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fredbassettTitle : Entente Cordiale, Part 4 of 7
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 21,249 overall. This part 3,079.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ryan whisks Stephen away to an undisclosed location for his birthday weekend, but presents aren’t the only surprises that come Stephen’s way.
A/N : 1) Set in my Stephen/Ryan series which can be found HERE, but can be read as a standalone. 2) Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lukadreaming who has been cheerleading for this fic for a year and for doing the beta. 3) All the places described in this story do exist, but any resemblance to real people is wholly accidental. 2) 2) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.
In spite of the heat they’d experienced the previous day, the early morning air in the valley was distinctly cool, although a clear blue sky promised warmth for later. Stephen set off at a brisk pace along the track behind the hotel, his long legs covering the ground with ease. Ryan kept up with him without a problem, matching his lover stride for stride, his breathing slow and steady.
Ryan could run for hours if necessary, his muscles honed by years of training in the unforgiving landscape of the Brecon Beacons, but that morning they were aiming to go no further than the pool described to them by the two women they’d had drinks with on the terrace the night before. The track wound along the valley bottom, with a steep tree-covered slope rising to their right and fields of tall golden maize to the left between them and the river. Dew sparkled on myriad spiders’ webs on the wooded slope and as they left the crops behind and passed a wide swathe of grass, Ryan noticed two small deer standing by the water’s edge, ears pricked, alert for any danger.
The track led them across a small road and through a hamlet, before snaking slightly higher up the side of valley and narrowing to a small stony path then dropping down again to the side of the river. They reached an obvious fork in the track and Stephen took the lower route, following the directions they’d been given. As they entered the trees clustered on the river bank, the track broadened again and soon led them to a large, deep pool, over-shadowed by the trees, with the morning sunlight dappling attractively on the surface of the water.
At 6.30 in the morning, Ryan very much doubted there would be anyone around to be scandalised by their lack of clothes as he and Stephen stripped quickly beside the river.
“It’ll be bloody cold,” he commented.
Ryan grinned. “I’m sure I’ll find a way of warming you up afterwards.”
“I’ll hold you to that, soldier boy.” Stephen dipped one foot in the water, yelped but slid quickly in and set off across the pool. At the far side where the water was clearly shallower, he stood up and turned around, the water dripping off his naked body. “It’s bloody gorgeous,” he called, before duck-diving back into the water and setting off back in Ryan’s direction.
Ryan dived in after him. The water was cold enough to make him gasp as it slid over his skin like freezing cold silk. Apart from a few leaves, the pool was clear of any debris and unspoilt by rubbish. Ryan could see shoals of small fish darting away in all directions as he swam over to meet Stephen.
“Bloody cold is an understatement, sweetie,” he commented, pulling Stephen into a kiss. “Fucking freezing is more like it.”
Stephen laughed and slid his arms around Ryan’s body as the pair of them trod water. “I didn’t want to risk putting you off.”
“Hart, you were naked and wet, there wasn’t much risk of me being put off, but you’re going to have to work hard for me to get it up in these conditions.”
Stephen’s blue eyes glinted with mischief and he slid below the surface of the water to take Ryan’s cock in his mouth. The contrast between the cold of the water and Stephen’s hot mouth triggered another gasp, hastily cut off as Ryan started to sink. Stephen was not noted for playing fair in the water, and he could hold his breath for longer than Ryan could.
After briefly teasing Ryan with his mouth, Stephen twisted in the water like an eel and swam off, with Ryan in pursuit. After ten minutes swimming lengths of the pool, Ryan took advantage of a shaft of sunlight shining down through the trees and heaved himself up onto one of the small cascades in the middle of the stream, enjoying the feel of the warmth on his shoulders and back. Stephen swam lazily back to him and stood up, the water no higher than his waist as he positioned himself between Ryan’s legs and started to lick the water off his nipples.
Ryan ran his hands through Stephen’s hair, making it stand up in dark, wet spikes. His lover trailed hot kisses down Ryan’s body and then started to suck his cock again. Ryan was about to point out that he had little or no chance of getting an erection with his arse and balls still in freezing cold water when his dick sent a very clear message to the contrary and started to respond to Stephen’s ministrations.
Stephen chucked around his mouthful and started to suck harder as his hands roamed freely across the skin of Ryan’s back, his nails raking lightly over Ryan’s flesh as his lips and tongue continued to work their usual magic. There was something intoxicating in watching Stephen suck his cock out in the open, next to an obviously well-used path, where any early-morning runner or dog-walker could see them, and soon any thought of listening for approaching footsteps was driven out of Ryan’s mind as he felt heat course through his body, pooling low in his belly. He gasped, thrusting up into Stephen’s mouth as he came, and then found himself being tugged back into the water as Stephen kissed him breathlessly, sharing Ryan’s taste with him.
Ryan’s hands dropped down between Stephen’s legs and found him hot and hard. Sliding his hands up to his lover’s waist, Ryan hoisted him up out of the water onto the top of the small waterfall and proceeded to return the favour, managing to take Stephen quickly to the edge of orgasm and hold him there until a decidedly needy whine escaped Stephen’s kiss-swollen lips. Ryan nudged his lover’s thighs further apart and stroked his balls. That was enough to trigger a warm rush of thick, salty fluid into his mouth. Ryan swallowed and slid back up Stephen’s cock, his tongue swiping the last drops of come from his slit.
Ryan had to admit that although the water was freezing, the pool was certainly one of the most picturesque spots they’d made love in for quite a while and he had a strong feeling they’d be heading the same way the following morning as well.
By the time they started on their way back to the hotel, the sun was already warming the valley and promising a hot day ahead. After a quick shower, they were soon ready for breakfast on the terrace.
“Fancy some more culture later?” Stephen asked as they tucked into a pile of warm croissants.
“It’s your birthday weekend,” Ryan said. He was happy to spend the time however Stephen wanted. He’d been surprised by how much he’d enjoyed the visit to the replica cave the previous day, and the idea of a tour around a chateau sounded interesting, even if it wasn’t how they normally spent their off-duty hours.
Stephen smiled like a kid who’d been handed everything he wanted in the world, neatly gift-wrapped. “We’ll do the chateau this morning and then have lunch somewhere and then maybe have a wander around in Montignac. How does that sound?”
Ryan ran the backs of his fingers lightly Stephen’s cheek. “It sounds perfect. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
“Not since I was sucking your cock in bed at half past five this morning.”
“How very romantic of me,” Ryan said, brushing a flake of croissant off the side of Stephen’s mouth.
Stephen grinned. “That’s what I thought.” In spite of his smile, Stephen’s face took on a serious expression for a moment. “Tom, you know I’m crap at saying what I really feel, but this weekend has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He lifted Ryan’s hand and pressed a soft kiss into his palm. “Thank you. And I love you too.”
Ryan’s tightened his fingers around Stephen’s hand. Even after all the time they’d been together, those words still felt immeasurably special. Ryan smiled. Stephen wasn’t the only one who was enjoying the weekend.
* * * * *
The chateau was partially hidden from the road by a row of tall fir trees, but as Ryan and Stephen turned into a wide driveway flanked by more trees, they had a perfect view of an imposing structure with tall towers and high, steep roofs warmed by the mid-morning sun.
A woman sitting outside a small ticket booth took their money and told them that the next tour would start in 45 minutes from the courtyard inside the outer wall. Until then they were free to explore the formal gardens. She handed them an explanatory booklet in English and wished them a bonne visite.
Ryan’s trained eyes promptly admired the deep dry moat flanking the castle on three sides, with the fourth protected by the Vézère river. According to the guidebook, the original stronghold had been built in the 11th century by the Losse family from Flanders and the chateau they were about to see had been largely unaltered since the 16th century. The sole access was over a bridge across the moat, guarded by what was apparently the largest fortified gatehouse in France.
They leaned on the stone wall and stared down into the moat. It had been hacked out of the bedrock and would have provided a perfect killing-ground for use by the castle’s defenders in times of war. Any attackers would be lucky to cross it alive and even if they succeeded, the outer walls would still have had to be scaled. Not an easy task, even with ladders.
They strolled slowly around the outer defences and down into the moat itself to admire the view out over the water of the Vézère, which was flowing faster there than it had done at their swimming spot the previous day, a few kilometres further down stream. They watched some ducks swimming up against the current and saw a heron diving for fish. A party of canoeists waved as they paddled lazily past, allowing the river to do most of the work.
“Fancy taking a canoe out later?” Stephen asked, looping his arm around Ryan’s waist and resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Mmm,” Ryan murmured, taking the opportunity to press a kiss into Stephen’s hair. “You can do the paddling and I can admire your sun-tan.”
“Not quite what I had in mind, sweetheart,” Stephen laughed. “It’s my birthday weekend, so I get to do the ogling.”
After walking around the moat, they made their way back up into the formal gardens, wandering between tall, immaculately-clipped hedges and listening to the low drone of insects clustering on the sweetly-scented lavender, flanked by rosemary and other herbs. A woman with a small Pekinese at her heels passed by, smiling. The dog sniffed their ankles and dispensed a haughty look.
From the voices they heard as they wandered around the garden, there were almost as many English visitors as there were French and at a distance, Ryan saw their two drinking companions from the hotel the previous night, heading down into the moat. Kathy Morse looked up, saw them and waved.
The sound of high-pitched yapping from the direction of the ornamental garden disturbed the peace. Ryan guessed that the small dog had probably encountered one of the Labradors they’d just passed.
“Has no one told him to pick on someone his own size?” Stephen commented.
“Our next door neighbour had one of those when I was a kid. The bloody thing would take on something ten times its size and still win. The whole street was a no-go area for the postman whenever Pookie escaped.”
“Pookie?”
Ryan nodded. “Yep. Pookie. She adored that dog. Rumour had it she had the critter stuffed when he finally went to the Great Kennel in the Sky so she could keep him on the mantelpiece.”
The barking reached a crescendo of fury, accompanied by an even louder scream.
Ryan looked at Stephen who shrugged then nodded. The pair of them broke into a run. They’d heard enough screams in their job to enable them to recognise the distinctive edge of fear. Others sightseeing in the gardens turned their heads to the source of the noise but made no move towards it, held back by the characteristic embarrassment that seemed to paralyse people when something unusual happened. There were times when Ryan wondered if it was actually some kind of in-built inhibition that kicked in to keep people from running headlong into trouble – apart from where the bloody anomalies were concerned. But human beings, like magpies, were unfortunately also programmed to like bright, shiny things and Ryan had a very distinct feeling that a bright, shiny thing might well be the root of the problem.
The person doing the screaming was a stout Frenchwoman wearing a billowing floral print dress. Something had obviously grabbed hold of the hem and ripped a long strip around the bottom. The material was flapping gaily in the light breeze. From the blood that Ryan could see on her lower leg, whatever had been responsible for the damage to the dress had also left behind a long, red gouge in the woman’s flesh.
The Pekinese was nowhere to be seen, but Ryan could still hear it expressing its dislike of whatever had hurt its mistress.
“C’était un chien?” Ryan asked, looking around for the culprit.
The woman shook her head vehemently. “Non, c’est un énorme poulet!”
A big chicken? Ryan had seen a lot of ducks and geese in the area, but no unusually large chickens, and he was willing to bet that the woman, in common with most of her compatriots, could tell a chicken from a goose at ten paces and judging by the gash on the woman’s leg, this one had been a lot closer to her than that.
“Asseyez-vous, madame, permettez-moi de regarder votre jambe,” Ryan put his arm around the woman’s ample waist and tried to guide her to one of the garden seats.
“I’ll see what the dog’s up to,” Stephen said, clearly more than happy to leave Ryan to deal with the injured woman as more people started to arrive, their curiosity piqued now that the screaming had stopped.
The gash in the woman’s leg was shallow but bleeding profusely. With a muttered apology, Ryan caught hold of her dress and pulled at the piece that was already hanging off. The sheer size of the dress was useful and a moment later, Ryan had a long strip of material in his hand. It made a reasonable impromptu bandage until he could get the woman to a proper first aid box.
The noise had attracted the attention of the people at the entry booth. One of them arrived in a flurry of excited French and Ryan gratefully surrendered his charge to her. The words ‘poulet’ and ‘énorme’ were still very much in evidence. The word ‘FrouFrou’ was also appearing with some degree of regularity. Ryan guessed that was the name of the dog.
The dog that was still barking like hell.
“Excusez-moi, madame, j’irai trouver votre chien…”
Ryan made good his escape. He was about at the limit of his French. Barking dogs were far easier to deal with than a French woman in a floral dress who looked much like a galleon in full sail.
He followed the sound of barking through a gap in the neatly clipped hedge and found Stephen and FrouFrou both staring at the creature that had just taken a chunk out of the woman’s leg. She’d been right. It did look like a bloody great big chicken. The bird had a heavy head and a short neck, around which a ruff of black and white feathers was standing up like the hackles on a dog.
FrouFrou was standing in front of it, barking loudly, his own hackles raised.
The bird took a swipe at the dog with its wicked-looking beak. The Pekinese backed off rapidly, still barking and then dived back in with a deceptive turn of speed. Its sharp teeth nipped the bird’s leg in retaliation and for a moment it looked like 1-0 to FrouFrou, but the bird made another jab at the little dog. FrouFrou yelped but stood his ground. The bird had a tuft of the dog’s fur sticking out of the side of its beak so it seemed the dog hadn’t entirely escaped unscathed, although Ryan couldn’t see any blood.
Stephen bent down to try to pick up the valiant little dog, but FrouFrou avoided his hands and took another run at the bird, yapping his fury to the four winds.
The bird had clearly decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour. It took one look at the barking dog, FrouFrou’s lips drawn back to reveal sharp white teeth, and suddenly turned tail and fled into the undergrowth. The Pekinese was doing something that looked suspiciously like a victory dance when a rustle in the bushes drew Ryan’s attention.
Something that really did deserve the description of an énorme poulet thrust an even bigger head straight through a magnificent rose bush, sending petals flying everywhere like a spray of blood. A beak that looked capable of scything straight through human flesh and bone flashed in the direction of the Pekinese.
FrouFrou clearly lacked anything resembling a survival instinct. The dog dodged, but didn’t retreat.
The Pekinese stood its ground as both Ryan and Stephen jumped back.
The bird was easily two metres high at the shoulder, towering massively above its opponent. Glossy black and while feathers were fluffed out making it look even bigger, not that it needed to add to the mantle of menace that already surrounded it.
Ryan didn’t know what the hell the creature was or where it had come from, but he had a nasty feeling he was about to find out. Stephen’s muttered comment of “Fuck!” just about summed the situation up.
And Ryan wasn’t looking forward to telling the Frenchwoman that her beloved FrouFrou had just been eaten by something that looked like a body-building ostrich. He looked around for a weapon and drew a blank. There wasn’t even a stick he could use to distract the bird with.
“Time to make a tactical withdrawal, Hart,” Ryan said, slipping easily back into work mode.
He had to admit that he hadn’t expected their short break to turn into this much of a busman’s holiday.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 21,249 overall. This part 3,079.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ryan whisks Stephen away to an undisclosed location for his birthday weekend, but presents aren’t the only surprises that come Stephen’s way.
A/N : 1) Set in my Stephen/Ryan series which can be found HERE, but can be read as a standalone. 2) Many thanks to
lukadreaming who has been cheerleading for this fic for a year and for doing the beta. 3) All the places described in this story do exist, but any resemblance to real people is wholly accidental. 2) 2) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3.In spite of the heat they’d experienced the previous day, the early morning air in the valley was distinctly cool, although a clear blue sky promised warmth for later. Stephen set off at a brisk pace along the track behind the hotel, his long legs covering the ground with ease. Ryan kept up with him without a problem, matching his lover stride for stride, his breathing slow and steady.
Ryan could run for hours if necessary, his muscles honed by years of training in the unforgiving landscape of the Brecon Beacons, but that morning they were aiming to go no further than the pool described to them by the two women they’d had drinks with on the terrace the night before. The track wound along the valley bottom, with a steep tree-covered slope rising to their right and fields of tall golden maize to the left between them and the river. Dew sparkled on myriad spiders’ webs on the wooded slope and as they left the crops behind and passed a wide swathe of grass, Ryan noticed two small deer standing by the water’s edge, ears pricked, alert for any danger.
The track led them across a small road and through a hamlet, before snaking slightly higher up the side of valley and narrowing to a small stony path then dropping down again to the side of the river. They reached an obvious fork in the track and Stephen took the lower route, following the directions they’d been given. As they entered the trees clustered on the river bank, the track broadened again and soon led them to a large, deep pool, over-shadowed by the trees, with the morning sunlight dappling attractively on the surface of the water.
At 6.30 in the morning, Ryan very much doubted there would be anyone around to be scandalised by their lack of clothes as he and Stephen stripped quickly beside the river.
“It’ll be bloody cold,” he commented.
Ryan grinned. “I’m sure I’ll find a way of warming you up afterwards.”
“I’ll hold you to that, soldier boy.” Stephen dipped one foot in the water, yelped but slid quickly in and set off across the pool. At the far side where the water was clearly shallower, he stood up and turned around, the water dripping off his naked body. “It’s bloody gorgeous,” he called, before duck-diving back into the water and setting off back in Ryan’s direction.
Ryan dived in after him. The water was cold enough to make him gasp as it slid over his skin like freezing cold silk. Apart from a few leaves, the pool was clear of any debris and unspoilt by rubbish. Ryan could see shoals of small fish darting away in all directions as he swam over to meet Stephen.
“Bloody cold is an understatement, sweetie,” he commented, pulling Stephen into a kiss. “Fucking freezing is more like it.”
Stephen laughed and slid his arms around Ryan’s body as the pair of them trod water. “I didn’t want to risk putting you off.”
“Hart, you were naked and wet, there wasn’t much risk of me being put off, but you’re going to have to work hard for me to get it up in these conditions.”
Stephen’s blue eyes glinted with mischief and he slid below the surface of the water to take Ryan’s cock in his mouth. The contrast between the cold of the water and Stephen’s hot mouth triggered another gasp, hastily cut off as Ryan started to sink. Stephen was not noted for playing fair in the water, and he could hold his breath for longer than Ryan could.
After briefly teasing Ryan with his mouth, Stephen twisted in the water like an eel and swam off, with Ryan in pursuit. After ten minutes swimming lengths of the pool, Ryan took advantage of a shaft of sunlight shining down through the trees and heaved himself up onto one of the small cascades in the middle of the stream, enjoying the feel of the warmth on his shoulders and back. Stephen swam lazily back to him and stood up, the water no higher than his waist as he positioned himself between Ryan’s legs and started to lick the water off his nipples.
Ryan ran his hands through Stephen’s hair, making it stand up in dark, wet spikes. His lover trailed hot kisses down Ryan’s body and then started to suck his cock again. Ryan was about to point out that he had little or no chance of getting an erection with his arse and balls still in freezing cold water when his dick sent a very clear message to the contrary and started to respond to Stephen’s ministrations.
Stephen chucked around his mouthful and started to suck harder as his hands roamed freely across the skin of Ryan’s back, his nails raking lightly over Ryan’s flesh as his lips and tongue continued to work their usual magic. There was something intoxicating in watching Stephen suck his cock out in the open, next to an obviously well-used path, where any early-morning runner or dog-walker could see them, and soon any thought of listening for approaching footsteps was driven out of Ryan’s mind as he felt heat course through his body, pooling low in his belly. He gasped, thrusting up into Stephen’s mouth as he came, and then found himself being tugged back into the water as Stephen kissed him breathlessly, sharing Ryan’s taste with him.
Ryan’s hands dropped down between Stephen’s legs and found him hot and hard. Sliding his hands up to his lover’s waist, Ryan hoisted him up out of the water onto the top of the small waterfall and proceeded to return the favour, managing to take Stephen quickly to the edge of orgasm and hold him there until a decidedly needy whine escaped Stephen’s kiss-swollen lips. Ryan nudged his lover’s thighs further apart and stroked his balls. That was enough to trigger a warm rush of thick, salty fluid into his mouth. Ryan swallowed and slid back up Stephen’s cock, his tongue swiping the last drops of come from his slit.
Ryan had to admit that although the water was freezing, the pool was certainly one of the most picturesque spots they’d made love in for quite a while and he had a strong feeling they’d be heading the same way the following morning as well.
By the time they started on their way back to the hotel, the sun was already warming the valley and promising a hot day ahead. After a quick shower, they were soon ready for breakfast on the terrace.
“Fancy some more culture later?” Stephen asked as they tucked into a pile of warm croissants.
“It’s your birthday weekend,” Ryan said. He was happy to spend the time however Stephen wanted. He’d been surprised by how much he’d enjoyed the visit to the replica cave the previous day, and the idea of a tour around a chateau sounded interesting, even if it wasn’t how they normally spent their off-duty hours.
Stephen smiled like a kid who’d been handed everything he wanted in the world, neatly gift-wrapped. “We’ll do the chateau this morning and then have lunch somewhere and then maybe have a wander around in Montignac. How does that sound?”
Ryan ran the backs of his fingers lightly Stephen’s cheek. “It sounds perfect. Have I told you recently how much I love you?”
“Not since I was sucking your cock in bed at half past five this morning.”
“How very romantic of me,” Ryan said, brushing a flake of croissant off the side of Stephen’s mouth.
Stephen grinned. “That’s what I thought.” In spite of his smile, Stephen’s face took on a serious expression for a moment. “Tom, you know I’m crap at saying what I really feel, but this weekend has been the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He lifted Ryan’s hand and pressed a soft kiss into his palm. “Thank you. And I love you too.”
Ryan’s tightened his fingers around Stephen’s hand. Even after all the time they’d been together, those words still felt immeasurably special. Ryan smiled. Stephen wasn’t the only one who was enjoying the weekend.
* * * * *
The chateau was partially hidden from the road by a row of tall fir trees, but as Ryan and Stephen turned into a wide driveway flanked by more trees, they had a perfect view of an imposing structure with tall towers and high, steep roofs warmed by the mid-morning sun.
A woman sitting outside a small ticket booth took their money and told them that the next tour would start in 45 minutes from the courtyard inside the outer wall. Until then they were free to explore the formal gardens. She handed them an explanatory booklet in English and wished them a bonne visite.
Ryan’s trained eyes promptly admired the deep dry moat flanking the castle on three sides, with the fourth protected by the Vézère river. According to the guidebook, the original stronghold had been built in the 11th century by the Losse family from Flanders and the chateau they were about to see had been largely unaltered since the 16th century. The sole access was over a bridge across the moat, guarded by what was apparently the largest fortified gatehouse in France.
They leaned on the stone wall and stared down into the moat. It had been hacked out of the bedrock and would have provided a perfect killing-ground for use by the castle’s defenders in times of war. Any attackers would be lucky to cross it alive and even if they succeeded, the outer walls would still have had to be scaled. Not an easy task, even with ladders.
They strolled slowly around the outer defences and down into the moat itself to admire the view out over the water of the Vézère, which was flowing faster there than it had done at their swimming spot the previous day, a few kilometres further down stream. They watched some ducks swimming up against the current and saw a heron diving for fish. A party of canoeists waved as they paddled lazily past, allowing the river to do most of the work.
“Fancy taking a canoe out later?” Stephen asked, looping his arm around Ryan’s waist and resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder.
“Mmm,” Ryan murmured, taking the opportunity to press a kiss into Stephen’s hair. “You can do the paddling and I can admire your sun-tan.”
“Not quite what I had in mind, sweetheart,” Stephen laughed. “It’s my birthday weekend, so I get to do the ogling.”
After walking around the moat, they made their way back up into the formal gardens, wandering between tall, immaculately-clipped hedges and listening to the low drone of insects clustering on the sweetly-scented lavender, flanked by rosemary and other herbs. A woman with a small Pekinese at her heels passed by, smiling. The dog sniffed their ankles and dispensed a haughty look.
From the voices they heard as they wandered around the garden, there were almost as many English visitors as there were French and at a distance, Ryan saw their two drinking companions from the hotel the previous night, heading down into the moat. Kathy Morse looked up, saw them and waved.
The sound of high-pitched yapping from the direction of the ornamental garden disturbed the peace. Ryan guessed that the small dog had probably encountered one of the Labradors they’d just passed.
“Has no one told him to pick on someone his own size?” Stephen commented.
“Our next door neighbour had one of those when I was a kid. The bloody thing would take on something ten times its size and still win. The whole street was a no-go area for the postman whenever Pookie escaped.”
“Pookie?”
Ryan nodded. “Yep. Pookie. She adored that dog. Rumour had it she had the critter stuffed when he finally went to the Great Kennel in the Sky so she could keep him on the mantelpiece.”
The barking reached a crescendo of fury, accompanied by an even louder scream.
Ryan looked at Stephen who shrugged then nodded. The pair of them broke into a run. They’d heard enough screams in their job to enable them to recognise the distinctive edge of fear. Others sightseeing in the gardens turned their heads to the source of the noise but made no move towards it, held back by the characteristic embarrassment that seemed to paralyse people when something unusual happened. There were times when Ryan wondered if it was actually some kind of in-built inhibition that kicked in to keep people from running headlong into trouble – apart from where the bloody anomalies were concerned. But human beings, like magpies, were unfortunately also programmed to like bright, shiny things and Ryan had a very distinct feeling that a bright, shiny thing might well be the root of the problem.
The person doing the screaming was a stout Frenchwoman wearing a billowing floral print dress. Something had obviously grabbed hold of the hem and ripped a long strip around the bottom. The material was flapping gaily in the light breeze. From the blood that Ryan could see on her lower leg, whatever had been responsible for the damage to the dress had also left behind a long, red gouge in the woman’s flesh.
The Pekinese was nowhere to be seen, but Ryan could still hear it expressing its dislike of whatever had hurt its mistress.
“C’était un chien?” Ryan asked, looking around for the culprit.
The woman shook her head vehemently. “Non, c’est un énorme poulet!”
A big chicken? Ryan had seen a lot of ducks and geese in the area, but no unusually large chickens, and he was willing to bet that the woman, in common with most of her compatriots, could tell a chicken from a goose at ten paces and judging by the gash on the woman’s leg, this one had been a lot closer to her than that.
“Asseyez-vous, madame, permettez-moi de regarder votre jambe,” Ryan put his arm around the woman’s ample waist and tried to guide her to one of the garden seats.
“I’ll see what the dog’s up to,” Stephen said, clearly more than happy to leave Ryan to deal with the injured woman as more people started to arrive, their curiosity piqued now that the screaming had stopped.
The gash in the woman’s leg was shallow but bleeding profusely. With a muttered apology, Ryan caught hold of her dress and pulled at the piece that was already hanging off. The sheer size of the dress was useful and a moment later, Ryan had a long strip of material in his hand. It made a reasonable impromptu bandage until he could get the woman to a proper first aid box.
The noise had attracted the attention of the people at the entry booth. One of them arrived in a flurry of excited French and Ryan gratefully surrendered his charge to her. The words ‘poulet’ and ‘énorme’ were still very much in evidence. The word ‘FrouFrou’ was also appearing with some degree of regularity. Ryan guessed that was the name of the dog.
The dog that was still barking like hell.
“Excusez-moi, madame, j’irai trouver votre chien…”
Ryan made good his escape. He was about at the limit of his French. Barking dogs were far easier to deal with than a French woman in a floral dress who looked much like a galleon in full sail.
He followed the sound of barking through a gap in the neatly clipped hedge and found Stephen and FrouFrou both staring at the creature that had just taken a chunk out of the woman’s leg. She’d been right. It did look like a bloody great big chicken. The bird had a heavy head and a short neck, around which a ruff of black and white feathers was standing up like the hackles on a dog.
FrouFrou was standing in front of it, barking loudly, his own hackles raised.
The bird took a swipe at the dog with its wicked-looking beak. The Pekinese backed off rapidly, still barking and then dived back in with a deceptive turn of speed. Its sharp teeth nipped the bird’s leg in retaliation and for a moment it looked like 1-0 to FrouFrou, but the bird made another jab at the little dog. FrouFrou yelped but stood his ground. The bird had a tuft of the dog’s fur sticking out of the side of its beak so it seemed the dog hadn’t entirely escaped unscathed, although Ryan couldn’t see any blood.
Stephen bent down to try to pick up the valiant little dog, but FrouFrou avoided his hands and took another run at the bird, yapping his fury to the four winds.
The bird had clearly decided that discretion was indeed the better part of valour. It took one look at the barking dog, FrouFrou’s lips drawn back to reveal sharp white teeth, and suddenly turned tail and fled into the undergrowth. The Pekinese was doing something that looked suspiciously like a victory dance when a rustle in the bushes drew Ryan’s attention.
Something that really did deserve the description of an énorme poulet thrust an even bigger head straight through a magnificent rose bush, sending petals flying everywhere like a spray of blood. A beak that looked capable of scything straight through human flesh and bone flashed in the direction of the Pekinese.
FrouFrou clearly lacked anything resembling a survival instinct. The dog dodged, but didn’t retreat.
The Pekinese stood its ground as both Ryan and Stephen jumped back.
The bird was easily two metres high at the shoulder, towering massively above its opponent. Glossy black and while feathers were fluffed out making it look even bigger, not that it needed to add to the mantle of menace that already surrounded it.
Ryan didn’t know what the hell the creature was or where it had come from, but he had a nasty feeling he was about to find out. Stephen’s muttered comment of “Fuck!” just about summed the situation up.
And Ryan wasn’t looking forward to telling the Frenchwoman that her beloved FrouFrou had just been eaten by something that looked like a body-building ostrich. He looked around for a weapon and drew a blank. There wasn’t even a stick he could use to distract the bird with.
“Time to make a tactical withdrawal, Hart,” Ryan said, slipping easily back into work mode.
He had to admit that he hadn’t expected their short break to turn into this much of a busman’s holiday.
no subject
Date: 2012-09-11 02:03 am (UTC)LOLOLOL!
Lovely hawt sex, beautiful countryside and chateau!
FrouFrou clearly lacked anything resembling a survival instinct.
Yay for little FrouFrou - the Rottweiler in the body of a Peke!
And I just knew it was too good to last. Sigh...
I look forward to next part!
no subject
Date: 2012-09-11 07:12 am (UTC)