Fic, In a Pickle, Danny/Lester, 12
Dec. 24th, 2025 04:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fredbassettTitle : In a Pickle
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Danny/Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : “So, as a result of a minor geographical inaccuracy, we are now stuck on a deserted, snow-bound road in deepest, darkest Essex, in a car that inexplicably decided to pursue a sudden and wholly unwise romantic relationship with a fallen tree.”
A/N : Written forknitekat for the ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
primeval_denial Secret Santa 2025. I hope you like this and that I’ve managed to work in a few of your prompts!
“Quinn, I distinctly remember asking if you’d checked the weather forecast.”
“I did, guv. But it’s just possible I might have checked it for the Maldives, not Maldon.”
“So, as a result of a minor geographical inaccuracy, we are now stuck on a deserted, snow-bound road in deepest, darkest Essex, in a car that inexplicably decided to pursue a sudden and wholly unwise romantic relationship with a fallen tree.”
“Succinct summary, guv. You’ve been taking lessons from soldier boy.”
Lester winced. “I most certainly have not. I was writing succinct summaries when Hilary Becker was still puking on his nurse’s shoulder. And I hope you noticed my Herculean efforts to avoid being in any way judgmental in my splendidly succinct summary?”
“Noted guv. In the interests of full disclosure, you missed out the bit about it being Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, Quinn, in the interests of harmony, I omitted that minor detail. I also omitted the fact that my phone was damaged in the car’s liaison with the tree and yours is, as usual, out of charge.”
“Don’t mention the Seven Ps, guv, please.”
“Again, in the interests of harmony, I shall refrain from mentioning that prior planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance.”
“Thanks, guv.” In the fading glow of the interior light, Danny Quinn’s expression visibly brightened. “Sorry about the short cut. You were right when you said we should have stuck to the main roads. It doesn’t look like anyone comes this way very often. But Mrs Lester will notice when you don’t make it home, won’t she?”
“Do keep up, Quinn. Mrs Lester and I parted company several years ago. She cited various species of dinosaur as co-respondents in her lengthy and not entirely unreasonable divorce petition. Fortunately the judge had already signed the Official Secrets Act.”
Danny’s silence spoke volumes. Eventually, he volunteered, “There are blankets in the boot. I can reach them from the inside if I take out the parcel shelf.”
What followed was an unseemly contortionist act whereby Danny Quinn twisted his lanky frame in increasingly anatomically unlikely ways to retrieve four standard issue Home Office woollen blankets. Tartan. The kind his grandmother used to like. Lester couldn’t remember when the Home Office versions had ever been deployed for their intended purpose and he didn’t know whether he was sorry or obscurely pleased that he would probably be the first to test their capabilities.
“You’re going to tell me this is a Huddling Together for Warmth scenario, aren’t you, Quinn?”
“Sorry, guv, but it’s blowing a white-out and we can’t run the engine otherwise we’ll asphyxiate.”
“Common sense and a word you almost certainly can’t spell. The apocalypse is nigh.”
“A. S. F. I. X …”
Lester resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Some cliches were best avoided even when he was already up to his armpits in the sort of trope that would delight his teenage daughter’s romantic heart.
“There are two blankets each, I’m sure that’ll be enough.”
“It’ll be more comfortable if we move the seats forward as far as they’ll go then settle down in the back, guv, just in case the … scenario that we don’t talk about … does become necessary …”
“Are you sure that isn’t a transparent ploy to watch me struggle into the back with you?”
“Would I do that? No, don’t answer that, guv. It’ll get you warmed up, honest …”
The wretched man was certainly right about that. By the time Lester had manoeuvred both seats forward and then clambered between them illuminated by nothing more than the fading glow of the car’s interior light to end up practically nose deep in Danny’s crotch before regaining a sitting position, he certainly wasn’t cold, although he doubted he’d stay warm for very long with snow already piling up around the car.
“Neatly done,” Danny said approvingly, depositing a pair of blankets on his lap. “Get yourself wrapped up before you lose any heat. Make sure you cover your head and your feet.”
Lester rolled his eyes. “I do remember the stuck in the past survival lectures. And yes, we’ll share body heat, Quinn. I can’t let it be said that I allowed you to suffer unnecessarily.”
“You’re all heart, guv. I won’t hear a word said against you.”
“You won’t hear a word said against me because I’m the person who authorises your exorbitant salary each month. And for god’s sake drop the chirpy cockney sparrow act. If you call me guv once more I’ll cancel your car parking perks.”
“You’re the boss …”
“Quinn …”
“Yes, sir.”
After an hour in the car’s freezing interior, Lester had to admit that he was glad of a warm body pressed against his side. The interior light had faded to a feeble glow, but it was enough for Lester to see that on the driver’s side of the car, exposed to the bitter east wind, the drift had reached almost to the top of the window and the snow was still falling. The other side, partially sheltered by a rough hedgerow has remained mostly clear.
Before they’d settled down in the back, Danny had taken the precaution of wriggling into the front far enough to start the engine and lower the passenger side window by a couple of centimetres to allow air into the car.
Whilst admitting the sense behind that, Lester wasn’t keen on the freezing draught that seeped into the interior, bringing with it a few errant snowflakes and an unwelcome chill that soon started to seep into his bones, starting with his feet, encased in a pair of thin socks and smart black dress shoes, and working up his legs and from there travelling inexorably upwards with unpleasant rapidity. He was already regretting having forgotten his black suede gloves, sitting overlooked on the hall table in his London flat.
He'd almost instantly regretted accepting the invitation to the Home Secretary’s annual – and exceedingly dull – Christmas Eve soiree, even before Danny’s navigational excesses. The lack of his gloves was only one minor regret in a long line of regrets culminating in huddling for warmth with his exceeding erratic employee in the back of a Home Office Bentley. Lester had been intending to drive himself to the evening of ceremonial career torture, but Danny had volunteered his services, saying he had nothing better to do so might as well make himself useful. As the prospect of a sober party was infinitely worse than the prospect of one lubricated by moderately pleasant champagne, Lester had allowed himself to be persuaded.
And, if he was honest with himself – something he tried not to be very often, in case it led to maudlin introspection – Danny Quinn was amusing company and never seemed to take offense at even the most barbed comments.
A sudden, sharp elbow in his ribs jerked Lester out of his thoughts. “Hands,” Danny said.
“Yes, Quinn, they’re in the usual place, at the end of my arms.” And they were fucking cold, but articulating that might have fallen into the category his dear daughter labelled and scorned as ‘over-sharing’.
“Give ‘em ‘ere.”
Danny Quinn’s large, work-callused hands settled over his and started to rub gently. Lester fought the urge to snatch his fingers away. Shying from touch had become almost habitual in the latter days of his marriage. But Danny’s hands were warm and the touch wasn’t unpleasant as he forced life and movement back into Lester’s fingers.
“Thank you, Quinn,” Lester said primly.
“Danny. If I’ve got to stop calling you guv, you can stop calling me Quinn. We’re holed up in a wrecked car on Christmas Eve in the middle of effing Essex. The least we can do is get on first name terms.”
Lester fought back a smile. “Until we get back to work … Danny.”
“Of course … James.”
A faint – and not wholly unpleasant – shiver trekked up Lester’s spine at the use of his first name. The amusement in Danny’s gravelly voice was unmistakeable and despite being the cause of that amusement, Lester found it hard to take umbrage with Danny’s hands around his, and warm breath that smelt faintly of peppermint on his cheek.
He made an effort to relax. They were in Essex, not the Arctic Circle. They had blankets. Neither of them was injured. The collision had been more of a gently inglorious slide into the tree, rather than a high speed impact, followed by the swing of car’s back end into the ditch, to the undoubted detriment of the rear axle. Neither of them had more than some minor bruises. Not even a mild concussion between them.
Giving up the pretence of remaining aloof, Lester rested his head on Danny’s shoulder. “What were you intending to do tomorrow?” Polite conversation cost nothing.
“Open a tin of corned beef and watch shitty films. You?”
“Cook a turkey crown and all the trimmings; wonder why I bother, and then watch shitty films.”
“But think of the leftovers you’ll be able to eat for the rest of the week!”
Lester laughed. “Good point. I’ll remember that.”
“You’ve got to do enough potatoes for bubble and squeak on Boxing Day. Mam used to do an amazing spread on Boxing Day. Leftovers from the main meal, a huge cooked ham and jars of pickled veg that she’d been laying in all year. Beetroot, red cabbage, cucumber, onions, chutney. Cupboards full of the stuff. Fond of a pickle was Mam.”
“She sounds like a veritable pickle factory.”
Danny laughed uproariously. “Don’t tell me you used to watch that, gu … James?”
“I’m not that bloody old!”
“Neither am I, but my gran bloody loved it. Swore that’s where Mam picked up the pickling thing from.”
“My nan used to watch it, too,” Lester admitted. “When she discovered YouTube at the age of 92 in a nursing home, I had to sit through all three series with her. I spent my bloody childhood being terrified she’d yell, “Has he been?” at my mum about me when we went out anywhere. She had a cackle like a laughing hyena and a sense of humour to match.”
“Sounds like she’d’ve got on with mine. Do you miss her?”
The question came out of the blue and caught Lester off guard. Around a distinct lump in his throat, he managed, “Yes. You?”
He felt Danny nod. “She used to look after me and me brother when Mam was at work. Bloody old tyrant and we loved her to pieces.”
“We’ll raise a glass to them when we get somewhere warm with alcohol.”
“Dunno how long that might take. But if I know my gran, she’ll definitely be somewhere warm. Probably wielding a pitchfork.”
Lester laughed, then volunteered a minor snippet of relevant information, “Danny, the car is fitted with a tracker. You might have been woefully underprepared for our jaunt into snowy Essex, but as we were visiting the Home Secretary’s house, I logged our anticipated movements with the ARC and unless they’ve all fallen asleep after too many mince pieces, someone must by now have noticed that the car made an unscheduled stop nearly two hours ago and hasn’t moved since.”
“You canny old bastard!”
“Less of the old. You are approximately one year and nine months younger than I am. I hardly think that counts as a significant age difference.”
“They might just think we’ve stopped for a snog …”
“In the middle of a blizzard? I hope, unlike you, Control know the difference between Maldon and the Maldives.”
“What’s wrong with snogging in a blizzard?”
Lester tilted his face to Danny’s and nuzzled the stubble on the other man’s chin, enjoying the light rasp against his skin. “I don’t know. Shall we explore the idea?”
Danny chuckled. “Are you propositioning me, guv?”
“Quinn, one of your hands moved from mine to my upper thigh at least ten minutes ago. I’m not sure I can be accused of making the first move.”
Warm lips sought his in the darkness.
The kiss was slow and lingering, starting carefully as they took the measure of each other, hands and tongues roaming and investigating, taking their time to test the boundaries, finding new lines to cross in the important business of giving and taking pleasure.
Danny kissed with cautious intent at first and then gradually consigned caution to the dustbin of history as he nipped along Lester’s jaw, licking at the sensitive spot behind his ear and then chasing the resulting shiver with all the single-minded purpose of a hunter after their quarry. Lester retaliated by sliding a hand up the inside of Danny’s thigh and teasing at the zip of his jeans.
****
Danny shuffled his feet nervously on the plush red and gold carpet in the hallway outside the door to Lester’s Whitehall flat, wondering if it might have been safer to stick to a tin of corned beef and yet another re-run of Men in Black. He was out of his depth. He should have stuck to their cliché ridden night huddling together for warmth in the back of a Home Office pool car. Well, maybe there’d been a bit more than huddling going on …
The whole thing had been fun while it lasted. Lester elevated sarcasm to an art form and Danny always enjoyed their verbal fencing. The snogging in the back seat had been fun, too. It was just a shame soldier boy had decided to blow the transport budget and send a chopper to their rescue. He’d been enjoying the prospect of taking things further.
But now, in the chill afternoon, with snow still blanketing London, doubts had set in. The clink of the glass jars in the bag in his hand seemed crass. He should have tried to find somewhere to buy a decent bottle of wine instead, but it was too bloody late now.
The door opened and a casually dressed James Lester opened the door wearing a harassed expression, a blue and white striped chef’s apron over casual clothes and holding a phone in his hand.
He waved to Danny to come in and carried on talking. “… yes, sweetheart, I’m fine, honestly. It was cold. I coped. Yes, I know I hate the cold, but we did the whole huddling together for warmth thing. You know, the sort of trope you like reading about … no, of course I don’t snoop on your AO3 account darling, I don’t even know what an AO3 account is … now can I get back to cooking or are you just going to carry on interrogating me? …No, that was not an invitation to carry on grilling me … I don’t care if you are practising for your criminology A level. I’ll speak to you tomorrow darling … yes, I am allowed to call you darling, I don’t care if it’s sappy …” Lester rolled his eyes and waved Danny through into the living room while he carried on a conversation at high speed with a teenaged daughter who had very obviously absorbed sarcasm by osmosis from an early age.
By the time the conversation ended, Danny felt like he’d spectated at a Wimbledon final with a points score of 6:4, 4:6, 6:4, although by the end he couldn’t for the life of him work out who’d won.
Lester shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed theatrically. “She’s in Zermatt with her mother. Sorry about that.”
Danny grinned awkwardly. “Thanks for asking me over.” He held out the carrier bag. “Er, sorry, I think I should have brought some wine instead, I can always nip back out …”
To Danny’s surprise, Lester just went up on his toes to silence him with a kiss.
When they finally drew, Lester said, “I’ve got plenty of wine, but I don’t have plenty of pickles, so I hope that bag contains what I think it contains …”
“Pickles,” Danny declared with relief. “Every sort of pickle you can imagine. And this hasn’t even scratched the surface of what Mam left me with last few times she came over. I’ve got cupboards full of the stuff.”
“Good, because I’m cooking enough leftovers to see us through the rest of the week, not just Boxing Day. You haven’t got any plans, have you?”
Danny set the bag down with a load chink and wrapped both arms around Lester. He didn’t need the warmth, but he definitely needed to touch and be touched. “None whatsoever. Or at least none that I’d be comfortable discussing with your daughter.”
Lester returned the hug and Danny felt his nerves slipping away.
****
The food was excellent.
The company was even better.
And there were enough leftovers to feed an army.
But fortunately, the army hadn’t been invited.
They weren’t needed, either.
The only dinosaur related incident over the festive season was the relatively minor matter of a young mammoth in Hyde Park, but even that was repatriated without incident and very soon after Abby and Becker had watched the bellowing youngster rejoin its fond parents, the snow once again lay deep and crisp and even.
Well, apart from the boot prints left behind by the ARC team, but no one wants that minor detail that to get in the way of a fairy tale ending, now do they?
And in case you wanted all loose ends neatly tied up, yes, they did re-watch all 45 episodes of Nearest and Dearest and raised several very full glasses to their respective grandmothers.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 12
Characters : Danny/Lester
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : “So, as a result of a minor geographical inaccuracy, we are now stuck on a deserted, snow-bound road in deepest, darkest Essex, in a car that inexplicably decided to pursue a sudden and wholly unwise romantic relationship with a fallen tree.”
A/N : Written for
knitekat for the primeval_denial Secret Santa 2025. I hope you like this and that I’ve managed to work in a few of your prompts!“Quinn, I distinctly remember asking if you’d checked the weather forecast.”
“I did, guv. But it’s just possible I might have checked it for the Maldives, not Maldon.”
“So, as a result of a minor geographical inaccuracy, we are now stuck on a deserted, snow-bound road in deepest, darkest Essex, in a car that inexplicably decided to pursue a sudden and wholly unwise romantic relationship with a fallen tree.”
“Succinct summary, guv. You’ve been taking lessons from soldier boy.”
Lester winced. “I most certainly have not. I was writing succinct summaries when Hilary Becker was still puking on his nurse’s shoulder. And I hope you noticed my Herculean efforts to avoid being in any way judgmental in my splendidly succinct summary?”
“Noted guv. In the interests of full disclosure, you missed out the bit about it being Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, Quinn, in the interests of harmony, I omitted that minor detail. I also omitted the fact that my phone was damaged in the car’s liaison with the tree and yours is, as usual, out of charge.”
“Don’t mention the Seven Ps, guv, please.”
“Again, in the interests of harmony, I shall refrain from mentioning that prior planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance.”
“Thanks, guv.” In the fading glow of the interior light, Danny Quinn’s expression visibly brightened. “Sorry about the short cut. You were right when you said we should have stuck to the main roads. It doesn’t look like anyone comes this way very often. But Mrs Lester will notice when you don’t make it home, won’t she?”
“Do keep up, Quinn. Mrs Lester and I parted company several years ago. She cited various species of dinosaur as co-respondents in her lengthy and not entirely unreasonable divorce petition. Fortunately the judge had already signed the Official Secrets Act.”
Danny’s silence spoke volumes. Eventually, he volunteered, “There are blankets in the boot. I can reach them from the inside if I take out the parcel shelf.”
What followed was an unseemly contortionist act whereby Danny Quinn twisted his lanky frame in increasingly anatomically unlikely ways to retrieve four standard issue Home Office woollen blankets. Tartan. The kind his grandmother used to like. Lester couldn’t remember when the Home Office versions had ever been deployed for their intended purpose and he didn’t know whether he was sorry or obscurely pleased that he would probably be the first to test their capabilities.
“You’re going to tell me this is a Huddling Together for Warmth scenario, aren’t you, Quinn?”
“Sorry, guv, but it’s blowing a white-out and we can’t run the engine otherwise we’ll asphyxiate.”
“Common sense and a word you almost certainly can’t spell. The apocalypse is nigh.”
“A. S. F. I. X …”
Lester resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Some cliches were best avoided even when he was already up to his armpits in the sort of trope that would delight his teenage daughter’s romantic heart.
“There are two blankets each, I’m sure that’ll be enough.”
“It’ll be more comfortable if we move the seats forward as far as they’ll go then settle down in the back, guv, just in case the … scenario that we don’t talk about … does become necessary …”
“Are you sure that isn’t a transparent ploy to watch me struggle into the back with you?”
“Would I do that? No, don’t answer that, guv. It’ll get you warmed up, honest …”
The wretched man was certainly right about that. By the time Lester had manoeuvred both seats forward and then clambered between them illuminated by nothing more than the fading glow of the car’s interior light to end up practically nose deep in Danny’s crotch before regaining a sitting position, he certainly wasn’t cold, although he doubted he’d stay warm for very long with snow already piling up around the car.
“Neatly done,” Danny said approvingly, depositing a pair of blankets on his lap. “Get yourself wrapped up before you lose any heat. Make sure you cover your head and your feet.”
Lester rolled his eyes. “I do remember the stuck in the past survival lectures. And yes, we’ll share body heat, Quinn. I can’t let it be said that I allowed you to suffer unnecessarily.”
“You’re all heart, guv. I won’t hear a word said against you.”
“You won’t hear a word said against me because I’m the person who authorises your exorbitant salary each month. And for god’s sake drop the chirpy cockney sparrow act. If you call me guv once more I’ll cancel your car parking perks.”
“You’re the boss …”
“Quinn …”
“Yes, sir.”
After an hour in the car’s freezing interior, Lester had to admit that he was glad of a warm body pressed against his side. The interior light had faded to a feeble glow, but it was enough for Lester to see that on the driver’s side of the car, exposed to the bitter east wind, the drift had reached almost to the top of the window and the snow was still falling. The other side, partially sheltered by a rough hedgerow has remained mostly clear.
Before they’d settled down in the back, Danny had taken the precaution of wriggling into the front far enough to start the engine and lower the passenger side window by a couple of centimetres to allow air into the car.
Whilst admitting the sense behind that, Lester wasn’t keen on the freezing draught that seeped into the interior, bringing with it a few errant snowflakes and an unwelcome chill that soon started to seep into his bones, starting with his feet, encased in a pair of thin socks and smart black dress shoes, and working up his legs and from there travelling inexorably upwards with unpleasant rapidity. He was already regretting having forgotten his black suede gloves, sitting overlooked on the hall table in his London flat.
He'd almost instantly regretted accepting the invitation to the Home Secretary’s annual – and exceedingly dull – Christmas Eve soiree, even before Danny’s navigational excesses. The lack of his gloves was only one minor regret in a long line of regrets culminating in huddling for warmth with his exceeding erratic employee in the back of a Home Office Bentley. Lester had been intending to drive himself to the evening of ceremonial career torture, but Danny had volunteered his services, saying he had nothing better to do so might as well make himself useful. As the prospect of a sober party was infinitely worse than the prospect of one lubricated by moderately pleasant champagne, Lester had allowed himself to be persuaded.
And, if he was honest with himself – something he tried not to be very often, in case it led to maudlin introspection – Danny Quinn was amusing company and never seemed to take offense at even the most barbed comments.
A sudden, sharp elbow in his ribs jerked Lester out of his thoughts. “Hands,” Danny said.
“Yes, Quinn, they’re in the usual place, at the end of my arms.” And they were fucking cold, but articulating that might have fallen into the category his dear daughter labelled and scorned as ‘over-sharing’.
“Give ‘em ‘ere.”
Danny Quinn’s large, work-callused hands settled over his and started to rub gently. Lester fought the urge to snatch his fingers away. Shying from touch had become almost habitual in the latter days of his marriage. But Danny’s hands were warm and the touch wasn’t unpleasant as he forced life and movement back into Lester’s fingers.
“Thank you, Quinn,” Lester said primly.
“Danny. If I’ve got to stop calling you guv, you can stop calling me Quinn. We’re holed up in a wrecked car on Christmas Eve in the middle of effing Essex. The least we can do is get on first name terms.”
Lester fought back a smile. “Until we get back to work … Danny.”
“Of course … James.”
A faint – and not wholly unpleasant – shiver trekked up Lester’s spine at the use of his first name. The amusement in Danny’s gravelly voice was unmistakeable and despite being the cause of that amusement, Lester found it hard to take umbrage with Danny’s hands around his, and warm breath that smelt faintly of peppermint on his cheek.
He made an effort to relax. They were in Essex, not the Arctic Circle. They had blankets. Neither of them was injured. The collision had been more of a gently inglorious slide into the tree, rather than a high speed impact, followed by the swing of car’s back end into the ditch, to the undoubted detriment of the rear axle. Neither of them had more than some minor bruises. Not even a mild concussion between them.
Giving up the pretence of remaining aloof, Lester rested his head on Danny’s shoulder. “What were you intending to do tomorrow?” Polite conversation cost nothing.
“Open a tin of corned beef and watch shitty films. You?”
“Cook a turkey crown and all the trimmings; wonder why I bother, and then watch shitty films.”
“But think of the leftovers you’ll be able to eat for the rest of the week!”
Lester laughed. “Good point. I’ll remember that.”
“You’ve got to do enough potatoes for bubble and squeak on Boxing Day. Mam used to do an amazing spread on Boxing Day. Leftovers from the main meal, a huge cooked ham and jars of pickled veg that she’d been laying in all year. Beetroot, red cabbage, cucumber, onions, chutney. Cupboards full of the stuff. Fond of a pickle was Mam.”
“She sounds like a veritable pickle factory.”
Danny laughed uproariously. “Don’t tell me you used to watch that, gu … James?”
“I’m not that bloody old!”
“Neither am I, but my gran bloody loved it. Swore that’s where Mam picked up the pickling thing from.”
“My nan used to watch it, too,” Lester admitted. “When she discovered YouTube at the age of 92 in a nursing home, I had to sit through all three series with her. I spent my bloody childhood being terrified she’d yell, “Has he been?” at my mum about me when we went out anywhere. She had a cackle like a laughing hyena and a sense of humour to match.”
“Sounds like she’d’ve got on with mine. Do you miss her?”
The question came out of the blue and caught Lester off guard. Around a distinct lump in his throat, he managed, “Yes. You?”
He felt Danny nod. “She used to look after me and me brother when Mam was at work. Bloody old tyrant and we loved her to pieces.”
“We’ll raise a glass to them when we get somewhere warm with alcohol.”
“Dunno how long that might take. But if I know my gran, she’ll definitely be somewhere warm. Probably wielding a pitchfork.”
Lester laughed, then volunteered a minor snippet of relevant information, “Danny, the car is fitted with a tracker. You might have been woefully underprepared for our jaunt into snowy Essex, but as we were visiting the Home Secretary’s house, I logged our anticipated movements with the ARC and unless they’ve all fallen asleep after too many mince pieces, someone must by now have noticed that the car made an unscheduled stop nearly two hours ago and hasn’t moved since.”
“You canny old bastard!”
“Less of the old. You are approximately one year and nine months younger than I am. I hardly think that counts as a significant age difference.”
“They might just think we’ve stopped for a snog …”
“In the middle of a blizzard? I hope, unlike you, Control know the difference between Maldon and the Maldives.”
“What’s wrong with snogging in a blizzard?”
Lester tilted his face to Danny’s and nuzzled the stubble on the other man’s chin, enjoying the light rasp against his skin. “I don’t know. Shall we explore the idea?”
Danny chuckled. “Are you propositioning me, guv?”
“Quinn, one of your hands moved from mine to my upper thigh at least ten minutes ago. I’m not sure I can be accused of making the first move.”
Warm lips sought his in the darkness.
The kiss was slow and lingering, starting carefully as they took the measure of each other, hands and tongues roaming and investigating, taking their time to test the boundaries, finding new lines to cross in the important business of giving and taking pleasure.
Danny kissed with cautious intent at first and then gradually consigned caution to the dustbin of history as he nipped along Lester’s jaw, licking at the sensitive spot behind his ear and then chasing the resulting shiver with all the single-minded purpose of a hunter after their quarry. Lester retaliated by sliding a hand up the inside of Danny’s thigh and teasing at the zip of his jeans.
****
Danny shuffled his feet nervously on the plush red and gold carpet in the hallway outside the door to Lester’s Whitehall flat, wondering if it might have been safer to stick to a tin of corned beef and yet another re-run of Men in Black. He was out of his depth. He should have stuck to their cliché ridden night huddling together for warmth in the back of a Home Office pool car. Well, maybe there’d been a bit more than huddling going on …
The whole thing had been fun while it lasted. Lester elevated sarcasm to an art form and Danny always enjoyed their verbal fencing. The snogging in the back seat had been fun, too. It was just a shame soldier boy had decided to blow the transport budget and send a chopper to their rescue. He’d been enjoying the prospect of taking things further.
But now, in the chill afternoon, with snow still blanketing London, doubts had set in. The clink of the glass jars in the bag in his hand seemed crass. He should have tried to find somewhere to buy a decent bottle of wine instead, but it was too bloody late now.
The door opened and a casually dressed James Lester opened the door wearing a harassed expression, a blue and white striped chef’s apron over casual clothes and holding a phone in his hand.
He waved to Danny to come in and carried on talking. “… yes, sweetheart, I’m fine, honestly. It was cold. I coped. Yes, I know I hate the cold, but we did the whole huddling together for warmth thing. You know, the sort of trope you like reading about … no, of course I don’t snoop on your AO3 account darling, I don’t even know what an AO3 account is … now can I get back to cooking or are you just going to carry on interrogating me? …No, that was not an invitation to carry on grilling me … I don’t care if you are practising for your criminology A level. I’ll speak to you tomorrow darling … yes, I am allowed to call you darling, I don’t care if it’s sappy …” Lester rolled his eyes and waved Danny through into the living room while he carried on a conversation at high speed with a teenaged daughter who had very obviously absorbed sarcasm by osmosis from an early age.
By the time the conversation ended, Danny felt like he’d spectated at a Wimbledon final with a points score of 6:4, 4:6, 6:4, although by the end he couldn’t for the life of him work out who’d won.
Lester shoved his phone into his pocket and sighed theatrically. “She’s in Zermatt with her mother. Sorry about that.”
Danny grinned awkwardly. “Thanks for asking me over.” He held out the carrier bag. “Er, sorry, I think I should have brought some wine instead, I can always nip back out …”
To Danny’s surprise, Lester just went up on his toes to silence him with a kiss.
When they finally drew, Lester said, “I’ve got plenty of wine, but I don’t have plenty of pickles, so I hope that bag contains what I think it contains …”
“Pickles,” Danny declared with relief. “Every sort of pickle you can imagine. And this hasn’t even scratched the surface of what Mam left me with last few times she came over. I’ve got cupboards full of the stuff.”
“Good, because I’m cooking enough leftovers to see us through the rest of the week, not just Boxing Day. You haven’t got any plans, have you?”
Danny set the bag down with a load chink and wrapped both arms around Lester. He didn’t need the warmth, but he definitely needed to touch and be touched. “None whatsoever. Or at least none that I’d be comfortable discussing with your daughter.”
Lester returned the hug and Danny felt his nerves slipping away.
****
The food was excellent.
The company was even better.
And there were enough leftovers to feed an army.
But fortunately, the army hadn’t been invited.
They weren’t needed, either.
The only dinosaur related incident over the festive season was the relatively minor matter of a young mammoth in Hyde Park, but even that was repatriated without incident and very soon after Abby and Becker had watched the bellowing youngster rejoin its fond parents, the snow once again lay deep and crisp and even.
Well, apart from the boot prints left behind by the ARC team, but no one wants that minor detail that to get in the way of a fairy tale ending, now do they?
And in case you wanted all loose ends neatly tied up, yes, they did re-watch all 45 episodes of Nearest and Dearest and raised several very full glasses to their respective grandmothers.
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Date: 2025-12-25 05:35 pm (UTC)This was such a delight to be the last thing I read last night before going to bed. Danny's mam and I have the same holiday spread which tickled me. Loved Lester just giving in and accepting his "trapped in a we have to huddle for warmth scenario" fate with grace. I have such a soft spot for Danny/Lester and this was so charming. No doubt your recipient will be over the moon!
Happy Christmas, Fred!
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Date: 2025-12-25 08:01 pm (UTC)Writing the good old tropes is always fun.
You definitely need pickes at Xmas!!
Thanks for dropping by :)
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Date: 2025-12-26 03:41 pm (UTC)Danny and Lester could get a Bafta for their comedy routine.
Well done to Lester for accepting the inevitable.
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Date: 2025-12-26 06:37 pm (UTC)And the classic tropes are classic for a reason — top tier huddling for warmth!
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Date: 2025-12-26 08:44 pm (UTC)I loved their banter so much and I was happy to see that Lester didn't try to fight it and simply let go. Lovely, snuggly and fun, what else can you ask for in a Christmas fic?
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Date: 2025-12-27 09:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-12-28 05:34 pm (UTC)And the Seven P’s! Brilliant!
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Date: 2025-12-28 06:33 pm (UTC)That is lovely, the banter, the snark. Lester gracefully giving in to the inevitable huddling and then more. I'm sure the boys enjoyed all the... pickle.
If it isn't clear, thank you very much for this lovely bit of Lester/Danny.