fredbassett | Fic, Truth or Dare, Ryan/Schofield, Slash, 18

Title : Truth or Dare
Author : fredbassett
Fandoms : Primeval/ Matthew Reilly’s Scarecrow Books
Rating : 18
Characters : Ryan/Schofield
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Ryan gets forced into a game.
Written for

barefoot_starz and

noxnoctisanima and anyone else on my flist who likes the Matthew Reilly books. Sorry, darlings, I’ll try for the Black Knight next time, but hope you like this one instead for now.

“Truth or dare?”

Fuck it! Ryan knew he should have gone to bed hours ago, and this just proved it. These fucking Marines were well on the way to outdoing even his own men when it came to crazy late-night games. What the hell Lester had been thinking of sending him on a training op with a Marine Corps Recon Unit? Did they have Anomalies in the US as well? Scrub that thought. Ryan didn’t know and he didn’t want to know.

All he knew was that in another two days he could stop abusing his liver, and the rest of his body for that matter, and get back to safer, saner occupations, like dinosaur-hunting.

A bottle of aptly named Old Crow slammed down hard on the table. “Truth or dare, Captain?”

Ryan grimaced. Ever since he’d started his current assignment, he’d been stuffed so far as this particular game was concerned. He just couldn’t risk the What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever seen? question coming up. Not any more.

The Special Forces captain sighed.

His opposite number, also a captain, just grinned and sloshed more bourbon into the empty shot glasses.

“Dare,” said Ryan, hoping it wasn’t going to be something insanely suicidal, like trying to take down the six foot two female Gunnery Sergeant, leaning on the bar, eyeing him like a cat might eye a particularly edible morsel. He knew when he was outclassed. Mother’d rip a tyrannosaur apart with her bare hands, no doubt about it. And stamp on the bits to stop ‘em twitching.

“Kiss the last person who got you a drink!” yelled a slurred voice from the far side of the bar. “And pray it wasn’t Mother!”

“Fuck you, Riley,” retorted the woman, tossing an empty beer mug accurately at the pug-nosed younger man, who’d damn nearly broken Ryan’s neck in hand to hand combat earlier in the day.

Ryan reached for the glass and threw the bourbon down his throat in one easy swallow, holding it out for more.

Captain Shane Schofield obliged, then tipped some straight down his own throat from the neck of the bottle, his head held tilted questioningly, although the wrap-around anti-flash glasses he habitually wore did their usual job of concealing his thoughts. But Ryan could swear that if ever a pair of reflective glasses looked challenging, those sure as hell did.

Ryan’s lips slid into an easy grin, and the twentieth whisky of the night followed the rest.

He stood up.

Schofield followed suit. One hand resting casually on the holster strapped to his right thigh.

Ryan moved in smoothly, snaking one hand round the captain’s neck, keeping both feet balanced ready for an attempted throw.

His reflection stared back at him from the silvered anti-flash glasses, and even Ryan had to admit that his own expression looked somewhat feral.

When the marine captain didn’t immediately try to flip him onto his ass, Ryan leant forward, swiping a tongue laden with whisky across the other man’s thin lips.

Schofield’s tongue flickered out, tasting the liquor.

That was all the invitation Ryan needed. Sod the audience.

Tongues met, and challenged briefly, then Ryan felt a hard hand on the back of his neck dragging him forward into the kiss. His own hand fisted into Schofield’s belt and he slammed their hips up against each other, grinding their cocks together as roughly as marine was doing with their lips.

A roar erupted in the room and Ryan heard bets starting to be taken on which of them would break it off first.

It was hard and dirty, all teeth and probing tongues, fired by three days of fucking insane exercises, the sort of stuff that gets the unwary maimed or killed.

It was every lust-crazed masturbatory fantasy that Ryan had ever entertained, and then some.

He had his tongue down the throat of probably the only man alive hard enough to take him out in a straight fight and Ryan didn’t fucking care.

His cock was as solid as the butt of his own Glock and he forced it against the other man’s erection hard enough to make Schofield grunt into Ryan’s open mouth. And then the marine was pressing back, rubbing his dick against Ryan’s, turning Ryan’s breathing into a moan. A long series of moans in fact, all of which Schofield caught with his mouth.

In a kiss which tasted of bourbon and blood.

But it wasn’t only the alcohol that was sending fire into his stomach.

Ryan brought one hand up, cupping the other man’s jaw, feeling the stubble rasp under his fingers as he jammed them into Schofield’s cheeks, forcing the other man’s mouth to open even wider as Ryan sucked on his tongue and bit at his lips, all the while shoving with his hips in a way that was fast becoming more than a little desperate.

He felt Schofield’s shoulders stiffen as the probing fingers reached higher, insinuating their way up under the anti-flash glasses, feeling the scar tissue running down beneath the once beautiful eye, knowing he’d find the same under the other. Two long, deep scars, neatly bisecting each eye from the eyebrow down to just above the cheekbone.

The reason why Schofield always wore the glasses.

The reason for his call sign.

Scarecrow.

Ryan’s other hand slid round until he was holding the marine captain’s face lightly, fingertips stroking, caressing, teasing the scars, with a gentleness wholly at odds with the way his mouth was plundering the other man’s and even more at odds with the force that he was still using to bring their cocks up to the point of no return.

“You’re still beautiful, babe, ain’t nothing going to change that,” breathed Ryan, as a final thrust drove both of them over the edge.

“And you’re still a bastard, darlin’, ain’t nothing gonna change that, either,” muttered Schofield, as he came hard enough to make him split his upper lip on Ryan’s teeth as the marine captain’s head jerked sharply in spite of the restraining hands on his face, his orgasm ripping through him with the force of a heavy calibre bullet.

Ryan laughed softly, licking at the blood with a now gentle tongue. “Long way from the Balkans, Schofield, but you still can’t come without twitching.”

The Scarecrow settled the wrap-around glasses firmly back on a face that was once again as unreadable as a brick wall.

“Long time since the Balkans, Ryan,” he agreed, “but some things don’t change.”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

admiralandrea.livejournal.com

Never even heard of Matthew Reilly, but I still read it, for Ryan's sake (because I miss him!) and it was very enjoyable!

From:

fredbassett

I know, I miss him too, but our sector of the fandom seems determined to keep him alive, and that's just fine and dandy to me!!

PS The books are great, if you like crazy adventure stuff with hot marines!

From:

telperion-15.livejournal.com

Never heard of the author before today (although I did go and look up the books prior to reading the fic), but who cares! This was bloody hot!

(Although I don't like scarecrows, so I hid from that bit... *meeps*)

From:

fredbassett

The books are great fun, I thoroughly recommend them, particularly Ice Station!! And Scarecrow, aka Captain Shane Schofield, is definitely HOT.

Barefoot_starz introduced one of the characters from the books into the comment!porn and it just sort of sparked this one off in my head.

Fic, Truth or Dare, Ryan/Schofield, Slash, 18

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags