fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2014-04-05 03:07 pm
fredbassett) wrote2014-04-05 03:07 pm
Fic, Within These Walls, Part 1 of 30, AU, 18
Title : Within These Walls, Chapter 1 of 30
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Nick, Stephen, Connor, Ryan, Becker, Ditzy,
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 59,000 words in 30 chapters of approx. 1,500 – 2,500 words each
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ending up in Dartmoor prison for refusing to recant their belief in evolution is only the start of the problems facing Nick, Stephen and Connor. And Sir James Lester soon ends up with other problems on his hands than just an over-crowded prison population.
A/N : This story was first started five years ago. I’d like to thank all the people who’ve cheered for it over the years and kept me motivated when I didn’t think it would ever get finished. Special thanks are due to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
clea2011 and fififolle for running the Denial Fic Finishing Challenge that saw this monster finally put to bed, and extra special thanks go to fififolle for her wonderful beta help. She brought order out of chaos. Thanks also to lsellersfic who made me this lovely fic cover!
The van doors were hauled open, letting a sudden shaft of light into the darkened interior. Nine men instinctively flinched away from the black-uniformed guard who appeared wearing full riot gear and carrying a submachine gun.
“Out!” The guard reinforced the command with a jerk of the gun barrel.
The men scrambled to obey him, moving awkwardly, shackled to each other, stumbling out of the back of the van, seeing daylight for the first time after an eight hour journey.
They were in a yard surrounded by high stone walls, topped with coils of razor wire. Double doors stood open on one side, leading into an equally forbidding building.
“Welcome to Dartmoor Prison, gentlemen,” sneered the guard.
* * * * *
Nick Cutter shuffled awkwardly down a corridor which smelled sharply of disinfectant. The man he was shackled to slipped on a wet patch of floor and went down hard on one knee with an audible crack, dragging down the person behind him in the human chain.
The guard swore violently and swung the butt of his gun at the man on the floor.
“He slipped, it wasn’t his fault!” Stephen Hart, ever the idealist, pulled the young man to his feet. “Connor, are you OK?”
Before his friend could answer, the irate guard lashed out with a gloved hand, catching Stephen a hard blow across one high cheekbone, splitting the skin like an over-ripe peach.
“Stephen!” Nick’s tone was urgent, loaded with entreaty.
His former assistant remained motionless as blood welled up in the cut on his face and started to drip down his cheek.
“Not such a pretty boy now,” sneered the guard, driving the barrel of his gun hard into Stephen’s stomach. “I’ll remember you, laddie.”
Stephen doubled over, gasping. His blue eyes still flashed defiance but, to Nick’s relief, he offered no resistance.
The guard contented himself with a hard kick at the young man who had precipitated the trouble, catching him behind his already injured knee. Connor bit back a cry of pain and only remained on his feet with the assistance of Nick and Stephen.
“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded a fresh voice. “Why’s that man bleeding?”
“He had a go at me, Captain,” said the guard. “I was just putting him in his place.”
The man the guard had addressed as captain stared at the line of shackled prisoners with searching grey eyes, his face expressionless.
Nick forced himself to remain calm, even though his hands were trembling with the urge to use his own fists on the sneering guard who had struck one of his friends and kicked another.
The grey-eyed captain met his gaze and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Turning his attention back to the file of prisoners, he ordered, “Get these men checked in. The governor wants to start seeing them today, not next fucking week.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard snapped to attention. “Keep moving, you lot!”
The line of prisoners shuffled forward again, down the corridor and into a small room at the end. Two armed guards stood alert, one on either side of the door. A third man in the same uniform, but with a captain’s insignia on his shoulder, glanced up from behind a desk, dark hair swept immaculately back from a handsome, boyish face. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the blood running down Stephen’s face and turned to his fellow captain.
“Trouble, Ryan?” The voice was precise and cultured.
“Jackson got enthusiastic on the subject of discipline,” the man called Ryan said dismissively.
The dark-haired captain sighed. “Gives the medics something to do, I suppose.”
“They’re not short of work around here.” The blond captain’s eyes flicked over to the two guards who had accompanied the human chain in from the van. “Jackson, Reeves, get this lot unshackled and get back out onto the moor. There’s a gang due for pick-up in Sector 5. Get ‘em back here and send them through the showers before mealtime.”
“Sir!” The two men saluted smartly and went to do the captain’s bidding.
Nick Cutter rubbed at his wrists. The metal cuffs had been tight enough to chafe.
The man behind the desk flipped a page over on a clipboard in front of him and beckoned to Nick. “Name?”
“Professor Nick Cutter.”
“Nicholas Cutter? You’ll find we don’t have much time for titles in here. Over there and strip off. You’ll be searched and issued with fresh clothing. Don’t resist, or you’ll regret it. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes,” said Nick, his voice low, but firm, eyes not leaving the other man’s handsome face.
“Less tolerant men might consider staring to be out of order, Cutter.” A pair of piercing hazel eyes held his. “You’ll also find it’s customary to address me as ‘sir’.”
Truculence warred with discretion and for once the latter won. Nick Cutter dropped his gaze and moved to do the captain’s bidding. A month in the remand system had already taught him that there were some battles he couldn’t win, and some things that were simply not worth fighting over. He moved to one side, and started to unbutton the drab green overall.
Another man in the same black uniform gestured to a large laundry hamper. “Clothes in there, shoes in the box next to it.”
Nick followed the instruction to the letter. The man didn’t look particularly menacing, in fact the look in his brown eyes seemed almost sympathetic, but he was still a soldier, and that alone was enough to make anyone with any degree of self-preservation wary.
On the man’s orders, Nick bent his head forward and felt strong hands running through his hair. A pen-torch shone into each ear and then into his mouth. He was told to move his tongue from side to side and up and down while the light was directed into his mouth. The man nodded then turned away.
The snap of a rubber glove being pulled on warned Nick what to expect next.
“Turn around and face the wall, hands at chest height, lean forwards, legs spread.”
This wasn’t the first body-cavity search he’d had to endure in the British prison system, and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. However, it was the first where the person conducting it had bothered to use lubricant to ease the passage of the fingers that probed at his anus.
Nick tensed against the intrusion, his stomach executing a perfect swallow-dive at the humiliation of being forced to stand there, unresisting, while another man pushed his index-finger inside him then followed it up with a second finger, probing and twisting. After what seemed a life-time, but was, in reality, less than a minute, the intrusive fingers were withdrawn. To Nick’s relief, the man hadn’t pulled the usual nasty prison trick of pressing against his prostate in an attempt to precipitate an involuntary erection.
“Nothing there that shouldn’t be,” the soldier commented. “Turn around.”
Nick obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed studiously on the opposite wall.
The man checked behind Nick’s balls and pulled his foreskin back, using his gloved left hand. Naturally, he found nothing. He gave Nick’s cock a series of quick squeezes along its length, checking for objects hidden inside his urethra. If he had been concealing anything there, the man would have found it, and Nick would now be in a lot of pain.
The soldier pulled his gloves off then nodded approval. “Get dressed.”
The next one to endure the same treatment was Nick’s former lab assistant, but first the man conducting the investigation donned a fresh pair of gloves and swabbed at Stephen’s cheek with an antiseptic wipe. He tut-tutted at what he saw then closed the wound with a series of butterfly-strips.
“If you’re lucky, it won’t scar,” he remarked. The same examination of head, ears and mouth was quickly conducted, followed by the instruction, “Turn around.”
Stephen did as he was told, somehow managing to retain his dignity, wrapped around him like an invisible cloak. Nick winced as the guard pulled on yet another pair of gloves, his sinking feeling only intensifying. Few guards were immune to Stephen Hart’s looks and long, lithe body. Nick had watched his friend comprehensively groped on all too many occasions and he didn’t expect this one to be any different.
The uniformed soldier who appeared to be doing the job of a medic, surprised Nick by keeping the internal examination strictly professional, with no inappropriate touches, other than those needed to do the job. Even the way he handled Stephen’s balls and cock lacked the normal lasciviousness which Nick had come to associate with those who usually carried out these searches.
Once the examination was finished Stephen moved to take the clothes handed to him by another guard. The same style of clothing that Nick was now wearing: a bright orange jumpsuit, a pair of grey boxer shorts, bright yellow trainers with elasticised tops and no socks.
The medic saw Nick’s look of surprise and answered it with a grin. “Mate, when you spend half the day with your fingers up another bloke’s arse, it takes more than a nice dick to get me excited.” The soldier sighed theatrically. “Next!”
Connor Temple shuffled forwards, clutching his old uniform like a comfort blanket. Nick tried – and failed - to drag his eyes away from the young man who was only in this bloody mess because of his association with Nick. Connor shivered under the medic’s dispassionate gaze.
“It’s not that bad, lad,” the medic said firmly but not unkindly. “Come on, you know the drill.”
Nick’s former student dropped his shoes in the box and parted reluctantly with his clothes. Another shiver wracked the young man from head to foot as he leaned against the wall, His body was pale, the only hint of colour behind his right knee, where a bruise from the other guard’s boot was already starting to show. The medic squirted slightly more lubricant than usual onto his fingers and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder to hold him in place.
Nick heard the hiss which escaped Connor’s lips as the first finger pressed inside him. The lad’s head fell forward, his greasy dark hair falling around his face. Afterwards, when he was turned around for the obligatory balls and cock check, Connor’s face flamed with embarrassment.
“OK, you can get dressed now,” the man told him. “Boss, do you want to take these three up to see Lester now? I’ll send the others along with Finn and Dane when I’ve finished.”
The blond-haired captain who had prevented further violence against Stephen in the corridor nodded. “Thanks, Ditz. He hates running behind schedule. Come on, you three. The governor likes to see all new inmates for one of his little chats. Just one word of warning, don’t get smart-mouthed. He doesn’t take kindly to any back-chat. And you address him as ‘sir’, as well. Got that?”
Captain Ryan turned and, without waiting to see if he was being followed, walked briskly out of the examination room.
Nick, Stephen and Connor trailed after him, following in the captain’s wake as if still bound in chains, which, to all intents and purposes, they were.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Nick, Stephen, Connor, Ryan, Becker, Ditzy,
Disclaimer : Not mine (except the OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count : 59,000 words in 30 chapters of approx. 1,500 – 2,500 words each
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ending up in Dartmoor prison for refusing to recant their belief in evolution is only the start of the problems facing Nick, Stephen and Connor. And Sir James Lester soon ends up with other problems on his hands than just an over-crowded prison population.
A/N : This story was first started five years ago. I’d like to thank all the people who’ve cheered for it over the years and kept me motivated when I didn’t think it would ever get finished. Special thanks are due to
clea2011 and fififolle for running the Denial Fic Finishing Challenge that saw this monster finally put to bed, and extra special thanks go to fififolle for her wonderful beta help. She brought order out of chaos. Thanks also to lsellersfic who made me this lovely fic cover!The van doors were hauled open, letting a sudden shaft of light into the darkened interior. Nine men instinctively flinched away from the black-uniformed guard who appeared wearing full riot gear and carrying a submachine gun.
“Out!” The guard reinforced the command with a jerk of the gun barrel.
The men scrambled to obey him, moving awkwardly, shackled to each other, stumbling out of the back of the van, seeing daylight for the first time after an eight hour journey.
They were in a yard surrounded by high stone walls, topped with coils of razor wire. Double doors stood open on one side, leading into an equally forbidding building.
“Welcome to Dartmoor Prison, gentlemen,” sneered the guard.
* * * * *
Nick Cutter shuffled awkwardly down a corridor which smelled sharply of disinfectant. The man he was shackled to slipped on a wet patch of floor and went down hard on one knee with an audible crack, dragging down the person behind him in the human chain.
The guard swore violently and swung the butt of his gun at the man on the floor.
“He slipped, it wasn’t his fault!” Stephen Hart, ever the idealist, pulled the young man to his feet. “Connor, are you OK?”
Before his friend could answer, the irate guard lashed out with a gloved hand, catching Stephen a hard blow across one high cheekbone, splitting the skin like an over-ripe peach.
“Stephen!” Nick’s tone was urgent, loaded with entreaty.
His former assistant remained motionless as blood welled up in the cut on his face and started to drip down his cheek.
“Not such a pretty boy now,” sneered the guard, driving the barrel of his gun hard into Stephen’s stomach. “I’ll remember you, laddie.”
Stephen doubled over, gasping. His blue eyes still flashed defiance but, to Nick’s relief, he offered no resistance.
The guard contented himself with a hard kick at the young man who had precipitated the trouble, catching him behind his already injured knee. Connor bit back a cry of pain and only remained on his feet with the assistance of Nick and Stephen.
“What the hell’s going on here?” demanded a fresh voice. “Why’s that man bleeding?”
“He had a go at me, Captain,” said the guard. “I was just putting him in his place.”
The man the guard had addressed as captain stared at the line of shackled prisoners with searching grey eyes, his face expressionless.
Nick forced himself to remain calm, even though his hands were trembling with the urge to use his own fists on the sneering guard who had struck one of his friends and kicked another.
The grey-eyed captain met his gaze and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. Turning his attention back to the file of prisoners, he ordered, “Get these men checked in. The governor wants to start seeing them today, not next fucking week.”
“Yes, sir.” The guard snapped to attention. “Keep moving, you lot!”
The line of prisoners shuffled forward again, down the corridor and into a small room at the end. Two armed guards stood alert, one on either side of the door. A third man in the same uniform, but with a captain’s insignia on his shoulder, glanced up from behind a desk, dark hair swept immaculately back from a handsome, boyish face. He raised his eyebrows at the sight of the blood running down Stephen’s face and turned to his fellow captain.
“Trouble, Ryan?” The voice was precise and cultured.
“Jackson got enthusiastic on the subject of discipline,” the man called Ryan said dismissively.
The dark-haired captain sighed. “Gives the medics something to do, I suppose.”
“They’re not short of work around here.” The blond captain’s eyes flicked over to the two guards who had accompanied the human chain in from the van. “Jackson, Reeves, get this lot unshackled and get back out onto the moor. There’s a gang due for pick-up in Sector 5. Get ‘em back here and send them through the showers before mealtime.”
“Sir!” The two men saluted smartly and went to do the captain’s bidding.
Nick Cutter rubbed at his wrists. The metal cuffs had been tight enough to chafe.
The man behind the desk flipped a page over on a clipboard in front of him and beckoned to Nick. “Name?”
“Professor Nick Cutter.”
“Nicholas Cutter? You’ll find we don’t have much time for titles in here. Over there and strip off. You’ll be searched and issued with fresh clothing. Don’t resist, or you’ll regret it. Do I make myself understood?”
“Yes,” said Nick, his voice low, but firm, eyes not leaving the other man’s handsome face.
“Less tolerant men might consider staring to be out of order, Cutter.” A pair of piercing hazel eyes held his. “You’ll also find it’s customary to address me as ‘sir’.”
Truculence warred with discretion and for once the latter won. Nick Cutter dropped his gaze and moved to do the captain’s bidding. A month in the remand system had already taught him that there were some battles he couldn’t win, and some things that were simply not worth fighting over. He moved to one side, and started to unbutton the drab green overall.
Another man in the same black uniform gestured to a large laundry hamper. “Clothes in there, shoes in the box next to it.”
Nick followed the instruction to the letter. The man didn’t look particularly menacing, in fact the look in his brown eyes seemed almost sympathetic, but he was still a soldier, and that alone was enough to make anyone with any degree of self-preservation wary.
On the man’s orders, Nick bent his head forward and felt strong hands running through his hair. A pen-torch shone into each ear and then into his mouth. He was told to move his tongue from side to side and up and down while the light was directed into his mouth. The man nodded then turned away.
The snap of a rubber glove being pulled on warned Nick what to expect next.
“Turn around and face the wall, hands at chest height, lean forwards, legs spread.”
This wasn’t the first body-cavity search he’d had to endure in the British prison system, and it undoubtedly wouldn’t be the last. However, it was the first where the person conducting it had bothered to use lubricant to ease the passage of the fingers that probed at his anus.
Nick tensed against the intrusion, his stomach executing a perfect swallow-dive at the humiliation of being forced to stand there, unresisting, while another man pushed his index-finger inside him then followed it up with a second finger, probing and twisting. After what seemed a life-time, but was, in reality, less than a minute, the intrusive fingers were withdrawn. To Nick’s relief, the man hadn’t pulled the usual nasty prison trick of pressing against his prostate in an attempt to precipitate an involuntary erection.
“Nothing there that shouldn’t be,” the soldier commented. “Turn around.”
Nick obeyed, keeping his eyes fixed studiously on the opposite wall.
The man checked behind Nick’s balls and pulled his foreskin back, using his gloved left hand. Naturally, he found nothing. He gave Nick’s cock a series of quick squeezes along its length, checking for objects hidden inside his urethra. If he had been concealing anything there, the man would have found it, and Nick would now be in a lot of pain.
The soldier pulled his gloves off then nodded approval. “Get dressed.”
The next one to endure the same treatment was Nick’s former lab assistant, but first the man conducting the investigation donned a fresh pair of gloves and swabbed at Stephen’s cheek with an antiseptic wipe. He tut-tutted at what he saw then closed the wound with a series of butterfly-strips.
“If you’re lucky, it won’t scar,” he remarked. The same examination of head, ears and mouth was quickly conducted, followed by the instruction, “Turn around.”
Stephen did as he was told, somehow managing to retain his dignity, wrapped around him like an invisible cloak. Nick winced as the guard pulled on yet another pair of gloves, his sinking feeling only intensifying. Few guards were immune to Stephen Hart’s looks and long, lithe body. Nick had watched his friend comprehensively groped on all too many occasions and he didn’t expect this one to be any different.
The uniformed soldier who appeared to be doing the job of a medic, surprised Nick by keeping the internal examination strictly professional, with no inappropriate touches, other than those needed to do the job. Even the way he handled Stephen’s balls and cock lacked the normal lasciviousness which Nick had come to associate with those who usually carried out these searches.
Once the examination was finished Stephen moved to take the clothes handed to him by another guard. The same style of clothing that Nick was now wearing: a bright orange jumpsuit, a pair of grey boxer shorts, bright yellow trainers with elasticised tops and no socks.
The medic saw Nick’s look of surprise and answered it with a grin. “Mate, when you spend half the day with your fingers up another bloke’s arse, it takes more than a nice dick to get me excited.” The soldier sighed theatrically. “Next!”
Connor Temple shuffled forwards, clutching his old uniform like a comfort blanket. Nick tried – and failed - to drag his eyes away from the young man who was only in this bloody mess because of his association with Nick. Connor shivered under the medic’s dispassionate gaze.
“It’s not that bad, lad,” the medic said firmly but not unkindly. “Come on, you know the drill.”
Nick’s former student dropped his shoes in the box and parted reluctantly with his clothes. Another shiver wracked the young man from head to foot as he leaned against the wall, His body was pale, the only hint of colour behind his right knee, where a bruise from the other guard’s boot was already starting to show. The medic squirted slightly more lubricant than usual onto his fingers and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder to hold him in place.
Nick heard the hiss which escaped Connor’s lips as the first finger pressed inside him. The lad’s head fell forward, his greasy dark hair falling around his face. Afterwards, when he was turned around for the obligatory balls and cock check, Connor’s face flamed with embarrassment.
“OK, you can get dressed now,” the man told him. “Boss, do you want to take these three up to see Lester now? I’ll send the others along with Finn and Dane when I’ve finished.”
The blond-haired captain who had prevented further violence against Stephen in the corridor nodded. “Thanks, Ditz. He hates running behind schedule. Come on, you three. The governor likes to see all new inmates for one of his little chats. Just one word of warning, don’t get smart-mouthed. He doesn’t take kindly to any back-chat. And you address him as ‘sir’, as well. Got that?”
Captain Ryan turned and, without waiting to see if he was being followed, walked briskly out of the examination room.
Nick, Stephen and Connor trailed after him, following in the captain’s wake as if still bound in chains, which, to all intents and purposes, they were.