Fic: Suggestion (LoM)
So everyone's writing Sam/Gene porn, and I want to play too. And it must be - ooh, days now - since anyone did lift!porn, so it's about time for another one!
Total PWP, no angst, NC-17 for long thin bits being inserted into tight round bits.
“Oi, Gladys! Are you off on one again, or have I done something to incur your displeasure?”
Sam jumped, almost literally, taking a slight, staggering step backwards and muttering a curse as he connected with the unyielding metal door. Glanced at Gene with sheepish defiance, facing down the answering glower.
“Er, right. Sorry, Guv. Were you saying something?”
“Was I saying something?” The glare deepened. “For your information, Samuel, I was showering you with the benefit of my considerable wisdom and experience on the matter of the Handford case. A fact for which any copper in his right mind, which fair enough excludes you anyway, would have been on his hands and knees in gratitude.”
Sam rolled his eyes, a picture of weary forbearance, but refrained from comment. Gene’s wording had been unfortunate, had catapulted him back into the state of reverie that he had assumed on entering the stifled proximity of the lift, now clanking interminably towards ground level.
Now, involuntarily, he pictured himself, on his knees in gratitude or maybe supplication, yes, that was nearer the mark, begging, pleading for mercy, or demanding none.
He closed his eyes, offering up a silent prayer to an absent deity. But, far from diminishing, the image intensified, and he turned his attention to trying, with more desperation than success, to control the physical side-effects of his untimely daydreaming. Being stuck in a lift with just Gene and a hard-on for company was fine when confined to sticky midnight fantasies in the safety of his flat. It was a different matter entirely when it happened for real.
Sam jerked himself abruptly back to reality as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
“Bloody hell, Tyler, what is it with you today?” Gene’s tone was exasperated. “You’re a dozy bastard at the best of times, but this is a bit much even for you. Spit it out, for God’s sake.”
Spit it out. Oh God. This wasn’t helping…Sam’s vision, of himself kneeling abjectly before an implacable Gene Hunt, evolved slightly to incorporate this new image. His cock, which had been starting to behave in a more appropriate manner, immediately leapt joyfully to full attention. Sam swallowed dryly.
“I…er…”
He met Gene’s eyes. No, no, mistake. Pulled his gaze swiftly away, but the damage was done. He could practically hear the gears shifting as Gene took a step back, gaze raking assessingly up and down the length of him, a sudden flare of brightness in his eyes as he jumped swiftly and inevitably to exactly the right conclusion.
There was a pause, an absolute stillness. Sam found he had stopped breathing, reasoned there wasn’t much point in starting again now. Hunt would choke the life out of him any second anyway. And, as if the thought had provoked the deed, Gene moved in close, the bulk of his frame pressing Sam harder against the door, hands coming up to rest lightly an the cool metal, one either side of Sam’s head, poised for imminent action.
Sam frantically racked his brain, couldn’t for the life of him thing of a single helpful thing to say. Thought he’d better try anyway. Gene was pressed up against him far too close for comfort, certainly close enough to become aware of what the buttoned up jacket had concealed. If he wasn’t already.
“Look, Guv…” Well, that was handy. His voice seemed to have dried up along with his brain. He cleared his throat.
“Guv, it’s…I…shit, I’m not…”
“Shut it.” There was a roughness in Gene’s voice that Sam had never encountered before. Which, given some of the situations he’d seen the DCI face, had to be considered a very bad sign. Sam felt a surge of real fear shiver through him, weakening his joints. His cock, which seemed to have its own personal take on the whole matter, apparently had no such qualms, straining toward Gene as if trying to persuade him to adopt it.
Gene leant in closer, quite a feat under the circumstances, his whisper so soft the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck were suddenly bristling as a wave of arousal threatened to sap the strength from him.
“Is this what you were hoping for, Sammy-boy?”
The lift groaned to a protesting halt. Sam realised with a jolt that Gene must have reached out and pressed the emergency button, that the alarm bells which had begun clattering cacophonously weren’t just in his head after all.
The sudden din did, however, have the effect of bringing Sam to a sharp awareness of the situation he was in. As a fantasy, it was all he could have hoped for and more. As a stark practical reality, he was now trapped at the whim of a larger, stronger and more senior police officer, whose attitudes as professed to date gave Sam no cause to suspect he would be either receptive to, or understanding of, the sexual advances of another man.
Not that Sam had made any advances, now he came to think of it. Actually, he’d made a point of distancing himself recently, on those increasingly frequent occasions when strong words turned physical and Sam’s imagination went into overdrive.
“I asked you a question.” The object of Sam’s fantasies (and how the hell had that happened, anyway?) brought his hand up, fingers brushing against soft hair, before tangling and sharply wrenching, so that Sam hissed through gritted teeth as his head was forced backwards, soft throat exposed like a sacrifice.
A bubble of sheer temper welled up inside him, forcing its way right to the surface. His mood suddenly one of angry defiance, he met Gene’s gaze head-on, opening his mouth with every intention of telling the Guv in no uncertain terms to back right off if he was going to be like that about it. But something unexpected, indefinable, lurking deep in the fathomless blue stole the words even as they took form. A chink, that was all you could call it, the merest hint of vulnerability ruthlessly suppressed beneath the violent assertiveness.
And God help him if that wasn’t the biggest turn-on of all. Sam’s breathing quickened, and he swallowed again, harshly, attempting to coax some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. Gene waited, expecting an answer, needing it to be the right one.
“Yes.” God, yes.
The fist still entwined in his hair relaxed a fraction. “Yes - what?”
Sam couldn’t help a grin. “Yes Guv. Yes please. Yes it’s what I was hoping for and yes it’s about bloody time.”
“Cheeky sod. Come over here and say that.”
Their eyes held, Sam leaning in closer, a shiver of mutual understanding, profound, almost romantic, tingling through him. He closed his eyes, giving himself up to the moment, anticipating the gentle contact of lips against his.
And more fool him for letting his guard down. With stunning efficiency of movement, Gene grabbed hold of his wrist, twisting him round in one fluid motion to slam face fist into the wall with a clatter that made his head ring. He felt the warmth of blood, wondered dizzily for a moment if his nose was broken.
Warm breath tickled the back of his neck, Gene’s voice soft in his ear, filling his senses, husky with menace and promise.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to trust strange men?”
Sam’s instinctive laugh was cut off in a choked moan as Gene, still holding him securely captive with one wrist twisted uncomfortably towards his shoulder blades, brought his free hand round to rest lightly for a moment on Sam’s stomach, before exploring fingers began roving steadily southwards, finding their target and applying tantalising pressure.
“Well, well, Inspector Tyler. What have we here?”
“Such powers of investigation,” Sam murmured. Gene, predictably, rose to the baiting.
“Got a bloody answer for everything, haven’t you?” A growl, hovering somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Fine. Let’s see if I can put my remarkable detective skills to better use.”
Releasing Sam’s arm, Gene set to work in earnest, making light work of buckle and zip, tugging Sam’s jeans down past his knees. The cool air was a balm to Sam’s by now aching erection, which Gene ignored, concentrating instead on stroking with gentle firmness over Sam’s buttocks, and onwards, fingernails grazing breathtakingly over the tender skin of inner thighs. Sam bit his lip, fighting for control.
A control, tenuous at best, shatteringly dissolved by the totally unforeseen sensation of a warm tongue probing at his anus. Sam’s forehead hit the metal wall as his legs threatened to give way altogether, arousal rocketing through him like lightning.
“Fuck, Gene,” he gasped.
“All in good time, Sammy-boy. All in good time.”
Sam was not a novice in the field of same-sex relations, but as Gene continued to minister to him with deft hands and tongue, driving him to the point of utter distraction but knowing exactly when to draw the line, bringing him right to the very edge and back until Sam was little more than a trembling wreck, it became increasingly apparent that he was at the mercy of an expert. An impression that was heavily reinforced when Gene finally withdrew his tongue, the warm moistness replaced a few seconds later by a cool thick coating of gel, which Gene began to work around and into Sam with assiduous care.
“You just happened to have that with you?” Sam wasn’t entirely sure the question came out coherently, but Gene seemed to understand.
“Weren’t you ever a Boy Scout, Sam?”
“No. Why, was carrying lubricant around a standard requirement of the organisation?”
Gene snorted a laugh as he continued to gently insert a second finger. “No, you pillock. Be Prepared. Scout motto.”
“Oh, very apposite.” Sam grinned broadly.
“Apposite.” Gene sounded thoughtful. “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Brushing a finger with deliberate intent against Sam’s prostate, he brought the other hand round to wrap itself firmly around his cock, squeezing ever so slightly. Sam groaned, a low, hoarse, primal sound that he couldn’t prevent.
Satisfied with his preparations, Gene withdrew his fingers, and Sam felt a different, thicker pressure ready to fill him. His cock throbbed as Gene began a slow steady stroking.
“And I ask you again, Tyler. Is this what you were hoping for?”
No hesitation. “Yes. God, yes.”
“Then ask nicely.”
“Sorry?”
“Come on, Dorothy. You want it, ask for it. Persuade me.”
Sam hesitated briefly, but Gene’s thumb brushed lightly across the head of his cock, he felt the pressure at his anus become more insistent, and there was only one outcome.
“Please.” Once he’d said it, the rest came easily. “God, Gene. Fuck me. Please. Now.”
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Gene pulled him backwards, spreading him further open, pushing in with steady force.
There was some pain, of course, Sam was ready for that. But it was more discomfort than anything, and it had to be said that Gene’s relentless stroking did a lot to take his mind off it. And then suddenly the pain dissolved into a surge of glorious pleasure, as Gene found the tender prostate once again, nudging against it once, twice, until Sam pushed backwards, forcing him still deeper inside.
And finally, with satisfaction, Sam felt Gene’s rigid control begin to slip. Felt the beginnings of a trembling in the body pressed against his, a tensing of the fingers still playing along his leaking cock. Sam squeezed his muscles, milking Gene in rhythm with the increasingly fast and powerful thrusts, feeling the tightness gathering in his own balls, so close now.
One more surging thrust, and another, and Sam felt a pulsing inside him as Gene shuddered and came with a yell that must have carried out into the building. The throbbing sensation tipped him at last over the brink, and stars danced behind his eyelids as he came, gasping, spilling copiously over Gene’s fingers.
There was a moment where the world stopped. Dead. Just like that. No sound, no light, nothing but the simultaneous tremors of two shattered individuals wrapped around each other for support. Gradually the light returned, but the world seemed different, irreversibly changed.
And suddenly Sam realised what the difference was. The bells had stopped. Someone had cut the alarm.
A disembodied voice reached out from beyond their isolation. “That oughta do it. Have you out of there in a jiffy.”
Gene’s softening cock slipped out of Sam so fast that there was an audible pop. Red faced and giggling with slight hysteria, the pair struggled to deal with trousers and buttons as the lift creaked reluctantly back to life. By the time they ground to a halt, the two men were standing demurely at opposite sides of the small space, breathing still slightly ragged but otherwise showing no sign of their exertions.
Gene glanced at his watch as they stepped out of the lift. “Right then, Tyler. Time for a pint. Maybe two, if we look snappy about it.”
“Why the rush? Is something happening later?”
Gene turned to face him, and the grin on his face was feral. “Oh I do hope so, Sammy-boy. The night, as they say, is young.”
Total PWP, no angst, NC-17 for long thin bits being inserted into tight round bits.
“Oi, Gladys! Are you off on one again, or have I done something to incur your displeasure?”
Sam jumped, almost literally, taking a slight, staggering step backwards and muttering a curse as he connected with the unyielding metal door. Glanced at Gene with sheepish defiance, facing down the answering glower.
“Er, right. Sorry, Guv. Were you saying something?”
“Was I saying something?” The glare deepened. “For your information, Samuel, I was showering you with the benefit of my considerable wisdom and experience on the matter of the Handford case. A fact for which any copper in his right mind, which fair enough excludes you anyway, would have been on his hands and knees in gratitude.”
Sam rolled his eyes, a picture of weary forbearance, but refrained from comment. Gene’s wording had been unfortunate, had catapulted him back into the state of reverie that he had assumed on entering the stifled proximity of the lift, now clanking interminably towards ground level.
Now, involuntarily, he pictured himself, on his knees in gratitude or maybe supplication, yes, that was nearer the mark, begging, pleading for mercy, or demanding none.
He closed his eyes, offering up a silent prayer to an absent deity. But, far from diminishing, the image intensified, and he turned his attention to trying, with more desperation than success, to control the physical side-effects of his untimely daydreaming. Being stuck in a lift with just Gene and a hard-on for company was fine when confined to sticky midnight fantasies in the safety of his flat. It was a different matter entirely when it happened for real.
Sam jerked himself abruptly back to reality as a hand landed heavily on his shoulder.
“Bloody hell, Tyler, what is it with you today?” Gene’s tone was exasperated. “You’re a dozy bastard at the best of times, but this is a bit much even for you. Spit it out, for God’s sake.”
Spit it out. Oh God. This wasn’t helping…Sam’s vision, of himself kneeling abjectly before an implacable Gene Hunt, evolved slightly to incorporate this new image. His cock, which had been starting to behave in a more appropriate manner, immediately leapt joyfully to full attention. Sam swallowed dryly.
“I…er…”
He met Gene’s eyes. No, no, mistake. Pulled his gaze swiftly away, but the damage was done. He could practically hear the gears shifting as Gene took a step back, gaze raking assessingly up and down the length of him, a sudden flare of brightness in his eyes as he jumped swiftly and inevitably to exactly the right conclusion.
There was a pause, an absolute stillness. Sam found he had stopped breathing, reasoned there wasn’t much point in starting again now. Hunt would choke the life out of him any second anyway. And, as if the thought had provoked the deed, Gene moved in close, the bulk of his frame pressing Sam harder against the door, hands coming up to rest lightly an the cool metal, one either side of Sam’s head, poised for imminent action.
Sam frantically racked his brain, couldn’t for the life of him thing of a single helpful thing to say. Thought he’d better try anyway. Gene was pressed up against him far too close for comfort, certainly close enough to become aware of what the buttoned up jacket had concealed. If he wasn’t already.
“Look, Guv…” Well, that was handy. His voice seemed to have dried up along with his brain. He cleared his throat.
“Guv, it’s…I…shit, I’m not…”
“Shut it.” There was a roughness in Gene’s voice that Sam had never encountered before. Which, given some of the situations he’d seen the DCI face, had to be considered a very bad sign. Sam felt a surge of real fear shiver through him, weakening his joints. His cock, which seemed to have its own personal take on the whole matter, apparently had no such qualms, straining toward Gene as if trying to persuade him to adopt it.
Gene leant in closer, quite a feat under the circumstances, his whisper so soft the hairs on the back of Sam’s neck were suddenly bristling as a wave of arousal threatened to sap the strength from him.
“Is this what you were hoping for, Sammy-boy?”
The lift groaned to a protesting halt. Sam realised with a jolt that Gene must have reached out and pressed the emergency button, that the alarm bells which had begun clattering cacophonously weren’t just in his head after all.
The sudden din did, however, have the effect of bringing Sam to a sharp awareness of the situation he was in. As a fantasy, it was all he could have hoped for and more. As a stark practical reality, he was now trapped at the whim of a larger, stronger and more senior police officer, whose attitudes as professed to date gave Sam no cause to suspect he would be either receptive to, or understanding of, the sexual advances of another man.
Not that Sam had made any advances, now he came to think of it. Actually, he’d made a point of distancing himself recently, on those increasingly frequent occasions when strong words turned physical and Sam’s imagination went into overdrive.
“I asked you a question.” The object of Sam’s fantasies (and how the hell had that happened, anyway?) brought his hand up, fingers brushing against soft hair, before tangling and sharply wrenching, so that Sam hissed through gritted teeth as his head was forced backwards, soft throat exposed like a sacrifice.
A bubble of sheer temper welled up inside him, forcing its way right to the surface. His mood suddenly one of angry defiance, he met Gene’s gaze head-on, opening his mouth with every intention of telling the Guv in no uncertain terms to back right off if he was going to be like that about it. But something unexpected, indefinable, lurking deep in the fathomless blue stole the words even as they took form. A chink, that was all you could call it, the merest hint of vulnerability ruthlessly suppressed beneath the violent assertiveness.
And God help him if that wasn’t the biggest turn-on of all. Sam’s breathing quickened, and he swallowed again, harshly, attempting to coax some moisture back into his suddenly dry mouth. Gene waited, expecting an answer, needing it to be the right one.
“Yes.” God, yes.
The fist still entwined in his hair relaxed a fraction. “Yes - what?”
Sam couldn’t help a grin. “Yes Guv. Yes please. Yes it’s what I was hoping for and yes it’s about bloody time.”
“Cheeky sod. Come over here and say that.”
Their eyes held, Sam leaning in closer, a shiver of mutual understanding, profound, almost romantic, tingling through him. He closed his eyes, giving himself up to the moment, anticipating the gentle contact of lips against his.
And more fool him for letting his guard down. With stunning efficiency of movement, Gene grabbed hold of his wrist, twisting him round in one fluid motion to slam face fist into the wall with a clatter that made his head ring. He felt the warmth of blood, wondered dizzily for a moment if his nose was broken.
Warm breath tickled the back of his neck, Gene’s voice soft in his ear, filling his senses, husky with menace and promise.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to trust strange men?”
Sam’s instinctive laugh was cut off in a choked moan as Gene, still holding him securely captive with one wrist twisted uncomfortably towards his shoulder blades, brought his free hand round to rest lightly for a moment on Sam’s stomach, before exploring fingers began roving steadily southwards, finding their target and applying tantalising pressure.
“Well, well, Inspector Tyler. What have we here?”
“Such powers of investigation,” Sam murmured. Gene, predictably, rose to the baiting.
“Got a bloody answer for everything, haven’t you?” A growl, hovering somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “Fine. Let’s see if I can put my remarkable detective skills to better use.”
Releasing Sam’s arm, Gene set to work in earnest, making light work of buckle and zip, tugging Sam’s jeans down past his knees. The cool air was a balm to Sam’s by now aching erection, which Gene ignored, concentrating instead on stroking with gentle firmness over Sam’s buttocks, and onwards, fingernails grazing breathtakingly over the tender skin of inner thighs. Sam bit his lip, fighting for control.
A control, tenuous at best, shatteringly dissolved by the totally unforeseen sensation of a warm tongue probing at his anus. Sam’s forehead hit the metal wall as his legs threatened to give way altogether, arousal rocketing through him like lightning.
“Fuck, Gene,” he gasped.
“All in good time, Sammy-boy. All in good time.”
Sam was not a novice in the field of same-sex relations, but as Gene continued to minister to him with deft hands and tongue, driving him to the point of utter distraction but knowing exactly when to draw the line, bringing him right to the very edge and back until Sam was little more than a trembling wreck, it became increasingly apparent that he was at the mercy of an expert. An impression that was heavily reinforced when Gene finally withdrew his tongue, the warm moistness replaced a few seconds later by a cool thick coating of gel, which Gene began to work around and into Sam with assiduous care.
“You just happened to have that with you?” Sam wasn’t entirely sure the question came out coherently, but Gene seemed to understand.
“Weren’t you ever a Boy Scout, Sam?”
“No. Why, was carrying lubricant around a standard requirement of the organisation?”
Gene snorted a laugh as he continued to gently insert a second finger. “No, you pillock. Be Prepared. Scout motto.”
“Oh, very apposite.” Sam grinned broadly.
“Apposite.” Gene sounded thoughtful. “Has anyone ever told you you talk too much?” Brushing a finger with deliberate intent against Sam’s prostate, he brought the other hand round to wrap itself firmly around his cock, squeezing ever so slightly. Sam groaned, a low, hoarse, primal sound that he couldn’t prevent.
Satisfied with his preparations, Gene withdrew his fingers, and Sam felt a different, thicker pressure ready to fill him. His cock throbbed as Gene began a slow steady stroking.
“And I ask you again, Tyler. Is this what you were hoping for?”
No hesitation. “Yes. God, yes.”
“Then ask nicely.”
“Sorry?”
“Come on, Dorothy. You want it, ask for it. Persuade me.”
Sam hesitated briefly, but Gene’s thumb brushed lightly across the head of his cock, he felt the pressure at his anus become more insistent, and there was only one outcome.
“Please.” Once he’d said it, the rest came easily. “God, Gene. Fuck me. Please. Now.”
“Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Gene pulled him backwards, spreading him further open, pushing in with steady force.
There was some pain, of course, Sam was ready for that. But it was more discomfort than anything, and it had to be said that Gene’s relentless stroking did a lot to take his mind off it. And then suddenly the pain dissolved into a surge of glorious pleasure, as Gene found the tender prostate once again, nudging against it once, twice, until Sam pushed backwards, forcing him still deeper inside.
And finally, with satisfaction, Sam felt Gene’s rigid control begin to slip. Felt the beginnings of a trembling in the body pressed against his, a tensing of the fingers still playing along his leaking cock. Sam squeezed his muscles, milking Gene in rhythm with the increasingly fast and powerful thrusts, feeling the tightness gathering in his own balls, so close now.
One more surging thrust, and another, and Sam felt a pulsing inside him as Gene shuddered and came with a yell that must have carried out into the building. The throbbing sensation tipped him at last over the brink, and stars danced behind his eyelids as he came, gasping, spilling copiously over Gene’s fingers.
There was a moment where the world stopped. Dead. Just like that. No sound, no light, nothing but the simultaneous tremors of two shattered individuals wrapped around each other for support. Gradually the light returned, but the world seemed different, irreversibly changed.
And suddenly Sam realised what the difference was. The bells had stopped. Someone had cut the alarm.
A disembodied voice reached out from beyond their isolation. “That oughta do it. Have you out of there in a jiffy.”
Gene’s softening cock slipped out of Sam so fast that there was an audible pop. Red faced and giggling with slight hysteria, the pair struggled to deal with trousers and buttons as the lift creaked reluctantly back to life. By the time they ground to a halt, the two men were standing demurely at opposite sides of the small space, breathing still slightly ragged but otherwise showing no sign of their exertions.
Gene glanced at his watch as they stepped out of the lift. “Right then, Tyler. Time for a pint. Maybe two, if we look snappy about it.”
“Why the rush? Is something happening later?”
Gene turned to face him, and the grin on his face was feral. “Oh I do hope so, Sammy-boy. The night, as they say, is young.”