Fic: Fantasies of Memories by Walkerbaby Brown Cortina PWP
Title - Fantasies of Memories
Rating - Brown Cortina (slash, absolutely PWP)
Disclaimer - it all belongs to Kudos and BBC. We just don't grow 'em as sexy as the Gene Genie where I come from.
Pairings - 2006!Sam/OMC, Sam/Gene
Author's Note - 1.) I'm trying to write other things and 2006!Sam will just not go away. So I'm indulging his ego and writing him something. Then maybe he'll shut up and go do things to Gene that I need him to do entirely for the sake of plot (yeah sure that's it, for the sake of plot). 2.) Has anyone else noticed the complete change in demenour in Sam's wardrobe between 2006 and 1973? I mean he goes from baggy suits to trousers that might be painted on. Not that I'm complaining or anythign but everyone else is in somewhat suitlike attire (ties, ect.) and he's open collared with the shirts and the trousers are just - well a thing of beauty in hideous fabric but anyway - they don't look like something 2006!Sam woudl even contemplate. even in better fabric.
"Why do you wear clothes that are so baggy?"
"Huh?" Sam turned from where he was adjusting his tie in front of the mirror to look at the bed.
"Why do you wear your clothes so baggy?" Sam felt a wave of disapproval wash over him at the quiet click of the lighter.
"Don’t smoke in here," Sam said as he turned back to the mirror. "I can’t stand the smell of it."
"Tell me why and I’ll put it out," the young man lying in the bed suggested as he took a long drag. "Even though this is my place."
"More comfortable I suppose," Sam answered. "Now put the damn fag out, Michael. It stinks." Turning he watched the other man stub out his smoke. "And don’t you have to get ready for work?"
"Bank holiday," the blonde shrugged. "What do you mean more comfortable? You’d look smart in something more tailored. Armani, Zegna, black, Italian, you’d be seriously sexy."
Sam turned with his hands on his hips and glared. "I am a DCI, the youngest DCI on the force, I am not going to wear anything tight or tailored or designed to make me look ‘seriously sexy’," he air quoted around the words. "My arse is not out there to be on display like some cheap little rent boy."
"Good for me," Michael rolled up onto his knees and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Hate to lose you to some big, old fashioned, Neanderthal of a copper who thinks he’s living out his fantasies of the Sweeney." He pressed his face into Sam’s abdomen and began to nuzzle at the shirt as his fingers worked underneath the material of the trousers.
"Got to go to work," Sam mumbled and tried to step away. "Besides," he tried to change the subject, "how would I afford expensive Italian suits on my pay packet?"
"Could always let me buy them," was muttered into the skin of his lower abdomen as his shirt was untucked slightly and soft lips began to nibble at it.
"No," Sam corrected sharply as he pushed backwards on the other man’s shoulders and crawled back into bed with him, over the top of him, nibbling at his neck as fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt and the knot in his tie, pushing for skin against skin.
"Why not?"
"Same reason you don’t have to worry about me taking up with some Neanderthal copper from the dark ages," Sam replied.
"You don’t bottom," Michael teased and Sam felt himself being flipped over and slender legs straddled his hips. "Alpha male, DCI Sam Tyler."
Sam raised an eyebrow and reached for his mobile as his lover slid down to begin sucking lightly on his cock. "Least I let you work," he retorted dryly.
"Don’t like the fact I make more than you," was the reply before a quick stripe was licked up the underside of his cock and Sam clenched tightly onto the phone.
"It’s growing on me," Sam conceded. "Now knock it off for a moment."
"Spoilsport."
"Slag," Sam retorted as he hit the speed dial on his phone. "Maya? Yeah, it’s Sam. I’ve got some things to do this morning. Want to talk to some of my sources on the Parker case. No, no I don’t need you to come along. Just, can you keep everything under control till I get back? Great," Sam rolled his eyes expressively and smacked lightly at the head that had returned to it’s business of tormenting his erection. "No, no, everything’s fine. No, yeah, sure, we can talk tonight if you like."
"It’s going to fall apart," the teasing voice sing songed as he bent his head back to the task at hand and stopped teasing at Sam’s inner thigh.
"She wants to move in."
"It won’t work."
"It might."
"It won’t."
"Come here," Sam pulled gently at the head bent over him.
"Thought you said you didn’t bottom?"
"I’m flexible," Sam hissed as he felt a press of warmth, curling his toes forcibly, clenching tightly as his lover worked back slowly onto him. Ran thumbs over the gorgeous little bastard’s hip bones.
"Promises, promises."
"Shut it," Sam smacked him lightly on the hip. "Be a good boy and maybe I’ll bring the handcuffs next time."
"In that case -"
"Oh. I, um, oh wow. Think that might still be illegal in certain parts of Wales. Oh God yes, do that again."
Sam sat bolt upright in the bed, the room was dark. Dim glow of orange streetlight not entirely blocked by Gene’s curtains. Wiped sweat from the back of his forehead. Took a sip of water from the glass on the bed side table. Still had a raging hard on. Not unexpected after the last few hours though.
Laid back in the bed to stare at the ceiling. Think of the ManUnited line up for Saturday’s match. Think about the finer points of football. Sports, that should do it. Rugby, Sam bit his lip to stifle a groan. Try not to remember running your hands over those lovely taut muscles that had been sculpted so perfectly by years of rugby.
Ray and Chris screwing each other in the CID canteen. Ray and Chris screwing each other, naked, in the canteen. He saw the glint of handcuffs around Ray’s wrists in his mental picture as skinny little Chris fucked the hell out of him and Sam gave up the ghost. Rolled over, pressed up against Gene.
"Gene."
"Huh?" A sleepy groan replied.
"Wake up."
"Why?"
"I’m horny." Sam slithered down his body and began to lick. Might as well put the fantasy to good use and it wasn’t like Michael would complain. Sam did some quick mental arithmetic and realized Michael really wouldn’t complain about Sam stealing his tricks - Michael wasn’t born yet. Wouldn’t have stopped him anyway. He was as selfish of a bastard as the other man had always accused him of being.
"I’m tired," Gene answered but Sam knew he was relenting as his hips began to buck ever so slightly against Sam’s mouth. "I’ve already shagged you twice tonight."
"Let’s go for lucky number three?" Sam suggested as he worked back up Gene’s body, straddling him at the hips. "I’ve got this thing I want to try," he trailed off as he pushed back against Gene.
"Je-sus Sam!" Gene groaned.
"Like?"
"Like? I think that might be illegal. Where did you learn it?"
"Want me to stop?"
"Don’t. You. Dare."
Sam smiled and repeated the movement. If he were lucky, maybe later Gene would get out the handcuffs.
Rating - Brown Cortina (slash, absolutely PWP)
Disclaimer - it all belongs to Kudos and BBC. We just don't grow 'em as sexy as the Gene Genie where I come from.
Pairings - 2006!Sam/OMC, Sam/Gene
Author's Note - 1.) I'm trying to write other things and 2006!Sam will just not go away. So I'm indulging his ego and writing him something. Then maybe he'll shut up and go do things to Gene that I need him to do entirely for the sake of plot (yeah sure that's it, for the sake of plot). 2.) Has anyone else noticed the complete change in demenour in Sam's wardrobe between 2006 and 1973? I mean he goes from baggy suits to trousers that might be painted on. Not that I'm complaining or anythign but everyone else is in somewhat suitlike attire (ties, ect.) and he's open collared with the shirts and the trousers are just - well a thing of beauty in hideous fabric but anyway - they don't look like something 2006!Sam woudl even contemplate. even in better fabric.
"Why do you wear clothes that are so baggy?"
"Huh?" Sam turned from where he was adjusting his tie in front of the mirror to look at the bed.
"Why do you wear your clothes so baggy?" Sam felt a wave of disapproval wash over him at the quiet click of the lighter.
"Don’t smoke in here," Sam said as he turned back to the mirror. "I can’t stand the smell of it."
"Tell me why and I’ll put it out," the young man lying in the bed suggested as he took a long drag. "Even though this is my place."
"More comfortable I suppose," Sam answered. "Now put the damn fag out, Michael. It stinks." Turning he watched the other man stub out his smoke. "And don’t you have to get ready for work?"
"Bank holiday," the blonde shrugged. "What do you mean more comfortable? You’d look smart in something more tailored. Armani, Zegna, black, Italian, you’d be seriously sexy."
Sam turned with his hands on his hips and glared. "I am a DCI, the youngest DCI on the force, I am not going to wear anything tight or tailored or designed to make me look ‘seriously sexy’," he air quoted around the words. "My arse is not out there to be on display like some cheap little rent boy."
"Good for me," Michael rolled up onto his knees and scooted to the edge of the bed. "Hate to lose you to some big, old fashioned, Neanderthal of a copper who thinks he’s living out his fantasies of the Sweeney." He pressed his face into Sam’s abdomen and began to nuzzle at the shirt as his fingers worked underneath the material of the trousers.
"Got to go to work," Sam mumbled and tried to step away. "Besides," he tried to change the subject, "how would I afford expensive Italian suits on my pay packet?"
"Could always let me buy them," was muttered into the skin of his lower abdomen as his shirt was untucked slightly and soft lips began to nibble at it.
"No," Sam corrected sharply as he pushed backwards on the other man’s shoulders and crawled back into bed with him, over the top of him, nibbling at his neck as fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt and the knot in his tie, pushing for skin against skin.
"Why not?"
"Same reason you don’t have to worry about me taking up with some Neanderthal copper from the dark ages," Sam replied.
"You don’t bottom," Michael teased and Sam felt himself being flipped over and slender legs straddled his hips. "Alpha male, DCI Sam Tyler."
Sam raised an eyebrow and reached for his mobile as his lover slid down to begin sucking lightly on his cock. "Least I let you work," he retorted dryly.
"Don’t like the fact I make more than you," was the reply before a quick stripe was licked up the underside of his cock and Sam clenched tightly onto the phone.
"It’s growing on me," Sam conceded. "Now knock it off for a moment."
"Spoilsport."
"Slag," Sam retorted as he hit the speed dial on his phone. "Maya? Yeah, it’s Sam. I’ve got some things to do this morning. Want to talk to some of my sources on the Parker case. No, no I don’t need you to come along. Just, can you keep everything under control till I get back? Great," Sam rolled his eyes expressively and smacked lightly at the head that had returned to it’s business of tormenting his erection. "No, no, everything’s fine. No, yeah, sure, we can talk tonight if you like."
"It’s going to fall apart," the teasing voice sing songed as he bent his head back to the task at hand and stopped teasing at Sam’s inner thigh.
"She wants to move in."
"It won’t work."
"It might."
"It won’t."
"Come here," Sam pulled gently at the head bent over him.
"Thought you said you didn’t bottom?"
"I’m flexible," Sam hissed as he felt a press of warmth, curling his toes forcibly, clenching tightly as his lover worked back slowly onto him. Ran thumbs over the gorgeous little bastard’s hip bones.
"Promises, promises."
"Shut it," Sam smacked him lightly on the hip. "Be a good boy and maybe I’ll bring the handcuffs next time."
"In that case -"
"Oh. I, um, oh wow. Think that might still be illegal in certain parts of Wales. Oh God yes, do that again."
Sam sat bolt upright in the bed, the room was dark. Dim glow of orange streetlight not entirely blocked by Gene’s curtains. Wiped sweat from the back of his forehead. Took a sip of water from the glass on the bed side table. Still had a raging hard on. Not unexpected after the last few hours though.
Laid back in the bed to stare at the ceiling. Think of the ManUnited line up for Saturday’s match. Think about the finer points of football. Sports, that should do it. Rugby, Sam bit his lip to stifle a groan. Try not to remember running your hands over those lovely taut muscles that had been sculpted so perfectly by years of rugby.
Ray and Chris screwing each other in the CID canteen. Ray and Chris screwing each other, naked, in the canteen. He saw the glint of handcuffs around Ray’s wrists in his mental picture as skinny little Chris fucked the hell out of him and Sam gave up the ghost. Rolled over, pressed up against Gene.
"Gene."
"Huh?" A sleepy groan replied.
"Wake up."
"Why?"
"I’m horny." Sam slithered down his body and began to lick. Might as well put the fantasy to good use and it wasn’t like Michael would complain. Sam did some quick mental arithmetic and realized Michael really wouldn’t complain about Sam stealing his tricks - Michael wasn’t born yet. Wouldn’t have stopped him anyway. He was as selfish of a bastard as the other man had always accused him of being.
"I’m tired," Gene answered but Sam knew he was relenting as his hips began to buck ever so slightly against Sam’s mouth. "I’ve already shagged you twice tonight."
"Let’s go for lucky number three?" Sam suggested as he worked back up Gene’s body, straddling him at the hips. "I’ve got this thing I want to try," he trailed off as he pushed back against Gene.
"Je-sus Sam!" Gene groaned.
"Like?"
"Like? I think that might be illegal. Where did you learn it?"
"Want me to stop?"
"Don’t. You. Dare."
Sam smiled and repeated the movement. If he were lucky, maybe later Gene would get out the handcuffs.