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fredbassettTitle : Friday Night At Home
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Blade/Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine(except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lorraine relaxes after a hard week at work.
A/N : Written for rain_sleet_snow’s fandom stocking. Posting now in the hope I can get them all out of the way before the next round starts!
“That’s one day I’ll be happy to consign to the great dustbin of history.”
Lorraine kicked her shoes off, hung her coat up on a peg in the hall and made a beeline for the bedroom to change into something more comfortable than her work suit.
Blade, who’d changed into civvies in the ARC, knew that on a Friday night after the week from hell, it would be a good idea to take himself off into the kitchen to prepare a much-needed drink.
Lorraine quickly stripped off her work clothes and put everything away. Leaving clothes lying around offended her innate desire for order in her life. She coped with disorder every day of her working life. She had no intention of letting it follow her home.
It took her precisely five minutes to have a shower and change into a loose-fitting pair of jogging trousers and one of Blade’s old shirts. She’d slept in it for several weeks while he’d been away on an operation that had been several degrees above her, exceedingly high, security clearance. In his absence, she’d used the shirt like a teddy. It had smelt like him until the first wash and dry, and even after that she’d been at pains to use the same washing powder he and his flatmates used. When he’d come back – thin, battered and as tight-lipped as ever on the subject of his own welfare – by unspoken agreement it had remained in her possession.
Her slippers, a Christmas present from Blade, were by the bed. He’d bought them from The White Company and they were, without a doubt, the cosiest slippers Lorraine had ever owned. They were dove-grey, with a suede-feel outer, faux-fur interior and a rolled-over top that came up around her ankles and insulated her feet from even the worst of the winter’s cold, made worse by the somewhat eccentric heating in her flat. He’d also gone overboard on cashmere for her, with pale blue cashmere bed socks, dark blue fingerless gloves and a pair of black leggings. They must have cost an arm and a leg, but Lorraine knew better than to question her boyfriend’s expenditure on presents. There were some things o which Niall Richards refused to compromise.
She padded through into the kitchen and was handed a large gin and Canada Dry, with two ice cubes clinking in the glass, kept company by a slice of lime. It tasted like heaven on earth and she could feel herself start to slough off the irritations of the day.
“Fancy a stir fry?” Blade asked.
“That would be wonderful, Niall.” It would also give him an excuse to chop things into small pieces. Each to their own when it came to stress relief, and at least the contents of her fridge couldn’t file an official complaint.
Lorraine curled up in the old wicker chair she kept in the kitchen and watched as Blade assembled a small army of vegetables ready to be sliced and diced, as well as two chicken breasts. The small, thin-bladed knife he took from a wooden chopping block on her work surface made short work of the pile of onions, carrots, broccoli, peppers, beans, mushrooms and assorted oddments from her fridge. The chicken was quickly reduced to strips the size of her little finger and garlic, chilli and ginger were diced so finely that any number of TV chefs would have cried with admiration if they’d had the privilege to watch him at work.
When he’d first started to spend time at her flat, the second thing Blade had done was sharpen all her kitchen knives to his own high and lethal standards. The first was to rewire practically every plug in the place. He had high standards when it came to electrical equipment as well. He’d condemned the toaster and had promptly bought her another one, in shining chrome, that could toast six slices of bread at once.
Lorraine leaned back in her chair and sipped the gin, while watching Blade work. He was dressed casually in a pair of black denim jeans that had seen better days and a faded green teeshirt that had once been the same bright, vivid colour as his eyes. His forearms were bare, but such was his ease in her company now that he hadn’t tried to shield sensibilities that she didn’t have by removing the twin arm sheathes that contained two slender, but wholly lethal, black-handled throwing knives.
She knew perfectly well that the man she now shared her life with had a penchant for sharp, shiny things and would show no hesitation in using them should the need arise. Much to some people’s surprise, Lorraine liked that about him. He acted in defence of others, and that was good enough for her. In his job, hesitation could cost a life – his own or someone else’s.
Blade had something of a reputation as a psycho at work, his nickname was rather a giveaway in that regard, but around her he was quietly spoken, considerate and took pleasure in simple things like cooking for her, or buying surprise presents, such as a set of little glittery plastic dinosaur Christmas tree ornaments that he’d spotted in a local street market. They’d bought a small, living tree from Lidl along with a bright red pottery planter to put it in, and had decorated it with some tiny glass baubles from Paperchase, a set of LED lights Blade had found in Wilko and a string of brightly coloured little wooden rocking horses he’s been given by his gran. The whole effect was both pretty and understated, and they’d both had a lot of fun.
Lorraine watched as Blade tossed the ingredients into a large frying pan and stirred them with one of her wooden spatulas, in between taking mouthfuls of his own gin. The smell of chilli, garlic and ginger was making Lorraine’s mouth water. She unfolded herself from comfort of the chair long enough to set the table, find the sweet chilli sauce that they both liked and uncork a bottle of Gewürztraminer.
Blade dished up two heaped platefuls and they settled down to enjoy their meal. Later, then planned to watch the premiere of Iron Man 3 on TV, as they’d both managed to miss it at the cinema.
Friday evenings really didn’t get much nicer.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Blade/Lorraine
Disclaimer : Not mine(except Blade), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lorraine relaxes after a hard week at work.
A/N : Written for rain_sleet_snow’s fandom stocking. Posting now in the hope I can get them all out of the way before the next round starts!
“That’s one day I’ll be happy to consign to the great dustbin of history.”
Lorraine kicked her shoes off, hung her coat up on a peg in the hall and made a beeline for the bedroom to change into something more comfortable than her work suit.
Blade, who’d changed into civvies in the ARC, knew that on a Friday night after the week from hell, it would be a good idea to take himself off into the kitchen to prepare a much-needed drink.
Lorraine quickly stripped off her work clothes and put everything away. Leaving clothes lying around offended her innate desire for order in her life. She coped with disorder every day of her working life. She had no intention of letting it follow her home.
It took her precisely five minutes to have a shower and change into a loose-fitting pair of jogging trousers and one of Blade’s old shirts. She’d slept in it for several weeks while he’d been away on an operation that had been several degrees above her, exceedingly high, security clearance. In his absence, she’d used the shirt like a teddy. It had smelt like him until the first wash and dry, and even after that she’d been at pains to use the same washing powder he and his flatmates used. When he’d come back – thin, battered and as tight-lipped as ever on the subject of his own welfare – by unspoken agreement it had remained in her possession.
Her slippers, a Christmas present from Blade, were by the bed. He’d bought them from The White Company and they were, without a doubt, the cosiest slippers Lorraine had ever owned. They were dove-grey, with a suede-feel outer, faux-fur interior and a rolled-over top that came up around her ankles and insulated her feet from even the worst of the winter’s cold, made worse by the somewhat eccentric heating in her flat. He’d also gone overboard on cashmere for her, with pale blue cashmere bed socks, dark blue fingerless gloves and a pair of black leggings. They must have cost an arm and a leg, but Lorraine knew better than to question her boyfriend’s expenditure on presents. There were some things o which Niall Richards refused to compromise.
She padded through into the kitchen and was handed a large gin and Canada Dry, with two ice cubes clinking in the glass, kept company by a slice of lime. It tasted like heaven on earth and she could feel herself start to slough off the irritations of the day.
“Fancy a stir fry?” Blade asked.
“That would be wonderful, Niall.” It would also give him an excuse to chop things into small pieces. Each to their own when it came to stress relief, and at least the contents of her fridge couldn’t file an official complaint.
Lorraine curled up in the old wicker chair she kept in the kitchen and watched as Blade assembled a small army of vegetables ready to be sliced and diced, as well as two chicken breasts. The small, thin-bladed knife he took from a wooden chopping block on her work surface made short work of the pile of onions, carrots, broccoli, peppers, beans, mushrooms and assorted oddments from her fridge. The chicken was quickly reduced to strips the size of her little finger and garlic, chilli and ginger were diced so finely that any number of TV chefs would have cried with admiration if they’d had the privilege to watch him at work.
When he’d first started to spend time at her flat, the second thing Blade had done was sharpen all her kitchen knives to his own high and lethal standards. The first was to rewire practically every plug in the place. He had high standards when it came to electrical equipment as well. He’d condemned the toaster and had promptly bought her another one, in shining chrome, that could toast six slices of bread at once.
Lorraine leaned back in her chair and sipped the gin, while watching Blade work. He was dressed casually in a pair of black denim jeans that had seen better days and a faded green teeshirt that had once been the same bright, vivid colour as his eyes. His forearms were bare, but such was his ease in her company now that he hadn’t tried to shield sensibilities that she didn’t have by removing the twin arm sheathes that contained two slender, but wholly lethal, black-handled throwing knives.
She knew perfectly well that the man she now shared her life with had a penchant for sharp, shiny things and would show no hesitation in using them should the need arise. Much to some people’s surprise, Lorraine liked that about him. He acted in defence of others, and that was good enough for her. In his job, hesitation could cost a life – his own or someone else’s.
Blade had something of a reputation as a psycho at work, his nickname was rather a giveaway in that regard, but around her he was quietly spoken, considerate and took pleasure in simple things like cooking for her, or buying surprise presents, such as a set of little glittery plastic dinosaur Christmas tree ornaments that he’d spotted in a local street market. They’d bought a small, living tree from Lidl along with a bright red pottery planter to put it in, and had decorated it with some tiny glass baubles from Paperchase, a set of LED lights Blade had found in Wilko and a string of brightly coloured little wooden rocking horses he’s been given by his gran. The whole effect was both pretty and understated, and they’d both had a lot of fun.
Lorraine watched as Blade tossed the ingredients into a large frying pan and stirred them with one of her wooden spatulas, in between taking mouthfuls of his own gin. The smell of chilli, garlic and ginger was making Lorraine’s mouth water. She unfolded herself from comfort of the chair long enough to set the table, find the sweet chilli sauce that they both liked and uncork a bottle of Gewürztraminer.
Blade dished up two heaped platefuls and they settled down to enjoy their meal. Later, then planned to watch the premiere of Iron Man 3 on TV, as they’d both managed to miss it at the cinema.
Friday evenings really didn’t get much nicer.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-08-28 09:18 pm (UTC)*g* Are Blade's throwing knives named Anna and Belle?
no subject
Date: 2016-08-29 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-29 08:05 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-28 10:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-29 07:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-08-31 06:20 am (UTC)It would also give him an excuse to chop things into small pieces.
LOL!
Love this to bits! Thanks for posting here!
no subject
Date: 2016-08-31 10:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-02 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-02 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-03 03:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-03 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-09-04 07:16 am (UTC)I did love the idea of letting Blade make stirfry just for the excuse to chop things up.
no subject
Date: 2016-09-04 12:37 pm (UTC)