Fic, Silk and Steel, Part 7

[fredbassett]

Title : Silk and Steel, Part 7
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Ryan, Lester, Cutter, Stephen, Lyle, Ditzy
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.           
Summary : Things get steadily worse for Lyle.
Warning : Slave!fic with added violence. Really not very nice at all.
A/N : With thanks to munchkinofdoom for helping to plot this AU. The rest of this series can be found here .

Having a conversation with the Prime Minister, on what was meant to be his day off, was not high on Sir James Lester’s list of pleasurable things to do on a Saturday evening.

On top of that, his attempt to hold a half way sensible discussion, even if it did entail little more than the need to make the occasional admiring noise, was being made immeasurably worse by the scene currently playing out before his eyes on the ARCs security system. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had the immensely talented, but remarkably irritating, Connor Temple, to thank for that.

“I quite agree, sir, not something the public need be privy too …………..” Blood flicked off the leather strands, splattering red drops across the pristine whiteness of the tiled floor, “ ………….. far too much risk of exploitation, absolutely right ………….” Lyle jerked against the restraints and a thin trail of blood from his right wrist started to track down a well-muscled forearm. “Wholly unacceptable, without a shadow of a doubt,” What the fuck was the man wittering on about? Even Lester’s concentration was suffering now. How long had this been going on, for fuck’s sake? Lyle looked half dead already.

A sudden commotion outside his door provided a further unwelcome distraction. He heard Lorraine raising her voice, something entirely unheard of in the history of the ARC.

Lester found his attention torn three ways between the unpleasant sight of Leek’s growing erection, which the man’s ill-fitting pin-striped suit did little or nothing to hide, the inanities being babbled into his ear by quite the most tedious P.M. he’d ever had to work for and the sound of Cutter getting more and more Scottish the closer to breaking point his temper got.

Sir James Lester hit the mute button on the phone system and called, “Let him in, Lorraine!” then as Nick Cutter burst in through the door, he snapped, “Yes, Professor Cutter, I am fully au fait with events downstairs, now will you shut the fuck up, for once in your life, while I exit from this conversation!” Followed by, in more measured tones, “Yes, of course, sir, I fully understand your position, and yes, I’ll make sure you’re properly briefed before your next meeting with Sir Alec. Tuesday? No problem ……….” The lash fell again, and this time Lester thought he caught a white flash of exposed bone in the wreckage of Lyle’s right shoulder blade. “Absolutely, sir. I’ll await your call.”

He hesitated, listening for the sound of the line disconnecting before he slammed his own receiver down.

Without waiting for an invitation, the Eccentric Academic stalked around his side of the desk, jabbed his finger at the screen and demanded, “Stop that fucking obscenity and stop it now!”

“My oh my, Professor, what’s brought on this sudden change of heart?” With one click of his mouse, the computer spat out the sound of leather connecting wetly with torn and bleeding flesh. “I seem to remember that you quite enjoyed watching young Richards’ punishment after the episode with the Phorusrhacos, if I remember the name right. A little harsh, I felt, but who was I to argue with your demands?”

“Pick up that fucking phone and make that sick bastard stop!”

“What, and ruin Lieutenant Lyle’s carefully laid plans? He wouldn’t thank you for that, I can assure you, Professor.” Lester stabbed a well manicured finger at the screen. “Watch his lips, Cutter, he isn’t begging Leek to stop, I can assure you of that.”

Nick Cutter lent forward, radiating barely controlled Scottish temper from every pore.

Leek’s next blow fell low on Lyle’s back, and turned more of the soldier’s skin into a bloody ruin.

Lester noticed a tic twitching at the side of Cutter’s mouth as the other man attempted to follow instructions and concentrate on watching Lyle’s lips. The Professor’s eyes widened in something more than horror as he suddenly realized that Lyle was mouthing the words, Don’t fucking stop him, over and over, like a charm.

When the next lash wrapped itself round Lyle’s right shoulder, narrowly missing catching his face, the lieutenant stared straight at the camera on the side wall, and repeated the same silent mantra.

Focusing on the look of total astonishment on Cutter’s face helped distract Lester’s attention from the next two blows which landed in quick succession, but then as another one snaked round the front of Lyle’s chest for the second or third time, a high pitched yell was dragged from the soldier’s reluctant throat. The first noise above a barely audible grunt that Leek had managed to illicit.

And over the sound feed from the Punishment Room, the two men heard Ryan announce in a voice tight with anger, “Eighteen! That was eighteen lashes!”

Leek pulled back his arm, drops of blood flying from the strands of the whip to land on walls, floor and even ceiling. The look in his eyes was that of a man very close to the edge of climax.

The penultimate blow landed, and this time there was no mistaking Lyle’s reaction. The sound he made was that of an animal caught in a trap, high and hopeless, a noise ripped from a throat already raw from having spent the last ten minutes dragging air into a body already pushed almost to the point of no return.

“Oh dear God!” breathed Cutter as he watched the wetness suddenly appear around the bulge in Leeks trousers. A second later, the Scotsman grabbed the wastepaper bin from under Lester’s desk and was promptly, and thoroughly, sick.

The final blow landed, unseen by Cutter.

Lester’s eyes never left the computer screen, but his lips did purse with distaste.

Lyle slumped in the chains, blood now running from both corners of his mouth.

His back, at least half of his chest and both of his upper arms had been laid open by the leather lash.

Ryan and Ditzy looked on, unmoving.

In the silence that followed, the only sound was that of Lieutenant Jon Lyle’s labored breathing, interspersed with low whines that could have just been the breath hissing between his teeth, but weren’t.

Ditzy started forward, intending to unlock the shackles.

Leek held up a hand to stop him, the look of pleasure in his sharp eyes intensifying with every helpless noise Lyle made.

“Get out, both of you!” the words were spoken with a quiet but unmistakable ferocity.

“It’s over, sir,” said Ryan, amending the sir hastily to master.

Through the dry heaves that still gripped Nick Cutter’s stomach, he was dimly aware of a frown crossing Lester’s sharply handsome face.

Then he heard Leek announce, “He’s had his lashes, Ryan, but I haven’t finished yet, now leave this room, or the pair of you will end up in the same state and I’ll have that sorry specimen up in front of a Court Martial before you even get the chance to draw breath, now get out!”

Cutter and Lester watched as Ditzy grabbed Ryan by the arm and propelled him towards the door, but only Lester saw the look of triumph in Lyle’s hazel eyes a second before Leek used his security key to open the control panel for the monitors and flick the switch which turned off both CCTV cameras.

Lyle’s plans hadn’t quite reached fruition yet, but they were well on the way to succeeding.

Lester sighed.  “I rather suspect you’re going to like the finale even less than you’ve liked the show so far, Professor. And in case I forget to mention it later, you really are a changed man, aren’t you?  Perhaps I should have paid more attention to your inane ramblings this past month, after all.”

Nick Cutter wiped a hand across his mouth and stared at Lester like a drowning man who’d suddenly been thrown a life-belt.

Then the camera feed to Lester’s screen suddenly flickered back into life.

“Ah, I see young Mr. Temple has just brought his own snooper systems into play,” said Lester, with evident satisfaction.  “He calls this little trick his White Cat program, so I’m led to believe. He really was wasted in academia, wouldn’t you say, Cutter?”

On the screen, Leek ran one hand down over Lyle’s arse before reaching round, opening the soldier’s trousers and dragging them and his underwear down far enough to allow Leek free access to the so far unblemished flesh beneath the clothing.

With his other hand, he reversed his grip on the wooden handle of the whip.

“For pity’s sake, man, stop him!” Cutter’s tone had gone beyond anger into open pleading.

Lester shook his head. “This is what Lyle has been playing for all along, Cutter, but come, by the time we get down there, Leek should just have managed to back himself into a corner that even he can’t slime his way out of.  Which is exactly what Lyle intended when he embarked on this somewhat painful course of action. Leave the bin where it is, Professor.  You can apologise to Lorraine later.”

If it hadn’t been for the scene now being played out in the Punishment Room, Lester would almost have been amused by the look of confusion on Cutter’s face.

 

Comments

[fredbassett]

I wrote some more in the middle of the night last night, so I now need to re-read it to see if it makes sense!

[pexylexy.livejournal.com]

yeah, I know that problem... bunnies popping up at the worst time ever and me getting out of bed again at 3am and the next morning I'm like what the hell did you write there girl, makes no sense at all :)