fredbassett

The hotel was set in its own grounds, deep inside the Forest. In summer it attracted walkers, mountain bikers, bird-watchers, all the usual sort of people looking for a break from the towns and cities. Now, off season, it would normally be closed apart from the occasional weekend, but the owners had been happy to do a deal with the Home Office. And they had a son who worked in Hereford, which meant that no awkward questions were asked, which was a bonus. And their rates were reasonable, which kept Lester happy.

The only downside was that they had internet access in several rooms, which meant Ryan had no excuse for not filing the reports that Lester set such store by. What he really wanted was a beer and a shower in that order but he knew from past experience that if his report wasn’t on Lester’s screen within the hour, the phone would be ringing.

They pulled up round the side, keeping the van and Hart’s landrover out of the way, just in case. To his surprise an identical black vehicle was parked there. He recognised the plates and cursed Lester. If there was more trouble, why hadn’t someone called?

Walking quickly, he headed inside, followed by Hart and the rest of the team.

The woman on reception smiled warmly, “Your friends are in the bar, Captain Ryan.”

There were six men in there. One lounged in a battered leather armchair, reading a paper in front of a log fire, which burned brightly in an enormous hearth set with two massive iron fire dogs. Four were sitting around a table playing cards and the sixth was leaning on the bar drinking a pint of beer, with another full pint on the bar next to him. He was a few years younger than Ryan, less heavily built, with short dark hair and sharp hazel eyes, currently bright with amusement as he took in the wary expression on the captain’s face.

Ryan started to relax slightly. Lyle might be unconventional, but he wouldn’t be drinking if there was serious trouble in the offing. Serious trouble that he knew about, anyway. The captain raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“The Witch King decided you lot needed a weekend off.”

Ryan’s eyebrows shot up even further. “No way. He’s not that human.”

“Fair point,” conceded the other man. “Actually, it was Arwen’s idea. She sent a message to the barracks after your first call came in. You’ve got us for three days, so make the most of it, but she wants you to stay on site, just in case.”

Ryan nodded. There were still anomalies popping up around here with monotonous regularity, so there was no point taking unnecessary risks. Besides, he’d rather his lads let off steam in the privacy of the hotel than in a town somewhere. At least here he could put the bill for any breakages on the Home Office tab.

Lyle slid the beer across the bar to him.

Ryan shook his head. “Report to write. I’ll see you later.” As an afterthought, he added, “The area’s clear of vermin for the moment, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way.”

As the captain walked out of the bar, the dark haired soldier sighed, looked at Stephen and gestured to the beer. “If I’d wanted a job in Pest Control I’d have gone to work for the Council.” He held out a hand and Stephen shook it.

“Stephen Hart. I’m with Cutter’s team.”

“Jon Lyle. Lieutenant. I run back-up for Ryan sometimes. If he’s lucky.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then he gets to work a ten day shift without a break.”

And at the end of it, he gets the chance to watch a mangled nine year old being loaded into a body bag, the remains of her arm tucked in next to her like a favourite teddy bear. One of Lyle’s men had been monitoring the police radios, so he knew exactly what had happened in the forest.

Stephen accepted the beer, still trying to shove the memories into a cupboard and bang the door shut.

Lyle watched him with the same sort of professional detachment that he’d become used to from Ryan. The man was about his own age, Stephen guessed, hard edged like all the Special Forces guys, but with a trace of humour lurking behind the green flecked eyes.

“The Witch King?” asked Stephen when he was half way down the beer, curiosity finally getting the better of him.

“Unit tag for Lester,” Lyle explained with a quick grin.

Stephen laughed. That meant Claudia Brown was Arwen. He opened his mouth to ask what names they’d given to Cutter’s team and then stopped himself. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Maybe later. Several beers later.

Lyle finished his drink and stood up. “Get your gear, lads. Time for a nice healthy walk!”

When Stephen left the bar, Ryan’s lot were onto their third beer in the time it had taken him to drink one. He still felt like shit and a shower now seemed like a better idea than more alcohol.

The same woman was still behind the reception desk. She gave him an apologetic smile which didn’t bode well. “Would you mind awfully sharing a room, Dr Hart? We had a bit of a plumbing disaster in the East Wing this morning and with Lieutenant Lyle’s men arriving, even with most of them doubling up, we’re still short.”

As long as whoever it was didn’t snore, Stephen really didn’t care. He grabbed his bag and the rifle from the landrover and headed up the stairs, looking for room 10.

It was a large family room, with a double bed and a single, superb views across several miles of rolling, forested hills, two comfy chairs, a desk ………and Ryan. Oh God, how awkward was this going to be?

“You get the single,” said Ryan, without looking up.

Stephen threw his bag down and stowed the rifle carefully under the bed.

Ryan carried on writing his report.

“Do you mind if I use the shower?”

“Help yourself. I need to get this off to Lester before he complains.”

He pulled on a fresh pair of jeans but the bathroom was too steamy to dry off in properly so he padded barefoot and shirtless back into the bedroom, trying not to feel self-conscious.

Ryan shut the lap top with a snap and walked over to the mini-bar. He took out a cold beer. In response to a hopeful glance from Stephen he handed it over and got himself another. Ryan finished his own drink in three long swallows and promptly started on a second one. He was off duty, the mini bar was well stocked and if his men got out of hand, Lyle could deal with them.

Fortunately, there was no shortage of hot water and he stayed under the shower even longer than Hart had, emerging only in response to an acute need for another beer. He pulled on a pair of black jeans.

Hart was standing by the window, looking out at the sweep of the drive which led into the darkness of the forest. The rain clouds had dispersed and the sun was sinking below the line of the trees in a haze of apricot and crimson, streaked with bands of steel grey. Ryan leant against the wall, watching Hart watching the sunset. His face was set in the hard mask of someone with things to forget. The guy was tough, Ryan had seen enough of Cutter’s lab assistant to be sure of that, but they’d shared sights today that civilians shouldn’t have to see. Ryan and his men were paid for stuff like that. Hart wasn’t. A fact that seemed to escape Lester at times.

He wondered vaguely how well Hart slept at night since getting involved with all this crap. They’d had some close calls in the last couple of months. Two of his men were dead as a result. That had kept Ryan awake. It always did when he lost a member of his team. He closed his eyes and let the cold beer find its way down to an empty stomach.

Stephen looked across at the man who had so unexpectedly kissed him a few hours ago. Ryan’s short blond hair had been darkened by the water and his skin was still faintly flushed from the heat of the shower. The room was slowly darkening around them but it wasn’t too dark to stop him noticing a puckered scar on the captain’s chest between his right nipple and his shoulder.

Ryan opened his eyes, knowing he was being watched. Hart’s eyes were a deep midnight blue framed by those absurdly long eyelashes. Maybe kissing him hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

“I got in the way of a bullet.”

“Unwise,” said Stephen, his voice and his expression strictly neutral. He wondered what his chances were of keeping Ryan talking in the hope that the soldier wouldn’t notice the erection starting to strain at the zip of his jeans, which were now feeling uncomfortably tight.

“Yeah, much the same as getting bitten by a giant bug,” Ryan drawled.

“Stung,” Stephen corrected, taking a swig of beer and trying to surreptitiously adjust himself into a more comfortable position.

“Whatever.” Ryan’s eyes dropped to Stephen’s crotch and he didn’t bother to stop a grin forming.

“Oh, sod it,” Hart snapped. “We kissed. You brought me off. I enjoyed it. It’s been a shit of a day and I’ve now had three beers on an empty stomach and I’ve got a hard-on. I think that means we’ve passed the stage of polite conversation, don’t you?”

Ryan’s grin deepened, but before he had chance to answer, Stephen’s mobile phone went off. The younger man cursed under his breath, slammed the beer bottle onto the table and scrabbled around in the pile of dirty clothes to find the offending item.  Since when had Connor programmed the fucking thing to play the Crazy Frog?

“Nick? Yeah, fine, thanks …….well, no, not fine, but you know what I mean. I’m staying over at the hotel with Ryan’s team ………….…too knackered to drive back.  The anomaly faded but I’m going to take another look around tomorrow just in case……….………..Let me know if anything crops up elsewhere, OK? ……….….yeah, I’ll try ……..…and you.”

He ended the call and for good measure turned the phone off altogether. He’d change the ring tone tomorrow. But at least the call had taken his mind off sex and reduced the pressure in his trousers. He took a last pull at the beer and wondered whether he should turn the light on. Common sense told him it would be a good idea. Common sense lost, hands down. He leant against the table and watched the Special Forces leader, conscious that he was seeing the man off duty for the first time since he had known him.

Moving as surely in the dark as the predator they’d hunted together earlier that day, Ryan sauntered over to the mini bar. Stephen heard the clink of glasses, the sharp crack of a top being twisted off a bottle, followed by the noise of two drinks being poured. It wasn’t beer, that was for sure but he couldn’t remember what bottles he’d seen on top of the mini-bar.

Ryan closed the ground between them, a drink in each hand. Ryan’s fingers brushed his just for an instant, then the soldier moved silently round to the other side of the bed and sprawled out, leaving plenty of room for Stephen.

It was too dark now for him to read the expression on the other man’s face, but Stephen knew an invitation when he saw one. The only question was, did he want to take it up or not? Hit by sudden indecision he played for time and took a drink. It was whisky, and a good one.

The liquor burnt a trail down to his guts …….and then went lower. Damn it, he wasn’t in the mood for thinking too closely about all of this. He joined Ryan on the bed, and leant back with a slight sigh. The drink was good, the bed was comfortable, Ryan was attractive and it really had been a bad day.

Stephen shifted position onto his left elbow, that way he could hold the glass and still drink from it without spilling leaving his right hand free. Still wondering if this was a good idea or a bad idea, he ran his fingertips lightly over Ryan’s chest, enjoying the feel of the short, coarse hairs, finding and gently stroking the puckered scar tissue of the bullet wound. Stephen’s heart hammered uncomfortably, but all the other man did was calmly take another mouthful of whisky.

Determined now to get a reaction of some sort, Stephen moved his fingers in slow circles, finally rubbing the hard nub of a nipple between finger and thumb. Ryan shifted his hips slightly and Stephen grinned in the darkness. He didn’t need the night-sight of an owl to tell him he wasn’t the only one with a hard on.

In the interests of comfort, he reached down and undid the button on his own jeans, loosening the zip for good measure. Then he went back to running his hand over the other man’s chest, only this time he widened the circles and let the backs of his knuckles graze Ryan’s crotch. He hadn’t been mistaken. Stephen’s grin turned to a smile of relief. Not wanting to think too closely about what he was about to do, he finished his drink in two quick swallows and put the glass down, leaving both hands free.

He sat up, head swimming slightly, but not unpleasantly, then very slowly and very deliberately he undid Ryan’s trousers and slid the zip down. Through the material of the shorts he ran his nails up and down and had the satisfaction of hearing the other man’s breath catch in his throat.

A moment later, Ryan drank the last of the malt and rid himself of the glass then shifted position slightly, sliding lower down the bed, wondering what Hart was going to do now.

The next caress was by no means as tentative and Ryan began to hope that the younger man would do something to solve the clothing problem but to his growing frustration it looked like the description prick-tease could have been coined for his blue-eyed companion. Hart seem determined to explore as much of him as he could without letting his fingers ever touch flesh. Ryan was conscious of the fact that his own breathing had speeded up, so had his heart rate and although cool night air was drifting in through the open window, he knew he was starting to sweat.

It was obvious that Hart was going to take his time and for Ryan to do anything other than lie there would spoil the game that they both knew they were playing, so he settled himself down and hoped his self-control would last a while longer.

After what seemed like a life time, he felt a slow insistent tug at the waistband of his jeans. “You can cooperate now,” said an amused voice in the darkness, “you’re too bloody heavy to do this any other way.”

Ryan laughed, somewhat breathlessly, and obligingly lifted his hips off the bed. In one swift movement, he felt Hart strip his jeans and shorts off and heard them being dumped unceremoniously on the floor.

A second later, the younger man slid off the bed, announcing, “Time for another drink?”

The Special Forces leader made a noise in his throat somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “No.”

There was now just enough moonlight penetrating the room for Ryan to have the pleasure of watching tight jeans pushed down lean hips and past strong thighs. The pants followed. Hart stepped out of them and stood there looking down at him.

Ryan stared back as calmly as he could manage, but inside he was crying out for Hart to touch him again. He’d seen things today he wanted to forget as well and he needed release now as badly as the other man had needed it earlier.

Moving slowly and deliberately, Stephen settled himself back on the bed and Ryan felt the warmth of the other man’s body pressed alongside him and then the long-fingered hands continued their teasing work, but this time there was no inconvenient clothing in the way to take the edge of the sensations. Ryan closed his eyes again and started to let himself relax properly. For the first time in nearly two weeks he was off duty properly, not even on call. If anything turned up now, Lyle could handle it. He let out a long, shaky breath and finally started to give in to the adrenaline fatigue he’d warned Hart about several hours ago. And for once, he didn’t care.

Stephen heard the sigh and interpreted it correctly. He could feel the tension in Ryan’s body and he knew the man was close to exhaustion and guessed that he finally intended to let himself give into it. Stephen smiled in the darkness and with a quick, sinuous movement he slithered further down the bed and replaced his hands with his mouth. Ryan drew in a sharp breath and tensed for an instant, before relaxing under the slow gentle strokes of the other man’s tongue.

Hart’s mouth encircled him and instinctively, reflexively, Ryan thrust upwards. The younger man took it without complaint and at that point, Ryan’s control broke. He rolled onto his side, running his fingers through Hart’s hair then holding his head in position while he fucked the willing mouth. He was beyond control now. All that mattered was a warm, wet mouth and a skilful tongue.

Stephen shifted position slightly, to keep from choking and made himself as comfortable as he could. He didn’t think this would take long.

He was right. In less than a minute, Ryan’s thrusts became short and urgent, his breathing grew even more ragged and then he came, his fingers gripping Stephen’s hair so tight it was painful. Stephen swallowed, making no move to pull away, but he was glad when Ryan finally loosened his grip and allowed him a little more movement.

Stephen ran his hands over Ryan’s body, from chest to thigh, feeling the tremors gradually subside. One of Ryan’s hands slipped from his head to his shoulder and then settled companionably onto the back of his neck. Stephen rested his head on Ryan’s stomach.

With a conscious effort of will, Ryan dragged himself back from the brink of sleep and tugged Stephen up the bed alongside him and pillowed the black-haired head onto his shoulder. Hart snuggled up in a warm tangle of arms and legs. Ryan really, really wanted to let himself go and slide down into the comfortable, beckoning abyss, but there was something that needed to be done first. He reached round and curled his fingers round him, like he had done outside the cave. Hart obligingly thrust into his fingers so Ryan didn’t even have to make the effort of moving. It was even quicker this time and Hart let go almost instantly with a small cry which he buried in Ryan’s chest.

The last thing Stephen was conscious of was Ryan dragging the duvet around the pair of them then he followed the other man thankfully into a deep and dreamless sleep.