Fic: The Kept Man (21/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (21/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 2376 this part; [39,865 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf. I try to earn my brown cortina rating here. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
There was nothing on the telly. The set in Gene’s sitting room only got three channels to begin with, and there would only be programming for another half hour, but Sam still found it distressing. He also found himself wishing for satellite TV but that thought made absolutely no sense, so he ignored it. He could just flick it off, try and get some sleep, but he wasn’t tired. Or was it that he was tired, he just couldn’t sleep?
He ended up settling on a repeated episode of “The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes.” Gene had disappeared upstairs long ago and Sam had since switched off all the lights downstairs. Only the television flickered, the shadows surrounding Sam changing as the blind detective, Max Carrados, struggled against his captors.
Sam’s eyes were on the screen but focused on nothing. In an effort to try and forget everything DCI Morgan had told him, he had decided on not thinking about anything at all. Not on Warren. Not on Gene. Not on Williams versus Tyler. Not on what he was going to wear tomorrow. He hadn’t said anything to Gene on the drive here, and Gene didn’t try to force anything out of him.
The DCI had offered him something to eat when they’d arrived but Sam had only shook his head and sat himself down on the couch. Gene had thrown him a pillow and a blanket and told him he’d see him in the morning. Sam couldn’t remember if he had responded or not.
His brain was on sensory overload. Just last night he had been ready to trap Gene for Warren and a scant twenty-four hours later he had discovered he was, in fact, Gene Hunt’s DI, only to be told that he was only posing as a DI in order to destroy Hunt for the good of the entire Constabulary. He wasn’t Tyler. He was never Tyler. Sam Tyler didn’t exist, or so he’d been told, but he couldn’t remember ever being Williams, so who was he supposed to be?
Right now he decided he’d be no one because that was much better than being Sam Tywilliams, the double backstabbing rent boy from Whoknowswhereville. He stared at the television and hoped the idiot box would work it’s magic and make him forget, though the film was a saddening bore cos he’d seen it ten times or more.
“He’s at a critical stage,” said one of the Irishmen on the screen.
“When will we know of any significant improvements in his condition?” The second asked and Sam decided that was awful writing. What sort of Irish terrorist would say something like that?
“The next twenty-four hours will be crucial to Sam’s recovery,” said the first.
“Wait. He’s Max,” Sam pointed to the character he thought they’d been referring to. “I’m Sam. And I didn’t even think he was injured?”
“Sam’s brain is in a fragile state at the moment. The accident--”
“Yes!” Sam crawled to the telly. “I was in an accident!”
“--has caused him serious trauma and, as you know, every head injury can be unique.”
“Head injury? What head injury?” He pounded on the set. “Tell me!”
“But what’s this dark spot here on the scan? I hadn’t noticed it before,” the second man asked.
“Ah yes. We’re going to have to perform further tests, but I’m afraid it could be a tumor.”
“I don’t have a tumor. How can I have a tumor?” Sam gripped either side of the box tightly, letting the faux-wood paneling dig into his palms.
“It will certainly have to be removed if it is.”
“Yes. I absolutely agree.”
“Is Mrs. Tyler aware of this possible complication?”
“Mrs. Tyler? Tyler? Not Williams?”
“Not at present. We can inform her tomorrow when she comes in to visit.”
“Is that my mum? Is Mrs. Tyler my mum?”
“Alright Carrados...”
The television characters turned their attention back to the script, leaving Sam banging his fists on the screen.
“No! No no no. Don’t leave me! Tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand. Tell me who I am. Tell me where I am!”
A light flicked on in the upstairs hallway. “Tyler?”
Sam spun is head to the staircase to see Gene’s long shadow cascading down the carpeted steps. If he stayed silent, maybe Hunt would think he only imagined he heard something. If he just stayed silent and still. The shadow moved, and slowly descended the staircase.
Sam hastily flicked off the television set but could not get back to the couch before Gene entered the room and discovered him sat in the middle of the floor, hands still balled into fists, and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He waited for Gene to say it, the world’s worst question: are you okay? He braced himself for it.
“Nightmares?”
Sam’s head snapped up and he saw Gene leaning nonchalantly in the doorway, flannel pyjamas draped over his tall frame, the first few buttons on the shirt left undone.
He looked away. “Yeah.”
Gene disappeared into the hall but returned a moment later. Something smooth and silver was placed in front of Sam’s face. “This’ll help.”
Sam reached up and took the flask, examining it carefully before taking a swig of the burning liquor. He took one more, then handed it back to Gene. To his surprise, Gene refrained from a drink and simply screwed the cap back on, before setting the flask on the end table.
“You can have the real bed, if you want. I’ll sleep down ‘ere.”
“No,” Sam shook his head. “This is your house. I won’t put you out. Not that tired, anyhow.”
“You look like summit the dog killed an’ the cat pissed on, an’ you’re sayin’ you don’t need kip?” He said it in a whisper, though, no force behind the words.
“It has been an extraordinarily long day, Gene.”
Hunt finally sat down next to him, leaning his back against the couch. “I will give you that, Tyler.” He pat Sam on the back, just a friendly tap between mates, but the contact was enough to thaw the cold numbness Sam had been allowing to build up inside him ever since he’d heard Morgan’s confession. He remembered how earlier that night, with Gene on one side, the Cortina on the other, how only then had he felt something again.
“Wait,” Sam whispered as Gene drew back his hand. He leaned back, his body desperate to feel that touch again. “Please.” Two hands were placed on his shoulders and gently scooted him backwards until Sam was cradled against Gene’s warm body, strong arms wrapped around him and soothing him to stillness. He rolled his head against Gene’s shoulder, then turned his face into his neck. It was clean but still smelled of cigarettes and aftershave. Without even thinking about it, Sam began to nibble at that neck, pressing his lips against it, prodding it ever so gently with the tip of his tongue.
“Sam...” Gene tried to push him away, get him to stop, but as he moved his arms, Sam moved his body until he was sitting in Gene’s lap, quickly graduating from the neck to the mouth, his hands cupped behind Gene’s head as he dove his tongue in as deep as he could. They’d done this before. They’d had this before. Sam wanted more. Sam never got what he wanted anymore. He arched his body into Gene’s, refusing to quit, trying to tell Gene, using his mouth and his hands, that he was going to have this.
“Sam.” Gene broke the kiss and stared up into his eyes. This was it. This was all Sam was going to get from him, but it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. “Tell me what to do.”
Sam felt every body in his muscle lock into place. This wasn’t how the story went. “What?”
Gene didn’t move. “Tell me what to do.” He wasn’t begging. He wasn’t ordering. He was simply asking. Asking Sam for something. No one asked Sam for anything.
“I...I, uh...”
Gene waited. No one waited for Sam. They hurried him. They rushed him.
“I want...” Sam never got what he wanted. “I want you to...take off your shirt.”
Gene gently pushed Sam off his lap and that was it. It was over. Sam had asked for too much. Then Gene started undoing the buttons on his top. He slid it off his shoulders and tossed it on the couch behind them. “Now what, Sam?”
He didn’t think he could ask for more. “Take...take off my vest.”
Gene nodded and sat up on his knees, then grabbed the hem of Sam’s shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing the dirty undergarment across the room.
“Lay me down.” Sam wasn’t going to wait anymore. Any second now Gene would come to his senses and realize he’d accidently reversed their roles.
Gene placed a hand on either shoulder and pushed Sam’s pliant body backwards until he was flat on the floor.
“Trousers. Take off my trousers.”
Gene did. Taking his time, letting Sam feel everything he was doing. He pulled the jeans off by the ankles and threw them somewhere near the discarded vest.
“The pants, too, stupid bastard,” Sam sighed and Gene smiled.
“Sorry.”
They were gone a flash and Sam relished the feeling of lying completely naked under this man, without having to worry about setting up a camera. “Will you...” He was too afraid to ask.
“Tell me, Sam,” Gene reminded him.
His body trembled as he gave the order. “Put...put your mouth around...around...”
Gene didn’t need to hear the full sentence and with a wicked grin, descended upon Sam’s cock. From his own experience, Sam could tell Gene didn’t do this often, but as a hot tongue flicked across the slit, he decided Gene plainly knew what he was doing. Rough fingers massaged his balls as Gene took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks, allowing just the barest scraping of teeth.
“Oh...shit...” Sam moaned. This, it was nothing like Warren had ever done. He grabbed Gene’s hair, guiding his head, guiding his movements. This was it felt like to be given pleasure, not to have it demanded from you. As with all things in his life, Gene was relentless. Sam bucked once or twice, feeling guilty as he felt his penis scrape the back of Gene’s throat, but Gene didn’t complain and Gene didn’t stop.
“Gene...shit, Gene...I’m, I’m going...I don’t want you to...” He tugged Gene away just as he came, his body arching upwards as Gene grabbed his cock with his hand, letting him pulse into something warm. The blinding sensations of his orgasm died quickly and when he opened his eyes, he saw Gene looking at him with concern.
“Lube,” was all Sam could say at first.
“What?”
“The left pocket of my trousers. There’s lube.”
“Sam, do you really want--”
He sat up on his elbows. “I want you to fuck me Gene! Now get the goddamned lube!” As Gene retrieved the trousers, Sam relaxed his arms and fell onto his back. The thrill of being able to demand things, it was nearly as exhilarating as the orgasm itself. He listened patiently as Gene twisted the cap off the tube, and felt his body shudder as a slick finger was pressed inside him.
“Alright?”
“Shut up,” Sam groaned as Gene inserted a second finger. He twisted them slowly, letting Sam adjust. “Get...get on with it, already,” he moaned. He was used to this. He didn’t need Gene to be so gentle. The fingers were withdrawn quickly and Sam sighed over their loss. He kept his eyes closed and heard the shuffling of cloth as Gene lowered his pyjama bottoms, then realized he wanted to watch this. He propped himself up on his elbows again, eyes wide as he took in the sight of Gene tugging at himself, slicking his cock with lube. Warren never let him watch.
“Ready?” Gene asked, smirking as he saw Sam staring.
“I said shut up,” Sam panted with anticipation and laid back down, spreading his knees and lifting his legs for Gene. He sprawled his arms above his head as Gene entered him slowly, feeling truly full for the first time in forever. Gene moved slowly at first, and Sam hated it. His hands flew to Gene’s back, pressing him down, pressing him in. “Harder.”
“Shit, Sam...”
Sam dug his nails into his back. “Don’t speak,” he growled giving into this new sense of power. “I don’t want to hear you speak until you’re screaming my name when you come inside me.” Gene pushed in deeper. “Now, move. Faster, Gene. Please.”
Gene obeyed, no longer holding back, and as Sam felt his bare back scratching against the rough carpet with the force of Gene’s thrusts, his arms barely able to hold onto the pulsing man above him, he realized just how much Gene had been holding it in, for his benefit. For him. For Sam. No one did anything for Sam.
He cried out as Gene found his prostate, feeling himself become hard again as Gene managed to hit that spot with every inward push. He didn’t know it could be like this. He didn’t know it could actually feel good, that both men could receive satisfaction from the act. He didn’t want it to end. At that moment, it didn’t matter if he was Tyler or Williams or Warren’s or Morgan’s or even Gene’s. He was just Sam and he was getting fucked because he wanted it. He was with someone who wanted it because he was Sam, not because it was free and easy and convenient.
His back was burning, every nerve in his body exploding in pleasure, as Gene pounded him into the floor. This was right. This was good. This was able to destroy his thoughts like nothing else ever could and he wanted more. He begged Gene for it and it was given and that was the most powerful sensation of them all. Oh man, he thought as Gene finally quivered and came and shouted his name just like Sam had told him. Oh man, look at those cavemen go.
_______
Part 22
Author: dak
Word Count: 2376 this part; [39,865 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf. I try to earn my brown cortina rating here. Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
There was nothing on the telly. The set in Gene’s sitting room only got three channels to begin with, and there would only be programming for another half hour, but Sam still found it distressing. He also found himself wishing for satellite TV but that thought made absolutely no sense, so he ignored it. He could just flick it off, try and get some sleep, but he wasn’t tired. Or was it that he was tired, he just couldn’t sleep?
He ended up settling on a repeated episode of “The Rivals of Sherlock Holmes.” Gene had disappeared upstairs long ago and Sam had since switched off all the lights downstairs. Only the television flickered, the shadows surrounding Sam changing as the blind detective, Max Carrados, struggled against his captors.
Sam’s eyes were on the screen but focused on nothing. In an effort to try and forget everything DCI Morgan had told him, he had decided on not thinking about anything at all. Not on Warren. Not on Gene. Not on Williams versus Tyler. Not on what he was going to wear tomorrow. He hadn’t said anything to Gene on the drive here, and Gene didn’t try to force anything out of him.
The DCI had offered him something to eat when they’d arrived but Sam had only shook his head and sat himself down on the couch. Gene had thrown him a pillow and a blanket and told him he’d see him in the morning. Sam couldn’t remember if he had responded or not.
His brain was on sensory overload. Just last night he had been ready to trap Gene for Warren and a scant twenty-four hours later he had discovered he was, in fact, Gene Hunt’s DI, only to be told that he was only posing as a DI in order to destroy Hunt for the good of the entire Constabulary. He wasn’t Tyler. He was never Tyler. Sam Tyler didn’t exist, or so he’d been told, but he couldn’t remember ever being Williams, so who was he supposed to be?
Right now he decided he’d be no one because that was much better than being Sam Tywilliams, the double backstabbing rent boy from Whoknowswhereville. He stared at the television and hoped the idiot box would work it’s magic and make him forget, though the film was a saddening bore cos he’d seen it ten times or more.
“He’s at a critical stage,” said one of the Irishmen on the screen.
“When will we know of any significant improvements in his condition?” The second asked and Sam decided that was awful writing. What sort of Irish terrorist would say something like that?
“The next twenty-four hours will be crucial to Sam’s recovery,” said the first.
“Wait. He’s Max,” Sam pointed to the character he thought they’d been referring to. “I’m Sam. And I didn’t even think he was injured?”
“Sam’s brain is in a fragile state at the moment. The accident--”
“Yes!” Sam crawled to the telly. “I was in an accident!”
“--has caused him serious trauma and, as you know, every head injury can be unique.”
“Head injury? What head injury?” He pounded on the set. “Tell me!”
“But what’s this dark spot here on the scan? I hadn’t noticed it before,” the second man asked.
“Ah yes. We’re going to have to perform further tests, but I’m afraid it could be a tumor.”
“I don’t have a tumor. How can I have a tumor?” Sam gripped either side of the box tightly, letting the faux-wood paneling dig into his palms.
“It will certainly have to be removed if it is.”
“Yes. I absolutely agree.”
“Is Mrs. Tyler aware of this possible complication?”
“Mrs. Tyler? Tyler? Not Williams?”
“Not at present. We can inform her tomorrow when she comes in to visit.”
“Is that my mum? Is Mrs. Tyler my mum?”
“Alright Carrados...”
The television characters turned their attention back to the script, leaving Sam banging his fists on the screen.
“No! No no no. Don’t leave me! Tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand. Tell me who I am. Tell me where I am!”
A light flicked on in the upstairs hallway. “Tyler?”
Sam spun is head to the staircase to see Gene’s long shadow cascading down the carpeted steps. If he stayed silent, maybe Hunt would think he only imagined he heard something. If he just stayed silent and still. The shadow moved, and slowly descended the staircase.
Sam hastily flicked off the television set but could not get back to the couch before Gene entered the room and discovered him sat in the middle of the floor, hands still balled into fists, and tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He waited for Gene to say it, the world’s worst question: are you okay? He braced himself for it.
“Nightmares?”
Sam’s head snapped up and he saw Gene leaning nonchalantly in the doorway, flannel pyjamas draped over his tall frame, the first few buttons on the shirt left undone.
He looked away. “Yeah.”
Gene disappeared into the hall but returned a moment later. Something smooth and silver was placed in front of Sam’s face. “This’ll help.”
Sam reached up and took the flask, examining it carefully before taking a swig of the burning liquor. He took one more, then handed it back to Gene. To his surprise, Gene refrained from a drink and simply screwed the cap back on, before setting the flask on the end table.
“You can have the real bed, if you want. I’ll sleep down ‘ere.”
“No,” Sam shook his head. “This is your house. I won’t put you out. Not that tired, anyhow.”
“You look like summit the dog killed an’ the cat pissed on, an’ you’re sayin’ you don’t need kip?” He said it in a whisper, though, no force behind the words.
“It has been an extraordinarily long day, Gene.”
Hunt finally sat down next to him, leaning his back against the couch. “I will give you that, Tyler.” He pat Sam on the back, just a friendly tap between mates, but the contact was enough to thaw the cold numbness Sam had been allowing to build up inside him ever since he’d heard Morgan’s confession. He remembered how earlier that night, with Gene on one side, the Cortina on the other, how only then had he felt something again.
“Wait,” Sam whispered as Gene drew back his hand. He leaned back, his body desperate to feel that touch again. “Please.” Two hands were placed on his shoulders and gently scooted him backwards until Sam was cradled against Gene’s warm body, strong arms wrapped around him and soothing him to stillness. He rolled his head against Gene’s shoulder, then turned his face into his neck. It was clean but still smelled of cigarettes and aftershave. Without even thinking about it, Sam began to nibble at that neck, pressing his lips against it, prodding it ever so gently with the tip of his tongue.
“Sam...” Gene tried to push him away, get him to stop, but as he moved his arms, Sam moved his body until he was sitting in Gene’s lap, quickly graduating from the neck to the mouth, his hands cupped behind Gene’s head as he dove his tongue in as deep as he could. They’d done this before. They’d had this before. Sam wanted more. Sam never got what he wanted anymore. He arched his body into Gene’s, refusing to quit, trying to tell Gene, using his mouth and his hands, that he was going to have this.
“Sam.” Gene broke the kiss and stared up into his eyes. This was it. This was all Sam was going to get from him, but it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough. “Tell me what to do.”
Sam felt every body in his muscle lock into place. This wasn’t how the story went. “What?”
Gene didn’t move. “Tell me what to do.” He wasn’t begging. He wasn’t ordering. He was simply asking. Asking Sam for something. No one asked Sam for anything.
“I...I, uh...”
Gene waited. No one waited for Sam. They hurried him. They rushed him.
“I want...” Sam never got what he wanted. “I want you to...take off your shirt.”
Gene gently pushed Sam off his lap and that was it. It was over. Sam had asked for too much. Then Gene started undoing the buttons on his top. He slid it off his shoulders and tossed it on the couch behind them. “Now what, Sam?”
He didn’t think he could ask for more. “Take...take off my vest.”
Gene nodded and sat up on his knees, then grabbed the hem of Sam’s shirt and pulled it up and over his head, tossing the dirty undergarment across the room.
“Lay me down.” Sam wasn’t going to wait anymore. Any second now Gene would come to his senses and realize he’d accidently reversed their roles.
Gene placed a hand on either shoulder and pushed Sam’s pliant body backwards until he was flat on the floor.
“Trousers. Take off my trousers.”
Gene did. Taking his time, letting Sam feel everything he was doing. He pulled the jeans off by the ankles and threw them somewhere near the discarded vest.
“The pants, too, stupid bastard,” Sam sighed and Gene smiled.
“Sorry.”
They were gone a flash and Sam relished the feeling of lying completely naked under this man, without having to worry about setting up a camera. “Will you...” He was too afraid to ask.
“Tell me, Sam,” Gene reminded him.
His body trembled as he gave the order. “Put...put your mouth around...around...”
Gene didn’t need to hear the full sentence and with a wicked grin, descended upon Sam’s cock. From his own experience, Sam could tell Gene didn’t do this often, but as a hot tongue flicked across the slit, he decided Gene plainly knew what he was doing. Rough fingers massaged his balls as Gene took him deeper, hollowing his cheeks, allowing just the barest scraping of teeth.
“Oh...shit...” Sam moaned. This, it was nothing like Warren had ever done. He grabbed Gene’s hair, guiding his head, guiding his movements. This was it felt like to be given pleasure, not to have it demanded from you. As with all things in his life, Gene was relentless. Sam bucked once or twice, feeling guilty as he felt his penis scrape the back of Gene’s throat, but Gene didn’t complain and Gene didn’t stop.
“Gene...shit, Gene...I’m, I’m going...I don’t want you to...” He tugged Gene away just as he came, his body arching upwards as Gene grabbed his cock with his hand, letting him pulse into something warm. The blinding sensations of his orgasm died quickly and when he opened his eyes, he saw Gene looking at him with concern.
“Lube,” was all Sam could say at first.
“What?”
“The left pocket of my trousers. There’s lube.”
“Sam, do you really want--”
He sat up on his elbows. “I want you to fuck me Gene! Now get the goddamned lube!” As Gene retrieved the trousers, Sam relaxed his arms and fell onto his back. The thrill of being able to demand things, it was nearly as exhilarating as the orgasm itself. He listened patiently as Gene twisted the cap off the tube, and felt his body shudder as a slick finger was pressed inside him.
“Alright?”
“Shut up,” Sam groaned as Gene inserted a second finger. He twisted them slowly, letting Sam adjust. “Get...get on with it, already,” he moaned. He was used to this. He didn’t need Gene to be so gentle. The fingers were withdrawn quickly and Sam sighed over their loss. He kept his eyes closed and heard the shuffling of cloth as Gene lowered his pyjama bottoms, then realized he wanted to watch this. He propped himself up on his elbows again, eyes wide as he took in the sight of Gene tugging at himself, slicking his cock with lube. Warren never let him watch.
“Ready?” Gene asked, smirking as he saw Sam staring.
“I said shut up,” Sam panted with anticipation and laid back down, spreading his knees and lifting his legs for Gene. He sprawled his arms above his head as Gene entered him slowly, feeling truly full for the first time in forever. Gene moved slowly at first, and Sam hated it. His hands flew to Gene’s back, pressing him down, pressing him in. “Harder.”
“Shit, Sam...”
Sam dug his nails into his back. “Don’t speak,” he growled giving into this new sense of power. “I don’t want to hear you speak until you’re screaming my name when you come inside me.” Gene pushed in deeper. “Now, move. Faster, Gene. Please.”
Gene obeyed, no longer holding back, and as Sam felt his bare back scratching against the rough carpet with the force of Gene’s thrusts, his arms barely able to hold onto the pulsing man above him, he realized just how much Gene had been holding it in, for his benefit. For him. For Sam. No one did anything for Sam.
He cried out as Gene found his prostate, feeling himself become hard again as Gene managed to hit that spot with every inward push. He didn’t know it could be like this. He didn’t know it could actually feel good, that both men could receive satisfaction from the act. He didn’t want it to end. At that moment, it didn’t matter if he was Tyler or Williams or Warren’s or Morgan’s or even Gene’s. He was just Sam and he was getting fucked because he wanted it. He was with someone who wanted it because he was Sam, not because it was free and easy and convenient.
His back was burning, every nerve in his body exploding in pleasure, as Gene pounded him into the floor. This was right. This was good. This was able to destroy his thoughts like nothing else ever could and he wanted more. He begged Gene for it and it was given and that was the most powerful sensation of them all. Oh man, he thought as Gene finally quivered and came and shouted his name just like Sam had told him. Oh man, look at those cavemen go.
_______
Part 22