With thanks to fredbassett for beta-reading. Sanctuary and Lyle are rather complex to explain. But Lyle is an OC created by fredbassett and Sanctuary is where Stephen and Ryan got put after the show killed them.
This is crack!fic explaining where Lyle was during the rest of the story.
There was a loud banging on Sanctuary's front door.
Reluctantly, Stephen and Ryan broke out of their clinch.
"I'm beginning to miss the days when it was just you and me and the occasional visitor," said Stephen. "Lately it's been like Piccadilly bloody Circus round here."
"We could always not answer," murmured Ryan, his eyes drifting towards the stairs that led up to the bedrooms.
The knocking came again.
"You're thinking of screwing me in time to the banging?" asked Stephen. "A deep thrust for each pound... on... the... door," he said pausing for each thump that sounded from outside.
Ryan's breathing speeded up noticeably. "Upstairs!" he said firmly.
They had reached the halfway landing when Lyle's voice echoed through the letterbox. "Will you two buggers stop shagging and open the bloody door? My balls are freezing off out here and that makes me irritable."
"How bad can an irritable Lyle be?" asked Stephen, pushing Ryan up against the wall in a deep kiss.
"Do your balls hang low?
Do they wobble to and fro?"
Lyle's off-key singing was hard to ignore. Nevertheless, Stephen manfully continued kissing Ryan, a look of intense concentration on his face.
"Can you tie them in a knot?
Can you tie them in a bow?"
"I'll give him balls," muttered Ryan, through gritted teeth.
"Can you toss them over your shoulder like a regimental soldier?"
Lyle paused and repeated the line, warbling, almost entirely without artistic merit, on both shoulder and soldier.
Ryan sighed. "We'd better let him in."
They opened the door. Lyle strode into the house, armed with a large carrier bag and a manila folder.
"After your singing, that had better have beer in it," said Stephen, eyeing the bag.
"Nope! My disguise. I'm going undercover. Can I use the bathroom?"
"Undercover?" questioned Ryan. "Where?"
"In a ficathon entry. Look here," Lyle thrust the manila folder into Ryan's hands. "The job advert and my CV are in there. I'll be right out. I just want to start bleaching my hair." The bathroom door slammed shut behind him.
Ryan pulled a sheet of paper out of the file and walked into the kitchen.
"You're not eligible, mate," he called out. "It says `strictly no fanon OCs'."
A muffled shout emerged from the bathroom in reply.
"What's that?" called Ryan.
More muffled shouting.
"He says he knows," reported Stephen, who was hovering in the hallway. "That's why he's using a disguise."
"I could have sworn he said something a bit more colourful than that."
Stephen walked over and took the other piece of paper out of the folder.
"Sergeant Jones," he read out. "Place of birth, Somerset."
"Why Somerset?" asked Ryan.
Stephen shrugged languidly and helped himself to a beer from the fridge. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
"Oi! Super Secret Squirrel!" shouted Ryan. "Why Somerset?"
The bathroom door opened and Lyle emerged with a plastic bag over his hair.
"Very convincing," observed Stephen. "No one will recognise you like that."
"Why Somerset?" asked Ryan again.
"I do a good Somerset accent."
Lyle stood up straight and cleared his throat. "Ooh! Arrr! That be lovely zzider that be. Ooh! Arrr!"
Ryan and Stephen exchanged glances.
Stephen looked back down at Sergeant Jones' CV. "You've missed out Pirate from previous career."
"You go to Somerset a lot?" asked Ryan.
"Used to, but I got banned."
"Banned from Somerset?"
"Got into too many bar fights. Scrappy buggers down there, always picking fights for no reason."
"You don't say," said Stephen blandly.
"Fortunately, the advert says `non speaking role'," said Ryan.
"If you're going to take the piss, you could at least offer me a beer," said Lyle, sounding aggrieved.
Ryan took two more beers out of the fridge and tossed one to him.
"Skills: Taking it up the arse like a man," read out Stephen. "Not a conventional CV entry."
"Ah but it's fanfic," said Lyle confidently. "Pretty much a job requirement that."
Ryan looked at the job description. "It says gen or het here. I don't think your ability to take it up the arse, like a man or otherwise, is actually going to help."
"Oh!" Lyle looked crestfallen. "Might as well cross that out then."
Stephen grabbed a pen from the counter-top and drew a line through the statement.
"But I need to show I'm experienced at this fanfic thing," said Lyle. "How about putting `manly, yet sensitive' down?"
Ryan almost choked into his beer. "Do you even know what sensitive means?"
"I write poetry!"
"You write doggerel on the walls of the men's bogs. It's not the same thing."
"I do not write on toilet walls."
"A Private just lately enlisted
Made a gesture described as limp-wristed
Behind Lester's back
So I gave him a slap
If he does it again he'll be fisted," recited Stephen.
"...and don't try to pretend someone else wrote that," put in Ryan.
"It was just some friendly advice! I was being sensitive, like I said."
"Moving swiftly on," sighed Stephen. "You can't put down `caving' as a hobby. They'll be bound to spot it's you."
"But the job description says, `experience in rock climbing an advantage' "
"Just put `rock climbing' then," said Stephen, making more notes on the CV.
"What do you want this job for anyway?" asked Ryan. "It's not like you have to be in every piece of fanfic written, some of them are pretty extreme. Believe me, we know!"
Stephen shuddered. "We've still got the eye-liner somewhere."
"That could be handy," said Lyle. "Sergeant Jones could be sort of gothy. Maybe he has a crush on Abby?"
"No!" said Stephen and Ryan in unison.
"But it says het."
"It says het and non-speaking," said Ryan. "How do you jump from that to a make-up wearing Sergeant with a crush on Abby?"
"It fleshes out the prose and adds depth to the world-building."
"You read too often," opined Stephen.
"Didn't your mother tell you that you'd go blind if you wanked off to porn about yourself?" asked Ryan. "Anyway, you've still not said what's so important about this piece of fanfic?"
"Lester asked me," said Lyle. "There's been a drabble already and he's worried about Cutter and Jenny."
The sound of a loud ping came from the bathroom.
"My hair!" shouted Lyle and rushed back.
While the sound of banging and cursing echoed from the bathroom, Stephen and Ryan helped themselves to more beers.
"There'll be water all over the floor," said Stephen gloomily.
"Management can send the bill to Lester," said Ryan. "Hear that Management!"
"What was that?" came a female voice
"Send the bathroom clean up bill to Lester," shouted Ryan.
"Will do," said the voice.
"What's got into her?" asked Stephen. "They're usually a bit chattier than that."
"Lyle's taking a shower."
Stephen nodded thoughtfully. "We should invite him round to shower more often. Then we could shag unobserved for a change."
"Ta da!" Lyle leaped from the bathroom with hair that could charitably be described as dirty blond, with streaks.
"You're doomed, mate," said Ryan. "You still look like you."
"Ah ha! But I have a secret weapon."
Lyle reached into the plastic bag and produced a large, bright blond, fake moustache. He stuck it firmly on his upper lip and grinned hopefully at Stephen and Ryan. It didn't match his new hair colour, and neither hair nor moustache matched his eyebrows.
"It's certainly distracting," Stephen managed after a moment.
"And there's more!" Lyle added suddenly. He reached into the plastic bag and concealed something in his hand.
He dropped the bag, stood up straight and saluted. At which point the moustache began to whirl.