fredbassett | Fic, By The Pricking of My Thumbs

Title : By The Pricking of My Thumbs
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan
Disclaimer : Not mine (apart from Lyle), no money made, don't sue
Spoilers : None
Summary : Follows after The Morning After, Interlude, A Walk in the Woods & Predator.
Tags : Fic, Stephen, Ryan, Slash

If anyone noticed Stephen’s slightly swollen lips, nothing was said.

Ryan seemed satisfied with Lyle’s reports and with the fact that the hotel bar seemed largely intact. A large breakfast dealt with their grumbling stomachs and liberal doses of pleasantly corrosive coffee drove away the suspicion of a hangover that had started to lurk around Stephen’s temples.

Their silence was companionable, without awkwardness. Neither man feeling the need to talk just for the sake of it. Eventually, Stephen pushed the coffee mug away and stood up. “I’m going to take a wander around outside. I told Cutter I’d check the site of the last anomaly.”

“Take one of Lyle’s lads,” It was an order, not a suggestion. It was also a sensible precaution and Stephen had long since learned not to argue with Ryan when it came to matters of security.

On this occasion at least, a bodyguard proved unnecessary. Stephen spent the morning wandering around a wet, unthreatening forest. Both of the recent anomalies had faded without trace and the scariest non-human animal he saw was a squirrel.

By the time he returned to the hotel, it had started to really piss down. He found Ryan lounging on a sofa in a corner of the bar reading a newspaper.

In answer to the captain’s raised eyebrows Stephen shook his head. “Quiet as the grave.” He regretted the analogy as soon as the words left his mouth.

Ryan shot him a sympathetic look. “Coffee?”

“Change of clothes, then coffee. Back in five.”

It took longer but not much. Ryan found that he was watching the door, waiting for Hart’s return. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected this morning. Awkwardness? Embarrassment? Denial? What he certainly hadn’t reckoned on was his own desire to be close to Hart, to simply spend time in his company. It had been a long time since he’d enjoyed sex and friendship with the same person at the same time. Too long, in fact.

Hart settled himself onto the comfortably over-stuffed leather sofa, pulling one foot up underneath him and not drawing back when his knee touched Ryan’s thigh. “You still look tired,” he said, bluntly.

Ryan shrugged. “Nothing another decent sleep won’t put right.”

“Early to bed?” The still-bruised mouth curved in a smile that was equal parts gentle and provocative.

“I was thinking of a shower followed by an afternoon nap.” Ryan was actually thinking of rather more than that and he was in no doubt that the owner of the deepest blue eyes he’d ever seen was thinking along the same lines.

The two men finished their coffee in a state of pleasant anticipation. Ryan stood up first.

Without looking up from the paper, Hart remarked, “Don’t use all the hot water.”

“I’m told they’ve solved the plumbing problems,” said Ryan with a quick backward glance. “Should I ask Mrs Mitchell to sort you out a room to yourself?”

Still without looking up, Stephen flipped him a casual finger.

He gave it five minutes, wondering vaguely why he was waiting, as there was no-one around to know, or care, how quickly he followed the other man upstairs. But he waited anyway, just to prove he could.

Clothes were strewn on the bedroom floor. Stephen heard the splash of water and sauntered through to the open bathroom door. He thought about joining Ryan, but practicalities won out. The cubicle was simply too small for the two of them. He lounged against the doorframe and contented himself with watching instead.

Ryan took his time, knowing Hart was watching. He felt his cock harden and helped it along with one soapy hand. The other man shifted position slightly and Ryan grinned.

He shut the water off and reached for a towel.

“Looks like you’ve been unlucky with more than one bullet,” Stephen commented, noting a long, furrowed scar on the captain’s left hip.

Ryan shrugged. “Two in fifteen years. Not that many, in this game. I’ve been lucky.”

You’ve been good, thought Stephen. Luck helps, but there’s no substitute for good.

He stepped up to the soldier and snagged the towel out of his hands. Ryan surrendered it without a fight. Stephen started slowly mopping the drops of water from the other man’s body, working his way down strong shoulders, across the flat, hard stomach, over lean hips and down muscled thighs. His tongue flickered out, lizard-like, and swiped some drops of water off a sensitive part of Ryan’s anatomy. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

Stephen sank to both knees, and looked up. Curiosity got the better of him. “Do you go with women as well?”

“Not since my ex-wife. She was enough to put me off women for life.” This was not a direction Ryan wanted to go in. He tried to inject a note of finality into his voice and had a bad feeling he hadn’t succeeded.

“Have you got kids?” Ryan didn’t seem the domesticated sort, but Stephen felt a sudden, irresistible urge to know more about this man.

“Haven’t you got something better to do with your mouth than talk, Hart?” The words came out harshly, and Ryan saw something in Stephen’s blue eyes recoil. Damn it. That wasn’t what he’d intended. Hart wasn’t to know, so why had he hit out like that? Habit, of course. And pain. There was still too much hurt too close to the surface to allow a rational reaction to a question like that.

A moment later, strong hands settled onto his hips and a warm mouth enveloped him, urging him back to life. Encouraging. Teasing. Forgiving. He looked down at the other man’s black, still-damp hair and let out a pent-up breath of relief.

A long-fingered hand made its way down his lower back, starting to probe the warm crack. Ryan breathing quickened, his body drawn in two different directions, wanting to press forward and backwards at the same time. With an effort of will, he kept the movement of his own hands gentle, trying to convey an apology without words.

Ryan knew he should stop Hart now and make some effort to give rather than just receive. He was being a selfish bastard and he knew it, but he was still tired, his defences at a low ebb, which was why he hadn’t been able to stop himself delivering a barbed retort to what was, after all, only an innocent question.

He tried to pull away, to reverse the situation, but the gentle hands suddenly turned to steel and their grip tightened, holding him firmly in place.

Stephen had no intention of stopping now. He was still cursing himself for that stupid question. What did it matter if Ryan had kids? What business was it of his? And what a bloody idiot time to ask. Physical intimacy didn’t give him the right to probe in that sort of way. Determined to change Ryan’s mood, he redoubled efforts with mouth, tongue and even teeth, ignoring his bruised lips, taking Ryan closer and closer to the inevitable climax.

Ryan seemed strangely reluctant to react, obviously holding himself in check, maybe not wanting to repeat his loss of control from last night. No, he wasn’t going to get away with that. Remaining in control wasn’t an option. Not when there was forgetting to be done.

In one swift movement, Stephen drove a finger into the other man, hard and un-lubricated.

Ryan moved sharply away from the probing finger and somehow Hart managed to take him even more deeply into his throat. A second finger followed the first. It hurt, and Ryan enjoyed it in ways he couldn’t even begin to describe and then he was lost. Rational thought became impossible as he was forced into a shuddering orgasm.

Stephen kissed his way up Ryan’s body, enjoying the feel of the muscles quivering under his lips and taking in the dark, musky smell of the other man’s arousal. Ryan opened his mouth to say something and Stephen silenced him with a rough kiss. Tongues met and slithered and Ryan tasted his own saltiness in the other man’s mouth.

He found himself steered backwards to the bed. Knees hit the edge and he folded backwards onto the softness of the duvet. He lay there, breathing heavily from the intensity of the kiss, and watched as Hart tugged his own clothes off unceremoniously and dumped them on the floor.

The late afternoon shadows turned the man’s eyes from midnight blue to black. There was nothing soft in the expression that gazed down at Ryan. The compliance was gone, replaced by demanding need. Insistent hands dropped to Ryan’s shoulders and hips, rolling him over onto his stomach and slid up and down his back, nails digging in deeper each time until they left white lines in willing flesh. Then skilful thumbs worked on the knots in his shoulders and Ryan groaned as tension he didn’t even know he was holding onto started to slip away.

The massage continued down his back and the thumbs dug hard into the muscles at the top of his thighs. He tensed as a finger was drawn lightly between his legs.

Stephen chuckled, “Relax. I’m not going to try this dry. Any suggestions?”

“Gun oil, side pocket of my tac vest,” offered Ryan.

“You romantic bastard!” Stephen’s chuckle turned to a delighted laugh and he promptly dived off the bed to rummage through the pockets of the black jacket hung on the back of a chair. He discarded a multitude of small, deadly objects, including a wire garrotte and several different knives, until he finally found a plastic bottle. He took the top off and sniffed. It was gun oil all right.

He grabbed the still damp towel off the floor and tossed it casually onto the bed. “Lie on that. They’ll not thank us for getting oil on the bed.”

“It’s wet,” Ryan protested, mildly.

“I thought you Special Forces types were used to hardship?”

“I’m off duty,” muttered Ryan, casting a dark look over his shoulder as he rolled off the duvet, pushed it to one side and spread the towel out underneath him.

Stephen watched him settle back down, head pillowed on strong tanned arms. There was an air of slight tension in the man that hadn’t been present in their previous encounters and he had a feeling he knew why. You don’t stay alive long in the hard, dirty world that Ryan and his men inhabited by turning your back on anyone. Especially not naked. He guessed correctly that this wasn’t a position Ryan found himself in very often.

Something was needed to get his companion to relax, and it was needed quickly. Stephen knew that his own control might well not last as long as he would like. Ryan was just too bloody distracting lying flat on his stomach, muscles clearly defined, every damned inch of him in perfect condition.

Stephen ran one hand experimentally across Ryan’s shoulders, trailing his fingers lightly over the back of his neck. Ryan shivered slightly. A grin spread across Stephen’s face. So, the usually imperturbable captain had a sensitive spot somewhere other than between his legs? Time to investigate further.

He dipped his head and started to run his tongue over the back of Ryan’s neck, nuzzling, nipping, licking. He was rewarded almost immediately with a sub-audible groan that he felt, rather than heard. Stephen continued his work, trying to ignore the growing distraction from his own body.

Ryan breathed deeply, enjoying the rasp of Hart’s stubble across his neck and shoulders. He was also enjoying the feel of the other man’s tongue and even his teeth. Actually, he was especially enjoying the teeth, if truth be told. A low groan of pleasure forced its way past his lips. Since when had he enjoyed being bitten?

Stephen took a chance and bit harder. Ryan groaned again. The biting clearly wasn’t a problem. Ryan obviously didn’t mind a degree of pain. Stephen was beginning to get a handle on what the other man liked as he felt the ebb of tension and the flow of expectation shifting under his mouth and hands like the ripples of a tide across a beach.

With one hand, he twisted the cap off the small bottle and allowed a trickle of oil to find its way down between Ryan’s legs.

Stephen nudged the soldier’s knees apart, encountered resistance and had to push again harder. He knew perfectly well that the Special Forces leader was capable of killing him in a heartbeat if he wanted to, but he buried the knowledge. And a second later, he buried himself in the other man. The oil helped, but as Stephen entered him, Ryan tensed, and tensed hard. The younger man reacted by driving his hips forward, hard and fast, and at the same time biting down onto Ryan’s neck.

The cry that was torn from Ryan’s lips was half pain, half pleasure. He arched back into Hart’s body, unsure of whether to move with the thrusts to reduce the pain or to move against them to increase it. He didn’t know what he wanted, or how to go about getting it but the other man was in control now and the weight of the lean, sinewy body on top of him took away choice. And for once, the soldier didn’t care. Abruptly, Ryan dropped any attempt at resistance and simply lay there, head pillowed on his arms, letting Hart have him, any way he damn well wanted. Enjoying every stretched, painful, unprepared moment. And wanting more.

Stephen knew he should have been more liberal with the gun oil, knew he should have taken his time, should have slicked one finger and used that first, and then a second one, that he should have waited until Ryan was fully ready for him, but none of that mattered now. All he cared about was driving himself into the hard, tight, unyielding body underneath him, again and again. Enjoying the sensations that were starting to rip through his own body, as he felt a pleasure sharper, more intense than anything he’d known before.

There was nothing gentle or considerate about his hands or mouth now, the nips turned again into bites and hands bruised flesh.

With a groan that now held nothing but pleasure, Ryan tensed one final time, reaching his own climax first, helped by the friction of his erection driven into the bunched towel. The noise was too much for Stephen and he came a second later, pleasure ripping into him like a knife blade, sharp and shining. He collapsed shakily onto Ryan’s sweat soaked back, his breathing ragged, heart hammering in his chest.

He wasn’t the only one panting rather than breathing. Ryan was trying to draw air into his lungs in long, shuddering breaths, hampered by Hart’s weight on top of him. He felt the younger man pull out and slide sideways, bringing one thigh up and over, to settle around Ryan’s waist.

Grey eyes stared into blue. “If you try and apologise, I really will break your neck,” remarked Ryan, in a strangely conversational tone.

Stephen gave a shaky laugh. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I was presuming they taught you lot to deal with pain in basic training.”

“They did, but what you’ve just done isn’t a commonly employed technique. Apart from at Sandhurst,” he added with a slow, and in Stephen’s opinion, very sexy, grin. After a long and companionable silence, Ryan said, “I don’t promise I’ll always answer, but I will promise to do my best to stop biting your head off if you ask questions.”

“Is that an invitation to post-coital conversation?” asked Stephen, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“Well, as neither of us smoke, it’s either that or we just fall asleep. I’m easy either way.”

“So I noticed.”

Stephen saw the movement of Ryan’s hand but he couldn’t twist away fast enough to escape the swat on his backside. “You’re lucky I can’t get it up again this soon or I’d fuck you without the oil, Hart, just for the fun of finding your pain threshold. Now do something useful and fetch a beer.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Then, encouraged by Ryan’s relaxed state to push his luck a bit further he asked, “Is that why your wife left you?”

“No, she left me because she wanted someone else. Someone with a nice safe job. Oh and an income about ten times higher than mine. And yes, I do have a kid. A little girl of ten that I haven’t seen for three years.”

Stephen’s mind flickered uncomfortably back to the body in the woods. A child the same age as Ryan’s daughter. Part of him wished he’d never asked, but another part of him was glad. It made all this more real somehow. Not just a dream that would fade away like mist in the sunlight outside the dark confines of the forest.

He took the top off a bottle of beer. Just one. He liked the idea of sharing.

Stephen settled back down on the bed, Ryan’s arm around his shoulders and they took it in turns to drink from the bottle. To his surprise and pleasure, the conversation hadn’t shattered the mood, although he did nearly attract another slap when he rested the cold bottle on Ryan’s chest. He silenced the squawk of protest with a kiss. In retaliation, Ryan swiped the rest of the beer.

Muttering good-humouredly, Stephen swung his legs off the bed intending to head over the mini-bar again. Then something caught his attention, something outside, and he wandered over to the window, wondering what was different.

The answer was pretty obvious. Glaringly obvious, in fact. There was light, a lot of it and it wasn’t moonlight. The security lights on the front of the hotel had been turned on, illuminating the wide expanse of gravel between the building and the trees. There were even lights switched on alongside the first section of the drive before it swung away into the darkness.

Beyond the brightness he caught sight of two men, soldiers, obviously patrolling the edge of the trees. Both wearing night-sight head-sets. Both facing the forest. They hadn’t done this last night.

“Is Lieutenant Lyle a nervous sort?”

Ryan’s eyes snapped open and he was at Stephen’s side in a heartbeat. “Get dressed. We’ll have the next drink in the bar.”

Without stopping to shower, they both pulled their clothes on and headed downstairs. Four of Ryan’s own team were already in the bar. One of them was behind it, in fact, pulling a pint.

The man gave his captain a disarming grin. “We’ve got permission, sir. Mrs Mitchell’s kitchen help hasn’t turned up yet, so she’s cooking. I said I was happy to mind the bar.”

Ryan looked at Stephen and shrugged slightly in answer to his lover’s raised eyebrows. The two men settled themselves at the bar. Stephen perched on a high stool, Ryan stayed standing. Two pints were pushed over and they started to drink. Ten minutes later, Lyle walked in, the Heckler and Koch submachine pistol slung over his shoulder looking both threatening and incongruous in the homely mahogany and leather surroundings of the bar.

He nodded at Ryan and Hart and leant on the bar next to them, his movements deceptively casual, but his eyes quick and watchful. Lyle’s nose twitched and he asked, with a perfectly straight face, “Had a peaceful afternoon oiling your guns, sir?”

“No,” drawled Ryan, calmly and deliberately. “I’ve spent the afternoon being fucked so hard that I’d rather not sit down right now. You?”

To Stephen’s delight, Lyle’s expression didn’t alter at all. “I’ve had more entertaining days. I seemed to have covered every inch of a particularly god-forsaken forest, that quite frankly I would now utterly happily see reduced to matchwood.”

Amusement danced in Ryan’s grey eyes. “The tree-huggers might object. Did you see anything?”

The dark haired lieutenant shook his head.

“So why the lights?” asked Stephen.

“My thumbs are pricking, and I don’t know why,” said Lyle, his hazel eyes serious now.

The humour vanished from Ryan’s face and the last vestiges of relaxation slipped from him. Without taking his eyes off Lyle, he addressed one of his men, “T.J., ask Mrs Mitchell if she wouldn’t mind joining us for a minute.” A few minutes later, Mary Mitchell came in, wiping her hands on a towel. There was no mistaking the harassed look on her normally untroubled face. “Staff problems, Mary?” asked Ryan, quietly.

“My kitchen help hasn’t turned up yet,” the hotel owner admitted, with a frown. “And the damned girl isn’t answering her phone.”

“How does she normally get here?”

“Her boyfriend drives her in and then picks her up again around midnight. Don’t worry, I can manage, but dinner might be a bit later than usual, if you don’t mind.”

Ryan gave her a reassuring smile. “If you need any potatoes peeling, this lot are good with knives.”

That drew a laugh and Mary Mitchell went back to her cooking, a smile on her face.

“I think I’ll get a couple of the lads to check the route down to the village,” said Lyle, his frown deepening.

As the lieutenant walked off, Stephen noticed Lyle rubbing his fingers against the thumb of his right hand. He knew without needed to be told that it was not a good sign.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

x-tremelylost.livejournal.com

I just started reading primeval fics, and I like this a lot, although it never crossed my mind the pairing you write, it is very appealing. I'm very curious to see what's coming next ( and not just the sex, :) ). I hope you keep writing more primeval fic, there is so little of it.

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Fic, By The Pricking of My Thumbs

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