FIC: Pain in the Neck, Mamishka, Brown Cortina, Sam/Gene
Title: Pain in the Neck
Rating: Brown Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 2,529
Notes: This is for bastardlyarmed as her replacement Ficathon 2010 writer. Sorry it's so late, but I did get it to you by Christmas, as promised! I hope you like it! :D For the rest of you, this is mostly definitely an AU. ;) No beta on this, so if I've made mistakes, either Brit picks or grammar, please poke me with sharp pointy sticks. :) My first LoM pr0n!
Summary: Sam and Gene are on a stakeout.
For what had to be the tenth time that night the skinny bloke in the leather jacket leaning against the brick wall by his shoulder grumbles. “I can’t believe this.” His voice shifts, mimicking Gene’s Mancunian accent and words earlier that day. “Come on Sammy boy, just a little stakeout. Won’t be any trouble a’tall. We know right where the little rats nest is and they’ll be coming outta the wood work by nightfall, mark my words.” DI Sam Tyler glances over and then up at Gene, scowling at his DCI and muttering, “If I don’t find a loo soon it’ll be me makin’ the mark. Markin’ territory right here and now.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gene pulls out his flask and flips it open, taking a sip before offering it to Sam who merely makes a disgusted face and shakes his head. “Christ, Gene, when are you going to realize that I don’t drink that stuff?” Snapping the cap shut, Gene merely chuckles and rumbles, “Stop your barkin’ me Deputy Dawg. It’s an acquired taste is all. And if you need a slash that bad, go ahead and piss away. Don’t bother me none. Maybe they’ll come out all the sooner fer it.”
Shaking his head Sam just shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hand curling about the weapon held there muttering, “I don’t like it. It’s too quiet. Are you sure they didn’t already get out before we got ‘ere? Or do you figure they’re still asleep inside?” Kicking at some trash by his feet, he notes, “You realize we should have called in RCS on this. Gotten back up. Litton will…”
“Litton would just as soon do me in as this lot, and I ain’t lettin’ ‘im take the credit for this and the excuse to say that he done the Gene Genie in during a little ‘friendly fire’ as the yanks put it.”
Eyeing the building dubiously, Sam asks, “Why don’t we do that? A little ‘friendly’ fire?”
“Wot, are you daft? Night like tonight, those flames would spread to the other buildings. And even though this ain’t the finest patch in my city, it’s still my city and it’s only the scum in it wot should be burnt like garbage. No Sam, we wait.” Gene shifts his stance slightly and glances over at his DI with a disbelieving look on his face. “Blimey Tyler, yeh really ‘ave gone round the bend and come around t’my way of doin’ things. Nuthin' like yeh was when yeh first got ‘ere from Hyde. Now yer all, “Kick the bloody door down!” instead of spouting on about procedure and proper channels and all that bollocks.”
Jiggling from side to side, Sam’s eyes roll as he replies tartly, “Yeah, right, well, this place is nothing like… Hyde.” Grimacing at either the name or that fact, he grouses, “This place is beyond anything I could imagine. But you know what they say… when in Rome…” Wincing, Sam groans and finally gives in, muttering, “Christ, alright, ‘ave it your way. Just gonna go over here for a sec…” and slipping his weapon into his jacket pocket, Sam heads off down the alleyway a bit. Stepping behind a garbage bin he undoes his trousers to relieve himself, glancing over his shoulder briefly to where Gene is little more than a dark shadow before turning to face the brick wall before him.
Eyes closed and head tilted back, Sam lets out a soft groan of relief. Doing himself up again, he never even heard the bloke till he was on him. Grabbed by the back of the neck, his head is chucked toward the wall and only the fact that he pushes back with all his might keeps Sam from getting his brains bashed in. Slamming an elbow back, he reaches for his pocket only to receive a terrific backhand to the face, the blow knocking him back into the garbage bins. Stumbling and struggling to catch his balance, Sam goes down hard, gasping and reaching for his pocket again.
Shit! SHIT SHIT SHIT! It isn’t there! Scrambling around, searching his pocket, the ground around him, Sam realizes in a flash that he is defenseless. He can hear the sounds of fighting going on in Gene’s direction, swallowing hard as he can neither help him or be helped by him it seems. The man standing over him grins and reaches down, grabbing Sam by the lapels of his jacket before he can scramble away. Spinning Tyler as if he weighed no more than a doll, the man slams him against the wall once more, causing Sam’s head to crack against it, reeling. His eyes open, dazed, and then widen in horror as he catches a brief glimpse of fangs within that cruel smile. Oh. SHIT.
Struggling to pull away, it’s like fighting against a man made of solid wood or stone, rather than flesh and muscle. He can’t help but wince and shut his eyes as those sharp pointed teeth close in on him, hot breath caressing his throat, fangs scraping his skin, preparing to tear his throat out.
There is a gurgle of surprise and suddenly the hands holding him pinned to the wall are jerked away. Opening his eyes, Sam watches as the vampire surges backwards with a look of surprise and horror on his face before collapsing to the ground, revealing Gene standing behind him, bloodstains on his camel hair coat and a bloody stake in his right hand.
“Bloody ‘ell, Dorothy, you can’t rightly come to a stake out if you don’t have yer bloody stake!” Glancing down at the ground, Gene bends over and sweeps the weapon up in his free hand calling out, “To yer left, Sammy boy, nine o’clock,” before tossing Sam the rescued stake.
With precision that had been trained into him since he arrived here, Sam catches the weapon one-handed and wheels about, plunged his stake into the chest of an oncoming vampire, the creature shrieking and collapsing, its body rapidly and unpleasantly starting to decay and fall apart. Turning around he espies Gene dispatching another vampire, unaware of the one coming up behind him. “Gene!” he shouts and, on an impulse, he flips the stake in his hand and throws it. Hard. Like an dagger it tumbles through the air, end over end, miraculously finishing pointy end forward and impaling the approaching vampire much to everyone’s surprise. The creature has just enough time to pluck the stake out of its chest and stare at it in astonishment before falling down and falling apart.
Dashing forward, Sam reclaims his stake and now he and Gene stand back to back, facing outward as the rest of the nest draws closer. They were young vampires. Clumsy. Overconfident and unaccustomed to their newfound strengths and skills. That’s the only reason why Gene and Sam alone have even a chance of defeating this many of them, even though they make a good team. Sam couldn’t believe that he could work with someone like Gene at first. It was insane, impossible. But now, well, he can’t deny the truth. They work well together; better together than when they were apart, really. And in this instant they move well together, shifting and turning, covering each other’s backs and disposing of vampires left and right till they are surrounded by nothing more than rotting corpses along with the rotting garbage.
Panting heavily, Sam leans his back against Gene and tilts his head up, eyes flickering shut as he asks unsteadily, “That all of 'em?” He heard the wet sucking sound of Gene pulling his stake out of the last one’s heart, concurring, “Yep, that’s all of ‘em.” Sam’s eyes startled open as Gene turns and pushes him against the alleyway wall, gripping his jaw and pulling his chin down to examine the blood on his forehead from where his skull was introduced to the brick face. Gene’s green eyes are piercing and electric in the dim light and adrenaline aftermath of the fight.
“That’s a nasty cut y’got there, Tyler. I’m thinking I should do somethin’ about it…” And then Gene leans forward, his tongue licking over the wound, lapping at the blood. Sam’s hands lift, clutching onto Gene’s arms, trying to push him off, but to no avail. “Christ, Gene, can’t we, I dunno, go to a hospital for a change? Jesus, get a bath in first?” But his DCI pays no heed to his DI’s complaints. Instead he tenderly licks the cut till it stops bleeding, murmuring, "That's better." Sam can't help but feel his breath hitch and his heart jolt in a mix of nerves and lust as Gene stares at him hungrily, eyes slowly drifting down to rest on the rapid pulse of his throat. Turning Sam’s head to one side, lips trail downward as he murmurs excitedly, “You ‘ave the most gorgeous fucking neck I’ve ever seen. Long, slender, better than a woman's legs that go on forever. That’s what you got, Sammy boy. A neck that goes on forever... and all I want to do it take a big juicy bite out of it…”
Pushing at the man in front of him again, Sam hisses, “Oi, gerroff Gene.” But like his attacker, there’s no budging the DCI. Hunt is always like this after a major scrap. Horny as hell and with no interest in niceties or waiting. Sam lets out a forced grunt of annoyance more than fear, but as much as he would like to, he can’t deny the fact that the adrenaline of the fight, the way Gene is looking at him, has his body responding to his DCI's advances, despite the less than appealing locale.
“Oi, don’t be such a nancy, Sammy boy. It’s just a little prick is all… followed by a substantially bigger prick, of course. But you and I both know you like ‘em big, so there’s no point grousing about that now, is there?” He nibbles gently on Sam’s neck, coaxing now, his voice a low rough grumble that seems to make Sam’s legs go all wobbly whenever Gene starts sweet talking him. The hand between his legs, rubbing at his cock, isn’t helping matters either and Sam’s fingers curl into Gene’s arms, holding on now rather than pushing him off.
“That’s it, Sam, you know you want it too… you know you want yer Gene Genie inside of you, rubbing you just right…” With a soft groan that borders on helpless, Sam retorts, “You sure you don’t want me rubbing you? Genie in a bottle an' all that?” Chuckling softly, the ‘man’ before him rumbles, “Ain’t at Nelson’s are we? Besides, ever since you got ‘ere and become such a pain in my arse, I ‘aven’t needed to crawl inside a bottle t’get through the night…” His hand shifts, quickly undoing Sam’s trousers, pushing them and his pants down enough to be out of the way before curling about his cock and stroking it insistently.
Sam can’t help but arch his neck and hips, groaning in turn, “Sweet talker. It's only fair, since yer such a pain in the neck...” before he loses the ability to talk himself, twisting and arching and struggling against Gene to get closer, his breath coming faster and desperate as Gene’s lips keep kissing and licking over his throat, but not taking what both of them want so desperately. Finally, despite himself, Sam hears his voice rasp out, “Gene… please…”
He doesn’t really understand how it works. Gene explained it to him once, but in a world gone mad, does the mechanics of it all really matter? Something about different glands that vampires have that do various unusual things. Blood thinners, blood coagulants, and what, for all intents and purposes, is apparently an aphrodisiac. Useful for vampires who prefer easy prey, apparently. Sam can’t help but cry out as Gene’s fangs pierce his throat, his blood surging toward those lips like a lover. There’s always that sharp pain at first, but the pleasure that follows more than makes up for it. The sound that escapes Sam’s throat is positively obscene as he clutches at Gene desperately, writhing between him and the wall as Gene drinks from his throat and strokes his cock with the same determined rhythm. Sam whines and struggles as the pleasure swamps him, overwhelms him, crying out sharply once more as he comes, eyes snapping open at the intensity of it all.
Gene has the decency to let him come down a little at least, lapping at the wound on his throat tenderly till it stops bleeding. Between the orgasm, the aphrodisiac, and the blood loss, Sam’s head is still spinning, his body throbbing as Gene turns him about and presses him up against the brick wall once more. “Right. Now for that big prick I promised yeh…” Sam’s fingers curl into the rough surface as Gene spits and reaches down, undoing his flies with one hand while loosening Sam up with the other. He doesn’t get much time to consider either action before he can feel Gene against his arse, grinding there with a possessive growl before slowly pushing into Sam. He groans and hangs his head down as Gene’s hands take hold of his hips and the larger man starts moving, rubbing that sweet spot just as promised.
It doesn’t take long for either of them, Gene moving powerfully within in Sam, his blood lust slaked by both the battle and the bite taken from his lover and DI. Now it's time to sate a different form of lust. For Sam, the aphrodisiac released in Gene’s saliva is still percolating through his system like seltzer water in his blood. He moans as his Guv fills him hard and deep and he cries out once more as Gene reaches around to take up his half-hard length, stroking it to full erection once more. “Uhhhhh, God, Gene, don’t stop… don’t stop…” There’s a rough laugh in his ear, warm breath blowing against his tender neck as Gene rumbles in turn, “Not a chance, Tyler. Not letting you go. Never letting you go. Yer mine now…” Keening softly Sam arches his head back, panting and thrusting into Gene’s fingers, impaling himself on Gene’s cock till both of them gasp and rumble, Gene coming deep inside his DI and Sam coming once more against the wall.
Slumping against Sam, more to feel him flush against himself than out of exhaustion, Gene keeps his DI upright till he recovers, the two men parting and slowly straightening up and setting their person and clothes to rights once more. Looking about, Sam mutters, “Jesus Christ, what a mess.” With a slap on his shoulder and a broad laugh, Gene returns, “Nuthin’ to get yer nose bent outta shape over. It’s what plonks are for anyways. Clean up the messes. Ready to head down to the station, fill out one of those bloody reports you’re always goin’ on about? Surprised you don’t shag ‘em, yeh kinky bastard.” Shaking his head, Sam pushes himself away from the wall and bends down to pick up his stake, shaking it and wiping it off on a bag of trash before reluctantly pocketing it. “Yer the kinky bastard here, Gene." Looking about, Sam wrinkles his nose and proclaims, "Screw procedure, I need a drink and a shower.”
Grinning, Gene slings his arm over Sam’s shoulder, steering him toward the Cortina with a happy smile on his face. “You know you love it, Dorothy, so quit yer whinin'. Tell yeh wot. Yeh throw in another tussle with yeh between the sheets and I’m right there with yeh, Tyler." Sam gives Gene a dubious look, but his lips are curled into a wry smile as he notes, "This bar is closed, so you'll have to drink from your flask or enjoy a single malt instead of a Bloody Sammy, as it were." Opening the driver's side door, Gene leans against the top of the Cortina to grin unrepentantly at his DI. "A single malt with a blood chaser and you in my bed? Sounds like my kind of 'paper' work, Tyler. Now get yer fairy arse in and try not to get any blood on my Cortina or I'll have yer guts fer garters..."
Rating: Brown Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 2,529
Notes: This is for bastardlyarmed as her replacement Ficathon 2010 writer. Sorry it's so late, but I did get it to you by Christmas, as promised! I hope you like it! :D For the rest of you, this is mostly definitely an AU. ;) No beta on this, so if I've made mistakes, either Brit picks or grammar, please poke me with sharp pointy sticks. :) My first LoM pr0n!
Summary: Sam and Gene are on a stakeout.
For what had to be the tenth time that night the skinny bloke in the leather jacket leaning against the brick wall by his shoulder grumbles. “I can’t believe this.” His voice shifts, mimicking Gene’s Mancunian accent and words earlier that day. “Come on Sammy boy, just a little stakeout. Won’t be any trouble a’tall. We know right where the little rats nest is and they’ll be coming outta the wood work by nightfall, mark my words.” DI Sam Tyler glances over and then up at Gene, scowling at his DCI and muttering, “If I don’t find a loo soon it’ll be me makin’ the mark. Markin’ territory right here and now.”
Reaching into his pocket, Gene pulls out his flask and flips it open, taking a sip before offering it to Sam who merely makes a disgusted face and shakes his head. “Christ, Gene, when are you going to realize that I don’t drink that stuff?” Snapping the cap shut, Gene merely chuckles and rumbles, “Stop your barkin’ me Deputy Dawg. It’s an acquired taste is all. And if you need a slash that bad, go ahead and piss away. Don’t bother me none. Maybe they’ll come out all the sooner fer it.”
Shaking his head Sam just shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hand curling about the weapon held there muttering, “I don’t like it. It’s too quiet. Are you sure they didn’t already get out before we got ‘ere? Or do you figure they’re still asleep inside?” Kicking at some trash by his feet, he notes, “You realize we should have called in RCS on this. Gotten back up. Litton will…”
“Litton would just as soon do me in as this lot, and I ain’t lettin’ ‘im take the credit for this and the excuse to say that he done the Gene Genie in during a little ‘friendly fire’ as the yanks put it.”
Eyeing the building dubiously, Sam asks, “Why don’t we do that? A little ‘friendly’ fire?”
“Wot, are you daft? Night like tonight, those flames would spread to the other buildings. And even though this ain’t the finest patch in my city, it’s still my city and it’s only the scum in it wot should be burnt like garbage. No Sam, we wait.” Gene shifts his stance slightly and glances over at his DI with a disbelieving look on his face. “Blimey Tyler, yeh really ‘ave gone round the bend and come around t’my way of doin’ things. Nuthin' like yeh was when yeh first got ‘ere from Hyde. Now yer all, “Kick the bloody door down!” instead of spouting on about procedure and proper channels and all that bollocks.”
Jiggling from side to side, Sam’s eyes roll as he replies tartly, “Yeah, right, well, this place is nothing like… Hyde.” Grimacing at either the name or that fact, he grouses, “This place is beyond anything I could imagine. But you know what they say… when in Rome…” Wincing, Sam groans and finally gives in, muttering, “Christ, alright, ‘ave it your way. Just gonna go over here for a sec…” and slipping his weapon into his jacket pocket, Sam heads off down the alleyway a bit. Stepping behind a garbage bin he undoes his trousers to relieve himself, glancing over his shoulder briefly to where Gene is little more than a dark shadow before turning to face the brick wall before him.
Eyes closed and head tilted back, Sam lets out a soft groan of relief. Doing himself up again, he never even heard the bloke till he was on him. Grabbed by the back of the neck, his head is chucked toward the wall and only the fact that he pushes back with all his might keeps Sam from getting his brains bashed in. Slamming an elbow back, he reaches for his pocket only to receive a terrific backhand to the face, the blow knocking him back into the garbage bins. Stumbling and struggling to catch his balance, Sam goes down hard, gasping and reaching for his pocket again.
Shit! SHIT SHIT SHIT! It isn’t there! Scrambling around, searching his pocket, the ground around him, Sam realizes in a flash that he is defenseless. He can hear the sounds of fighting going on in Gene’s direction, swallowing hard as he can neither help him or be helped by him it seems. The man standing over him grins and reaches down, grabbing Sam by the lapels of his jacket before he can scramble away. Spinning Tyler as if he weighed no more than a doll, the man slams him against the wall once more, causing Sam’s head to crack against it, reeling. His eyes open, dazed, and then widen in horror as he catches a brief glimpse of fangs within that cruel smile. Oh. SHIT.
Struggling to pull away, it’s like fighting against a man made of solid wood or stone, rather than flesh and muscle. He can’t help but wince and shut his eyes as those sharp pointed teeth close in on him, hot breath caressing his throat, fangs scraping his skin, preparing to tear his throat out.
There is a gurgle of surprise and suddenly the hands holding him pinned to the wall are jerked away. Opening his eyes, Sam watches as the vampire surges backwards with a look of surprise and horror on his face before collapsing to the ground, revealing Gene standing behind him, bloodstains on his camel hair coat and a bloody stake in his right hand.
“Bloody ‘ell, Dorothy, you can’t rightly come to a stake out if you don’t have yer bloody stake!” Glancing down at the ground, Gene bends over and sweeps the weapon up in his free hand calling out, “To yer left, Sammy boy, nine o’clock,” before tossing Sam the rescued stake.
With precision that had been trained into him since he arrived here, Sam catches the weapon one-handed and wheels about, plunged his stake into the chest of an oncoming vampire, the creature shrieking and collapsing, its body rapidly and unpleasantly starting to decay and fall apart. Turning around he espies Gene dispatching another vampire, unaware of the one coming up behind him. “Gene!” he shouts and, on an impulse, he flips the stake in his hand and throws it. Hard. Like an dagger it tumbles through the air, end over end, miraculously finishing pointy end forward and impaling the approaching vampire much to everyone’s surprise. The creature has just enough time to pluck the stake out of its chest and stare at it in astonishment before falling down and falling apart.
Dashing forward, Sam reclaims his stake and now he and Gene stand back to back, facing outward as the rest of the nest draws closer. They were young vampires. Clumsy. Overconfident and unaccustomed to their newfound strengths and skills. That’s the only reason why Gene and Sam alone have even a chance of defeating this many of them, even though they make a good team. Sam couldn’t believe that he could work with someone like Gene at first. It was insane, impossible. But now, well, he can’t deny the truth. They work well together; better together than when they were apart, really. And in this instant they move well together, shifting and turning, covering each other’s backs and disposing of vampires left and right till they are surrounded by nothing more than rotting corpses along with the rotting garbage.
Panting heavily, Sam leans his back against Gene and tilts his head up, eyes flickering shut as he asks unsteadily, “That all of 'em?” He heard the wet sucking sound of Gene pulling his stake out of the last one’s heart, concurring, “Yep, that’s all of ‘em.” Sam’s eyes startled open as Gene turns and pushes him against the alleyway wall, gripping his jaw and pulling his chin down to examine the blood on his forehead from where his skull was introduced to the brick face. Gene’s green eyes are piercing and electric in the dim light and adrenaline aftermath of the fight.
“That’s a nasty cut y’got there, Tyler. I’m thinking I should do somethin’ about it…” And then Gene leans forward, his tongue licking over the wound, lapping at the blood. Sam’s hands lift, clutching onto Gene’s arms, trying to push him off, but to no avail. “Christ, Gene, can’t we, I dunno, go to a hospital for a change? Jesus, get a bath in first?” But his DCI pays no heed to his DI’s complaints. Instead he tenderly licks the cut till it stops bleeding, murmuring, "That's better." Sam can't help but feel his breath hitch and his heart jolt in a mix of nerves and lust as Gene stares at him hungrily, eyes slowly drifting down to rest on the rapid pulse of his throat. Turning Sam’s head to one side, lips trail downward as he murmurs excitedly, “You ‘ave the most gorgeous fucking neck I’ve ever seen. Long, slender, better than a woman's legs that go on forever. That’s what you got, Sammy boy. A neck that goes on forever... and all I want to do it take a big juicy bite out of it…”
Pushing at the man in front of him again, Sam hisses, “Oi, gerroff Gene.” But like his attacker, there’s no budging the DCI. Hunt is always like this after a major scrap. Horny as hell and with no interest in niceties or waiting. Sam lets out a forced grunt of annoyance more than fear, but as much as he would like to, he can’t deny the fact that the adrenaline of the fight, the way Gene is looking at him, has his body responding to his DCI's advances, despite the less than appealing locale.
“Oi, don’t be such a nancy, Sammy boy. It’s just a little prick is all… followed by a substantially bigger prick, of course. But you and I both know you like ‘em big, so there’s no point grousing about that now, is there?” He nibbles gently on Sam’s neck, coaxing now, his voice a low rough grumble that seems to make Sam’s legs go all wobbly whenever Gene starts sweet talking him. The hand between his legs, rubbing at his cock, isn’t helping matters either and Sam’s fingers curl into Gene’s arms, holding on now rather than pushing him off.
“That’s it, Sam, you know you want it too… you know you want yer Gene Genie inside of you, rubbing you just right…” With a soft groan that borders on helpless, Sam retorts, “You sure you don’t want me rubbing you? Genie in a bottle an' all that?” Chuckling softly, the ‘man’ before him rumbles, “Ain’t at Nelson’s are we? Besides, ever since you got ‘ere and become such a pain in my arse, I ‘aven’t needed to crawl inside a bottle t’get through the night…” His hand shifts, quickly undoing Sam’s trousers, pushing them and his pants down enough to be out of the way before curling about his cock and stroking it insistently.
Sam can’t help but arch his neck and hips, groaning in turn, “Sweet talker. It's only fair, since yer such a pain in the neck...” before he loses the ability to talk himself, twisting and arching and struggling against Gene to get closer, his breath coming faster and desperate as Gene’s lips keep kissing and licking over his throat, but not taking what both of them want so desperately. Finally, despite himself, Sam hears his voice rasp out, “Gene… please…”
He doesn’t really understand how it works. Gene explained it to him once, but in a world gone mad, does the mechanics of it all really matter? Something about different glands that vampires have that do various unusual things. Blood thinners, blood coagulants, and what, for all intents and purposes, is apparently an aphrodisiac. Useful for vampires who prefer easy prey, apparently. Sam can’t help but cry out as Gene’s fangs pierce his throat, his blood surging toward those lips like a lover. There’s always that sharp pain at first, but the pleasure that follows more than makes up for it. The sound that escapes Sam’s throat is positively obscene as he clutches at Gene desperately, writhing between him and the wall as Gene drinks from his throat and strokes his cock with the same determined rhythm. Sam whines and struggles as the pleasure swamps him, overwhelms him, crying out sharply once more as he comes, eyes snapping open at the intensity of it all.
Gene has the decency to let him come down a little at least, lapping at the wound on his throat tenderly till it stops bleeding. Between the orgasm, the aphrodisiac, and the blood loss, Sam’s head is still spinning, his body throbbing as Gene turns him about and presses him up against the brick wall once more. “Right. Now for that big prick I promised yeh…” Sam’s fingers curl into the rough surface as Gene spits and reaches down, undoing his flies with one hand while loosening Sam up with the other. He doesn’t get much time to consider either action before he can feel Gene against his arse, grinding there with a possessive growl before slowly pushing into Sam. He groans and hangs his head down as Gene’s hands take hold of his hips and the larger man starts moving, rubbing that sweet spot just as promised.
It doesn’t take long for either of them, Gene moving powerfully within in Sam, his blood lust slaked by both the battle and the bite taken from his lover and DI. Now it's time to sate a different form of lust. For Sam, the aphrodisiac released in Gene’s saliva is still percolating through his system like seltzer water in his blood. He moans as his Guv fills him hard and deep and he cries out once more as Gene reaches around to take up his half-hard length, stroking it to full erection once more. “Uhhhhh, God, Gene, don’t stop… don’t stop…” There’s a rough laugh in his ear, warm breath blowing against his tender neck as Gene rumbles in turn, “Not a chance, Tyler. Not letting you go. Never letting you go. Yer mine now…” Keening softly Sam arches his head back, panting and thrusting into Gene’s fingers, impaling himself on Gene’s cock till both of them gasp and rumble, Gene coming deep inside his DI and Sam coming once more against the wall.
Slumping against Sam, more to feel him flush against himself than out of exhaustion, Gene keeps his DI upright till he recovers, the two men parting and slowly straightening up and setting their person and clothes to rights once more. Looking about, Sam mutters, “Jesus Christ, what a mess.” With a slap on his shoulder and a broad laugh, Gene returns, “Nuthin’ to get yer nose bent outta shape over. It’s what plonks are for anyways. Clean up the messes. Ready to head down to the station, fill out one of those bloody reports you’re always goin’ on about? Surprised you don’t shag ‘em, yeh kinky bastard.” Shaking his head, Sam pushes himself away from the wall and bends down to pick up his stake, shaking it and wiping it off on a bag of trash before reluctantly pocketing it. “Yer the kinky bastard here, Gene." Looking about, Sam wrinkles his nose and proclaims, "Screw procedure, I need a drink and a shower.”
Grinning, Gene slings his arm over Sam’s shoulder, steering him toward the Cortina with a happy smile on his face. “You know you love it, Dorothy, so quit yer whinin'. Tell yeh wot. Yeh throw in another tussle with yeh between the sheets and I’m right there with yeh, Tyler." Sam gives Gene a dubious look, but his lips are curled into a wry smile as he notes, "This bar is closed, so you'll have to drink from your flask or enjoy a single malt instead of a Bloody Sammy, as it were." Opening the driver's side door, Gene leans against the top of the Cortina to grin unrepentantly at his DI. "A single malt with a blood chaser and you in my bed? Sounds like my kind of 'paper' work, Tyler. Now get yer fairy arse in and try not to get any blood on my Cortina or I'll have yer guts fer garters..."