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fredbassettTitle : Grand Pas d’Action
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Liz/Juliet, Lester/Lyle
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle who’s mine and Liz and Juliet who belong to the recipient of this fic), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 2,173
Summary : A night at a performance of Swan Lake takes an unexpectedly feathered turn.
A/N : 1) Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rain_sleet_snow’s birthday. With thanks to lukadreaming for the beta. 2) By the time this story takes place, Liz and Juliet are in their early 30s.
Lester made a final, microscopic adjustment to his bow tie and stepped back to check his appearance in the floor-length mirror in his dressing room. Even to his own critical eyes, he had to admit that he hadn’t worn too badly for a man just on the wrong side of his mid-50s. Frequent games of squash had kept him in reasonable trim, and whilst he didn’t allow Lyle to drag him underground quite as often as he’d once done, he could still hold his own on a caving trip if he allowed himself to be cajoled into one.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Lyle intoned as he slipped his arms around Lester’s waist and nuzzled the back of his neck.
“I am, naturally,” Lester replied. “Now don’t mess my hair up, cherub, or I’ll be forced to express my displeasure by withholding sexual favours for the remainder of the night.”
Lyle stepped back, grinning widely. “Your wish is my command. But you know I can’t resist you when you’re done up in your posh togs.” He gently smoothed Lester’s hair and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There, not a hair out of place. And remarkably few grey ones, unless you’ve started colouring and haven’t told me.”
“I can assure you that I haven’t done that.”
“In which case, I swear there’s a picture of you in the attic at the cottage looking like a white-haired old monkey.”
“Busted,” Lester said, adopting a resigned expression. “Now stop procrastinating and get changed. The taxi will be here in 15 minutes.”
“Special Forces training, sweetie. We’re masters of the art of the quick change. Combat kit to full mess dress in one minute 30 seconds is the record.”
And on past performance, Lester believed him.
In the living room, his daughter was still curled up on the sofa reading a book, heedless of the fact that they were all going to be spending the evening at the Royal Opera House, watching Liz’s girlfriend playing the principal role in a performance of Swan Lake, choreographed by Raoul Francis, ballet’s new sensation, according to the pundits. It was the opening night, with a champagne party afterwards, hence Lester’s need to ensure his nearest and dearest scrubbed up decently for once in their misbegotten lives.
Lester cleared his throat ostentatiously and, when his daughter looked up, he stared pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“Drop a subtle hint, dad, why don’t you?” Liz rolled her eyes in a way that never failed to remind Lester of his ex-wife. “Hasn’t Jon told you how quickly us military types can get changed?”
“Combats to mess dress in, I am unreliably informed, one and a half minutes.”
“Nope, that’s the SF boys. Us mere mortals manage it in three minutes.” Liz plonked her book down and stretched in a distinctly cat-like manner. “But in deference to your middle-aged ulcers, I’ll make a start now.”
“Less of the middle-aged, brat.”
Liz nonchalantly flipped him the finger and strolled off to her room. Out of habit, Lester checked the time on the clock.
Just under three minutes later, Liz sauntered back out, resplendent in a vivid emerald silk dress that hugged her slender figure to perfection. A pair of jade earrings and matching necklace that he remembered buying her for her 20th birthday complemented the colour of her dress to perfection. She wore strappy but flat sandals that he knew had been picked as much for comfort as much as they had for their understated elegance and a pashmina shawl a shade lighter than her dress dangled casually from one hand. Her hair had been carelessly piled up on the back of her head in a way that would have been the envy of numerous catwalk models, who, he imaged, paid a fortune to hair stylists to achieve a similar effect.
She looked effortlessly beautiful, but still bore so much of a resemblance to the teenager she’d once been that Lester had to swallow a lump in his throat as he said lightly, “Two minutes, 58 seconds. But I bet you’ve left your clothes in a heap.”
“Too bloody right, I have. And I didn’t put the top back on the toothpaste, either.”
A moment later, a long wolf-whistle announced Lyle’s arrival. “Can I pretend to be your sugar-daddy?”
It was Lester’s turn to roll his eyes. After all, standards had to be maintained. He turned around and for the second time in as many minutes stopped to take in the sight presented by a member of his family. Even after 15 years with Lyle, he still had a tendency to forget quite how well his partner scrubbed up when he made the effort.
Lyle was wearing a perfectly tailored dinner suit, black bow tie and crisp white shirt fastened with the black onyx and white gold studs and matching cufflinks Lester had bought him for their tenth anniversary. His hair was as neat as Lester’s own and, for once, he was wholly clean shaven.
“Well?” Lyle asked, with an arch grin.
“In deference to my daughter’s sensibilities I’ll refrain from telling you exactly what I’d like to do with you just now, sweetums. You both look wonderful. I’m a very lucky man.”
“Yes, you are,” Lyle said smugly. “Now pour us all a large gin. We’ve got ten minutes before the taxi gets here, and if I’m going to sit through a bunch of people pretending to be swans, I’ll need to be suitably fortified.”
“Have I ever told you that you sound more like dad every year you’re together?” Liz commented.
“Fuck off, brat.”
“I rest my case.”
* * * * *
Although wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the admission out of him, Lyle was actually enjoying the performance. He’d always preferred ballet to opera. The fluid grace of the dancers and their barely-veiled strength appealed to him far more than the spectacle of large men and women bellowing lustily on their death beds. He’d endured quite enough of that sort of behaviour in barracks to last a lifetime.
The performance also had the added bonus of a rather attractive Siegfried, even though the guy only barely passed the acceptable perving test of half his age plus seven.
Juliet Sayers’ ethereal beauty was perfectly suited to the part of Odette, and without a doubt, she was dancing the part spectacularly well. By the time Act 2 started, Lyle was slouched comfortably in the box Juliet had arranged for them and was entertaining himself teasing Lester by running a light hand up and down his thigh. Lester had given up swatting his fingers away and had resigned himself to Lyle’s attentions. Liz had already treated them to a disdainful glance and a muttered ‘get a room.’
Lyle prided himself on living down to people’s expectations, except for occasions like their entry into the Royal Opera House where he’d quite successfully turned rather a lot of heads by stalking in with Lester on one arm and Liz on the other. He was already looking forward to the opening night party after the performance but at that point it would be Liz and Juliet turning heads, without a doubt. The two women made a striking couple, and both Lester and Lyle had been delighted when they’d rekindled the long-interrupted teenage romance that now showed every sign of going from strength to strength.
By the time they’d reached the climax of the second act with the swan maidens filling the clearing beside the enchanted lake, the lighting had been skilfully placed so that the moon was shining brightly in the midst of the dark forest clustered at the side of the stage. According to Lester’s muttered commentary, Juliet was about to begin her pièce de resistance, something called a grand pas, which apparently had bugger all to do with the main story, but was there purely to showcase the dancers’ skills. Lyle certainly didn’t object to that. Both Juliet and the guy who was playing Siegfried were both bloody superb.
He cast a surreptitious glance at Liz, who was leaning forward, her elbows on the handrail at the front of the box. She was obviously totally enraptured by her girlfriend’s performance, to the extent that Lyle could even see tears glistening in her eyes. He looked away, not wanting to intrude. Lester squeezed his hand and turned sideways to give Lyle a light kiss.
The sharp intake of breath next to him and a muttered, “Buggering fuck”, came as something of a surprise. He’d have thought she was used to their antics by now. Lyle turned, but the remark he was about to make died on his lips.
The appearance of a large, sparkling ball of light just to one side of the stage had drawn an impressed gasp from the audience and a muttered string of curses from Liz that would have impressed even Joel Stringer.
An extremely ugly small theropod skittered out of the anomaly, uttered a surprised squawk, but stood its ground when faced with a row of dancers dressed in shimmering white.
Juliet froze for an almost imperceptible moment, but then launched herself into a fast spin, balanced on the point of one foot, the other leg crooked at the knee in a move that Lyle was familiar with but couldn’t name. A second later, she lashed out with one delicate foot, sending the dinosaur bowling arse over tit back through the anomaly. The second one through the glittering rip in time was dealt with in the same way by Siegfried. Taking their cue from Juliet and the male dancer, the rest of the ballerinas closed into a circle around the anomaly, using their feet as weapons, dispatching any raptor that dared to show its face summarily back to its own time.
From Lyle’s vantage point in the box, he could see that the audience was entranced by the performance, clearly thinking that this was a choreographed part of the scene.
Liz was halfway out of her seat before Lyle pressed her firmly back down. “They’ve got it contained,” he said quietly, fishing his phone out of his pocked and hitting speed dial for the ARC’s head of security.
“Fletcher?” he said as soon as the man answered. “You’ve got a shout on your hands. Yeah, wrong time, wrong place, mate. I’m looking at it now. The situation’s under control for the moment, but get here as soon as you can. We’ve only got little sods at the moment, but that might change at any minute. I’ll keep you posted.”
At his side, Lester asked calmly, “Jon, are you carrying?”
Lyle shook his head. “My tailor’s good but not that bloody good. Besides, this was meant to be a nice night out. I was not expecting to need any hardwear.”
“We’ll just have to improvise,” Liz said grimly. “Come on, Jon.”
“Wait!” Lester’s voice hadn’t lost any of the whipcrack of command in his years away from the ARC. He still managed to sound like a regimental sergeant-major when the need arose. “It’s fading.”
Lester was right, the anomaly had already started to dim.
Juliet continued to dance around the shimmering ball of light, by actions – and quite probably sotto voce commands to her colleagues – demonstrating that everyone should stay out of reach and stay alert. The orchestra, to give them their due, played on as if nothing untoward had taken place. The technicians operating the lighting rigs started to increase the brightness of the stage lights, so that the anomaly appeared less distinct and, moments later, it disappeared altogether.
Lyle promptly dialed ARC security again. “Break all the speed limits you like, but stay outside when you arrive, it looks like it’s gone. If it turns out to be an intermittent bugger, I’ll let you know, but don’t come piling in until I tell you.” He put his hand on Liz’s arm. “Breathe, kiddo, she’s fine.”
Liz met his eyes, a flush of adrenaline showing on her cheeks. “She’s more than fine, Jon, she’s fucking amazing!”
Lyle grinned at her. “That was a hell of a fucking kick. Remind me never to annoy her in the future. My knackers wouldn’t survive it.”
“I think it’s fair to say, that’s going to be a hell of a hard performance to follow,” Lester commented, as the lights went up for the break at the end of the second act. “How fortunate I had the foresight to ensure drinks would be ready for us in the bar.”
“Champagne, I hope, sweetheart?”
“Krug 1998, possum. I suggest you hang onto the bottle afterwards, just in case of further excitement.”
“Make that two,” Liz said. “I’m not taking any chances.”
And with the sound of applause still ringing in their ears, Lyle linked one arm through Lester’s, slipped the other around Liz’s waist, and steered two of the people he cared about most in the world in the direction of some exceedingly good champagne.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Liz/Juliet, Lester/Lyle
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Lyle who’s mine and Liz and Juliet who belong to the recipient of this fic), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count: 2,173
Summary : A night at a performance of Swan Lake takes an unexpectedly feathered turn.
A/N : 1) Written for
rain_sleet_snow’s birthday. With thanks to lukadreaming for the beta. 2) By the time this story takes place, Liz and Juliet are in their early 30s.Lester made a final, microscopic adjustment to his bow tie and stepped back to check his appearance in the floor-length mirror in his dressing room. Even to his own critical eyes, he had to admit that he hadn’t worn too badly for a man just on the wrong side of his mid-50s. Frequent games of squash had kept him in reasonable trim, and whilst he didn’t allow Lyle to drag him underground quite as often as he’d once done, he could still hold his own on a caving trip if he allowed himself to be cajoled into one.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Lyle intoned as he slipped his arms around Lester’s waist and nuzzled the back of his neck.
“I am, naturally,” Lester replied. “Now don’t mess my hair up, cherub, or I’ll be forced to express my displeasure by withholding sexual favours for the remainder of the night.”
Lyle stepped back, grinning widely. “Your wish is my command. But you know I can’t resist you when you’re done up in your posh togs.” He gently smoothed Lester’s hair and stepped back to admire his handiwork. “There, not a hair out of place. And remarkably few grey ones, unless you’ve started colouring and haven’t told me.”
“I can assure you that I haven’t done that.”
“In which case, I swear there’s a picture of you in the attic at the cottage looking like a white-haired old monkey.”
“Busted,” Lester said, adopting a resigned expression. “Now stop procrastinating and get changed. The taxi will be here in 15 minutes.”
“Special Forces training, sweetie. We’re masters of the art of the quick change. Combat kit to full mess dress in one minute 30 seconds is the record.”
And on past performance, Lester believed him.
In the living room, his daughter was still curled up on the sofa reading a book, heedless of the fact that they were all going to be spending the evening at the Royal Opera House, watching Liz’s girlfriend playing the principal role in a performance of Swan Lake, choreographed by Raoul Francis, ballet’s new sensation, according to the pundits. It was the opening night, with a champagne party afterwards, hence Lester’s need to ensure his nearest and dearest scrubbed up decently for once in their misbegotten lives.
Lester cleared his throat ostentatiously and, when his daughter looked up, he stared pointedly at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“Drop a subtle hint, dad, why don’t you?” Liz rolled her eyes in a way that never failed to remind Lester of his ex-wife. “Hasn’t Jon told you how quickly us military types can get changed?”
“Combats to mess dress in, I am unreliably informed, one and a half minutes.”
“Nope, that’s the SF boys. Us mere mortals manage it in three minutes.” Liz plonked her book down and stretched in a distinctly cat-like manner. “But in deference to your middle-aged ulcers, I’ll make a start now.”
“Less of the middle-aged, brat.”
Liz nonchalantly flipped him the finger and strolled off to her room. Out of habit, Lester checked the time on the clock.
Just under three minutes later, Liz sauntered back out, resplendent in a vivid emerald silk dress that hugged her slender figure to perfection. A pair of jade earrings and matching necklace that he remembered buying her for her 20th birthday complemented the colour of her dress to perfection. She wore strappy but flat sandals that he knew had been picked as much for comfort as much as they had for their understated elegance and a pashmina shawl a shade lighter than her dress dangled casually from one hand. Her hair had been carelessly piled up on the back of her head in a way that would have been the envy of numerous catwalk models, who, he imaged, paid a fortune to hair stylists to achieve a similar effect.
She looked effortlessly beautiful, but still bore so much of a resemblance to the teenager she’d once been that Lester had to swallow a lump in his throat as he said lightly, “Two minutes, 58 seconds. But I bet you’ve left your clothes in a heap.”
“Too bloody right, I have. And I didn’t put the top back on the toothpaste, either.”
A moment later, a long wolf-whistle announced Lyle’s arrival. “Can I pretend to be your sugar-daddy?”
It was Lester’s turn to roll his eyes. After all, standards had to be maintained. He turned around and for the second time in as many minutes stopped to take in the sight presented by a member of his family. Even after 15 years with Lyle, he still had a tendency to forget quite how well his partner scrubbed up when he made the effort.
Lyle was wearing a perfectly tailored dinner suit, black bow tie and crisp white shirt fastened with the black onyx and white gold studs and matching cufflinks Lester had bought him for their tenth anniversary. His hair was as neat as Lester’s own and, for once, he was wholly clean shaven.
“Well?” Lyle asked, with an arch grin.
“In deference to my daughter’s sensibilities I’ll refrain from telling you exactly what I’d like to do with you just now, sweetums. You both look wonderful. I’m a very lucky man.”
“Yes, you are,” Lyle said smugly. “Now pour us all a large gin. We’ve got ten minutes before the taxi gets here, and if I’m going to sit through a bunch of people pretending to be swans, I’ll need to be suitably fortified.”
“Have I ever told you that you sound more like dad every year you’re together?” Liz commented.
“Fuck off, brat.”
“I rest my case.”
* * * * *
Although wild horses wouldn’t have dragged the admission out of him, Lyle was actually enjoying the performance. He’d always preferred ballet to opera. The fluid grace of the dancers and their barely-veiled strength appealed to him far more than the spectacle of large men and women bellowing lustily on their death beds. He’d endured quite enough of that sort of behaviour in barracks to last a lifetime.
The performance also had the added bonus of a rather attractive Siegfried, even though the guy only barely passed the acceptable perving test of half his age plus seven.
Juliet Sayers’ ethereal beauty was perfectly suited to the part of Odette, and without a doubt, she was dancing the part spectacularly well. By the time Act 2 started, Lyle was slouched comfortably in the box Juliet had arranged for them and was entertaining himself teasing Lester by running a light hand up and down his thigh. Lester had given up swatting his fingers away and had resigned himself to Lyle’s attentions. Liz had already treated them to a disdainful glance and a muttered ‘get a room.’
Lyle prided himself on living down to people’s expectations, except for occasions like their entry into the Royal Opera House where he’d quite successfully turned rather a lot of heads by stalking in with Lester on one arm and Liz on the other. He was already looking forward to the opening night party after the performance but at that point it would be Liz and Juliet turning heads, without a doubt. The two women made a striking couple, and both Lester and Lyle had been delighted when they’d rekindled the long-interrupted teenage romance that now showed every sign of going from strength to strength.
By the time they’d reached the climax of the second act with the swan maidens filling the clearing beside the enchanted lake, the lighting had been skilfully placed so that the moon was shining brightly in the midst of the dark forest clustered at the side of the stage. According to Lester’s muttered commentary, Juliet was about to begin her pièce de resistance, something called a grand pas, which apparently had bugger all to do with the main story, but was there purely to showcase the dancers’ skills. Lyle certainly didn’t object to that. Both Juliet and the guy who was playing Siegfried were both bloody superb.
He cast a surreptitious glance at Liz, who was leaning forward, her elbows on the handrail at the front of the box. She was obviously totally enraptured by her girlfriend’s performance, to the extent that Lyle could even see tears glistening in her eyes. He looked away, not wanting to intrude. Lester squeezed his hand and turned sideways to give Lyle a light kiss.
The sharp intake of breath next to him and a muttered, “Buggering fuck”, came as something of a surprise. He’d have thought she was used to their antics by now. Lyle turned, but the remark he was about to make died on his lips.
The appearance of a large, sparkling ball of light just to one side of the stage had drawn an impressed gasp from the audience and a muttered string of curses from Liz that would have impressed even Joel Stringer.
An extremely ugly small theropod skittered out of the anomaly, uttered a surprised squawk, but stood its ground when faced with a row of dancers dressed in shimmering white.
Juliet froze for an almost imperceptible moment, but then launched herself into a fast spin, balanced on the point of one foot, the other leg crooked at the knee in a move that Lyle was familiar with but couldn’t name. A second later, she lashed out with one delicate foot, sending the dinosaur bowling arse over tit back through the anomaly. The second one through the glittering rip in time was dealt with in the same way by Siegfried. Taking their cue from Juliet and the male dancer, the rest of the ballerinas closed into a circle around the anomaly, using their feet as weapons, dispatching any raptor that dared to show its face summarily back to its own time.
From Lyle’s vantage point in the box, he could see that the audience was entranced by the performance, clearly thinking that this was a choreographed part of the scene.
Liz was halfway out of her seat before Lyle pressed her firmly back down. “They’ve got it contained,” he said quietly, fishing his phone out of his pocked and hitting speed dial for the ARC’s head of security.
“Fletcher?” he said as soon as the man answered. “You’ve got a shout on your hands. Yeah, wrong time, wrong place, mate. I’m looking at it now. The situation’s under control for the moment, but get here as soon as you can. We’ve only got little sods at the moment, but that might change at any minute. I’ll keep you posted.”
At his side, Lester asked calmly, “Jon, are you carrying?”
Lyle shook his head. “My tailor’s good but not that bloody good. Besides, this was meant to be a nice night out. I was not expecting to need any hardwear.”
“We’ll just have to improvise,” Liz said grimly. “Come on, Jon.”
“Wait!” Lester’s voice hadn’t lost any of the whipcrack of command in his years away from the ARC. He still managed to sound like a regimental sergeant-major when the need arose. “It’s fading.”
Lester was right, the anomaly had already started to dim.
Juliet continued to dance around the shimmering ball of light, by actions – and quite probably sotto voce commands to her colleagues – demonstrating that everyone should stay out of reach and stay alert. The orchestra, to give them their due, played on as if nothing untoward had taken place. The technicians operating the lighting rigs started to increase the brightness of the stage lights, so that the anomaly appeared less distinct and, moments later, it disappeared altogether.
Lyle promptly dialed ARC security again. “Break all the speed limits you like, but stay outside when you arrive, it looks like it’s gone. If it turns out to be an intermittent bugger, I’ll let you know, but don’t come piling in until I tell you.” He put his hand on Liz’s arm. “Breathe, kiddo, she’s fine.”
Liz met his eyes, a flush of adrenaline showing on her cheeks. “She’s more than fine, Jon, she’s fucking amazing!”
Lyle grinned at her. “That was a hell of a fucking kick. Remind me never to annoy her in the future. My knackers wouldn’t survive it.”
“I think it’s fair to say, that’s going to be a hell of a hard performance to follow,” Lester commented, as the lights went up for the break at the end of the second act. “How fortunate I had the foresight to ensure drinks would be ready for us in the bar.”
“Champagne, I hope, sweetheart?”
“Krug 1998, possum. I suggest you hang onto the bottle afterwards, just in case of further excitement.”
“Make that two,” Liz said. “I’m not taking any chances.”
And with the sound of applause still ringing in their ears, Lyle linked one arm through Lester’s, slipped the other around Liz’s waist, and steered two of the people he cared about most in the world in the direction of some exceedingly good champagne.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 06:53 pm (UTC)Oops, I appear to have overdone the exclamation marks!
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 07:27 pm (UTC)I love this little family to pieces!
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:19 pm (UTC)Me too!
no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 07:54 pm (UTC)*purrs*
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 09:57 pm (UTC)Lyle, Liz and Lester are a fabulous family.
The banter was hilarious, as always.
Loved, loved, loved Juliet and the rest of the dancers taking care of the incursion without breaking a sweat or losing timing. Juliet is a natural leader, isn't she?
I can just imagine her thoughts: "No way is any feathered horror going to ruin MY Opening Night!"
But how the heck are they going to match that on subsequent nights? LOL
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-29 10:30 pm (UTC)Favourite lines:
Lester’s need to ensure his nearest and dearest scrubbed up decently for once in their misbegotten lives.
Lyle prided himself on living down to people’s expectations
“Have I ever told you that you sound more like dad every year you’re together?” Liz commented.
“Fuck off, brat.”
“I rest my case.”
Thank you so much for my birthday present. :)
no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-30 11:09 am (UTC)And yes, aren't dancers strong? I have no trouble with the idea of them walloping unsuspecting creatures back into another time at all :)
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Date: 2014-05-03 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-30 07:16 pm (UTC)Apparently Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake is very delicious and will be in Bristol at the end of May :)
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Date: 2014-05-03 02:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-04-30 07:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2014-05-03 02:22 pm (UTC)