fredbassett | Fic, Mrs Frobisher and Winston, Stephen/Ryan, 15

Title : Mrs Frobisher and Winston
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Stephen/Ryan
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Written as a belated birthday present for the wonderful

cordeliadelayne. The prompt was champagne.

There were some days in their job when everything they dealt with was larger than life and this had been one of those days.

It had started at the crack of dawn with a call out to evict a bunch of over-grown beavers that had made themselves at home in the middle of the Serpentine. To everyone’s amusement, it was Cutter who managed to fall in the lake rather than Connor.

Cutter blamed a Yorkshire terrier. The dog’s owner blamed Cutter. The dog blamed everyone in a ten mile radius.

Abby tried unsuccessfully to keep the peace while Ryan claimed his remit didn’t run to dealing with little old ladies with walking sticks who clearly weren’t afraid to use them on anyone in the vicinity.

It was left to Stephen to exercise his charm and diffuse the situation, fluttering his eyelashes like a pair of captive hummingbirds and flirting shamelessly. The woman still didn’t believe that her darling Winston had gone for a swim of his own accord, but at least Stephen managed to persuade her to stop trying to push Cutter back into the lake.

The rest of the day progressed via a snake large enough to have swallowed a Shetland pony whole if it had got the opportunity to a giant spider with legs even hairier than Finn’s.

Ryan and Abby dealt with the snake and Stephen took care of the spider while the others entertained themselves in the time-honoured manner by taking the piss unmercifully out of their respective frailties. No change there, then.

They got home just before midnight. Despite the fact that they were both knackered, a day when the worst casualty had been Cutter’s pride counted as a success in Ryan’s book. Chasing – or being chased by – giant spiders wasn’t quite how he’d planned to spend the evening, but in their job plans went out of the window almost as often as they were made. So instead of a leisurely meal in a posh restaurant followed by a night of lazy sex, they would be eating the remains of last night’s pizza washed down with a couple of bottles of beer and might, if they had the energy, manage to round the day off with a quick hand job in the shower.

But instead of reaching for the beers, Stephen took a bottle of champagne from the fridge, popped the cork, poured some for both of them and then raised his glass in a toast. “Happy birthday, Tom. There’s still three minutes of it left.”

Ryan grinned and chinked his glass against his lover’s. His birthday had been largely forgotten by everyone – including him – in the chaos of the day. He thought for a moment and then proposed another toast. “To Mrs Frobisher and Winston.”

Stephen laughed. “I’m banking on the photos Connor took of Cutter’s impromptu dip being enough to mollify Lester when he finds out that we all buggered off home without writing the reports.” He raised his glass in agreement. “To Mrs Frobisher and Winston, for providing the best laugh we’ve had all week!”

Ryan set his glass down on the table and wrapped his arms around Stephen’s waist. The kiss they shared tasted pleasantly of champagne and Ryan felt his cock starting to harden in his jeans as the alcohol coursed through his system and started to banish the tiredness of a long day spent rushing around London and the Home Counties.

Stephen insinuated a hand between them, flipped open the button on Ryan’s jeans, lowered the zipper and took his cock in hand, stroking firmly in a way that never failed to bring Ryan off and that was no exception. Stephen’s lips covered his, stealing his breath as Ryan gasped into his lover’s mouth a moment before he quickly spurted come over Stephen’s sinfully talented fingers.

Stephen wiped his hand on his already-grubby trousers and poured another two glasses of champagne. “You can return the favour in the shower, soldier boy.”

Ryan drained the glass quickly and then reached for a slice of cold pizza. He’d certainly had worse birthdays.

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Fic, Mrs Frobisher and Winston, Stephen/Ryan, 15

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