Fic: Dinner and Dance
TITLE: Dinner and Dance
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Pure PWP as a sequel to The Dancer
SPOILERS: Um, none or all. One of the two.
RATING: Brown Cortina for sex (Sam/Gene)
WORD COUNT: 1,650 words
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Especially for halotolerant and bistokids who both requested "an extra 300 words or so to quell the urge for Dress!Sam/Gene PWP". Who am I to argue with a request like that?! For the Porntoberfest, which is now exceeded thirty PWP. Well done, guys! Unbeta'd, so concrit very welcome.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Dinner and Dance
Amidst the balloons and smoke-wreathed glitterball-reflected patches of light, DI Sam Tyler was hiding. Gene had point blank refused to let Sam waste time getting changed earlier, so, still be-corseted, Sam was nursing a glass of whisky and growling at anyone who came near.
He really didn't know how the WPCs managed. In the last three hours he had had his bottom pinched no less than eight times and had been propositioned twice. To be fair, both men, on realising they were actually talking to DI Tyler had flushed and readily scarpered. But Sam knew that at least one of the bottom pinchers had known exactly who was under all that make-up and beadwork.
It was humiliating, that's what it was. Both Ray (resplendent in biker's leathers, though falling rather short of his target of Evel Knievel) and Chris (making a rather passable ninja, even if he had not been allowed to bring his katanas into the banquet hall) had laughed themselves sick over the rather restrictive corset and satin skirts that made up Sam's can-can outfit. Annie (who, with judicious application of a blonde wig and big coat, had caused a double take from Gene who obviously thought that he'd already arrived once that evening) had been unable to stifle a smile, although she had also been full of praise for whomever Sam had roped into fastening the corset. That had reminded Sam of the rather surreal experience that had led him into his current predicament and the look on his face had shut Annie up in a hurry.
Even the Chief Constable, who had appeared in the promised nun's habit, hadn't attracted half the attention or jibes that Sam had. The privilege of rank, Sam rather thought. Especially as Gene's own rather minimalist approach to fancy dress had only elicited a raised eyebrow from Superintendent Rathbone. Next time, Sam decided, he was going to follow Gene's lead and stick to just pinning a badge to his jacket. Although out of deference to the Guv, he'd make sure his read 'Deputy'.
But all these musings weren't doing Sam any good in terms of health, wealth or happiness. His long-nursed whisky glass was finally empty and its effects were being felt in other portions of his anatomy. This meant running the gauntlet of groping hands in order to recycle and replenish as Ray, Chris and Annie were all shaking their stuff on the dance floor and Gene had mysteriously vanished some time ago.
Sam sighed and stealthily left the ballroom. He was uncomfortably aware of the suspender belt and stockings every time he moved and while he had got used to the restrictive corset, it was still very difficult to take any kind of deep breath. Sam suspected that if he were to do what the rest of the team had badgered him to do and attempted a few high kicks, he'd have passed out very quickly.
A brief trip to the Gents later, hindered only by the newly-promoted Andy Mallows offering a third proposition of the night (and Sam couldn't be totally sure that this one wasn't seriously meant) and by DS Parker sarcastically suggesting that Sam was in the wrong washroom, and Sam was debating whether he could get away with just leaving without saying good night to the rest of the team. He stopped by the cloakroom door, but before he could decide either way, the door opened and a hand grasped the top of his corset and dragged him in.
The lights were off, and so it was pitch black in the small room. The unmistakeable sound of a lock was loud, almost as loud as the heavy breathing in his ear. Sam struggled briefly, declaring to the unnamed person that there was obviously a case of mistaken identity, before his assailant shushed him with a hand over his face.
"You know I can never resist a skirt, Tyler. And you look very fine in yours," a hoarse voice sounded in his ear.
Sam twisted out of the man's grasp. "I could have you up on sexual harassment charges for that, Guv."
Hands reached for him again, pulling him forward. Losing his footing in the dark, Sam collapsed against his DCI.
Gene chuckled. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Are you so sure you're not up for it?"
Sam swallowed, the click in his throat audible in the black. If truth be told, something similar, although possibly not in these exact circumstances, had occupied his mind rather more than strictly sensible in the last few months.
Head spinning from possibly slightly too much whisky, Sam reached out into the darkness, his hand meeting Gene's chest, brushing against the buttons on his shirt. At the same time, he felt Gene doing the same, running his hands possessively up and down his body, mapping his corseted torso before drifting lower, Gene's questing fingers unerringly finding their way under Sam's skirts, and stroking over his rapidly hardening cock.
"Dressed up down to your silky drawers. Very nice. Very nice indeed, Tyler," and Gene squeezed once before letting go. He grabbed Sam's hand in the dark, pulling him further into the room. They brushed past coats hung up on the rails, until Sam hit something solid.
"Isn't this a little public?" Sam asked. "Won't we be caught?"
Gene chuckled. "I doubt it, but in any case, it just adds something to the scenario, doesn't it? And I can always say that I was helping my rather drunk DI not to pass out and embarrass himself further."
As Sam leant himself against the wall, invisible in the pitch black, Gene lifted up his skirt, laying it neatly on Sam's shoulders and pulled the satin bloomers down to around his knees. Grabbing Sam's arse, he squeezed both globes and Sam could see in his minds eye the red pressure points appearing and then fading back into white flesh.
"You don't know what you've done to me, Sammy-boy," Gene groaned in Sam's ear, laying his chest tight up against Sam's back and rubbing his cloth-clad groin against Sam's bare buttocks. "Watching you stalk across the room in this ridiculous skirt, flashing your stockings with every stride." Gene ran his hands up and down Sam's stocking-clad legs in emphasis, flicking the suspenders with his finger. "Do you want this?" His voice was deep and husky.
Sam, mouth dry, nodded. Then he realised that Gene couldn't see. "Yes," he whispered.
Gene pulled back slightly, not letting up on running his hands up and down Sam's legs. "Have you done this before?"
"Not in a hotel cloakroom, no." Sam said, evasively. "You?"
"A couple of times."
Sam swallowed against a sudden spike of irrational jealousy. "Oh."
Wasting no time, Gene's fingers slid down the cleft of Sam's buttocks, warm and slick.
Sam twisted his neck, trying to see what Gene was doing, but he couldn't see anything in the pitch black. "What are you using for lubricant?"
Gene chuckled. "Butter from the rolls at dinner. I slipped a couple of pats into my pocket earlier."
"You've been planning this, then?"
"I always think it pays to be prepared," and he started to press his finger inside.
For all Gene's hard-and-fast personality and the almost ridiculously public situation they were both in, Gene took his time, moving his fingers in and out, stretching and twisting slowly and thoroughly until Sam was moaning and biting his lip to stop from crying out.
"Do you want this?" Gene repeated, whispering in Sam's ear, and Sam pushed back, impatiently.
"Yes. Guv," and he heard a little hitch in Gene's breathing.
Gene removed his fingers, positioning himself at Sam's entrance and pushed in, slowly to start with, but smoothly, until he was completely buried in Sam's body. He stilled for a moment, breathing heavily.
"Christ. I've been wanting to do this for months," he muttered, before starting to move his hips, steady at first, angling to try and hit Sam's prostate, and finally earning himself the response of a sudden gasp as he did so.
Now Gene started to move faster, pulling out more and thrusting back in with more force, slamming Sam into the wall as Sam's arms tired, his fingers scrabbling for some kind of hold on the smooth, invisible surface. Sam rocked his hips, pushing back as Gene thrust forward, trying desperately to take as much of the other man into himself with every thrust as possible.
Gene wrapped a meaty hand around Sam's cock, squeezing slightly before moving his hand, tightly, up and down in time to his own movements.
Sam was so close, so close as Gene leaned and whispered, "Come for me now and I'll let you do the same to me later, Sammy-boy."
With that added incentive, Sam came, hard, into Gene's hand and felt Gene come too, pulsing inside him moments later. Both men were breathing hard, the air rasping in their throats. Sam felt as if he could collapse in a heap at this point, as he attempted to drag enough air into his still painfully squeezed lungs, but still mindful of the place they were, instead reached down, somewhat unsteadily, pulling the hated bloomers back up and trying to make himself presentable before someone did walk in.
Gene flicked on the light and Sam squinted down in dismay. Evidence of what they had just been doing was splashed across a couple of coats and Sam was suddenly very glad that DNA analysis wouldn't be perfected for several years. His own outfit was more of a problem, creased and stained with sweat and other fluids from their hasty coupling.
"I can't go back out like this!"
"Oh, I don't know, Gladys." Gene said, pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lighting it. "That 'just shagged to within an inch of your life' look is quite authentic with your costume."
The End
AUTHOR: Andromeda
FANDOM: Life on Mars
SUMMARY: Pure PWP as a sequel to The Dancer
SPOILERS: Um, none or all. One of the two.
RATING: Brown Cortina for sex (Sam/Gene)
WORD COUNT: 1,650 words
EMAIL: fiandyfic@livejournal.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Especially for halotolerant and bistokids who both requested "an extra 300 words or so to quell the urge for Dress!Sam/Gene PWP". Who am I to argue with a request like that?! For the Porntoberfest, which is now exceeded thirty PWP. Well done, guys! Unbeta'd, so concrit very welcome.
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
Dinner and Dance
Amidst the balloons and smoke-wreathed glitterball-reflected patches of light, DI Sam Tyler was hiding. Gene had point blank refused to let Sam waste time getting changed earlier, so, still be-corseted, Sam was nursing a glass of whisky and growling at anyone who came near.
He really didn't know how the WPCs managed. In the last three hours he had had his bottom pinched no less than eight times and had been propositioned twice. To be fair, both men, on realising they were actually talking to DI Tyler had flushed and readily scarpered. But Sam knew that at least one of the bottom pinchers had known exactly who was under all that make-up and beadwork.
It was humiliating, that's what it was. Both Ray (resplendent in biker's leathers, though falling rather short of his target of Evel Knievel) and Chris (making a rather passable ninja, even if he had not been allowed to bring his katanas into the banquet hall) had laughed themselves sick over the rather restrictive corset and satin skirts that made up Sam's can-can outfit. Annie (who, with judicious application of a blonde wig and big coat, had caused a double take from Gene who obviously thought that he'd already arrived once that evening) had been unable to stifle a smile, although she had also been full of praise for whomever Sam had roped into fastening the corset. That had reminded Sam of the rather surreal experience that had led him into his current predicament and the look on his face had shut Annie up in a hurry.
Even the Chief Constable, who had appeared in the promised nun's habit, hadn't attracted half the attention or jibes that Sam had. The privilege of rank, Sam rather thought. Especially as Gene's own rather minimalist approach to fancy dress had only elicited a raised eyebrow from Superintendent Rathbone. Next time, Sam decided, he was going to follow Gene's lead and stick to just pinning a badge to his jacket. Although out of deference to the Guv, he'd make sure his read 'Deputy'.
But all these musings weren't doing Sam any good in terms of health, wealth or happiness. His long-nursed whisky glass was finally empty and its effects were being felt in other portions of his anatomy. This meant running the gauntlet of groping hands in order to recycle and replenish as Ray, Chris and Annie were all shaking their stuff on the dance floor and Gene had mysteriously vanished some time ago.
Sam sighed and stealthily left the ballroom. He was uncomfortably aware of the suspender belt and stockings every time he moved and while he had got used to the restrictive corset, it was still very difficult to take any kind of deep breath. Sam suspected that if he were to do what the rest of the team had badgered him to do and attempted a few high kicks, he'd have passed out very quickly.
A brief trip to the Gents later, hindered only by the newly-promoted Andy Mallows offering a third proposition of the night (and Sam couldn't be totally sure that this one wasn't seriously meant) and by DS Parker sarcastically suggesting that Sam was in the wrong washroom, and Sam was debating whether he could get away with just leaving without saying good night to the rest of the team. He stopped by the cloakroom door, but before he could decide either way, the door opened and a hand grasped the top of his corset and dragged him in.
The lights were off, and so it was pitch black in the small room. The unmistakeable sound of a lock was loud, almost as loud as the heavy breathing in his ear. Sam struggled briefly, declaring to the unnamed person that there was obviously a case of mistaken identity, before his assailant shushed him with a hand over his face.
"You know I can never resist a skirt, Tyler. And you look very fine in yours," a hoarse voice sounded in his ear.
Sam twisted out of the man's grasp. "I could have you up on sexual harassment charges for that, Guv."
Hands reached for him again, pulling him forward. Losing his footing in the dark, Sam collapsed against his DCI.
Gene chuckled. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much. Are you so sure you're not up for it?"
Sam swallowed, the click in his throat audible in the black. If truth be told, something similar, although possibly not in these exact circumstances, had occupied his mind rather more than strictly sensible in the last few months.
Head spinning from possibly slightly too much whisky, Sam reached out into the darkness, his hand meeting Gene's chest, brushing against the buttons on his shirt. At the same time, he felt Gene doing the same, running his hands possessively up and down his body, mapping his corseted torso before drifting lower, Gene's questing fingers unerringly finding their way under Sam's skirts, and stroking over his rapidly hardening cock.
"Dressed up down to your silky drawers. Very nice. Very nice indeed, Tyler," and Gene squeezed once before letting go. He grabbed Sam's hand in the dark, pulling him further into the room. They brushed past coats hung up on the rails, until Sam hit something solid.
"Isn't this a little public?" Sam asked. "Won't we be caught?"
Gene chuckled. "I doubt it, but in any case, it just adds something to the scenario, doesn't it? And I can always say that I was helping my rather drunk DI not to pass out and embarrass himself further."
As Sam leant himself against the wall, invisible in the pitch black, Gene lifted up his skirt, laying it neatly on Sam's shoulders and pulled the satin bloomers down to around his knees. Grabbing Sam's arse, he squeezed both globes and Sam could see in his minds eye the red pressure points appearing and then fading back into white flesh.
"You don't know what you've done to me, Sammy-boy," Gene groaned in Sam's ear, laying his chest tight up against Sam's back and rubbing his cloth-clad groin against Sam's bare buttocks. "Watching you stalk across the room in this ridiculous skirt, flashing your stockings with every stride." Gene ran his hands up and down Sam's stocking-clad legs in emphasis, flicking the suspenders with his finger. "Do you want this?" His voice was deep and husky.
Sam, mouth dry, nodded. Then he realised that Gene couldn't see. "Yes," he whispered.
Gene pulled back slightly, not letting up on running his hands up and down Sam's legs. "Have you done this before?"
"Not in a hotel cloakroom, no." Sam said, evasively. "You?"
"A couple of times."
Sam swallowed against a sudden spike of irrational jealousy. "Oh."
Wasting no time, Gene's fingers slid down the cleft of Sam's buttocks, warm and slick.
Sam twisted his neck, trying to see what Gene was doing, but he couldn't see anything in the pitch black. "What are you using for lubricant?"
Gene chuckled. "Butter from the rolls at dinner. I slipped a couple of pats into my pocket earlier."
"You've been planning this, then?"
"I always think it pays to be prepared," and he started to press his finger inside.
For all Gene's hard-and-fast personality and the almost ridiculously public situation they were both in, Gene took his time, moving his fingers in and out, stretching and twisting slowly and thoroughly until Sam was moaning and biting his lip to stop from crying out.
"Do you want this?" Gene repeated, whispering in Sam's ear, and Sam pushed back, impatiently.
"Yes. Guv," and he heard a little hitch in Gene's breathing.
Gene removed his fingers, positioning himself at Sam's entrance and pushed in, slowly to start with, but smoothly, until he was completely buried in Sam's body. He stilled for a moment, breathing heavily.
"Christ. I've been wanting to do this for months," he muttered, before starting to move his hips, steady at first, angling to try and hit Sam's prostate, and finally earning himself the response of a sudden gasp as he did so.
Now Gene started to move faster, pulling out more and thrusting back in with more force, slamming Sam into the wall as Sam's arms tired, his fingers scrabbling for some kind of hold on the smooth, invisible surface. Sam rocked his hips, pushing back as Gene thrust forward, trying desperately to take as much of the other man into himself with every thrust as possible.
Gene wrapped a meaty hand around Sam's cock, squeezing slightly before moving his hand, tightly, up and down in time to his own movements.
Sam was so close, so close as Gene leaned and whispered, "Come for me now and I'll let you do the same to me later, Sammy-boy."
With that added incentive, Sam came, hard, into Gene's hand and felt Gene come too, pulsing inside him moments later. Both men were breathing hard, the air rasping in their throats. Sam felt as if he could collapse in a heap at this point, as he attempted to drag enough air into his still painfully squeezed lungs, but still mindful of the place they were, instead reached down, somewhat unsteadily, pulling the hated bloomers back up and trying to make himself presentable before someone did walk in.
Gene flicked on the light and Sam squinted down in dismay. Evidence of what they had just been doing was splashed across a couple of coats and Sam was suddenly very glad that DNA analysis wouldn't be perfected for several years. His own outfit was more of a problem, creased and stained with sweat and other fluids from their hasty coupling.
"I can't go back out like this!"
"Oh, I don't know, Gladys." Gene said, pulling a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lighting it. "That 'just shagged to within an inch of your life' look is quite authentic with your costume."
The End