fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2012-04-25 03:14 pm
fredbassett) wrote2012-04-25 03:14 pm
Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 77
Title : Silk and Steel, Part 77
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek/Lyle, Becker, Nick, Stringer, Thomson
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Leek finally manages to get away from the ARC after the day from hell.
Warning : Slave!fic.
A/N : The links to all previous parts can be found HERE. Captain Thomson appears by kind permission of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deinonychus_1.
Oliver Leek put the finishing touches to what he hoped was a suitably bland report on the events of the afternoon. He’d laid stress on the decisive action taken by one of Ryan’s men to prevent his former commanding officer escaping execution. Captain Thomson’s report, written after he’d questioned both Owen and Wilkes, had said much the same, with similar emphasis. It seemed that Thomson was determined to do what he could to protect Ryan’s men and, apart from the statements he’d taken, the Section 42 captain had left them to their own devices for what was left of the day. Leek had been reliably informed that after the questioning, for which both Lyle and Stringer had been present, the lieutenant and the other soldiers had retired to their bunkroom and hadn’t been seen since.
Captain Stringer had taken charge of the ARC, revoking the lockdown only once all traces of blood and other bodily fluids had been expunged, and the staff had calmed down. Jenny Lewis had proved worth her weight in gold both by dealing with the shocked staff and in preventing Helen Cutter making an already difficult situation worse. The nightshift had now come on duty and the atmosphere was considerably less fraught. Leek had sent Lorraine Wickes and the other secretarial staff home an hour ago and he had now reached the stage where he felt he could safely leave the building in the hands of the military.
He read through his report one final time and then emailed it to the Prime Minister’s personal assistant. Downing Street had been given their pound of flesh in the most literal way possible and he hoped that would be enough to assuage any further demands from that quarter. Leek considered he’d been remarkably restrained not resorting to alcohol but that would change the minute he reached his own home.
Footsteps in the corridor outside his rooms drew his attention. He looked up to find Nick Cutter standing in the doorway.
“I’m taking my team home for the night,” Cutter said without preamble.
“Very wise, Professor,” Leek said. He shut his computer down and stood up. “Let’s hope the anomalies decide to do us all a favour and take a night off.”
Nick failed to suppress a yawn. “Aye, let’s hope so.”
Becker rose like a dark shadow from the sofa at the side of the room. Leek had almost forgotten his presence. It looked very much like the young captain was intending to accompany him home.
Leek fell into step beside Cutter down the wide, curving ramp into the atrium, with Becker a few paces behind. The command centre was deserted apart from the black-uniformed figures of Thomson and Stringer, both sitting in front of the Anomaly Detection Device. The two men were conversing in low voices, empty coffee mugs littering every available flat surface. It looked very much like peace had broken out between the two military factions in the ARC, a development that several weeks ago, Leek would have viewed with surprise and probably some suspicion, but now he knew that allies could be found in the most unlikely places.
The cleaners had been hard at work and there were no visible reminders of the afternoon’s events. Leek was glad he hadn’t been present to witness Thomson’s performance as even his years in the Prison Service wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for something like that. He was still surprised by the icy calm that Lester had displayed when he’d stalked into Leek’s office and been confronted by the sight of Ryan’s head.
The two captains came to their feet, but Leek waved them back to their seats. “Thank you for your assistance today, gentlemen. I have sent a report to Downing Street. We’ll see what tomorrow brings, but in the meantime, if an anomaly does decide to add to our difficulties, I shall expect to be kept informed.”
“Sir,” Stringer acknowledged.
Leek watched as Cutter’s team made their way through the atrium towards the huge double doors that led to the internal garage. Apart from Stephen Hart, who still moved with the feline grace of a hunting cat, they all looked dead on their feet. He followed them out, stifling the thought that he wished he had Lyle watching his back rather than Becker.
As Leek made his way into the garage, he heard quick footsteps crossing the atrium and glanced over his shoulder to see Lyle, dressed casually in a blue tee-shirt and faded, ripped jeans, coming towards him, carrying a combat shotgun cradled in his arms like a baby, the weapon supplemented by Lyle’s usual Glock 19 in a shoulder-rig.
“You weren’t thinking of leaving without me, were you, Mr Leek?” Lyle said lightly.
Leek fought to stop his lips twitching into a smile. “Are you sober, Lyle?”
“As a judge,” the lieutenant replied.
Leek sighed. “My uncle is a High Court judge, so I can assure you that observation cuts no ice with me at all. Has Thomson cleared you to leave the building?”
“Of course.” Lyle’s smile was guileless, which usually meant he was lying through his teeth, but Leek received a small nod from Becker. It seemed the young captain had already been told about this over his ever-present radio headset.
Leek rolled his eyes. “All right, but I’m driving.” He turned to Becker. “Thank you, Captain. It appears Lieutenant Lyle intends to grace me with his presence for the remainder of the evening.”
Becker saluted smartly and turned on his heel and marched smartly back into the atrium.
“Are you sure?” Lyle queried. “He does have nicer hair than me.”
“He remembers to shave as well,” Leek commented. He glanced over to where Cutter’s team were climbing into one of the Hilux’s and lowered his voice to ask, “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to spend the night with Stephen?”
Lyle’s hazel eyes betrayed a flash of surprise. The lieutenant was clearly more tired than he was letting on. He was usually better at disguising his emotions than that.
“Cutter needs him,” Lyle said quietly. In response to Leek’s raised eyebrows he simply shook his head. “They should stay together tonight. Cutter’s done a better job of keeping his temper under control than any of us expected, but the chances are that he’ll hit the bottle later and Stephen’s used to keeping an eye on him.” Lyle looked reflective for a moment then muttered, “Or should I say Stephen’s used to keeping an eye on the other him?”
Lyle held the car door open and Leek slipped into the driver’s seat. The drive back to his house was accomplished in silence and as ever, Lyle entered the house first, conducting a rapid room to room check. Leek wasn’t entirely sure what level of threat he might still facing and from what quarter, but the precautions gave the illusion of safety and that was something he was happy to cling to. As far as he could tell, the most likely person to want him dead was Helen Cutter, as he was all that now appeared to stand between her and control of the ARC, and any woman capable of escaping Section 42’s clutches was clearly a force to be reckoned with.
When Lyle had finished his sweep of the building, Leek kicked off his sloes, hung up his suit jacket and declared, “I need a fucking drink.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Lyle said with a grin.
Leek stepped into the lieutenant’s personal space and sniffed. “You really are sober, aren’t you?” he declared in surprise.
“Would I lie to you, honey?” Lyle replied, slipping into the easy familiarity that Leek had missed over the course of a long evening.
“Yes. Now be a good bodyguard and pour me a very large brandy.”
Lyle grinned and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen where alcohol was kept. Leek loosened his tie and draped it over the bottom of the stairs. There was something odd in Lyle’s behaviour that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t tension… Leek had seen that in the soldier often enough to recognise the signs. It was more like the absence of tension. Once Lyle’s momentary breakdown in the corridor as he’d knelt over Ryan’s body had passed, the lieutenant had displayed nothing more than his usual air of calm detachment.
By the time Leek reached the kitchen, Lyle had followed his instruction regarding alcohol to the letter. Two large glasses of brandy stood in the middle of the table. Leek picked one of them up and took a large mouthful and savoured the feeling of warmth that burst inside him.
He settled carefully into one of the chairs and watched as Lyle started hunting around in the fridge for some food. The best he could come up with was a pizza two days past its sell-by date, no doubt courtesy of Finn’s last stay in the house. Leek didn’t remember ever purchasing an extra-hot pepperoni pizza in his life, but such were the mysteries of sharing a house with soldiers. A brief search in the freezer turned up a packet of spicy potato wedges that were promptly dumped onto a metal tray and slung in the oven to join the pizza. Leek could see indigestion looming large at some point in the very near future but if the loud rumble his stomach had just let out was anything to go by, his body appeared to be craving carbohydrates almost as much as Lyle was.
The level in the brandy bottle decreased steadily while they waited in silence for the food to cook. Leek desperately needed a shower, but since he’d sat down in the warmth of the kitchen, lethargy had settled on him like a heavy blanket.
“Would it be entirely too trite if I asked how you were feeling?” Leek said eventually when the silence had finally stretched to breaking point inside his head.
A pair of wholly calm hazel eyes started back at him across the width of the oak table. “My thumbs aren’t itching,” Lyle said thoughtfully. “They stopped round about lunchtime.”
Leek stared at his companion, feeling like he’d just been thrown a ball and had fluffed the catch. “If there’s a sensible answer lurking somewhere in that statement I have to say it appears to be currently escaping me. I asked you how you were feeling.”
“You’re starting to sound like Lester.”
“I’m starting to understand how he feels, if you must know. And don’t change the subject, Jon. As far as I am aware, Lester has never enquired after your emotional well-being in his life. Are you going to answer the damned question or shall we just dance around the subject like a couple of virgins on a first date?”
“How did Lester react when he walked into your office and saw the head?”
Leek blinked in surprise. “How do you bloody well think he…” He stopped abruptly and took another drink of brandy to quell the sudden nausea at the memory Lyle’s words had provoked. A second later he stared at Lyle and answered the question he’d been asked. “He didn’t react.”
“He didn’t react? Someone was sitting there with his lover’s head on their lap – yeah, I heard the story from Thomson – and he didn’t react? That’s pretty good going, even for Lester, don’t you think?”
Leek had to admit that Lyle was right, but for the life of him he couldn’t follow Lyle’s train of thought. “Jon, what are you getting at?”
Lyle threw the contents of the brandy glass down his throat and then poured another. “I have no fucking idea,” he admitted. He stared down at his hands, almost as if they belonged to someone else. “I’ve lost friends before. I know what it feels like and it doesn’t feel like this.”
Leek shook his head. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”
Lyle stood up abruptly. “Something isn’t right, but I’m damned if I can put my finger on it.” He hesitated and grinned. “Or my thumb, for that matter.” Lyle grabbed a couple of plates from a cupboard, loaded them both with pizza slices and tipped a pile of potato wedges on top.
The discussion was clearly at an end. Lyle demolished the food on his plate before Leek had even managed to eat half of his. A brief – and wholly unequal – struggle ensued, during which he lost two pizza slices and a third of his share of the wedges, but even so, Leek still felt stuffed by the time he finally admitted defeat and pushed his plate across the table to Lyle. The remaining food disappeared with equal rapidity and was promptly washed down with two bottles of beer.
Lyle’s phone buzzed. “Stephen,” he said, looking at the screen before pressing the button to take the call. “How’s it going?” he asked.
From the amused look on Lyle’s face at the reply, his lover hadn’t called to impart any bad news, so Leek made his way upstairs and into shower. He’d got as far as towelling himself dry before Lyle appeared in the doorway carrying Leek’s brandy glass. Covering his nakedness in front of a man he’d had sex with struck Leek as overly coy, so he simply reached out for the proffered glass, took a drink and then handed it back before rubbing the towel over his damp hair and heading for the sanctuary of his bed.
“How’s Cutter?” he asked, relaxing back onto the pillows.
“Avoiding Connor,” Lyle told him in an amused tone. “Our straight-laced professor was a naughty boy last night, by the sound of it.”
“Oh dear God,” Leek muttered. “That’s a mental image I could have lived without. Cutter and Connor?”
Lyle nodded. “Annie Morris will laugh her little cotton socks off when she finds out. It’ll stop Cutter taking the moral high ground with her.”
Leek watched as his bodyguard put the brandy glass down on the bedside table next to Leek’s drink and started to strip, dropping his clothes into the usual untidy heap on the floor. It appeared that Lyle intended to join him in bed.
“Is this a new definition of close personal protection?” Leek said lightly.
Lyle pulled back the duvet and slipped in beside him. “Would you prefer it if I slept in the spare room?”
Leek reached over, picked up his glass and took a sip of brandy. “No, but it’s your choice.” He hesitated then said, “Jon, you don’t have to do this. I think we both know where we stand. I…” he took another mouthful of the alcohol, feeling it burn a warm trail down to his stomach. He wasn’t actually sure what he wanted to say but he felt like he needed to say something. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and then opened them again abruptly as a vision of Ryan’s severed head made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. Leek took another gulp of brandy hoping to quell the sudden sickness.
“Light on or off?” Lyle asked.
“Off,” Leek said, hoping the nearness of the soldier’s warm body would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.
Lyle turned off the bedside light and they lay next to each other in the semi-darkness, the warm glow of the landing light seeping in through the partly open door. Leek finished his drink and passed the glass to Lyle.
A soft chuckle in the darkness next to him made Leek turn his head. A moment later, Lyle lips covered his in a brandy-flavoured kiss. Leek was too surprised to reciprocate at first as Lyle’s arm burrowed around him and drew him close. The kiss was light and undemanding, Lyle’s stubble rasping against his own. For all their other sexual contact, this was the first time they had kissed. Finally, doing his best to banish conscious thought, Leek relaxed in Lyle’s arms and opened his mouth to allow Lyle’s tongue entry.
Lyle finally drew back and shifted position so that Leek’s head was pillowed on his shoulder, one around him and the other loosely draped over Leek’s stomach. With the thought uppermost in his mind that he was still no nearer to understanding Jon Lyle than he had been on the day he’d flogged him, Leek finally drifted off into sleep, the quiet sound of Lyle’s heartbeat helping to keep the nightmares at bay.
Authors : fredbassett & munchkinofdoom
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Leek/Lyle, Becker, Nick, Stringer, Thomson
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not ours, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Leek finally manages to get away from the ARC after the day from hell.
Warning : Slave!fic.
A/N : The links to all previous parts can be found HERE. Captain Thomson appears by kind permission of
deinonychus_1.Oliver Leek put the finishing touches to what he hoped was a suitably bland report on the events of the afternoon. He’d laid stress on the decisive action taken by one of Ryan’s men to prevent his former commanding officer escaping execution. Captain Thomson’s report, written after he’d questioned both Owen and Wilkes, had said much the same, with similar emphasis. It seemed that Thomson was determined to do what he could to protect Ryan’s men and, apart from the statements he’d taken, the Section 42 captain had left them to their own devices for what was left of the day. Leek had been reliably informed that after the questioning, for which both Lyle and Stringer had been present, the lieutenant and the other soldiers had retired to their bunkroom and hadn’t been seen since.
Captain Stringer had taken charge of the ARC, revoking the lockdown only once all traces of blood and other bodily fluids had been expunged, and the staff had calmed down. Jenny Lewis had proved worth her weight in gold both by dealing with the shocked staff and in preventing Helen Cutter making an already difficult situation worse. The nightshift had now come on duty and the atmosphere was considerably less fraught. Leek had sent Lorraine Wickes and the other secretarial staff home an hour ago and he had now reached the stage where he felt he could safely leave the building in the hands of the military.
He read through his report one final time and then emailed it to the Prime Minister’s personal assistant. Downing Street had been given their pound of flesh in the most literal way possible and he hoped that would be enough to assuage any further demands from that quarter. Leek considered he’d been remarkably restrained not resorting to alcohol but that would change the minute he reached his own home.
Footsteps in the corridor outside his rooms drew his attention. He looked up to find Nick Cutter standing in the doorway.
“I’m taking my team home for the night,” Cutter said without preamble.
“Very wise, Professor,” Leek said. He shut his computer down and stood up. “Let’s hope the anomalies decide to do us all a favour and take a night off.”
Nick failed to suppress a yawn. “Aye, let’s hope so.”
Becker rose like a dark shadow from the sofa at the side of the room. Leek had almost forgotten his presence. It looked very much like the young captain was intending to accompany him home.
Leek fell into step beside Cutter down the wide, curving ramp into the atrium, with Becker a few paces behind. The command centre was deserted apart from the black-uniformed figures of Thomson and Stringer, both sitting in front of the Anomaly Detection Device. The two men were conversing in low voices, empty coffee mugs littering every available flat surface. It looked very much like peace had broken out between the two military factions in the ARC, a development that several weeks ago, Leek would have viewed with surprise and probably some suspicion, but now he knew that allies could be found in the most unlikely places.
The cleaners had been hard at work and there were no visible reminders of the afternoon’s events. Leek was glad he hadn’t been present to witness Thomson’s performance as even his years in the Prison Service wouldn’t have been enough to prepare him for something like that. He was still surprised by the icy calm that Lester had displayed when he’d stalked into Leek’s office and been confronted by the sight of Ryan’s head.
The two captains came to their feet, but Leek waved them back to their seats. “Thank you for your assistance today, gentlemen. I have sent a report to Downing Street. We’ll see what tomorrow brings, but in the meantime, if an anomaly does decide to add to our difficulties, I shall expect to be kept informed.”
“Sir,” Stringer acknowledged.
Leek watched as Cutter’s team made their way through the atrium towards the huge double doors that led to the internal garage. Apart from Stephen Hart, who still moved with the feline grace of a hunting cat, they all looked dead on their feet. He followed them out, stifling the thought that he wished he had Lyle watching his back rather than Becker.
As Leek made his way into the garage, he heard quick footsteps crossing the atrium and glanced over his shoulder to see Lyle, dressed casually in a blue tee-shirt and faded, ripped jeans, coming towards him, carrying a combat shotgun cradled in his arms like a baby, the weapon supplemented by Lyle’s usual Glock 19 in a shoulder-rig.
“You weren’t thinking of leaving without me, were you, Mr Leek?” Lyle said lightly.
Leek fought to stop his lips twitching into a smile. “Are you sober, Lyle?”
“As a judge,” the lieutenant replied.
Leek sighed. “My uncle is a High Court judge, so I can assure you that observation cuts no ice with me at all. Has Thomson cleared you to leave the building?”
“Of course.” Lyle’s smile was guileless, which usually meant he was lying through his teeth, but Leek received a small nod from Becker. It seemed the young captain had already been told about this over his ever-present radio headset.
Leek rolled his eyes. “All right, but I’m driving.” He turned to Becker. “Thank you, Captain. It appears Lieutenant Lyle intends to grace me with his presence for the remainder of the evening.”
Becker saluted smartly and turned on his heel and marched smartly back into the atrium.
“Are you sure?” Lyle queried. “He does have nicer hair than me.”
“He remembers to shave as well,” Leek commented. He glanced over to where Cutter’s team were climbing into one of the Hilux’s and lowered his voice to ask, “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to spend the night with Stephen?”
Lyle’s hazel eyes betrayed a flash of surprise. The lieutenant was clearly more tired than he was letting on. He was usually better at disguising his emotions than that.
“Cutter needs him,” Lyle said quietly. In response to Leek’s raised eyebrows he simply shook his head. “They should stay together tonight. Cutter’s done a better job of keeping his temper under control than any of us expected, but the chances are that he’ll hit the bottle later and Stephen’s used to keeping an eye on him.” Lyle looked reflective for a moment then muttered, “Or should I say Stephen’s used to keeping an eye on the other him?”
Lyle held the car door open and Leek slipped into the driver’s seat. The drive back to his house was accomplished in silence and as ever, Lyle entered the house first, conducting a rapid room to room check. Leek wasn’t entirely sure what level of threat he might still facing and from what quarter, but the precautions gave the illusion of safety and that was something he was happy to cling to. As far as he could tell, the most likely person to want him dead was Helen Cutter, as he was all that now appeared to stand between her and control of the ARC, and any woman capable of escaping Section 42’s clutches was clearly a force to be reckoned with.
When Lyle had finished his sweep of the building, Leek kicked off his sloes, hung up his suit jacket and declared, “I need a fucking drink.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” Lyle said with a grin.
Leek stepped into the lieutenant’s personal space and sniffed. “You really are sober, aren’t you?” he declared in surprise.
“Would I lie to you, honey?” Lyle replied, slipping into the easy familiarity that Leek had missed over the course of a long evening.
“Yes. Now be a good bodyguard and pour me a very large brandy.”
Lyle grinned and sauntered off in the direction of the kitchen where alcohol was kept. Leek loosened his tie and draped it over the bottom of the stairs. There was something odd in Lyle’s behaviour that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t tension… Leek had seen that in the soldier often enough to recognise the signs. It was more like the absence of tension. Once Lyle’s momentary breakdown in the corridor as he’d knelt over Ryan’s body had passed, the lieutenant had displayed nothing more than his usual air of calm detachment.
By the time Leek reached the kitchen, Lyle had followed his instruction regarding alcohol to the letter. Two large glasses of brandy stood in the middle of the table. Leek picked one of them up and took a large mouthful and savoured the feeling of warmth that burst inside him.
He settled carefully into one of the chairs and watched as Lyle started hunting around in the fridge for some food. The best he could come up with was a pizza two days past its sell-by date, no doubt courtesy of Finn’s last stay in the house. Leek didn’t remember ever purchasing an extra-hot pepperoni pizza in his life, but such were the mysteries of sharing a house with soldiers. A brief search in the freezer turned up a packet of spicy potato wedges that were promptly dumped onto a metal tray and slung in the oven to join the pizza. Leek could see indigestion looming large at some point in the very near future but if the loud rumble his stomach had just let out was anything to go by, his body appeared to be craving carbohydrates almost as much as Lyle was.
The level in the brandy bottle decreased steadily while they waited in silence for the food to cook. Leek desperately needed a shower, but since he’d sat down in the warmth of the kitchen, lethargy had settled on him like a heavy blanket.
“Would it be entirely too trite if I asked how you were feeling?” Leek said eventually when the silence had finally stretched to breaking point inside his head.
A pair of wholly calm hazel eyes started back at him across the width of the oak table. “My thumbs aren’t itching,” Lyle said thoughtfully. “They stopped round about lunchtime.”
Leek stared at his companion, feeling like he’d just been thrown a ball and had fluffed the catch. “If there’s a sensible answer lurking somewhere in that statement I have to say it appears to be currently escaping me. I asked you how you were feeling.”
“You’re starting to sound like Lester.”
“I’m starting to understand how he feels, if you must know. And don’t change the subject, Jon. As far as I am aware, Lester has never enquired after your emotional well-being in his life. Are you going to answer the damned question or shall we just dance around the subject like a couple of virgins on a first date?”
“How did Lester react when he walked into your office and saw the head?”
Leek blinked in surprise. “How do you bloody well think he…” He stopped abruptly and took another drink of brandy to quell the sudden nausea at the memory Lyle’s words had provoked. A second later he stared at Lyle and answered the question he’d been asked. “He didn’t react.”
“He didn’t react? Someone was sitting there with his lover’s head on their lap – yeah, I heard the story from Thomson – and he didn’t react? That’s pretty good going, even for Lester, don’t you think?”
Leek had to admit that Lyle was right, but for the life of him he couldn’t follow Lyle’s train of thought. “Jon, what are you getting at?”
Lyle threw the contents of the brandy glass down his throat and then poured another. “I have no fucking idea,” he admitted. He stared down at his hands, almost as if they belonged to someone else. “I’ve lost friends before. I know what it feels like and it doesn’t feel like this.”
Leek shook his head. “You’re making even less sense than usual.”
Lyle stood up abruptly. “Something isn’t right, but I’m damned if I can put my finger on it.” He hesitated and grinned. “Or my thumb, for that matter.” Lyle grabbed a couple of plates from a cupboard, loaded them both with pizza slices and tipped a pile of potato wedges on top.
The discussion was clearly at an end. Lyle demolished the food on his plate before Leek had even managed to eat half of his. A brief – and wholly unequal – struggle ensued, during which he lost two pizza slices and a third of his share of the wedges, but even so, Leek still felt stuffed by the time he finally admitted defeat and pushed his plate across the table to Lyle. The remaining food disappeared with equal rapidity and was promptly washed down with two bottles of beer.
Lyle’s phone buzzed. “Stephen,” he said, looking at the screen before pressing the button to take the call. “How’s it going?” he asked.
From the amused look on Lyle’s face at the reply, his lover hadn’t called to impart any bad news, so Leek made his way upstairs and into shower. He’d got as far as towelling himself dry before Lyle appeared in the doorway carrying Leek’s brandy glass. Covering his nakedness in front of a man he’d had sex with struck Leek as overly coy, so he simply reached out for the proffered glass, took a drink and then handed it back before rubbing the towel over his damp hair and heading for the sanctuary of his bed.
“How’s Cutter?” he asked, relaxing back onto the pillows.
“Avoiding Connor,” Lyle told him in an amused tone. “Our straight-laced professor was a naughty boy last night, by the sound of it.”
“Oh dear God,” Leek muttered. “That’s a mental image I could have lived without. Cutter and Connor?”
Lyle nodded. “Annie Morris will laugh her little cotton socks off when she finds out. It’ll stop Cutter taking the moral high ground with her.”
Leek watched as his bodyguard put the brandy glass down on the bedside table next to Leek’s drink and started to strip, dropping his clothes into the usual untidy heap on the floor. It appeared that Lyle intended to join him in bed.
“Is this a new definition of close personal protection?” Leek said lightly.
Lyle pulled back the duvet and slipped in beside him. “Would you prefer it if I slept in the spare room?”
Leek reached over, picked up his glass and took a sip of brandy. “No, but it’s your choice.” He hesitated then said, “Jon, you don’t have to do this. I think we both know where we stand. I…” he took another mouthful of the alcohol, feeling it burn a warm trail down to his stomach. He wasn’t actually sure what he wanted to say but he felt like he needed to say something. He closed his eyes in exhaustion and then opened them again abruptly as a vision of Ryan’s severed head made his stomach lurch uncomfortably. Leek took another gulp of brandy hoping to quell the sudden sickness.
“Light on or off?” Lyle asked.
“Off,” Leek said, hoping the nearness of the soldier’s warm body would be enough to keep the nightmares at bay.
Lyle turned off the bedside light and they lay next to each other in the semi-darkness, the warm glow of the landing light seeping in through the partly open door. Leek finished his drink and passed the glass to Lyle.
A soft chuckle in the darkness next to him made Leek turn his head. A moment later, Lyle lips covered his in a brandy-flavoured kiss. Leek was too surprised to reciprocate at first as Lyle’s arm burrowed around him and drew him close. The kiss was light and undemanding, Lyle’s stubble rasping against his own. For all their other sexual contact, this was the first time they had kissed. Finally, doing his best to banish conscious thought, Leek relaxed in Lyle’s arms and opened his mouth to allow Lyle’s tongue entry.
Lyle finally drew back and shifted position so that Leek’s head was pillowed on his shoulder, one around him and the other loosely draped over Leek’s stomach. With the thought uppermost in his mind that he was still no nearer to understanding Jon Lyle than he had been on the day he’d flogged him, Leek finally drifted off into sleep, the quiet sound of Lyle’s heartbeat helping to keep the nightmares at bay.