fredbassett | Fic, Trust, Part 1, Stephen/Ryan, Slash, 18

Title : Trust, Part 1
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Stephen, Ryan
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary/Warning : A quiet Sunday morning in bed. Restraint!porn, so no like, no read
A/N : Sequel to Ice Age. The remainder of this series can be found here
For Michael_the_Car’s Sprogette. Hope it saves you from maternal abuse, sweetie!
Tags : fic, slash, Stephen, Ryan

Stephen Hart raised his head from Ryan’s thigh and remarked, “Was Lester serious about you lot attending some of Cutter’s lectures?”

Ryan glanced down from the book he was reading and nodded. “Makes sense. The more we know about the damn critters the easier it makes keeping you lot, and ourselves, alive.”

It also allowed a more rapid and effective reaction to problems, which Stephen presumed was also Lester’s intention, although he had to admit that the idea of Ryan and his lads going back to school was an entertaining thought.

“Wonder how Claudia fixed that with the Admissions Office?” he muttered, swiping a wet tongue up the inside of the soldier’s leg.

Ryan grinned and spread his thighs slightly, allowing his lover easier access.

The main problem had actually been arranging secure storage for their van and accompanying kit, but apparently the offer of a large research grant from the Home Office, sufficient to fund Cutter and his department for the next two years had opened an awful lot of doors. Including the one to a secluded garage on campus.

Stephen’s tongue tracked higher.

Ryan carried on reading.

A few minutes later, to distract himself, the soldier commented, “Hart, what does it say about our relationship that your bedside table’s sporting a packet of cable grips, a pair of pliers, a bottle of gun oil, and a few old socks?”

“They’re clean socks,” Stephen pointed out.

“I rather think you’re missing my point, sweetheart.”

Pausing in his relentless stalking of Ryan’s cock, Stephen hazarded, “It says I’m a kinky little sod?”

“I do recall having used that description on occasion,” the Special Forces captain agreed as a warm mouth worked it’s way slowly and carefully up his already hard length.

Ryan enjoyed the rare Sunday mornings that he got to spend in bed with his lover. They’d sleep late, until eventually one of them would give up, usually driven out of bed by the need to lose the beer from the previous night.

Coffee, bacon rolls and biscuits would invariably follow and after that Ryan liked to indulge in the all too rare pleasure of lying in bed reading.

As Stephen liked to indulge in Ryan, they were both happy.

The captain ran his hand through his lover’s black hair, doing his best to ignore the spikes of pleasure which Hart’s mouth was starting to drive into his groin. This was a game they both liked to spin out for as long as possible and there were times when they managed to make it last almost the entire morning. Which then usually ended up with both of them needing a shower and the sheets needing changing.

Half an hour later, with Ryan almost at the point of chucking the book on the floor and giving in to the sensations which were threatening to overwhelm his control, Hart rolled sideways and murmured, “Turn over.”

Torn between the urge to start fucking the skilful lips and the desire to prolong the game, Ryan hesitated.

Stephen’s hands slid slowly up his chest then strong fingers pinched both nipples hard. Ryan groaned and very nearly came just from the sharp, but not unwelcome, pain.

He rolled over, propping himself up on his elbows, breathing hard.

Ryan stared at the words on the page, but they seemed to be intent on re-arranging themselves into strange formations. Clearly his brain wasn’t doing a very good job of processing an analysis of Alexander’s battlefield tactics at Gaugamela.

“How far have you got?” asked Stephen, in an incongruously conversational tone as he started to run his hands over Ryan’s shoulders and down a strong back. A back that always contrived to render him rock hard whenever he saw it naked. Which was quite often these days.

“Darius has just buggered off.” Actually, that had been two pages ago, but for the life of him, Ryan couldn’t remember what had happened since.

“Silly sod,” muttered Hart, settling himself down to lick the back of his lover’s knees. “He should’ve known the rest’d break and run.”

“Mmm.” The book dropped from Ryan’s hand onto the bed.

Stephen grinned and carefully moved it over onto the side table. Ryan got grouchy when their activities ended in rumpled pages. His eyes lingered speculatively on the cable ties. They were there for his benefit, not Ryan’s. It had taken Stephen long enough just to get the Special Forces captain totally comfortable with turning his back on someone and lying on his stomach in bed. He knew damned well there was sod all chance of Ryan letting himself be tied up. You didn’t stay alive long in a job like his by being comfortable with the idea of bondage.

Glad that Ryan couldn’t see the hint of regret in his eyes, Stephen turned his attention back to his lover’s smoothly muscled body and started to nuzzle his way up strong thighs.

Would it be different if it was Lyle here in the bed instead of him? Stephen knew Ryan trusted Lyle. Trusted him with his life. Hell, he’d even trusted the bloke with Stephen’s life and there was a small, and very irrational part of Stephen Hart which resented that fact. And that same cold little jealous worm occasionally pointed out that he couldn’t even console himself any more with the thought that Lyle didn’t go with men.

A small sigh escaped his lips before he could bite it back.

“Get the cable grips.” The muttered words broke into Stephen’s thoughts and scattered them like rabbits caught in a lamping light. He was about to point out that it was his turn to do the fucking this morning, when Ryan’s next words took the matter beyond reasonable doubt, “And if those socks aren’t clean, I’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life afterwards, Hart.”

Stephen sat up, wondering uncomfortably if mind-reading was something they taught in Hereford. If it was, he was in a whole heap of trouble. “Forget it, Ryan, I know it’s not your sort of thing.”

The soldier sighed. “Maybe not, but it is yours, and I did promise.” Sort of. And I am feeling as randy as hell. And it did have a certain twisted appeal.

Stephen dipped his head to the hollow between Ryan’s shoulders and started to nuzzle.

The soldier’s head fell forward exposing the back of his neck invitingly. Stephen knew exactly how much being kissed there turned Ryan on, and not for the first time he wondered whether that was somehow connected to the extreme vulnerability of allowing someone else that close.

Using lips and teeth and tongue to good effect, he felt a small, involuntary movement of Ryan’s hips against the bed.

“Did I tell you it was OK to move?” he asked quietly. “ You won’t let me move when we’re playing like this. What makes you think the rules are any different this way round? If you do that again, I’ll stop.”

Ryan grunted something rude under his breath. Then he grunted again as Stephen swung one leg over his hips and settled on top of him, weight effectively preventing any movement. Stephen then proceed to drive any coherent thoughts out of Ryan’s mind as he tracked his mouth from shoulder to shoulder, biting a little harder each time.

With butterflies staging the insect equivalent of the Strictly Come Dancing Final in his stomach, Stephen murmured, “Are you sure?” into Ryan’s ear, punctuating each word with a light nip.

“Safe word’s spider,” breathed Ryan, through his teeth, continuing the insect theme.

Shit, they really did teach UK Special Forces to mind read, didn’t they?

After hearing the verdict delivered, the butterflies took a bow, and left the stage.

Stephen reached over and picked up a sock. He sniffed it quickly, checking his earlier claim. Yep, it was certainly clean, but on this occasion, cleanliness sure as hell wasn’t going to bear any resemblance whatsoever to godliness.

Making sure that he continued to pay enough attention to Ryan’s neck, ears and shoulders, he carefully twisted the sock around the soldier’s right wrist and secured it with a cable tie. Then quickly, before the other man had chance to change his mind, he slipped another tie through the first one and fastened that to the metal of the cast iron bed-frame. It was convenient that his local hardwear shop sold extra long ties.

The soldier tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.

Guessing what would have happened, Stephen pushed Ryan over onto his side and slithered down to take his softening cock in his mouth. Hands, tongue and teeth soon restored it to satisfactory hardness and in less than a minute he’d dragged a sharp groan of pleasure from deep in Ryan’s throat.

Moving quickly, not wanting to risk losing the mood, Stephen secured first one ankle, then the other and finally moved to Ryan’s left wrist. He could feel the tension in the corded muscles of the soldier’s arm and ran both hands along it, dragging his nails across tanned skin, bending his head to drag his mouth in long, wet slides across over-sensitive flesh and then it was done and Ryan was finally secured, face down on the bed, panting and obviously still aroused.

Stephen Hart sat back and admired his handiwork.

Then slowly and carefully, he ran one finger down the length of Ryan’s body and pushed it equally slowly and equally carefully into him, ignoring the involuntary clench of the tight ring of muscle that tried, and failed, to deny him entry.

“Do you want me to stop?” Stephen’s voice was barely above a whisper.

He ran his tongue over the back of Ryan’s neck, breath warm and tickling as he steadily worked the finger in deeper.

Every muscle in the soldier’s body tensed, then in a movement only achievable by someone who regularly did in excess of two hundred sit-ups a day, Ryan bucked his hips backwards, forcing a gasp from his own lips and driving a sharp flare of pain/pleasure through his body.

A slow smile spread across Stephen’s face.

He had his answer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

telperion-15.livejournal.com

*sulks at the evil cliffhanger of doom*

But I found it first today! *does the happy dance of joy*

“Hart, what does it say about our relationship that your bedside table’s sporting a packet of cable grips, a pair of pliers, a bottle of gun oil, and a few old socks?”

That they're planning on opening a combined hardware, munitions, and second-hand clothing store, of course! Duh... *grins*

Also, I won't be viewing my history books or Strictly Come Dancing in quite the same way ever again...

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Fic, Trust, Part 1, Stephen/Ryan, Slash, 18

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