode of address. Lester’s expression gave nothing away so Ryan had no idea whether he’d just got off on the wrong foot or not. “And that I am to take my orders from you,” he added.
“Nice to know that someone will,” Lester snapped with a sideways glance at the man called Cutter.
Cutter laughed. “Oh dear, it’s all going to come as rather a shock to him, isn’t it? Will you enlighten the poor man, or shall I?”
Lester rolled his eyes. “Be my guest.”
* * * * *
By the time Cutter had finished, Ryan was finding hard to maintain a neutral expression. Dinosaurs? Rips in time? Neither of the two men facing him looked mad, and a significant amount of money had clearly been poured into this place, so someone was obviously taking the situation very seriously indeed. The government’s response to the problem appeared to be in keeping with their attitude to most things: keep the general public in the dark and feed them shit. The well-known mushroom treatment. The sad thing was that it usually worked, especially in a country where people had successfully been conditioned not to question authority. Especially when the authority in question was dressed in black and carrying a big gun.
As far as he’d been able to gather, his job was two-fold. Firstly, to ride shotgun for a team of civilian dinosaur-hunters headed by Professor Nick Cutter, lately of the Central Metropolitan University, and secondly to be responsible for the security of the Anomaly Research Centre itself. It looked like the whole operation had been thrown together on the fly. The building had been originally intended for use by the newly-formed National Crime Agency, but a short – and no doubt bloody – turf-war had ensued. The losers were probably still licking their wounds and firing off terse memos.
The reports of past operations would no doubt make interesting reading, but from what Ryan gathered, the soldiers assigned to the project, drawn from a number of operational units, had suffered a high attrition rate, with their previous CO meeting a messy fate in the jaws for something that Ryan wouldn’t even attempt to pronounce. After that, the decision had been taken to send in some heavier back-up and a call had been made by Downing Street itself to the Director of Special Forces.
“You’ll have a reasonably free hand in choosing your own men, Ryan,” Lester told him. “The Director says he’ll provide you with a list of available personnel. This project has the highest priority, but I would appreciate it if you’d put a stop to the way we’ve been haemorrhaging soldiers. In the field, you’ll defer to Professor Cutter but, as you’ll discover for yourself, Cutter does have rather… idiosyncratic views on the preservation of the creatures that the anomalies disgorge on an all too regular basis but it’s your job to keep his team and the general public safe, Ryan, and don’t forget that.” Lester waved his hand at the door in a gesture of obvious dismissal. “Lorraine will show you to your office.”
* * * * *
Six hours later, Ryan had read countless reports, drunk more coffee than was good for him and had read the files on every member of the security team. The internal security seemed competent enough – judging by the lads he’d seen on the front gate – but the mismatched lot that had been assigned to the field team seemed to have been drawn from the dregs of at least three different regiments. He was beginning to wonder if a memo had been sent to various COs asking them to send along anyone they wanted to get rid of. Their previous captain had been fresh out of Sandhurst and wholly unsuited to a job like this.
Considering the amount of money that had been poured into other aspects of the project, the military side had been far more haphazard, but he was beginning to suspect that wrangling between the Home Office and the MoD was to blame for that. This was exactly the sort of project that the MoD would love to get their hands on, but the Home Office had got in first and were intending to stay in charge. So the MoD had promptly played hard-ball and assigned a sub-optimum team, no doubt hoping to receive a heart-felt plea for assistance that would enable them to step in and take charge.
Lester was some sort of government hatchet man, fresh from a stint in the Ministry of Justice. He had plenty of friends in high places and a reputation for getting the job done, whatever the job happened to be. His secretary had proved to be a mine of useful information and Ryan was determined to keep on the right side of her. She’d also given him a briefing on Cutter’s team, none of whom Ryan had met yet, apart from the lad who’d been in the main atrium when he’d arrived, a former university student by the name of Connor Temple. The other two were Stephen Hart, Cutter’s research assistant, and an animal expert called Abby Maitland.
Ryan rubbed his eyes. He’d been hunched over a desk for most of the day and really needed to take a break. He knew where his quarters were, a single room near the bunkrooms used by the rest of the security contingent. He’d already tossed his Bergen in there and picked up a couple of uniforms from the stores. His CO back at base had been right when he’d said Ryan would find everything he needed here. The armoury was well-stocked with everything short of heavy artillery, but from some of the reports Ryan had read, that was a lack he wouldn’t mind remedying, although he had a feeling Cutter would have something to say on that subject.
A walk around the building would be a good way of starting to find his feet, but Ryan could hardly do that in a pair of old jeans and a faded shirt. A quick shower went a long way to waking him up and the black combat trousers and a black teeshirt he’d picked made him look more the part he’d been sent to play. A Glock 19 holstered on his right thigh completed the ensemble. The building had an underground firing range and Ryan had a deep dislike of carrying a weapon he hadn’t practised with, so that seemed as good a destination as any.
The time was approaching 7pm and the building appeared to be running on a skeleton staff now. The lad in the jumble sale clothes had been replaced by a woman. From what Ryan had gathered from the reports, a team of technicians under Connor Temple’s guidance had access to the Police National Computer, monitored calls to and from the various emergency services and also received information from GCHQ in Cheltenham. On top of that they kept a watching brief on a number of fringe-nut websites dedicated to everything from UFO sightings to crop circles to the Beast of Bodmin.
The firing range was accessed using a combination of Ryan’s security pass and an entry code. Two members of the security team were just packing up to leave. They came smartly to attention and seemed both surprised and pleased when he addressed them by name. The two hours he’d spent with the personnel files clearly hadn’t been wasted, but by mid-day tomorrow he wanted to be sure of knowing the name of everyone who worked in the ARC, not just the military contingent and he still needed to meet the rest of Cutter’s team.
The sound of gunshots was loud in the enclosed space, signalling that Ryan wasn’t alone. He grabbed a pair of ear-defenders and made his way to a firing position. To his surprise, the other occupant of the range was Sir James Lester. The man’s jacket was draped over the back of a chair and he had adopted a relaxed and professional stance, using a classic two-handed grip.
He glanced across at Ryan and acknowledged his presence with a brief nod. According to Lorraine Wickes, Lester was generally content to be addressed as ‘sir’ by anyone wearing a collar, but she had warned him that in certain circumstances – but what those might be she hadn’t seen fit to specify – ‘master’ would be a wise choice. Ryan was beginning to wish that he’d had the forethought to ask her to elaborate.
Lester’s stare was cool and contained an undercurrent of something that Ryan couldn’t quite put his finger on. The man’s eyes travelled down Ryan’s body, lingering for a moment on the gun strapped to his thigh and then Lester turned back to his target. Four quick shots later, he’d blown the bull’s eye out, empting his magazine in the process. Ryan stepped up to his own firing position, ejected the magazine and proceeded to reload the clip himself. He’d already stripped down and reassembled the weapon in the armoury, finding it and everything else in there well-maintained and in immaculate condition.
Ryan ran through his usual routine, first using the double-handed posture that Lester had adopted, then firing single-handedly with both his right and left hands. Satisfied with both the weapon and his own skills, Ryan ejected the magazine, gathered up the spent cartridges and reeled his target in. Nothing had gone outside the centre ring. Not bad considering he hadn’t been on a range in several months.
He was conscious of the fact that Lester was leaning against the rear wall watching him intently. When he turned around, Lester’s expression was as unreadable as ever, but his eyes were betraying him, the pupils blown wide, dark with arousal and Ryan knew that if he looked down, he’d almost certainly discover that his new boss was sporting an erection.
So, that was how things were going to be, was it? Ryan couldn’t say he was particularly concerned by the idea of having sex with his new boss. Ryan’s tastes ran more to men than women, although wearing a collar didn’t come with the right of refusal, but most people didn’t take advantage of that fact, especially if the person wearing the collar was military. After all, civilians never knew when they’d need their backs protecting in the field and making an enemy of someone in his line of work wasn’t the wisest thing to do.
Lester’s eyes lingered again on his thigh holster and Ryan found that his own cock was starting to sit up and take notice as well. Ordinarily, his trousers would have been loose enough to disguise that fact, but he did have the straps on his thigh rig drawn quite tightly and so it was probably accentuating his hard-on rather than disguising it. A slight shiver of anticipation ran down Ryan’s spine. It was a while since he’d been fucked and if truth be told, the idea of taking it up the arse from his new boss wasn’t entirely without its attraction.
The longer the silence drew out, the harder Ryan was getting, a fact that was now almost certainly becomingly abundantly clear to Sir James Lester.
A slight smile quirked Lester’s lips. “Sadly, I think the thigh holster will need to be removed, Captain.” The words sent another shiver through Ryan’s body. Without taking his eyes from Lester’s face – although he had still stopped short of actual eye contact – Ryan pressed the catches on the straps and laid it down on the wooden counter of his firing position next to the Glock 19 and his ear-defenders. He let his arms fall to his sides, again adopting a position of parade rest, wondering what the next order would be.
“Undo your trousers, Ryan. I think we both know where this is leading, don’t we?” Lester’s voice was low and held an unmistakeable measure of amusement.
Ryan allowed his eyes to briefly make contact with the other man’s as he said, equally quietly, “Yes, master.”
Lester’s smile broadened.
Ryan undid his belt, flipped open the button at the top of his trousers and slowly eased the zip down over his erection before hooking his thumbs into the waistband of both trousers and underwear and slipping them far enough down his hips to let his erect cock spring free, but not far enough to impede movement – yet.
His cock was already leaking pre-come and his balls were heavy with anticipation. Moving slowly and carefully, Ryan turned around to face the firing range and slipped his clothing down over his thighs to expose his arse, spreading his legs far enough to prevent everything ending up around his ankles. Without a word, Lester stepped up behind him and Ryan heard the sound of a zip being pulled down. A moment later, a trickle of liquid ran down between his arse cheeks and Ryan recognised the unmistakeable smell of gun oil. Long-fingered hands spread his buttocks and Ryan felt the head of Lester’s cock pressing against his entrance.
Drawing in a deep breath and then exhaling slowly, Ryan forced himself to relax. Lester clearly wasn’t intending to expend any time or energy on preparing him and it had been a while since he’d been fucked. Ryan knew there was always the chance of tearing in a situation like this especially as gun oil needed to be liberally applied to be effective.
Lester pushed hard. Ryan felt the inexorable pressure as his body reflexively tightened, he fought hard to suppress a gasp as he was quickly breached, the gun oil doing little to ease the passage of the other man’s cock. His hands tightened on the wooden rail and he pushed back against the intrusion, knowing that it would help him to take the penetration.
“Very good, Captain,” Lester murmured approvingly. “I can see that you and I are going to deal extremely well together.”
“Thank you, master,” Ryan responded automatically. He presumed this was one of the ‘certain circumstances’ in which it was advisable to address Lester as something other than simply ‘sir’.
Lester’s thumbs drew his arse-cheeks apart and Ryan knew the other man was watching intently as his cock slid slowly in and out of Ryan’s body. A moment later, one hand released its hold and Ryan felt the trickle of more gun oil down his crack before Lester went back to holding him open again and fucking the oil into him by pulling out almost to the tip and then driving back in, balls deep. That process was repeated twice more until Lester was sliding easily in and out with little friction, setting up an unrelenting pace, reaming him hard and deep. Ryan knew his hole would be reddened and slick with oil now, Lester’s thumbs still pressing deep into his buttocks hard enough to bruise. He was clearing intending Ryan to feel the effects of this fucking for some while to come.
Ryan was under no illusions about what was happening. Lester was marking his territory. It was as simple as that. Ryan might be Head of Security, but Lester was the man he answered to and every time he moved or sat down for at least the next 24 hours, he’d be reminded of that. Taking him here, on the firing range, where anyone could walk in on them, just reinforced that. And at some point in the next week, Ryan was sure that he’d end up being fucked in Lester’s office over his desk, as well, just to reinforce the point. But he also knew that Lester would be completely punctilious about ensuring others deferred to Ryan’s authority in all appropriate circumstances.
A subtle shift in Lester’s position sent white-hot pleasure leaping through Ryan’s cock and he wasn’t able to bite back the gasp that forced its way past his lips. Strong hands tightened on him, drawing his flesh apart again as Lester withdrew fully before slamming back in again, driving directly at his prostate. Sweat sprung out on Ryan’s body and he had to bite down on his lower lip to stop himself crying out. He found direct stimulation like that hard to take in silence. Lester repeated the action, this time waiting for Ryan’s hole to close before thrusting in again, maintaining that same angle, forcing Ryan ever closer to the fine dividing line between pleasure and pain…
Ryan cock throbbed hot and hard between his legs and he knew that if he didn’t come from being fucked he’d get no release apart from his own hand, but somehow he didn’t think that was going to be the likely outcome from this encounter. Behind him, Lester was breathing harder now, his breath rasping in Ryan’s ears. Gun oil was dripping down the inside of Ryan’s thighs and his legs were starting to tremble slightly. He felt Lester drawing slowly out and steadied himself for what he knew would follow.
The moment stretched out endlessly, then Lester demanded, “I’m waiting, Captain Ryan…”
The bastard… but Ryan was too far gone to care. He needed to come and he needed to come now…
“Make me come, master.” Ryan hesitated and then added, “Please…”
Lester’s laughter ghosted over the back of his neck as he slammed back hard into Ryan’s slick, well-fucked hole, nailing his prostate and driving a gasp from his lungs as Ryan’s orgasm coiled in his belly and washed through him in a hot rush. Lester’s own rhythm faltered and he thrust once more, hands tightening on Ryan’s hips as he emptied himself deep inside him.
Ryan’s heart pounded in his chest as he drew deep gulps of air into his lungs and he allowed his head to sink onto his arms on the wooden counter as he felt Lester’s softening cock slip from his over-sensitised body. He was dimply aware of the sound of Lester straightening his clothing and pulling up his zip.
“I think I’d like to see you on your knees again now, Captain,” Lester said.
Ryan pulled his underwear and trousers up, already feeling Lester’s come leaking out of his body and mingling with the trails of oil steadily making their way down his thighs. He turned around and sank as gracefully as he could to his knees, head bowed, hands loosely linked behind his back.
“Welcome to the ARC, Ryan.”
Ryan stayed on his knees while Lester picked up his jacket and his gun and left the armoury. It seemed the most appropriate course of action in the circumstances.
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Wow. Lester is so masterful. GUH. Love the way Ryan responds to him. nomnomnom
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*wibble*
*flail*
Lovely prequel sweetie. And blazing hot as well!
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Excellent back story - and blimey, the last bit is hotter than a very hot thing!
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That was a fantastic look at Ryan's first day. I so need more S&S in my life. Oh how I've missed this. *clings to Fred and Munchkin*
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And when you say a while you mean like 2012 some time, right? I just hope she feels heals quickly for her sake. I'll keep her in my prayers.
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Lovely hit interaction on - well, a few levels here.
Thanks for a sweltering read.
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Edoted for wrong icon!
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Miles to Go
Re: Miles to Go