What Dreams May Come (Rating - Brown Cortina)
Title : What Dreams May Come. . . . . . .
Pairing : Gene/Sam
Rating : Brown Cortina - it's just PWP
Word Count : About 1,000 give or take
Summary : Gene
A/N : Very brief PWP to get me back into the writing mood after a long break. Big hugs and sloppy kisses to dorsetgirl for the lightening fast beta which was kindly undertaken after I dumped this on her unexpectedly. Thank you Hunny!!!
--o0o--
Gene groaned softly to himself as the rhythmic thumping began again.
For Christ's Sake! Would they never shut up?
He growled and considered thumping on the thin wall that separated his piece of this fleapit guesthouse from the enthusiastic shaggers next door. He raised his fist but a glance across to the other bed decided him against it. That would be all he'd need, Sam whinging on about being woken up while the nonstop fuck-fest ground on next door.
The squeaking of next door's bedsprings speeded up and the squeals and whimpers increased in volume before suddenly stopping in the wake of a heartfelt howl from his mystery neighbour.
Gene sighed with relief.
About bloody time too!
Settling for thumping his pillow instead of the wall, Gene snuggled down again and closed his eyes. He was just drifting into sleep when the moans and sighs began again.
Oh for fuck's sake . . . . . .
Resigned now to a sleepless night, at least until Casanova next door was finished, Gene fixed his eyes on a random spot on the ceiling and cursed his luck in finding himself in this situation.
It was supposed to be so simple, a nice drive over to Blackpool to question a witness and then back again, but he hadn't counted on Sam "Picky Pain" Tyler. How long could it take to take a statement? 20 minutes? 30 tops if the witness was particularly thick. Except that Sam had insisted on going over each tiny detail again and again until the poor witness was totally confused and Gene was exhausted, needed a drink, and said so in no uncertain terms.
One drink led into two, then three and then Sam had declared they were too drunk to drive back, confiscated the car keys and booked the two of them into this dump, apparently occupied by the British Sexual Olympics team on a rigorous training schedule.
Despite himself, Gene found his attention captured. The noises from next door were increasing in intensity again and his imagination began supplying images to go with the soundtrack.
His hands caressing soft skin, gliding across a smooth back before sweeping down to clutch at rounded buttocks.
He settled himself down deeper into the bed, snuggling comfortably into the warm blankets.
Fingertips trailing across his chest , scratching softly as they moved up his neck and tangled in his hair . . .
He allowed his hands to follow the imaginary trail, his fingers feathering across his own skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as he sighed with pleasure - God, it had been so long since he'd indulged himself, and longer still since sex had been anything but a solitary hobby.
The fingertips played with his nipple, drawing spirals around the already erect flesh, sending shocks of excitement zinging through his body. Lips fastened themselves to his skin, warm, wet tongue flickering as the damp trail moved up to his neck. One hand crept up to tangle itself in his hair, forcing his head back and exposing his throat to nibbling teeth which suddenly bit down, hard. .
His hands roved freely over his body, grazing across his ribs, teasing himself. Blood began to rush down long unused pathways and he could feel himself lengthening, thickening. An involuntary moan escaped his lips, hurriedly muffled as he shot a glance at Sam's sleeping form.
He turned his head to allow greater access, shuddering in delight at the sensations coursing through him, surrendering himself to the rush of desire. Breath whispered across his face until warm lips took and ravaged his own, an insistent tongue insinuating its way into his mouth, duelling with his as the questing hands explored his naked, writhing body, reaching down, reaching down. 'Yes - oh yes - please - touch. . .
His hands moved lower and lower, tugging gently at the coarse hair, carefully avoiding contact with his now straining cock, sliding around and underneath to cup his balls, groaning at the sensation, lost in a sea of arousal until he forgot where he was, forgot about the need for silence, his gasps rasping loudly in his throat.
Breath whispered across his face. Lust-dazed eyes flew open to gaze into liquid brown. Just time to gasp in surprise before his lips were ravaged as an insistent tongue insinuated its way into his mouth. His hands were held gently but firmly still until his shock softened into hope and a softly spoken promise filled the tense quiet of the room.
"Let me. I'll make it good for you."
The carefully constructed, carefully featureless fantasy now had a name; a face; a voice whispering delicious crudities in his ear that made Gene shudder with delight at the promises being made; hands that swept across his body, stroking, probing, calling soft whines from a throat made dry from desperate, panting breaths.
His hands caressed soft skin, gliding across a smooth back before sweeping down to clutch at rounded buttocks that rose and fell until he cried out in acceptance and ecstasy before sinking, finally, into contented sleep.
fin
Pairing : Gene/Sam
Rating : Brown Cortina - it's just PWP
Word Count : About 1,000 give or take
Summary : Gene
A/N : Very brief PWP to get me back into the writing mood after a long break. Big hugs and sloppy kisses to dorsetgirl for the lightening fast beta which was kindly undertaken after I dumped this on her unexpectedly. Thank you Hunny!!!
--o0o--
Gene groaned softly to himself as the rhythmic thumping began again.
For Christ's Sake! Would they never shut up?
He growled and considered thumping on the thin wall that separated his piece of this fleapit guesthouse from the enthusiastic shaggers next door. He raised his fist but a glance across to the other bed decided him against it. That would be all he'd need, Sam whinging on about being woken up while the nonstop fuck-fest ground on next door.
The squeaking of next door's bedsprings speeded up and the squeals and whimpers increased in volume before suddenly stopping in the wake of a heartfelt howl from his mystery neighbour.
Gene sighed with relief.
About bloody time too!
Settling for thumping his pillow instead of the wall, Gene snuggled down again and closed his eyes. He was just drifting into sleep when the moans and sighs began again.
Oh for fuck's sake . . . . . .
Resigned now to a sleepless night, at least until Casanova next door was finished, Gene fixed his eyes on a random spot on the ceiling and cursed his luck in finding himself in this situation.
It was supposed to be so simple, a nice drive over to Blackpool to question a witness and then back again, but he hadn't counted on Sam "Picky Pain" Tyler. How long could it take to take a statement? 20 minutes? 30 tops if the witness was particularly thick. Except that Sam had insisted on going over each tiny detail again and again until the poor witness was totally confused and Gene was exhausted, needed a drink, and said so in no uncertain terms.
One drink led into two, then three and then Sam had declared they were too drunk to drive back, confiscated the car keys and booked the two of them into this dump, apparently occupied by the British Sexual Olympics team on a rigorous training schedule.
Despite himself, Gene found his attention captured. The noises from next door were increasing in intensity again and his imagination began supplying images to go with the soundtrack.
His hands caressing soft skin, gliding across a smooth back before sweeping down to clutch at rounded buttocks.
He settled himself down deeper into the bed, snuggling comfortably into the warm blankets.
Fingertips trailing across his chest , scratching softly as they moved up his neck and tangled in his hair . . .
He allowed his hands to follow the imaginary trail, his fingers feathering across his own skin, raising goosebumps in their wake as he sighed with pleasure - God, it had been so long since he'd indulged himself, and longer still since sex had been anything but a solitary hobby.
The fingertips played with his nipple, drawing spirals around the already erect flesh, sending shocks of excitement zinging through his body. Lips fastened themselves to his skin, warm, wet tongue flickering as the damp trail moved up to his neck. One hand crept up to tangle itself in his hair, forcing his head back and exposing his throat to nibbling teeth which suddenly bit down, hard. .
His hands roved freely over his body, grazing across his ribs, teasing himself. Blood began to rush down long unused pathways and he could feel himself lengthening, thickening. An involuntary moan escaped his lips, hurriedly muffled as he shot a glance at Sam's sleeping form.
He turned his head to allow greater access, shuddering in delight at the sensations coursing through him, surrendering himself to the rush of desire. Breath whispered across his face until warm lips took and ravaged his own, an insistent tongue insinuating its way into his mouth, duelling with his as the questing hands explored his naked, writhing body, reaching down, reaching down. 'Yes - oh yes - please - touch. . .
His hands moved lower and lower, tugging gently at the coarse hair, carefully avoiding contact with his now straining cock, sliding around and underneath to cup his balls, groaning at the sensation, lost in a sea of arousal until he forgot where he was, forgot about the need for silence, his gasps rasping loudly in his throat.
Breath whispered across his face. Lust-dazed eyes flew open to gaze into liquid brown. Just time to gasp in surprise before his lips were ravaged as an insistent tongue insinuated its way into his mouth. His hands were held gently but firmly still until his shock softened into hope and a softly spoken promise filled the tense quiet of the room.
"Let me. I'll make it good for you."
The carefully constructed, carefully featureless fantasy now had a name; a face; a voice whispering delicious crudities in his ear that made Gene shudder with delight at the promises being made; hands that swept across his body, stroking, probing, calling soft whines from a throat made dry from desperate, panting breaths.
His hands caressed soft skin, gliding across a smooth back before sweeping down to clutch at rounded buttocks that rose and fell until he cried out in acceptance and ecstasy before sinking, finally, into contented sleep.
fin