fredbassett (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fredbassett) wrote2016-06-30 05:44 pm
fredbassett) wrote2016-06-30 05:44 pm
Entry tags:
Fic, The Dark House, Blade/Lorraine, 15
Title : The Dark House
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Blade/Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 1,448
Warning : Racial abuse
Summary : Cockwombling shitgibbonry
A/N : Written for the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
primeval_denial monthly challenge for June: “There is not one among us in whom a devil does not dwell; at some time, on some point, that devil masters each of us... It is not having been in the Dark House, but having left it, that counts.” ― Theodore Roosevelt
“Get back to your own country, you piece of fucking shit!”
Lorraine watched in horror as an over-weight, shaven-headed man in a wife-beater vest spat at a young woman sitting cross-legged on the pavement outside the corner shop selling the Big Issue.
The woman scrambled to her feet, dropping the magazines, and backed away, fear showing clearly on her face.
Before she’d even stopped to think, Lorraine stepped up to the woman’s side and said gently, “Ignore him.”
“And you can fuck off, too!” His ire immediately encompassed her. “You’re not fucking British either!”
Lorraine stared him in the face, doing her best not to betray either anger or fear. Anger wouldn’t help diffuse the situation and she knew bullies thrived on fear. She only had to contain the situation for a minute at the most. Blade was in the shop buying a pint of milk and she knew he would have heard the man’s shouted abuse.
She turned to the tattooed thug and said, as calmly as she could manage, “Leave us alone, please.”
“Not until you fuck off back to where you came from! You’re not welcome here, none of you are!”
Lorraine drew in a deep breath, and started counting down from 60. She could already see people stopping and staring, but there wasn’t always safety in numbers. She started to assess the situation, working out strengths – she could almost certainly kick the man in the balls before he knew what was coming – and weaknesses – the woman at her side looked too scared to help. Her mental countdown reached four…
“Didn’t you hear the lady?” Blade’s voice was ice cold and sharp enough to cut glass. “She said, leave them alone.”
The man turned and the sneer on his face didn’t diminish, even when he took in the sight of Blade, looking tanned and fit, his hair short enough to scream military at anyone with even half a brain. Lorraine knew her boyfriend well enough to see the danger light in his green eyes, even though outwardly, he appeared utterly calm and in control. His hands were held loosely at his sides and his black leather jacket concealed his usual array of knives. Lorraine fought to keep her breathing under control. No matter how great the provocation, it would create a shitstorm of monumental proportions if Blade took the man down too hard. The ARC had enough clout with the Metropolitan Police to deal with a charge of carrying offensive weapons, but it was still something they could do without.
“What the fuck’s it got to do with you?” the man demanded.
“She’s my girlfriend and she asked you to leave her alone.” Blade’s tone was deceptively pleasant and he appeared wholly relaxed. He glanced around at the people nearby, some hurrying past doing their best to pretend that nothing was happening, but others had stopped and were looking on in a mix of shock and horror, although Lorraine couldn’t help noticing that two old women were casting approving glances at the bully. Blade caught the eye of a young white man in his early 20s. “Would you do me a favour and call 999, mate? Tell them there’s a racist fuckwit causing trouble on the High Street.”
“Who are you calling a fuckwit?”
Lorraine awarded the shaven-headed man two out of ten for originality.
“You and anyone who agrees with you,” Blade said. His eyes travelled slowly around the small crowd that had gathered. The two women who’d been nodding agreement started to look uncomfortable.
Lorraine was certain from the way Blade has asked one of the bystanders to call the police that he was intending to play this one by the book and she started to relax. It was never a certainty how Blade would react. She’d seen him meet violence with overwhelming force in the past and, more than anyone apart from his army colleagues, she knew exactly how dangerous he was, but it looked like this might not be one of the times when he gave in to the demons that sometimes drove him. At her side, the woman who had been abused was shaking but standing her ground. Lorraine put her arm around the woman’s thin shoulders and said quietly, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
A white woman in her 40s with a teenage boy at her side said loudly to the man, “We don’t want your racist shit round here.” She stepped up to the woman’s other side and put her arm around her as well.
Her son took his phone out and started videoing the confrontation. Blade nodded at him approvingly.
The man lunged out, swinging a fist in the direction of the boy with the phone. Blade smoothly intercepted the blow, turning it aside with his forearm, putting himself in between the enraged man and the boy. The second punch, this time aimed at Blade, was blocked just as easily.
The man’s temper broke like a wave crashing over a rock. The tirade he aimed at all and sundry made his previous abuse sound like kindergarten level nastiness. Blade blocked three punches and one kick in rapid succession. Someone in the crowd screamed. The next blow was aimed at Blade’s face. The soldier took hold of the man’s arm, spun him around and swept his feet from under him in a text book move that Blade had drilled into her until it had become second nature. A moment later, the man was face down on the pavement with both hands behind his back.
Blade looked up. “Has anyone got a scarf I can borrow?”
The woman who’d stepped up to join them pulled one from around her neck and handed it over. Blade quickly secured the man’s hands behind his back. Just as he’d finished, a police car pulled up at the kerb and two officers jumped out, their eyes taking in the scene at a glance.
Blade smiled the sort of smile he kept for children and frightened animals. He even managed to make it look entirely genuine. “Thanks for coming. Can I hand this one over to you know? He’s a piece of racist scum.”
“I’ve got it on my phone,” the boy said, with a grin.
*****
“You did well,” Lorraine said, pressing a light kiss to Blade’s lips.
They’d been at the police station for two hours and had spent another two hours taking Zeinah for a meal and seeing her safely back to her hostel. She’d fled Syria a year ago after her husband and her parents had been killed in a rocket attack.
Blade grinned. “It would have been more fun to cut his balls off and stuff them down his throat.”
“But the paperwork would have taken a lot longer.” She opened the fridge and took out a can of cold beer. “Here, have a reward.”
He drank half of the can in three long swallows then pulled her close for a kiss that tasted not unpleasantly of beer. “Did you think I was going to lose my temper?”
Lorraine shook her head. “No, I know you better than that now.” She smiled at him. “Finish your beer and take me to bed. I need a cuddle.”
It was Blade’s turn to smile. He knew as well as she did that he was the only person on earth she would willingly exhibit any weakness in front of. The confrontation had been deeply unpleasant, and even though she’d always known that she was in no physical danger from the man, it had still left her feeling shaken and sick. She’d been on the receiving end of abuse because of the colour of her skin before, and it never got any easier, but she had a secure home to return to and a boyfriend she loved. All too many people had to cope with racist shits without either of those things to fall back on.
Later, lying with her head pillowed on Blade’s shoulder while one hand stroked lightly over the dark trail of hair on his flat stomach, she said, “I did wonder for a moment whether you were going to cut his balls off.”
Blade kissed her hair. “Couldn’t have done. I left my knives with Mr Singh in the shop, just in case things got rough and I ended up getting searched. That was why it took me a minute longer than it should have done to get out to you. Got ‘em back when I went to pick the milk up.”
Lorraine turned her face to him for another kiss. There were times when Blade lived in a dark house, but today hadn’t been one of those days.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 15
Characters : Blade/Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine (except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Word Count : 1,448
Warning : Racial abuse
Summary : Cockwombling shitgibbonry
A/N : Written for the
primeval_denial monthly challenge for June: “There is not one among us in whom a devil does not dwell; at some time, on some point, that devil masters each of us... It is not having been in the Dark House, but having left it, that counts.” ― Theodore Roosevelt“Get back to your own country, you piece of fucking shit!”
Lorraine watched in horror as an over-weight, shaven-headed man in a wife-beater vest spat at a young woman sitting cross-legged on the pavement outside the corner shop selling the Big Issue.
The woman scrambled to her feet, dropping the magazines, and backed away, fear showing clearly on her face.
Before she’d even stopped to think, Lorraine stepped up to the woman’s side and said gently, “Ignore him.”
“And you can fuck off, too!” His ire immediately encompassed her. “You’re not fucking British either!”
Lorraine stared him in the face, doing her best not to betray either anger or fear. Anger wouldn’t help diffuse the situation and she knew bullies thrived on fear. She only had to contain the situation for a minute at the most. Blade was in the shop buying a pint of milk and she knew he would have heard the man’s shouted abuse.
She turned to the tattooed thug and said, as calmly as she could manage, “Leave us alone, please.”
“Not until you fuck off back to where you came from! You’re not welcome here, none of you are!”
Lorraine drew in a deep breath, and started counting down from 60. She could already see people stopping and staring, but there wasn’t always safety in numbers. She started to assess the situation, working out strengths – she could almost certainly kick the man in the balls before he knew what was coming – and weaknesses – the woman at her side looked too scared to help. Her mental countdown reached four…
“Didn’t you hear the lady?” Blade’s voice was ice cold and sharp enough to cut glass. “She said, leave them alone.”
The man turned and the sneer on his face didn’t diminish, even when he took in the sight of Blade, looking tanned and fit, his hair short enough to scream military at anyone with even half a brain. Lorraine knew her boyfriend well enough to see the danger light in his green eyes, even though outwardly, he appeared utterly calm and in control. His hands were held loosely at his sides and his black leather jacket concealed his usual array of knives. Lorraine fought to keep her breathing under control. No matter how great the provocation, it would create a shitstorm of monumental proportions if Blade took the man down too hard. The ARC had enough clout with the Metropolitan Police to deal with a charge of carrying offensive weapons, but it was still something they could do without.
“What the fuck’s it got to do with you?” the man demanded.
“She’s my girlfriend and she asked you to leave her alone.” Blade’s tone was deceptively pleasant and he appeared wholly relaxed. He glanced around at the people nearby, some hurrying past doing their best to pretend that nothing was happening, but others had stopped and were looking on in a mix of shock and horror, although Lorraine couldn’t help noticing that two old women were casting approving glances at the bully. Blade caught the eye of a young white man in his early 20s. “Would you do me a favour and call 999, mate? Tell them there’s a racist fuckwit causing trouble on the High Street.”
“Who are you calling a fuckwit?”
Lorraine awarded the shaven-headed man two out of ten for originality.
“You and anyone who agrees with you,” Blade said. His eyes travelled slowly around the small crowd that had gathered. The two women who’d been nodding agreement started to look uncomfortable.
Lorraine was certain from the way Blade has asked one of the bystanders to call the police that he was intending to play this one by the book and she started to relax. It was never a certainty how Blade would react. She’d seen him meet violence with overwhelming force in the past and, more than anyone apart from his army colleagues, she knew exactly how dangerous he was, but it looked like this might not be one of the times when he gave in to the demons that sometimes drove him. At her side, the woman who had been abused was shaking but standing her ground. Lorraine put her arm around the woman’s thin shoulders and said quietly, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”
A white woman in her 40s with a teenage boy at her side said loudly to the man, “We don’t want your racist shit round here.” She stepped up to the woman’s other side and put her arm around her as well.
Her son took his phone out and started videoing the confrontation. Blade nodded at him approvingly.
The man lunged out, swinging a fist in the direction of the boy with the phone. Blade smoothly intercepted the blow, turning it aside with his forearm, putting himself in between the enraged man and the boy. The second punch, this time aimed at Blade, was blocked just as easily.
The man’s temper broke like a wave crashing over a rock. The tirade he aimed at all and sundry made his previous abuse sound like kindergarten level nastiness. Blade blocked three punches and one kick in rapid succession. Someone in the crowd screamed. The next blow was aimed at Blade’s face. The soldier took hold of the man’s arm, spun him around and swept his feet from under him in a text book move that Blade had drilled into her until it had become second nature. A moment later, the man was face down on the pavement with both hands behind his back.
Blade looked up. “Has anyone got a scarf I can borrow?”
The woman who’d stepped up to join them pulled one from around her neck and handed it over. Blade quickly secured the man’s hands behind his back. Just as he’d finished, a police car pulled up at the kerb and two officers jumped out, their eyes taking in the scene at a glance.
Blade smiled the sort of smile he kept for children and frightened animals. He even managed to make it look entirely genuine. “Thanks for coming. Can I hand this one over to you know? He’s a piece of racist scum.”
“I’ve got it on my phone,” the boy said, with a grin.
*****
“You did well,” Lorraine said, pressing a light kiss to Blade’s lips.
They’d been at the police station for two hours and had spent another two hours taking Zeinah for a meal and seeing her safely back to her hostel. She’d fled Syria a year ago after her husband and her parents had been killed in a rocket attack.
Blade grinned. “It would have been more fun to cut his balls off and stuff them down his throat.”
“But the paperwork would have taken a lot longer.” She opened the fridge and took out a can of cold beer. “Here, have a reward.”
He drank half of the can in three long swallows then pulled her close for a kiss that tasted not unpleasantly of beer. “Did you think I was going to lose my temper?”
Lorraine shook her head. “No, I know you better than that now.” She smiled at him. “Finish your beer and take me to bed. I need a cuddle.”
It was Blade’s turn to smile. He knew as well as she did that he was the only person on earth she would willingly exhibit any weakness in front of. The confrontation had been deeply unpleasant, and even though she’d always known that she was in no physical danger from the man, it had still left her feeling shaken and sick. She’d been on the receiving end of abuse because of the colour of her skin before, and it never got any easier, but she had a secure home to return to and a boyfriend she loved. All too many people had to cope with racist shits without either of those things to fall back on.
Later, lying with her head pillowed on Blade’s shoulder while one hand stroked lightly over the dark trail of hair on his flat stomach, she said, “I did wonder for a moment whether you were going to cut his balls off.”
Blade kissed her hair. “Couldn’t have done. I left my knives with Mr Singh in the shop, just in case things got rough and I ended up getting searched. That was why it took me a minute longer than it should have done to get out to you. Got ‘em back when I went to pick the milk up.”
Lorraine turned her face to him for another kiss. There were times when Blade lived in a dark house, but today hadn’t been one of those days.
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And cathartic, at least for me at this time.
Blade and Lorraine were the perfect characters to use for that situation.
LOL for Blade leaving his knives in the shop - even in that situation he was thinking far ahead of most people!
Loved it.
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Great story-telling, heart in your mouth stuff.
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Awesome fic!
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That's also just given me a plot bunny.....
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I won't deny I was very excited to see someone besides me had written some Blade/Lorraine!
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