Fic: "E is for Envelope", Primeval, Lester/Lyle, NC17

Jun 20, 2010 20:49

Title: E is for Envelope
Author: mysteriousaliwz
Fandom: Primeval
Pairing: Lester/Lyle
Rating: NC17
Author Notes: For joereaves as a (very, very belated) birthday present. Possibly for the birthday before last. I never was all that good at deadlines *sheepish grin*. Prompt ‘Surprise’.
Lester and Primeval don’t belong to me (sadly); Lyle belongs to the inimitable fredbassett.
Many thanks to fredbassett for sharing him with us, and for betaing this.
Warning for Fakey: Mention of anteaters.

~~~~~~~~



Lester made an irritated ‘tch’ sound as he leafed through the paperwork in front of him.

“So the M.O.D. in its wisdom has decided that the anomaly project can function perfectly well for a month without four of its assigned Special Forces personnel. I suppose I am to be grateful that they gave me thirty whole minutes’ notice that you would be hauled off on some secret assignment.”

Lester glared accusingly across the desk at us. Discretion being the better part of valour, I refrained from pointing out that my colleagues and I didn’t have any say in the matter, ours is not to reason why and all that.

“They will be assigning you two temporary replacements, sir,” pointed out Ryan.

Lester was not mollified.

“That is hardly adequate. By the time Professor Cutter has talked them out of killing the creatures on sight, and I have persuaded them not to hit Professor Cutter over the head every time he is being irritating, tempting though that might be, the month will be almost up. “

The glower of disapproval directed at the forms on his desk was so tangible that I half-expected them to curl up at the corners and burst into flames.

Again, silence seemed the most judicious option at this point.

He heaved a resigned sigh.

“Well, go and pack your kit or clear your lockers, or whatever it is you have to do. Good luck, and I’ll see you in a month. Dismissed.”

I turned to leave.

“Not you, Lieutenant Lyle, if I might have a word …?”

“Sir?”

…..

I followed him down the corridor and into the stationery cupboard.

“Cotton, I believe, for one year. Or paper. Although since there seems to be a dearth of cotton items in here, we shall have to opt for paper,” he said.

He picked up a pad of post-it notes and tucked it into one of the pockets on my tac-vest.

I grinned at him.

“You brought me in here to give me post-its?”

“Well, I did have other plans for this evening. But in view of the circumstances I shall have to improvise. Needs must.”

He pushed me back against the wall, sank to his knees, and pulled down my zip. I could feel my breath hitch as he tugged down my waistband, fished out my cock and licked a swathe along the length of it, from root to tip, warmth washing through me. It twitched under his fingers, filling and hardening. His tongue swirled around the head, the tip of it teasing inside my foreskin until I was so hard that the foreskin was pulled right back. It felt ... wonderful.

I bit my lip, trying to keep quiet - that door didn’t look particularly solid, so I had my doubts as to how soundproof it was - an attempt that lasted right up to the point where he took me into his mouth and sucked.

“Oh God, James,” I moaned, clutching at his hair.

He alternated licking and sucking, pressing his tongue up against the underside of the head, pushing my cock up against the ridges on the roof of his mouth. Arousal shuddered through me in waves, so hot and sweet, the wet heat of his mouth so beautiful ... until orgasm finally crashed through me and my vision whited out and I came.

Weak-kneed and gasping, bare-arsed against the wall, I clung to his shoulders while he got to his feet. We kissed then, long and slow and gentle, the taste of my come on his lips, my tongue tracing the sharp edges of his teeth until we had to come up for air.

“You do realise, sweetie, that you’ve just landed me with one hell of a stationery fetish?” I said. “I won’t be able to think of post-its or stationery cupboards without getting a hard-on.”

“In that case, it’s just as well you’re a soldier and not a civil servant,” he replied.

Getting my breath back, I brushed my hand over the hardness at his groin, but he grasped my fingers and held them still.

“No, not now. When you come back.”

“When I come back,” I agreed.

I curled my hand around the back of his head, and pressed our foreheads together for several long, silent moments before we finally broke contact.

His lips brushed against my ear, the touch on my over-sensitized skin making me shiver.
“Happy Anniversary, Jon,” he whispered.

He zipped me back up and stepped back, smoothing down his ruffled hair, and then turned and opened the door. I watched him standing there in the doorway, making a minute adjustment to the knot of his tie, that tongue-in-cheek half-smile I had come to know so well playing about his lips.

“Do try not to get yourself killed, Lieutenant - the paperwork involved in arranging for a replacement for you would be truly appalling.”

He strolled away down the corridor, looking as immaculate as ever. I sank back against the shelves, feeling distinctly rumpled in comparison.

This was going to be a very long month.
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