fredbassett | Fic, Christmas in Sanctuary, Ryan/Stephen & Friends, 18

Title : Christmas in Sanctuary
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Leek, Dave Basil
Rating : 18
Disclaimer : Not mine, no money made, don’t sue
Spoilers : None.
Summary : It’s Christmas Day in Sanctuary.
A/N : Sanctuary belongs to

mysteriousaliwz. Written for

joereaves, as thanks for organising the Secret Santa.

“No,” said Ryan, injecting what he hoped was a note of finality into his voice.

“Don’t be so mean,” wheedled Stephen. “They’re our neighbours.”

“So?”

“So it would anti-social not to ask them round. It is Christmas, after all.”

“You’ll be suggesting I buy ‘em a present next.”

Stephen grinned.

Ryan scowled.

“So that’s settled then?”

“No it bloody well isn’t, Hart. And you can stop making puppy dog eyes. You know it doesn’t work on me.”

Half an hour later, Stephen rolled onto his side, wiped his mouth, with uncharacteristic delicacy, on a tissue and said, “Three thirty, OK? Shall I tell them or will you?”

Ryan groaned. “I give in, but you can bloody well do the cooking.”

“Knew you’d succumb to a reasoned argument.”

“Hart, you’ve just sucked my brains out of my dick. I’m not sure I’d call that a reasoned argument.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

The glare Ryan dished out in reply would have made anyone other than his blue-eyed lover look for the nearest piece of furniture to hide behind, whereas Stephen simply ran his tongue round his reddened lips and grinned.

* * * * *

Stephen glanced round the table, checking that everyone’s glasses were still topped up.

He didn’t think he’d have too much grovelling to have to do to Ryan later, although there had been a dodgy moment when Leek’s unsettlingly hairless companion had insisted on pulling the wishbone all by himself. Fortunately, expecting trouble, Stephen had taken advantage of the catering facilities (you could tell this place had been designed by a bunch of women, just from one look at the size of the ruddy kitchen!), and cooked two turkeys. So once the Future Predator – sorry, just call him Dave, according to Leek, who seemed to have taken on the self-appointed role of predator-minder – had noshed most of the first turkey before the rest of them had even considered starting on the second one.

Dave also had a sweet-tooth, that was evident from the way he’d been eyeing the Christmas pudding and mince pies, so Stephen had quickly nipped out and petitioned Management for more supplies, just to prevent any unseemly tussles. Fortunately, they’d been able to oblige, and in record time too, much to Stephen’s relief.

On his way back to the dining room, he was stopped by a ring on the door-bell.

“Management? Are we expecting visitors?”

"Never can tell, around here,” came the reply.

Stephen opened the door and stared expectantly out into the hallway.

Empty.

Strange ….

He was about to close the door, when a voice from down by his ankles remarked, crossly, “Oi, bean-pole, what sort of welcome is this?”

Stephen stared down in amazement. The speaker was brown, furry, wearing a green tweed hunting cape, over a red waistcoat, and bearing an all too uncanny resemblance to one of the icons of his childhood. Oh God, this place really did get weirder by the minute. How the hell was he going to break this one to Ryan?

* * * * *

Two hours later, they’d finished the Christmas pudding, the mince pies, half of an exceedingly good stilton and two bottles of vintage port (thanks, Management!) and were watching while Leek and Dave scrapped, rather sweetly, over the last cracker in the box.

Dave won, and ripped it apart by himself, with what passed for a smile.

He grabbed the red party hat and offered it, with surprising politeness to Ryan, who, equally politely, suggested he added it to his collection.

Their other visitor pounced on the other novelty – Management’s idea of a cracker joke, which consisted of ‘a kink for every occasion’ – of the you get it, you do it variety. Much what Stephen had come to expect from round here, really, and he had to admit, he’d been pleased when Ryan had drawn the little bit of folded paper which had said rimming, rather than Leek. That might just have been taking seasonal politeness too far.

“Fist me!” yelled Basil, with delight. “Boom! Boom!”

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

telperion-15.livejournal.com

If I was drinking mulled wine, I would have snorted it all over my laptop! I was laughing by the end of the character listing... *g* Sounds like a very jolly Christmas for all involved!

P.S. You might want to tweak your italics a bit...

From:

Fic, Christmas in Sanctuary, Ryan/Stephen & Friends, 18

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