Fic: Pirouette, Life on Mars (Sam/Gene), Adult, mild bdsm
Title: Pirouette
Author: amproof
Rating: Brown Cortina for a consensual BDSM relationship.
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Words: 5,434
Warnings: Angst. BDSM consensual, gay!sex (yay!), oral, spanking, inspired by the Anon Porn prompt of domSam/relucGene, spanking. Somewhat, possibly OOC Gene and Sam, but I did my best to make it work.
Disclaimer: Life on Mars isn't mine. If it were, I sure as heck wouldn't do this to them. (Part of this may be a lie…)
Notes: Thank you to karaokegal for the beta. Now that I'm done with Taken (and thank you to all who read and took the time to comment on that, it was great to hear from you as I put the baby to rest-made it a bit easier to say goodbye. :) ), I find that I miss writing angsty chapter fic for Life on Mars. But I have other plans for November, so it will have to wait. In the meantime, I wanted to get this in under the Porntober wire. It's a one-off from what I'm tossing about as an idea for my next long fic. Comments loved and appreciated--it's always great to know who's reading. :)
Summary: Gene's not doing what Sam says. Sam's at the end of his rope. What's he supposed to do with a slave who won't follow orders? Not like it was his idea to play 'master' in the first place… But that doesn't mean he won't.
"Either say it or I will order you onto your knees right here. What's it to be, Gene?"
"Please." The word, whispered, cracked on Gene's lips.
Sam swiveled on the barstool, turning his body towards him. He leaned closer, his lips against Gene's ear, his legs framing Gene's thighs. "Please, what?"
He'd thrown Gene for a loop; Sam knew that much. They didn't play at this master/slave business when they were outside the flat-not openly, anyway. When Sam had suggested they have a drink before heading home, he knew that Gene had accepted because he never turned down an offer of a drink, not because he thought Sam was going to turn top on him. He almost felt bad for the guv, walking into what Gene could only view as a trap and not knowing it. Then they got here, they had pints in hand, Gene was feeling good, letting Sam know by bumping his knee against Sam's now and again, and Sam went and gave him an order. An order that, at home, Gene would follow easily. But here… Sam could read what Gene was thinking in his disgruntled, almost pouting expression: false advertising and not bloody fair. That pursed lower lip added just a touch of petulance into his interpretation. He nearly leaned forward and caught it with his own lips, but forced himself to remember where he was and what he was doing.
"Please. Don't make me." Sam could almost take pity on him for the shakiness in his voice, the way Gene could not hold his glass steady and had set it on the bar and wrapped his hands around it. Almost. He knew that pity was the worst thing he could do to Gene.
"I'm not going to ask you again." Ask, not tell. This was Gene's choice, all of it. Sam didn't take power--he accepted it. It was Gene, who gave it to him, wasn't it? Not the other way around-almost a year ago, Gene, who had knocked on Sam's door one night, knocked, and said yes. Sam had thought he was granting him permission to drive the Cortina on a stakeout the next day. He was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as Gene brushed past him and started undressing. He didn't fold a thing, just dropped each article on the floor. Sam latched the door and stared.
"Gene…"
It had been months since Sam made the suggestion to him, months since they'd hauled in a Madame with an iron will, months since Sam had watched her make Gene squirm as she turned the tables on him in the interrogation and seemed about to go free, would have, except Sam took over at the last moment and sent her down. Once she was cuffed and out of the room, Gene had snapped out of it and railed on Sam for violating his authority. Sam had taken the attack, no choice really as the transformation from catatonia to fury was so fast. He had been thrust on his stomach on the table, Gene behind him, twisting his arm, his erection pressing against Sam's arse and neither man acknowledging it. Sam did not ask why Gene's response to the woman seemed so ingrained, why he wouldn't look at her, why he kept his hands on his lap, why he seemed so unlike himself. It didn't seem like a wise line of conversation at the time. Instead, he calmly asked Gene to let him up. Gene did, but not before bashing Sam's head one last time. Sam waited until he heard the door slam before he peeled himself off the table.
He could have forgotten about it, except for being in the john and hearing Ray booming out, "I seen him on his knees, like, just on his own. Looked like he was talking to himself. I told him if he wanted to be on his knees he could always do it in front of me."
"What did he do?" asked an unseen voice.
"Punched me of course. What do you think?"
"Never figured him for a queer."
"Man on his knees don't make him queer."
"Yeah, in whose world?"
Ray's voice was all bravado and lying, and Sam was just about to flush and make his presence known when he heard Ray say, "Still can't believe he let the camel hair coat touch the floor. He's almost as protective about that as he is the car."
Sam froze. They were talking about Gene. Was the Guv looking for a master? Sitting there with his pants around his ankles, Sam found himself smiling. He could be the Guv's master. Someone as meticulous as him could be a very good master.
So he waited for Gene after work one night and, over a pint or six, had laid out his offer. He was doing this, he had said, for Gene. Because he had noticed certain things, such as that he was spending more nights in the office instead of going home, and that his shirts weren't getting laundered properly. With me, he had said, you will go home every night. You will get a good night's sleep. You will have clean shirts. He hadn't mentioned sex. He figured if Gene knew the lifestyle, he would understand it to be implied. He had not used the phrase "you will do as you are told." He figured this would be understood, too. Evidently, it was.
He woke up in an alley behind the pub with a bruised jaw.
He'd figured that was the end of it. Then Gene had showed up at his door. And he wasn't even drunk. He was stone cold sober. Maybe that was the problem the first time around…
"You're right. It gets stressful for me, day in and day out, and now Margot's gone, I need something else to take me mind off things." He undid his trousers and started pushing them off.
"Gene…"
"I need you." The green shirt next, stripped off with nimble fingers. Sam watched as it dropped to the floor.
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I can't very well ask Ray, can I? And you've offered, so…"
"Tell the truth."
"What?"
"We're not starting this on a lie. Tell the truth about Ray."
Gene stared at him, and didn't seem inclined to say anything. Sam picked up the shirt and walked to the kitchenette. He turned a burner on and held the shirt over it. "I know how much you love this shirt, Gene. It brings out your eyes. It's my favorite, too, to be honest. But I will burn it if you don't start talking."
Gene's eyes narrowed slightly. Sam dipped a sleeve into the flame. It began to burn. He held it over the sink. Sam got the idea that Gene was only looking at him because he hadn't been told not to.
"Your favorite shirt, Gene…"
He could see the conflict on Gene's face. The flame was going steady now, reaching for the neck of the shirt. If this is what it would be like being the Guv's master, Sam wasn't sure he was ready for it, but he knew one thing-he wasn't going to back down tonight. He stared right back at Gene and pretended to ignore the heat lapping towards his fingers.
Gene spoke in the nick of time, just as the flame hit Sam's thumb. "He knows I…have needs. He caught me on my knees once, but I never considered asking him, I swear. He hotfooted away from me, anyway."
Sam dropped the shirt into the sink and turned the water on. It turned into a smoldering pile. He lifted it and tossed it at Gene's feet. "That's for stubbornness. Which I'm not having. Understand?"
Gene nodded.
"You would have asked Ray if he'd stayed."
"No. He's not my…I like people who are quiet. Like you."
Gene shucked his shorts and faced him, naked. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head as if he'd suddenly realized that Sam was a religious icon come to life. Sam stopped himself from reaching towards him. He'd seen the Guv naked before, but there was something different about this. He was vulnerable, for a start, not in the CID locker room for another, and he had an erection. Never had that when he was naked in the CID. It was intimidating, to an extent, but more than that, having Gene Hunt in front of him, baring all, was fucking invigorating.
Still, he had to be sure Gene knew what he was doing. Sam began undoing his own shirt. Gene blinked, his expression unreadable, holding neither fear nor eagerness. Sam raised his undershirt.
"Do you see this bruise? That's from you punching me last week. And this one? That's from being shoved into a door handle." He turned and showed his back. "This is from the filing cabinet."
Gene kept his expression steady. Sam bent over him. "Are you sure, are you absolutely positive that you want me to be your master? How do you know I won't be inclined to get my own back?"
"You wouldn't do that." Gene didn't sound as certain as his words implied.
"How do you know?" Sam was still bent over him, pushing and aware of his cruelty, but needing it to get through, trusting that he could control it, and knowing that Gene needed to see it, to know that it existed. Gene broke eye contact.
"I need you, Tyler. If you'll still have me, I promise you won't regret it. I'll make you proud." All this was said to the floor.
"Gene…" He hesitated, wary of the warmth that concentrated itself in his belly, forming into an orb of fire, as he looked down upon Gene. He hadn't expected that it would feel so…right. This man, this legend, wanted him as a master. Sam bit his lip to stop the surge of self-pride rushing through him from reaching his face.
Sam reached forward and laid a tentative hand on Gene's head. As the head bowed lower, the light touch became a grip and then a tug, the flicker of ownership beginning and shooting down to that place in his stomach, making it burn. And it felt good.
"Master…"
"Call me 'Sam'. I'll know what it means." His voice was barely above a whisper, and Gene leaned his head against Sam's hand. Sam carded his fingers through the soft hair and found other emotions lurking inside himself-affection, devotion, responsibility.
"Thank you, Sam." Gene stayed next to him until Sam turned, opened his trousers, and thrust into Gene's mouth. He had not done well with Maya, or any other previous lover for that matter. Selfish, they'd all called him. He needed Gene to know who he was asking for. The real Sam Tyler. He didn't let Gene move, but guided him with hands on Gene's ears. He fucked Gene's face without reserve, pressing his cock down his throat staring down all the while, willing to Gene to see who he was. Tears sprang to Gene's eyes, but he didn't resist or try to pull away. Sam gave into the power, to the heat around him. Gene had to know what he was asking for, had to know it wouldn't be easy on him, that many others had come before and given up. Sam shoved deep as he came and forced him to swallow. Gene did, making soft noises around Sam's cock. Sam withdrew and ordered Gene to get dressed and get out. Gene did, moving in a kind of daze.
As he reached the door, Sam stopped him and kissed him. "If you're serious, come back tomorrow. But if you do, it'll be permanent. Understand?"
Gene nodded, once, and left. Sam noticed too late that he had dried come on his chin. It didn't occur to him until later that Gene probably already knew.
Sam was up the rest of the night trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do if Gene came back, and then convincing himself that Gene would not come back.
Gene came back.
Sam had thought it would be easy, being in charge of somebody. He used to be a DCI. He was good at ordering people around. But there was more to it, loads more and having Gene around brought home just how much he didn't know. Gene needed attention constantly. Even when he wasn't doing anything but kneeling he exuded an aura of want. Sam was kept busier than he could have dreamed thinking of what to do with him. Gene had been helpful within limits. He didn't talk much, but Sam interpreted his approval by whether or not he rolled his eyes at a suggestion. They'd figured it out, together.
Day by day, they had, until they came to this day, this moment, and Gene staring at Sam like he'd lost his mind.
"Please." Gene's eyes were starting to glisten.
"Please what?"
This was the hardest part for Gene, conceding his superiority in public. Even though no one was listening or even really looking at them--the pub was empty except for a man and woman making eyes at each other in a corner and Nelson on the opposite end of the bar with his wet towel scrubbing up--Gene wouldn't use Sam's proper title. Sam. Just a name to some, but Gene knew what it meant, and Sam knew that kept him tongue-tied for fear that someone would hear him say it and know, too. If they were at home, he would use it without being asked. He would be stripping off his clothes before the door to the flat was shut and kneeling in the middle of the floor like a bloody great dog waiting for its master to notice him--and helping him by being right in the way so Sam had to walk around him all night.
"I'm the Guv..."
"You're the Guv on duty, Gene. We're not on duty now. So either you say it or you get down on your knees."
Sam had never asked Gene to do something in public before. He understood his reluctance. It was the pub that was throwing him off. If Sam had taken him to a nondescript place, he was fairly sure Gene would be game for anything Sam had in mind. That was precisely why they were sitting in The Railway Arms. Gene had been shutting down over the past few weeks, and no matter how gently Sam carded his hand through Gene's hair and whispered to him after they fucked or how red he beat Gene's ass before they fucked or how he made Gene moan as they fucked, it wasn't enough to make him talk. So they were trying something different.
Gene seemed to be trying to disappear into his glass, staring at it as if he could shrink. With deliberation, Sam laid three fingers on Gene's wrist and pressed the soft inner flesh. It was a signal they had developed for moments at the CID when Sam thought Gene needed reminding who he belonged to. Since they were always grabbing each other anyway, it didn't matter to anyone that Sam seemed to be checking his Guv's pulse. In a way, that was exactly what Sam was doing. Because Gene knew what that touch meant, his pulse would quicken. As Sam touched it now, it raced, burbling over with the knowledge of Sam's ownership, the knowledge that his fear did not matter, nor his reluctance because in the end there was only one choice to make: be Sam's or be alone.
Sam knew one thing. Gene didn't know how to be alone. Maybe it was unfair for him to exploit Gene's weakness like this, but it was for the best. He told himself that Gene would see that, once it was over.
Under the pretense of showing Gene something in the case folder he was carrying, Sam leaned into him and said, "I'm going to spank you when we get home. It's up to you what kind of spanking it is." Gene flushed. A glance down told Sam that the squeeze on his wrist and the whispered promise had the desired effect. He dropped his hand under the bar, gave Gene a brief squeeze over his trousers, and smirked off the glare of Gene's response. "Knees, Gene. Now."
Gene froze. He stared at Sam. Finally, something in him clicked and movement returned to him, but it wasn't to obey. Instead, he shook his head, tentatively, as if testing the motion out. "N-no."
Sam pushed the folder over again so he could sit arm to arm with him. "I told you, either call me by my proper title or get on your knees. I gave you a choice. You haven't called me anything, so I guess your choice is to kneel." He stopped until Gene raised his glance from his half-empty glass (though Sam saw it as half-full) to meet Sam's unwavering eyes. "So kneel."
Another moment. Sam held the gaze. Gene needed this. He needed to be reminded that Sam was his master. He knew it, even if Gene didn't. Something had happened. Sam didn't know what it was, but he'd never seen Gene like this, not even in the early days. This was a different kind of test Gene was putting him through, one he wasn't sure even Gene understood. Sam tried to convey all of this into his expression, but he suspected that he just came off as looking thunderous. In any case, Gene slid off the stool and lumbered to the floor--the cleanest pub floor in all of Manchester, if not England, Nelson, had he been aware of this happening, would have hastened to mention. Gene glared upwards. Then he dropped his gaze and sat on his heels, facing Sam's right thigh. Sam let him sit.
Tension emanated from him. Sam had ordered Gene into a position where there was no way the couple in the corner could see him, but Gene couldn't know that. He kept glancing towards them until Sam tapped his cheek lightly and directed his attention back to where it should be. "Do you trust me?" Even with tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks, Gene's reaction was immediate. He pressed his head against Sam's leg. Sam felt the rub as Gene nodded. "I will never ask you to do anything that you can't handle." He spoke, looking straight ahead, since to look down for too long would raise curiosity. Nelson looked over at him.
"You goin' to ask me to make one o' dem 'long island ice teas' again?"
Sam offered a conciliatory wave. "No, Nelson, not today."
Once Gene had settled, Sam let him stay where he was. He didn't touch him, simply felt his silent presence, large but unobtrusive, beside him. "The Guv go out?" Nelson asked. "He'll be back," Sam said. He let his hand fall to his side and curled his fingers upwards. They'd made it a year. It was almost too good to be true. And yet, it was. Turned out Sam had it wrong about himself, too. He was capable of love, of devotion, of all those things his women told him he wouldn't recognize if they were standing in front him with flashing lights. Turned out he didn't need flashing lights, only needed Gene to need him in his lumbering, awkward way. He smiled around his glass as he felt Gene's soft lips obediently sucking the tips of his fingers. He extended his middle finger and soon felt the strong tongue swirling around it, worshipping it as a surrogate for Sam's cock.
The door swung open and Ray, Chris, Dave, and Horace tumbled in, fresh off their shift. Gene raised his eyes. Sam caught the terror in them, the dread of humiliation at being caught on his knees by this group, and knew that if he asked Gene to say his name now, he would do so without hesitation just so he could get up. But Sam didn't want it forced from him by fear or humiliation. To do so, he knew, would destroy this fragile thing they'd made.
Gene opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, but Sam was already in action, smoothly knocking Gene's pint glass over so the beer spilled over the side of the bar, landing just in front of Gene. Sam dropped a few napkins on top of it and slid to his knees. He shoved a napkin at Gene, who was staring at the spill, too stunned to move.
"I won't have it forced out of you--you have to mean it," Sam said, leaning just close enough for only Gene to catch the words. He started scrubbing up, confident Gene would get the hint. Then, loud enough for the new entrants to hear: "I'm sorry, Guv. God, I'm clumsy. I'll get you a new pint, yeah?" And soon three other men on their knees joined them, each with napkins.
"You never saw the Guv move so fast as when I knocked his pint over," Sam said.
Ray shook his head. "You're a twat, sir. No offense."
Sam nodded. "Yes. I am." He plastered on a shamefaced expression. Gene was finally coming to life, dabbing the beer up. No one else noticed that his face was red; only Sam noticed it fading back to peach. He shot a grateful smile at Sam, who took the napkin from him, brushing Gene's fingers as he did. They stood up together. Sam moved to right the glass, but found that Nelson had beaten him to it. The glass was not only upright; it was full again. Gene glanced at it, and then at Sam, waiting. Sam nodded as he looked at Nelson, so anyone else would think he was thanking the publican. Gene took it for the permission it was intended to be, and raised the glass to his lips. He drained half of it in one go. It was clear that they weren't getting out of there anytime soon, not with the gang in such a mood of joviality, so Sam touched Gene's wrist and reminded him that he needed to use the toilet. Gene got the hint and loped off to the loo.
After a respectable amount of time, Sam followed.
He latched the door. Gene was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, looking very much like the Guv. One eyebrow twitched when Sam started removing his belt, but that was the only indication of interest.
"You belong to me," Sam said.
"You gonna bugger me in the loo?"
"I might."
Gene's eyes went wide, but only for a second. He probably wondered when Sam had turned into a kinky bastard. He was half-hard, his trousers tenting slightly, and Sam was almost sorry that he wasn't a kinky bastard-at least, not today, not in the way Gene wanted. Gene grabbed himself and squeezed gently, staring at Sam full-on.
"Did I tell you to touch yourself?"
"Didn't tell me not to. You want me. I'm here." Gene kept on squeezing, rocking himself in his palm.
"I'm going to spank you."
"What?" The hand fell to his side. Sam stopped himself from smiling in triumph. "Because I touched myself or…" Gene leaned forward, really looking at Sam, reading him like he did a crim. "Oh, bollocks. You sent me in here for it, didn't you?"
Sam just looked right back at him.
"You're a sick wanker, you know that?"
Sam shrugged and allowed himself a tiny smile, one that he didn't think was at all reassuring. "We're gonna be here for awhile, long enough for you to start thinking it's ok for you to forget your place. You'll play darts; you'll win; you'll get cocky. It'll take me forever to get you back into the mindset you were in a few minutes ago. So we're going to nip this in the bud right now."
Gene looked at him with ten kinds of disbelief. "My mates are out there."
"I know. You're Gene Hunt." Sam raised his hands to the level of his waist, with his palms down like he was petting something unseen. "You don't take Gene Hunt into a loo like a bloody preschooler and whack his arse. I get it." Sam stepped forward until he was nose to nose with him. Gene met him, stare for stare. He clutched the knot of Gene's tie as if he were a horse about to rear. "If we were at home," Sam whispered, "I'd whip you and you'd thank me for it."
"We ain't at home. I've got a game of darts waiting on me now."
"It's not a punishment, Gene. Just a reminder. A little warm up so every time you move tonight, you'll think of me. Every time your pants shift over your red arse, you'll remember who you belong to." Sam's fingers splayed over Gene's chest, stroking, soothing.
"I always remember that." Gene said with hurt pride.
Sam saw the opportunity to console him and did not take it. He let the rush of pride catch him. Never got old, having Gene Hunt say that to him.
"I'm going to give you ten with my hand and four with my belt. Whenever you're ready, get your pants and trousers down and put your hands on the sink."
Gene looked at the door. "They'll be wondering what we're doing in here together."
"I think they quit wondering about us awhile ago."
"Probably figure I'm beating on you for some reason," Gene said.
"When did you ever need a reason?"
Gene allowed himself a wry smile.
"Make yourself happy, then." He undid his trousers and pushed them down along with his pants. He turned and braced himself on the sink. Sam moved behind him, pressing his crotch against Gene's thigh, so Gene could feel the interested hardness and tilt his hip towards it. Sam traced the line of Gene's bottom, the curvature of spine to leg with his whole hand, taking in the tender twitching of anticipation, measuring how the air affected the newly exposed flesh.
The first time Sam had spanked Gene, he'd done it wrong. Gene didn't say anything, but Sam knew. He hadn't hit him hard enough, or he'd hit him in the wrong place, or he'd hit him too hard-he'd done it wrong. For some stupid reason, Sam hadn't figured that physical punishment would be part of this life. Sex, yes. Spanking, no. That was fine for the people in the books, but they didn't need that.
Turned out they did. Or Gene did. After the first time ended with Sam knowing he'd mucked it up and Gene gamely acting like he hadn't, Sam had started practicing. At first, he tried hitting himself with his hand, his hairbrush, his belt, his shoe…anything he had around the house that could reasonably be turned into an implement of punishment. He started to worry about how creative he was getting. Who looked at a book and thought, 'that could sting!'? The angle wasn't right, though. He was holding back. He couldn't get the full picture of what Gene experienced by doing it to himself. So he did some more research. He made a few calls. And he found a woman. He left the badge at home, went to her house, and told her his problem. Fifty quid and three hours later and he left with a sore arse and the knowledge of exactly the right way to deliver a spanking for punishment or pleasure. She told him to come back anytime, but in addition to learning what he'd asked for, he'd also learned that if he never got spanked again for the rest of his life, it would be too soon. Gene, though, seemed to need it and, sometimes, enjoy it. So who was Sam to say no?
"I love you, Gene," he said.
Gene nodded against his arm. "Just do it."
Waiting was the hardest part for him. Knowing he didn't have any control over when it started or ended. It was all in Sam's hands. He was in Sam's hands. He was Sam's. Sam saw the thought process as it happened, the arch and fall of the Guv's back illustrated it better than words-words Gene probably didn't have the first idea how to express. But Sam understood him now, owned him, in some ways was him.
Sam landed the first blow on the fleshy part of Gene's arse. It was light, designed to shock more than hurt. Its sister blow was more of the same. Sam peppered the next four over his bottom, increasing the force so gradually it was barely noticeable. He had raised up a nice pink color on Gene, though. As soon as the sixth blow landed, he swung the belt. It snapped across both cheeks at once and Gene, not ready for it, nearly bolted into the wall.
Sam reached between Gene's legs and gently squeezed his cock. "Shhh. It's ok. You're ok." He opened his hand, and on the next strike Gene bucked into him. This wasn't a punishment spanking, so Sam took care to avoid the sensitive thighs, but that meant Gene's arse was turning redder than it normally would from the light taps. He placed the third stripe above the second, and the fourth below. As the fourth landed, Sam commanded, and Gene came, erupting into the sink. Sam leaned over and kissed the red bottom before gently easing Gene's pants back up. He turned the sink on and washed the semen away as Gene adjusted his trousers. When he finished, Gene was standing at the door.
"So, should we go out together, or…" Gene was fidgeting with his snap, looking at the floor, making his problem obvious. He didn't want to go out. A few minutes ago, he didn't want to be there but now…the spanking had worked. Sam smiled, but the love that crossed his face went unseen as Gene's eyes were focused on his shoes.
"Probably should go out separate. There's just one more thing." Gene looked at him without raising his head. Sam opened his trousers. "Suck me. You got me a little excited, love."
Gene seemed almost grateful as he came away from the door. He sat down on the toilet and tugged Sam forward. "I ain't goin' on me knees in here, I don't care how clean Nelson thinks it is."
Sam grinned. He loved that Gene kept his humour with him. He wasn't 'yes, master' 'no master' like some of the people in the books. Sure, they had that sometimes, but Gene was Gene in one way or another all the time.
In seconds, he had Sam in his mouth. Sam touched Gene's shoulders for balance, but it was all about those strong hands on his hips, moving him like a rag doll, that mouth on his cock sucking like he was born to it. Gene's mouth was hot around him, and when he moaned it sent vibrations straight to Sam's belly. He'd thought he'd get used to it, having Gene Hunt at his beck and call, but he hadn't. He fucking loved it. Loved him. Loved being his master. He thrust into Gene's mouth and Gene looked up, eyes shining, and dropped his hands off Sam's hips, letting Sam know that if he wanted to fuck his face, it was his right. Sam knew this already, and with great willpower, he forced himself to keep his hips still. "It's up to you, Gene." The hands came up again, one reaching between Sam's legs and rubbing exactly where it should. Sam didn't bother stifling his groan. If no one had heard him thrashing Gene, no one would hear this. Sam came, almost falling as he did, but Gene held onto him and kept him upright. Gene swallowed every bit of it, and then wiped his mouth, though Sam suspected it was more to hide a brief smirk than to clean himself.
"Can I get back to me darts now?"
Sam tilted his head up, bent down, and claimed his mouth.
"What are you?"
"I'm yours."
"Thank you. Go play darts."
Though they had intended to leave separately, they ended up walking out together. Gene started for the dartboard. Sam grabbed him and set the ground rules. "No talking unless spoken to." He waited until Gene nodded. "And call Ray a tosser every chance you get." That got a tiny smile. Sam let him go. "Have fun."
The End (for now)
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Author: amproof
Rating: Brown Cortina for a consensual BDSM relationship.
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Words: 5,434
Warnings: Angst. BDSM consensual, gay!sex (yay!), oral, spanking, inspired by the Anon Porn prompt of domSam/relucGene, spanking. Somewhat, possibly OOC Gene and Sam, but I did my best to make it work.
Disclaimer: Life on Mars isn't mine. If it were, I sure as heck wouldn't do this to them. (Part of this may be a lie…)
Notes: Thank you to karaokegal for the beta. Now that I'm done with Taken (and thank you to all who read and took the time to comment on that, it was great to hear from you as I put the baby to rest-made it a bit easier to say goodbye. :) ), I find that I miss writing angsty chapter fic for Life on Mars. But I have other plans for November, so it will have to wait. In the meantime, I wanted to get this in under the Porntober wire. It's a one-off from what I'm tossing about as an idea for my next long fic. Comments loved and appreciated--it's always great to know who's reading. :)
Summary: Gene's not doing what Sam says. Sam's at the end of his rope. What's he supposed to do with a slave who won't follow orders? Not like it was his idea to play 'master' in the first place… But that doesn't mean he won't.
"Either say it or I will order you onto your knees right here. What's it to be, Gene?"
"Please." The word, whispered, cracked on Gene's lips.
Sam swiveled on the barstool, turning his body towards him. He leaned closer, his lips against Gene's ear, his legs framing Gene's thighs. "Please, what?"
He'd thrown Gene for a loop; Sam knew that much. They didn't play at this master/slave business when they were outside the flat-not openly, anyway. When Sam had suggested they have a drink before heading home, he knew that Gene had accepted because he never turned down an offer of a drink, not because he thought Sam was going to turn top on him. He almost felt bad for the guv, walking into what Gene could only view as a trap and not knowing it. Then they got here, they had pints in hand, Gene was feeling good, letting Sam know by bumping his knee against Sam's now and again, and Sam went and gave him an order. An order that, at home, Gene would follow easily. But here… Sam could read what Gene was thinking in his disgruntled, almost pouting expression: false advertising and not bloody fair. That pursed lower lip added just a touch of petulance into his interpretation. He nearly leaned forward and caught it with his own lips, but forced himself to remember where he was and what he was doing.
"Please. Don't make me." Sam could almost take pity on him for the shakiness in his voice, the way Gene could not hold his glass steady and had set it on the bar and wrapped his hands around it. Almost. He knew that pity was the worst thing he could do to Gene.
"I'm not going to ask you again." Ask, not tell. This was Gene's choice, all of it. Sam didn't take power--he accepted it. It was Gene, who gave it to him, wasn't it? Not the other way around-almost a year ago, Gene, who had knocked on Sam's door one night, knocked, and said yes. Sam had thought he was granting him permission to drive the Cortina on a stakeout the next day. He was rubbing sleep out of his eyes as Gene brushed past him and started undressing. He didn't fold a thing, just dropped each article on the floor. Sam latched the door and stared.
"Gene…"
It had been months since Sam made the suggestion to him, months since they'd hauled in a Madame with an iron will, months since Sam had watched her make Gene squirm as she turned the tables on him in the interrogation and seemed about to go free, would have, except Sam took over at the last moment and sent her down. Once she was cuffed and out of the room, Gene had snapped out of it and railed on Sam for violating his authority. Sam had taken the attack, no choice really as the transformation from catatonia to fury was so fast. He had been thrust on his stomach on the table, Gene behind him, twisting his arm, his erection pressing against Sam's arse and neither man acknowledging it. Sam did not ask why Gene's response to the woman seemed so ingrained, why he wouldn't look at her, why he kept his hands on his lap, why he seemed so unlike himself. It didn't seem like a wise line of conversation at the time. Instead, he calmly asked Gene to let him up. Gene did, but not before bashing Sam's head one last time. Sam waited until he heard the door slam before he peeled himself off the table.
He could have forgotten about it, except for being in the john and hearing Ray booming out, "I seen him on his knees, like, just on his own. Looked like he was talking to himself. I told him if he wanted to be on his knees he could always do it in front of me."
"What did he do?" asked an unseen voice.
"Punched me of course. What do you think?"
"Never figured him for a queer."
"Man on his knees don't make him queer."
"Yeah, in whose world?"
Ray's voice was all bravado and lying, and Sam was just about to flush and make his presence known when he heard Ray say, "Still can't believe he let the camel hair coat touch the floor. He's almost as protective about that as he is the car."
Sam froze. They were talking about Gene. Was the Guv looking for a master? Sitting there with his pants around his ankles, Sam found himself smiling. He could be the Guv's master. Someone as meticulous as him could be a very good master.
So he waited for Gene after work one night and, over a pint or six, had laid out his offer. He was doing this, he had said, for Gene. Because he had noticed certain things, such as that he was spending more nights in the office instead of going home, and that his shirts weren't getting laundered properly. With me, he had said, you will go home every night. You will get a good night's sleep. You will have clean shirts. He hadn't mentioned sex. He figured if Gene knew the lifestyle, he would understand it to be implied. He had not used the phrase "you will do as you are told." He figured this would be understood, too. Evidently, it was.
He woke up in an alley behind the pub with a bruised jaw.
He'd figured that was the end of it. Then Gene had showed up at his door. And he wasn't even drunk. He was stone cold sober. Maybe that was the problem the first time around…
"You're right. It gets stressful for me, day in and day out, and now Margot's gone, I need something else to take me mind off things." He undid his trousers and started pushing them off.
"Gene…"
"I need you." The green shirt next, stripped off with nimble fingers. Sam watched as it dropped to the floor.
"Are you sure?"
"Well, I can't very well ask Ray, can I? And you've offered, so…"
"Tell the truth."
"What?"
"We're not starting this on a lie. Tell the truth about Ray."
Gene stared at him, and didn't seem inclined to say anything. Sam picked up the shirt and walked to the kitchenette. He turned a burner on and held the shirt over it. "I know how much you love this shirt, Gene. It brings out your eyes. It's my favorite, too, to be honest. But I will burn it if you don't start talking."
Gene's eyes narrowed slightly. Sam dipped a sleeve into the flame. It began to burn. He held it over the sink. Sam got the idea that Gene was only looking at him because he hadn't been told not to.
"Your favorite shirt, Gene…"
He could see the conflict on Gene's face. The flame was going steady now, reaching for the neck of the shirt. If this is what it would be like being the Guv's master, Sam wasn't sure he was ready for it, but he knew one thing-he wasn't going to back down tonight. He stared right back at Gene and pretended to ignore the heat lapping towards his fingers.
Gene spoke in the nick of time, just as the flame hit Sam's thumb. "He knows I…have needs. He caught me on my knees once, but I never considered asking him, I swear. He hotfooted away from me, anyway."
Sam dropped the shirt into the sink and turned the water on. It turned into a smoldering pile. He lifted it and tossed it at Gene's feet. "That's for stubbornness. Which I'm not having. Understand?"
Gene nodded.
"You would have asked Ray if he'd stayed."
"No. He's not my…I like people who are quiet. Like you."
Gene shucked his shorts and faced him, naked. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head as if he'd suddenly realized that Sam was a religious icon come to life. Sam stopped himself from reaching towards him. He'd seen the Guv naked before, but there was something different about this. He was vulnerable, for a start, not in the CID locker room for another, and he had an erection. Never had that when he was naked in the CID. It was intimidating, to an extent, but more than that, having Gene Hunt in front of him, baring all, was fucking invigorating.
Still, he had to be sure Gene knew what he was doing. Sam began undoing his own shirt. Gene blinked, his expression unreadable, holding neither fear nor eagerness. Sam raised his undershirt.
"Do you see this bruise? That's from you punching me last week. And this one? That's from being shoved into a door handle." He turned and showed his back. "This is from the filing cabinet."
Gene kept his expression steady. Sam bent over him. "Are you sure, are you absolutely positive that you want me to be your master? How do you know I won't be inclined to get my own back?"
"You wouldn't do that." Gene didn't sound as certain as his words implied.
"How do you know?" Sam was still bent over him, pushing and aware of his cruelty, but needing it to get through, trusting that he could control it, and knowing that Gene needed to see it, to know that it existed. Gene broke eye contact.
"I need you, Tyler. If you'll still have me, I promise you won't regret it. I'll make you proud." All this was said to the floor.
"Gene…" He hesitated, wary of the warmth that concentrated itself in his belly, forming into an orb of fire, as he looked down upon Gene. He hadn't expected that it would feel so…right. This man, this legend, wanted him as a master. Sam bit his lip to stop the surge of self-pride rushing through him from reaching his face.
Sam reached forward and laid a tentative hand on Gene's head. As the head bowed lower, the light touch became a grip and then a tug, the flicker of ownership beginning and shooting down to that place in his stomach, making it burn. And it felt good.
"Master…"
"Call me 'Sam'. I'll know what it means." His voice was barely above a whisper, and Gene leaned his head against Sam's hand. Sam carded his fingers through the soft hair and found other emotions lurking inside himself-affection, devotion, responsibility.
"Thank you, Sam." Gene stayed next to him until Sam turned, opened his trousers, and thrust into Gene's mouth. He had not done well with Maya, or any other previous lover for that matter. Selfish, they'd all called him. He needed Gene to know who he was asking for. The real Sam Tyler. He didn't let Gene move, but guided him with hands on Gene's ears. He fucked Gene's face without reserve, pressing his cock down his throat staring down all the while, willing to Gene to see who he was. Tears sprang to Gene's eyes, but he didn't resist or try to pull away. Sam gave into the power, to the heat around him. Gene had to know what he was asking for, had to know it wouldn't be easy on him, that many others had come before and given up. Sam shoved deep as he came and forced him to swallow. Gene did, making soft noises around Sam's cock. Sam withdrew and ordered Gene to get dressed and get out. Gene did, moving in a kind of daze.
As he reached the door, Sam stopped him and kissed him. "If you're serious, come back tomorrow. But if you do, it'll be permanent. Understand?"
Gene nodded, once, and left. Sam noticed too late that he had dried come on his chin. It didn't occur to him until later that Gene probably already knew.
Sam was up the rest of the night trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do if Gene came back, and then convincing himself that Gene would not come back.
Gene came back.
Sam had thought it would be easy, being in charge of somebody. He used to be a DCI. He was good at ordering people around. But there was more to it, loads more and having Gene around brought home just how much he didn't know. Gene needed attention constantly. Even when he wasn't doing anything but kneeling he exuded an aura of want. Sam was kept busier than he could have dreamed thinking of what to do with him. Gene had been helpful within limits. He didn't talk much, but Sam interpreted his approval by whether or not he rolled his eyes at a suggestion. They'd figured it out, together.
Day by day, they had, until they came to this day, this moment, and Gene staring at Sam like he'd lost his mind.
"Please." Gene's eyes were starting to glisten.
"Please what?"
This was the hardest part for Gene, conceding his superiority in public. Even though no one was listening or even really looking at them--the pub was empty except for a man and woman making eyes at each other in a corner and Nelson on the opposite end of the bar with his wet towel scrubbing up--Gene wouldn't use Sam's proper title. Sam. Just a name to some, but Gene knew what it meant, and Sam knew that kept him tongue-tied for fear that someone would hear him say it and know, too. If they were at home, he would use it without being asked. He would be stripping off his clothes before the door to the flat was shut and kneeling in the middle of the floor like a bloody great dog waiting for its master to notice him--and helping him by being right in the way so Sam had to walk around him all night.
"I'm the Guv..."
"You're the Guv on duty, Gene. We're not on duty now. So either you say it or you get down on your knees."
Sam had never asked Gene to do something in public before. He understood his reluctance. It was the pub that was throwing him off. If Sam had taken him to a nondescript place, he was fairly sure Gene would be game for anything Sam had in mind. That was precisely why they were sitting in The Railway Arms. Gene had been shutting down over the past few weeks, and no matter how gently Sam carded his hand through Gene's hair and whispered to him after they fucked or how red he beat Gene's ass before they fucked or how he made Gene moan as they fucked, it wasn't enough to make him talk. So they were trying something different.
Gene seemed to be trying to disappear into his glass, staring at it as if he could shrink. With deliberation, Sam laid three fingers on Gene's wrist and pressed the soft inner flesh. It was a signal they had developed for moments at the CID when Sam thought Gene needed reminding who he belonged to. Since they were always grabbing each other anyway, it didn't matter to anyone that Sam seemed to be checking his Guv's pulse. In a way, that was exactly what Sam was doing. Because Gene knew what that touch meant, his pulse would quicken. As Sam touched it now, it raced, burbling over with the knowledge of Sam's ownership, the knowledge that his fear did not matter, nor his reluctance because in the end there was only one choice to make: be Sam's or be alone.
Sam knew one thing. Gene didn't know how to be alone. Maybe it was unfair for him to exploit Gene's weakness like this, but it was for the best. He told himself that Gene would see that, once it was over.
Under the pretense of showing Gene something in the case folder he was carrying, Sam leaned into him and said, "I'm going to spank you when we get home. It's up to you what kind of spanking it is." Gene flushed. A glance down told Sam that the squeeze on his wrist and the whispered promise had the desired effect. He dropped his hand under the bar, gave Gene a brief squeeze over his trousers, and smirked off the glare of Gene's response. "Knees, Gene. Now."
Gene froze. He stared at Sam. Finally, something in him clicked and movement returned to him, but it wasn't to obey. Instead, he shook his head, tentatively, as if testing the motion out. "N-no."
Sam pushed the folder over again so he could sit arm to arm with him. "I told you, either call me by my proper title or get on your knees. I gave you a choice. You haven't called me anything, so I guess your choice is to kneel." He stopped until Gene raised his glance from his half-empty glass (though Sam saw it as half-full) to meet Sam's unwavering eyes. "So kneel."
Another moment. Sam held the gaze. Gene needed this. He needed to be reminded that Sam was his master. He knew it, even if Gene didn't. Something had happened. Sam didn't know what it was, but he'd never seen Gene like this, not even in the early days. This was a different kind of test Gene was putting him through, one he wasn't sure even Gene understood. Sam tried to convey all of this into his expression, but he suspected that he just came off as looking thunderous. In any case, Gene slid off the stool and lumbered to the floor--the cleanest pub floor in all of Manchester, if not England, Nelson, had he been aware of this happening, would have hastened to mention. Gene glared upwards. Then he dropped his gaze and sat on his heels, facing Sam's right thigh. Sam let him sit.
Tension emanated from him. Sam had ordered Gene into a position where there was no way the couple in the corner could see him, but Gene couldn't know that. He kept glancing towards them until Sam tapped his cheek lightly and directed his attention back to where it should be. "Do you trust me?" Even with tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks, Gene's reaction was immediate. He pressed his head against Sam's leg. Sam felt the rub as Gene nodded. "I will never ask you to do anything that you can't handle." He spoke, looking straight ahead, since to look down for too long would raise curiosity. Nelson looked over at him.
"You goin' to ask me to make one o' dem 'long island ice teas' again?"
Sam offered a conciliatory wave. "No, Nelson, not today."
Once Gene had settled, Sam let him stay where he was. He didn't touch him, simply felt his silent presence, large but unobtrusive, beside him. "The Guv go out?" Nelson asked. "He'll be back," Sam said. He let his hand fall to his side and curled his fingers upwards. They'd made it a year. It was almost too good to be true. And yet, it was. Turned out Sam had it wrong about himself, too. He was capable of love, of devotion, of all those things his women told him he wouldn't recognize if they were standing in front him with flashing lights. Turned out he didn't need flashing lights, only needed Gene to need him in his lumbering, awkward way. He smiled around his glass as he felt Gene's soft lips obediently sucking the tips of his fingers. He extended his middle finger and soon felt the strong tongue swirling around it, worshipping it as a surrogate for Sam's cock.
The door swung open and Ray, Chris, Dave, and Horace tumbled in, fresh off their shift. Gene raised his eyes. Sam caught the terror in them, the dread of humiliation at being caught on his knees by this group, and knew that if he asked Gene to say his name now, he would do so without hesitation just so he could get up. But Sam didn't want it forced from him by fear or humiliation. To do so, he knew, would destroy this fragile thing they'd made.
Gene opened his mouth, seemed about to speak, but Sam was already in action, smoothly knocking Gene's pint glass over so the beer spilled over the side of the bar, landing just in front of Gene. Sam dropped a few napkins on top of it and slid to his knees. He shoved a napkin at Gene, who was staring at the spill, too stunned to move.
"I won't have it forced out of you--you have to mean it," Sam said, leaning just close enough for only Gene to catch the words. He started scrubbing up, confident Gene would get the hint. Then, loud enough for the new entrants to hear: "I'm sorry, Guv. God, I'm clumsy. I'll get you a new pint, yeah?" And soon three other men on their knees joined them, each with napkins.
"You never saw the Guv move so fast as when I knocked his pint over," Sam said.
Ray shook his head. "You're a twat, sir. No offense."
Sam nodded. "Yes. I am." He plastered on a shamefaced expression. Gene was finally coming to life, dabbing the beer up. No one else noticed that his face was red; only Sam noticed it fading back to peach. He shot a grateful smile at Sam, who took the napkin from him, brushing Gene's fingers as he did. They stood up together. Sam moved to right the glass, but found that Nelson had beaten him to it. The glass was not only upright; it was full again. Gene glanced at it, and then at Sam, waiting. Sam nodded as he looked at Nelson, so anyone else would think he was thanking the publican. Gene took it for the permission it was intended to be, and raised the glass to his lips. He drained half of it in one go. It was clear that they weren't getting out of there anytime soon, not with the gang in such a mood of joviality, so Sam touched Gene's wrist and reminded him that he needed to use the toilet. Gene got the hint and loped off to the loo.
After a respectable amount of time, Sam followed.
He latched the door. Gene was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, looking very much like the Guv. One eyebrow twitched when Sam started removing his belt, but that was the only indication of interest.
"You belong to me," Sam said.
"You gonna bugger me in the loo?"
"I might."
Gene's eyes went wide, but only for a second. He probably wondered when Sam had turned into a kinky bastard. He was half-hard, his trousers tenting slightly, and Sam was almost sorry that he wasn't a kinky bastard-at least, not today, not in the way Gene wanted. Gene grabbed himself and squeezed gently, staring at Sam full-on.
"Did I tell you to touch yourself?"
"Didn't tell me not to. You want me. I'm here." Gene kept on squeezing, rocking himself in his palm.
"I'm going to spank you."
"What?" The hand fell to his side. Sam stopped himself from smiling in triumph. "Because I touched myself or…" Gene leaned forward, really looking at Sam, reading him like he did a crim. "Oh, bollocks. You sent me in here for it, didn't you?"
Sam just looked right back at him.
"You're a sick wanker, you know that?"
Sam shrugged and allowed himself a tiny smile, one that he didn't think was at all reassuring. "We're gonna be here for awhile, long enough for you to start thinking it's ok for you to forget your place. You'll play darts; you'll win; you'll get cocky. It'll take me forever to get you back into the mindset you were in a few minutes ago. So we're going to nip this in the bud right now."
Gene looked at him with ten kinds of disbelief. "My mates are out there."
"I know. You're Gene Hunt." Sam raised his hands to the level of his waist, with his palms down like he was petting something unseen. "You don't take Gene Hunt into a loo like a bloody preschooler and whack his arse. I get it." Sam stepped forward until he was nose to nose with him. Gene met him, stare for stare. He clutched the knot of Gene's tie as if he were a horse about to rear. "If we were at home," Sam whispered, "I'd whip you and you'd thank me for it."
"We ain't at home. I've got a game of darts waiting on me now."
"It's not a punishment, Gene. Just a reminder. A little warm up so every time you move tonight, you'll think of me. Every time your pants shift over your red arse, you'll remember who you belong to." Sam's fingers splayed over Gene's chest, stroking, soothing.
"I always remember that." Gene said with hurt pride.
Sam saw the opportunity to console him and did not take it. He let the rush of pride catch him. Never got old, having Gene Hunt say that to him.
"I'm going to give you ten with my hand and four with my belt. Whenever you're ready, get your pants and trousers down and put your hands on the sink."
Gene looked at the door. "They'll be wondering what we're doing in here together."
"I think they quit wondering about us awhile ago."
"Probably figure I'm beating on you for some reason," Gene said.
"When did you ever need a reason?"
Gene allowed himself a wry smile.
"Make yourself happy, then." He undid his trousers and pushed them down along with his pants. He turned and braced himself on the sink. Sam moved behind him, pressing his crotch against Gene's thigh, so Gene could feel the interested hardness and tilt his hip towards it. Sam traced the line of Gene's bottom, the curvature of spine to leg with his whole hand, taking in the tender twitching of anticipation, measuring how the air affected the newly exposed flesh.
The first time Sam had spanked Gene, he'd done it wrong. Gene didn't say anything, but Sam knew. He hadn't hit him hard enough, or he'd hit him in the wrong place, or he'd hit him too hard-he'd done it wrong. For some stupid reason, Sam hadn't figured that physical punishment would be part of this life. Sex, yes. Spanking, no. That was fine for the people in the books, but they didn't need that.
Turned out they did. Or Gene did. After the first time ended with Sam knowing he'd mucked it up and Gene gamely acting like he hadn't, Sam had started practicing. At first, he tried hitting himself with his hand, his hairbrush, his belt, his shoe…anything he had around the house that could reasonably be turned into an implement of punishment. He started to worry about how creative he was getting. Who looked at a book and thought, 'that could sting!'? The angle wasn't right, though. He was holding back. He couldn't get the full picture of what Gene experienced by doing it to himself. So he did some more research. He made a few calls. And he found a woman. He left the badge at home, went to her house, and told her his problem. Fifty quid and three hours later and he left with a sore arse and the knowledge of exactly the right way to deliver a spanking for punishment or pleasure. She told him to come back anytime, but in addition to learning what he'd asked for, he'd also learned that if he never got spanked again for the rest of his life, it would be too soon. Gene, though, seemed to need it and, sometimes, enjoy it. So who was Sam to say no?
"I love you, Gene," he said.
Gene nodded against his arm. "Just do it."
Waiting was the hardest part for him. Knowing he didn't have any control over when it started or ended. It was all in Sam's hands. He was in Sam's hands. He was Sam's. Sam saw the thought process as it happened, the arch and fall of the Guv's back illustrated it better than words-words Gene probably didn't have the first idea how to express. But Sam understood him now, owned him, in some ways was him.
Sam landed the first blow on the fleshy part of Gene's arse. It was light, designed to shock more than hurt. Its sister blow was more of the same. Sam peppered the next four over his bottom, increasing the force so gradually it was barely noticeable. He had raised up a nice pink color on Gene, though. As soon as the sixth blow landed, he swung the belt. It snapped across both cheeks at once and Gene, not ready for it, nearly bolted into the wall.
Sam reached between Gene's legs and gently squeezed his cock. "Shhh. It's ok. You're ok." He opened his hand, and on the next strike Gene bucked into him. This wasn't a punishment spanking, so Sam took care to avoid the sensitive thighs, but that meant Gene's arse was turning redder than it normally would from the light taps. He placed the third stripe above the second, and the fourth below. As the fourth landed, Sam commanded, and Gene came, erupting into the sink. Sam leaned over and kissed the red bottom before gently easing Gene's pants back up. He turned the sink on and washed the semen away as Gene adjusted his trousers. When he finished, Gene was standing at the door.
"So, should we go out together, or…" Gene was fidgeting with his snap, looking at the floor, making his problem obvious. He didn't want to go out. A few minutes ago, he didn't want to be there but now…the spanking had worked. Sam smiled, but the love that crossed his face went unseen as Gene's eyes were focused on his shoes.
"Probably should go out separate. There's just one more thing." Gene looked at him without raising his head. Sam opened his trousers. "Suck me. You got me a little excited, love."
Gene seemed almost grateful as he came away from the door. He sat down on the toilet and tugged Sam forward. "I ain't goin' on me knees in here, I don't care how clean Nelson thinks it is."
Sam grinned. He loved that Gene kept his humour with him. He wasn't 'yes, master' 'no master' like some of the people in the books. Sure, they had that sometimes, but Gene was Gene in one way or another all the time.
In seconds, he had Sam in his mouth. Sam touched Gene's shoulders for balance, but it was all about those strong hands on his hips, moving him like a rag doll, that mouth on his cock sucking like he was born to it. Gene's mouth was hot around him, and when he moaned it sent vibrations straight to Sam's belly. He'd thought he'd get used to it, having Gene Hunt at his beck and call, but he hadn't. He fucking loved it. Loved him. Loved being his master. He thrust into Gene's mouth and Gene looked up, eyes shining, and dropped his hands off Sam's hips, letting Sam know that if he wanted to fuck his face, it was his right. Sam knew this already, and with great willpower, he forced himself to keep his hips still. "It's up to you, Gene." The hands came up again, one reaching between Sam's legs and rubbing exactly where it should. Sam didn't bother stifling his groan. If no one had heard him thrashing Gene, no one would hear this. Sam came, almost falling as he did, but Gene held onto him and kept him upright. Gene swallowed every bit of it, and then wiped his mouth, though Sam suspected it was more to hide a brief smirk than to clean himself.
"Can I get back to me darts now?"
Sam tilted his head up, bent down, and claimed his mouth.
"What are you?"
"I'm yours."
"Thank you. Go play darts."
Though they had intended to leave separately, they ended up walking out together. Gene started for the dartboard. Sam grabbed him and set the ground rules. "No talking unless spoken to." He waited until Gene nodded. "And call Ray a tosser every chance you get." That got a tiny smile. Sam let him go. "Have fun."
The End (for now)
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