A/N: I didn't post this here for a while, because I wasn't sure what the level of interest would be, considering it involves an OC, but I was happy how it turned out so figured I'd let anyone over here have the chance to read it if they so choose. It's the next part in my Ryan/Lester 'verse. Lyle is a soldier OC created by fredbassett and used with permission.

Might As Well Get a Ruler

Ryan blinked. Then he stared. He finished his beer and then he stared some more.

It was still there. Lyle's hand on Becker's arse.

Ryan needed another drink.

Two hours earlier

The night began awkwardly. Becker was as blank-faced and stoic as when Ryan had first met him while Lyle was in a sullen mood, apparently feeling aggrieved at Ryan's meddling. No one was really talking, but they were all doing a good job of keeping their mouths occupied anyway, what with the beer.

Even a sullen Lyle, however, couldn't stay quiet for too long. "Hope your boyfriend'll be in a better mood now you're back. He's been looking like he's one wrong step from cracking for a while now."

"He's been under a lot of stress," Ryan defended.

"Wonder why," Lyle muttered with an obvious look at Becker.

Becker scowled and drained the rest of his beer. "Like you're such a model soldier. If he's stressed, half of it's down to your escapades. My own blood pressure can attest to that."

"He's got a point, mate," Ryan said. "You don't exactly do things by the book."

"Hey, I certainly never claimed to," Lyle said, spreading out his hands. "But I wouldn't go throwing stones when our new pretty boy captain over there's worse than me."

"I do what's necessary-"

"Oh, right, because it's always necessary for the captain to go throwing himself into harm's way. Believe me, the dinosaurs will come to you; there's no need to make yourself a bigger target."

"Maybe if you fucking listened to me, I wouldn't have to!"

"I follow your sodding stupid orders, where do you get off-"

Ryan pushed his chair back and went to the bar for more beer. If they wanted to shout at each other, they could certainly do it without him. Maybe it might even help matters. He couldn't see how it could get worse, anyway.

They didn't seem to have missed a beat in Ryan's absence, the two of them still arguing loudly when he returned. Some of the pub's other patrons were starting to stare.

"I never asked to be sent here!"

"And I never asked for some entitled, daddy's boy officer to be put in charge of me!"

"I never took any handouts, I got my rank because I'm good, and if you can't see it-"

"Keep your voices down," Ryan said, cutting in. "People are staring. Just drink your beer."

Becker and Lyle shut their mouths, seething across the table at each other. Lyle gripped his new glass and chugged an impressive amount of it.

"Look, the dart board's free," Becker said, glancing about, and practically bounded out of his seat.

Lyle got an all too familiar gleam in his eye as he followed. "Want to make a wager?"

"You're on," Becker immediately agreed.

Ryan sighed. This was clearly a pissing contest, cleverly disguised as a harmless game of darts. Personally he was of the opinion that it was a terrible idea - two SAS soldiers who'd had too much to drink and hated each other, playing with sharp, pointy implements? Not a recipe for success.

He had hoped this outing would push Becker and Lyle towards a truce, but now he figured he'd be lucky if they didn't kill each other before the end of the night.

He went after them anyway, deciding he'd better at least act as referee, make sure they kept aiming at the target instead of each other. It was sad that that was actually a genuine possibility to be concerned about.

Half an hour later (an extremely tense half hour, he felt deserved saying), Ryan couldn't take it any more. "Christ, just admit it's a draw already, will you?"

That drew the ire of both of them. "You can't have a fucking draw in darts!" Lyle protested.

"One more round and we won't," Becker added.

"Yeah, because I'll have kicked your sorry arse."

Ryan insinuated himself between them and wrestled the darts out of Lyle's hands. "That's it, we're done. Let someone else have a go."

"You're less fun than I remember you being," Lyle accused.

"Obviously you're blocking a few things from your memory."

"Come on, then," Becker said, relinquishing his own darts. "Who's up for a round of shots?"

Oh, no. Absolutely not. "We're not doing shots," Ryan said.

"Tequila's always good for shots," Lyle said, heading for the bar.

The corner of Becker's mouth tilted into the beginnings of what wasn't a smile, but not quite a smirk, either. "Fine by me."

"Can I object? Does anyone care?" Ryan sighed, trailing after them yet again. He momentarily considered leaving, as he didn't appear to be doing much good, but discarded the idea. If Lyle and Becker did actually end up killing each other and he'd left, he'd probably feel a bit bad about it.

He also reckoned it wouldn't be the brightest idea to leave two inebriated SAS soldiers with a relatively high likelihood of starting a brawl in a pub with no supervision.

Becker and Lyle had already started without him, but Lyle helpfully slid a glass down the counter to Ryan when he got there. He drank it, because, really, he needed it, but then he switched back to beer. Someone had to keep a modicum of sense around here.

Of course, the shots were a bit of a pissing contest as well. They were daring each other to keep up and Ryan found he was possibly the tiniest bit interested to see if Becker could manage it. He'd seen many a man attempt to match Lyle drink for drink only to end up on their arses. The fact they were ignoring the salt and limes aspect of tequila shots was probably supposed to be some manly thing, too. They were both idiots, Ryan decided. He hoped their hangovers were epic.

"So," Lyle was saying. "If it wasn't daddy's name, I suppose you must've earned your rank. Tell me, which officer was it? Did he make you swallow?"

Ryan winced and waited for the fireworks to start, but Becker only stood there and calmly tossed back his tequila. Then he said, "I prefer swallowing, actually. Looks more impressive and never fails to be a turn-on."

Lyle was actually stunned silent for a long moment. His hazel eyes flickered over Becker almost involuntarily, like he was seeing him in a whole new light.

As for Ryan, he was hard-pressed not to grin. That was the Becker he'd started to get to know that morning.

When Lyle still couldn't seem to find his tongue, Becker went on, "Did you have anyone in particular you wanted me to have sucked off? Or maybe you were wondering whether I took it up the arse too? I'm pretty good at telling stories; I have a little niece."

"Jesus, I hope you don't tell her those sorts of stories," Lyle finally managed.

Becker laughed. "Mostly I stop when the prince rescues the princess; she doesn't need to know what they do after. Or, you know, sometimes the princess does the rescuing. No need to force gender roles on her, right?"

"Right."

Ryan could see the way Lyle was assessing Becker, the way he was probably trying to imagine Becker sitting with a little girl at his side, telling her bedtime stories. It certainly put a new perspective on things, at the very least.

Lyle seemed to recover himself and said, "Even when you were being a bastard I have to admit I always thought your arse was fine. It'd be a shame if it went to waste."

"Christ, Lyle," Ryan muttered. That was his response?

But Becker was grinning. "I think you'll have to buy me another drink before I divulge any details about that."

Lyle waved the bartender over. "Better get started then. We'll do proper tequila shots, salt, lime, the lot."

They'd be doing it as suggestively as possible, Ryan had no doubt. He resisted face planting onto the counter. Was this worse? This might be worse than the fighting.

"Are we licking the salt off ourselves or each other?" Becker asked, trying to appear perfectly innocent and damn near succeeding.

Definitely worse than the fighting.

By the time the casual groping started, Lyle and Becker were both well past the point of being truly pissed. They had bonded over a mutual love of heavy weaponry and explosions, which Ryan found deeply disturbing, but when Lyle started on the unflattering stories about Ryan, he decided it was far past time to call it a night.

"All right, you two, we're leaving before you end up passed out on the floor," he said. Or worse. Ryan resisted the urge to shudder.

"But boss, I was just getting started," Lyle said, pouting. "Becker's never even heard about the time you-"

"Enough! Or I just might have to tell him that story about you and that lovely, little old lady in Wales."

Lyle gasped theatrically. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Ryan drawled.

Becker leaned in over Lyle's shoulder. "I feel like I'm missing out. You know I'm going to hear these stories sometime, don't you? I'm sure Ditzy'll tell me."

Ryan ignored him and took out his mobile to text Lester. Can I come over?

He regretted it as soon as he'd sent it, because what if he'd woken Lester up? Lester had had a long day and it was silly to think he'd just be waiting up for Ryan. However, apparently Lester was still awake, as the mobile buzzed with a response shortly. Are you drunk?

If I say yes does that mean you'll say no?

If you're going to be sick I'd frankly rather it not be in my flat.

And here I thought you loved me. Ryan stopped short of putting in a sad face. Obviously it was only the alcohol's influence. But no. Not that drunk.

That was when Lyle wrestled Ryan's mobile away from him long enough to tap something out and hit send. Ryan seized his phone back, eyes widening as he read the text Lyle had sent to Lester, easily the filthiest text he had ever seen. He shoved Lyle's shoulder. "Tosser."

Lester's response came a moment later. Lieutenant Lyle, I had no idea you thought about me that way. What a brave little soldier you've been, standing back so I can date your best friend.

Ryan snorted and passed the mobile over to Lyle.

Lyle read the text and chuckled, saying, "He's not so bad, your Lester. Better sense of humour than I gave him credit for."

"His sense of humour's not the reason we're shagging," Ryan said with a grin.

"I bet it's not," Lyle said, waggling his eyebrows obnoxiously. "Bet he's good with his mouth."

Ryan patted Lyle's arm. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

They all shared a taxi home, and thankfully Ryan got out before he could discover whether or not his companions were going to end the night alone. He hadn't expected the intervention to go quite as well as it had and frankly he didn't want to know just how much Lyle and Becker liked each other now - or at least, how much they liked each other drunk.

Unfortunately, he was sure Lyle would tell him anyway.

Lester was on the sofa with a book when Ryan came in and Ryan slumped down next to him, slinging his arm over the back and resting his head against the cushion. "Well, that was different."

Lester slipped a bookmark in between the pages of his book and set it aside. "Different in a good or a bad way?"

"Not sure, to be honest. Good, I guess, but completely weird. They were flirting by the end of the night."

"Really? I thought Lyle was straight."

"He is. Perhaps Becker is the exception."

"Yes, I can see that. I think Becker would be a lot of people's exception."

An image of Becker licking salt off his hand pushed itself to the forefront of Ryan's mind and he found he had to agree. He grinned widely and leaned over to give Lester a kiss on the mouth."Don't go getting any ideas."

"Now who's jealous?"

"I think you'd better prove to me I don't have a reason to be. Bed?"

Lester stroked his arm down Ryan's side and around to his back, working his way underneath Ryan's shirt. "Think you're up for it?"

"I'm always up for you," Ryan said, nearly able to keep a straight face. "Before that, though, I have a serious question to ask you. Very important."

"Hm? What's that, then?"

"Is it true that you feed the mammoth apples?"

End