This is the second appearance of Solly the NotParrot. The backstory is in 'No Good Can Come From A Talking Parrot' if anyone wants to know :) Reviews make me dance loudly and sing. Hint :)

Of Dinosaurs and Chocolate Sauce - Part 1

Connor knew it was going to be a bad day when, at six o'clock, the parrot dropped a butter bowl on his head.

Ever since Abby had given the refugee bird a home, the bloody creature had been finding more and more entertaining ways to wake him up in the morning. At first it had just been a manic squawk in his ear, or a pinch on the nose with the claws, but gradually the parrot had started exercising what brains it had and was becoming more and more inventive. This latest craze of dropping food on his head was getting old really really quickly.

He couldn't even moan to Abby. She would just blame him for dropping the china butter dish, and forcing them to use a plastic bowl instead. Solly had never been able to use butter as a weapon before, being nowhere near strong enough to pick up the damn dish.

Having shifted the upturned bowl from his head onto the bedside table, Connor wiped several globs of yellow goo out of his fringe using a handily placed tissue, and glared at the multi-coloured bird, which was parading around on a rafter above, fluffing his feathers. If he hadn't been a parrot, Connor would have sworn his chest was puffed up. He looked thoroughly, completely pleased with himself.

Groaning he swung himself out of bed, and clumped down the stairs, in the direction of the bathroom, yawning widely. He was almost to the bathroom door when Abby went whizzing past – with an unreasonable amount of energy for ten past six in the morning – and, with a cheerful, and somewhat smug cry of 'Morning Conn!' vanished into the bathroom.

Taking two steps forward, he leant his head against the bathroom door, let his body slump, and groaned. The next second he was on the floor, looking up at a startled Abby, as the door gave way in front of him. She raised an eyebrow.

'Was leaning on the door', he muttered by way of an explanation as he scrambled to his feet. Abby rolled her eyes.

'Sorry, but I just thought I saw…' she paused, eyes roving up to his fringe and forehead, 'you do! Connor, why is there butter in your eyebrows?'

He sighed.

'Solly.'

As predicted, Abby rolled her eyes again.

'It's your fault for dropping the butter dish.'

'I…' Connor opened his mouth to argue, but didn't get further than one syllable before the door re-slammed, connecting with the frame about a centimetre from his nose. He rocked back slightly, the sheer force of the slam making him recoil, and then, as he heard the sound of the shower, decided there was nothing for it but to find a sharp stick and teach that bloody bird a lesson…

Two and a half hours later, Connor's day had not improved at all. For a start he was very firmly in the doghouse with Abby. Apparently stuffing a three hundred million year old, one-of-a-kind parrot into one leg of a pair of Star Wars boxers was not in any way considered appropriate behaviour.

And really, he had been hoping for a nice quiet day at the ARC, in which to try and finished his much revised (under the Professor's watchful eye) dissertation. But apparently no, the God's of fate weren't going to be that helpful because currently, he was in the Forest of Dean, sitting next to Stephen, in the mud and rain, and trying very very hard not to develop an inferiority complex.

When the anomaly detector had gone off, and shown the location to be in the Forest of Dean, there had been general sighs of relief all around. The anomaly leading to the Permian era was under permanent guard, and so there was no need for any of the team to brave what looked like a rapidly brewing storm, and troop off to fight prehistoric beasties. They had all felt very smug, the general feeling being that for once in this insane excuse for a job, they were ahead of the anomalies, as opposed to frantically playing catch-up.

That feeling had lasted all of ten seconds, before vanished in a puff of smoke when Stephen, radioing the SAS captain in charge of the guard over the Permian anomaly, was told that there was no anomaly open, and when he enquired as to whether the captain was sure, was rather curtly, and not all that politely informed, through an awful lot of static, that

'NoOfCourseThereIsn'tABloodyAnomalyOpenDon'tYouThinkWeWouldHaveNoticed?'

It was at this point that the team had, realising this must be a different anomaly, conceded defeat, and headed out to the cars, lugging a combination of useful equipment and sandwiches, and constantly sending suspicious glares at the overcast sky.

During the drive to the anomaly site, Connor had been feeling considerably smug. Having examined the weather and decided he didn't like the look of it that morning, he had brought a waterproof coat complete with hood, and consequently was now the only one prepared for what was probably going to be a very wet afternoon. Abby didn't own a waterproof coat, and probably thought that she could just bat her eyelashes at him, and have his (which wasn't going to happen in a million years after her astounding lack of sympathy that morning), Nick rarely noticed anything that wasn't several hundred thousand years old, or his lab assistant, and Stephen, well, Stephen probably thought he was far too pretty to be rained on. The Weather Gods probably never allowed it.

At least, that had been his opinion on Stephen several hours earlier. Now of course, squatting uncomfortably close to the man, in order to take advantage of the small protection of a tree, he knew exactly why Stephen had not bothered with a coat. The rain had broken around three that afternoon, as they had all sat patiently waiting for the very quiet anomaly to close. Torrential was the only word to properly describe it.

Within seconds, Abby had resembled a small, if slightly creepy looking panda, with her white hair plastered to her hair, and her eyeliner running. Connor had come to the conclusion that blond hair may be fluffy and ruffle-able looking when dry, but wet was a whole other story. Although once again, the Professor appeared to be the exception that proved the rule. A wet Nick looked, quite frankly, extremely lickable. Nick's hair was clinging to his head in dark blond strands, and straggled down his neck, water running from the end into the neck of his t-shirt. His jeans were sodden, and clung in all the right (wrong, depending on how you looked at it) places, and his t-shirt was following suit (and really, what did it say about Connor, that the hint of a stomach that it outlined only made Nick more attractive?). And to complete the entire ensemble were his eyes. God. Earlier, Nick had flicked his head, tossing numerous wet strands of hair back, and sending water droplets flying over Stephen, and his eyes had looked the brightest blue Connor had ever seen on anyone. He was absolutely certain it wasn't appropriate for a student to lust after his Professor, but he had no control over his mind, and right now it was firmly handcuffing itself to the gutter.

And matters hadn't helped when Stephen had shoved Nick in retaliation (although Connor couldn't see why, those few drops of water had hardly had any real effect, considering Stephen was already sodden), Nick had swung round, ended up off balance, and the pair had ended the scuffle, collapsed against a tree, both laughing. They had broken apart fairly quickly, but Connor's unruly mind was suggesting that they had both held on a little too long, and was supplying very high quality film of more wet male frolicking.

And now, well now, they had retreated to the thickest covering of trees, and were each cowering under the largest tree possible, taking advantage of the minimal shelter. Until Connor had gotten bored, and wandered over to squat next to Stephen, and ask his opinion on how long this anomaly was going to remain open, because he was taking this whole thing seriously and all, but he really needed to work on his dissertation. And really, this action had been a serious mistake.

He had already spent long enough perving over a wet Nick, he hadn't really taken the time to look at Stephen. And now up close, he didn't really have any option but to look. And what a view it was. It was a running joke, particularly amongst the SAS soldiers, that Stephen's jeans couldn't get any tighter. Well, that was all wrong. His jeans, and t-shirt, drenched through, now clung so tightly that absolutely everything was outlined, including the play of his muscles, as he shifted position. His wet dark hair stuck up in tufts, where he had been running his fingers through it (and Connor wasn't entirely sure that Nick hadn't done that a few times too – his main view had been blocked by the back of a truck), and water was running down his neck in a way that made Connor think, in all too much detail, about licking those droplets off and tasting Stephen's skin into the bargain. Stephen's eyes were just as ridiculously blue as Cutter's and they were framed by long, dark eyelashes to which raindrops were also clinging and…

'Ungh?' Shit, Stephen was talking to him. The other man was raising an eyebrow, lips curling in perpetual amusement and…

'Connor!' And Stephen was talking to him.

'Oh, um yeah?'

'Have you heard a word I've been saying?' Stephen had been talking for some time?

'Um, sure. You were just saying, about the uh…anomaly, and…stuff.'

Stephen rolled his eyes. A mantra was playing through Connor's head that went something like 'Don'tLetHimHaveRealisedIWasWatchingHimDon'tLetHimHaveRealisedIWasWatchingHim' and he was praying, praying, praying that Stephen wouldn't look down, because his upper half might be ensconced in an anorak and fairly dry, but there was no such thing down below, and his jeans were doing almost as good a job of outlining as Stephen's.

Of course, today had already proven that the Gods hated him, and seriously, why even stop at Just Faintly Embarrassing? Nope, Connor could feel himself turning progressively scarlet, as Stephen's eyes flickered downwards and a smirk spread over his face, and he whizzed onto Complete Humiliation. And then Stephen stood up, stretched, and placing his belt at Connor's nose level (on purpose, the bastard!), before wandering off in Nick's general direction, a comment thrown back over his shoulder.

'I wonder if Nick knows you've been watching?'

Connor buried his head in his hands, cheeks burning, arriving neatly at the Dig A Hole And Bury Myself stage and quite determined not to look at Nick. Unfortunately he found himself unable to not take a glance and got the shock of his life when he raised his head to see Stephen wrap his arms around Nick from behind, shooting a look over his shoulder that could only be described as pure evil. Connor looked frantically around for Abby, before clocking that the angle to Nick's chosen tree, hid them completely from everyone's view but his. He swallowed, unable to tear his eyes away, as he watched Stephen do exactly what he had fantasised about and lean forward, licking the water away and lightly biting Nick's neck. Holy shit.

Connor could feel himself getting hard, and uttered one last prayer to Anyone Who Might Be Listening, as he arrived with a crash at Get Plastic Surgery, A Passport And Get The Hell Out Of The Country. This entire thing was insanity. Hot, awkward, hot, embarrassing, hot insanity.

Over under the tree, Stephen was just sliding one hand under Nick's sodden t-shirt, when Connor's prayer was granted. The two men jerked apart, and Connor wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, as something large, scaly, and apparently very pissed off burst through the anomaly, flapped enormous scaly wings once, and headed for the open skies…