Heavy Breathing, Part One
Title: Heavy Breathing, Part One of Two
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17+)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Warnings: PWalP, aggressive!top!Sam
Word Count: 4,700 (in two parts; part one 1,700)
Summary: Sometimes watching just isn’t enough - a porno sends Gene off the deep end and Sam decides to investigate.
NOTES: I started this story with the first five paragraphs but stalled after that. However, I got into a conversation with draycevixen, that great pimpin’ enabler of legend, about top!Sam. Everything sorted itself out after that. Further notes at the end of part two.
Heavy Breathing, Part One
Gene had seen gay porn before. It was hard to avoid it, really, in a job where you dealt with the underbelly of society every day and night. He saw the magazines and amateur photos and confiscated a number of 8mm reels, and he saw the boys on Canal St. with their tight trousers advertising their wares and he had raided clubs where he found men going at each other like jackhammers in the bathroom or the back rooms. In fact there was simply nothing he had not seen before. Once when he was still a plod he even busted a man fucking the gear shift of his car near a park one night. After that it took Gene over a week to be able to drive without getting an erection, because it turned him on - all of it.
He hid his perversion well. In fact it was not even hiding, it was all out repression. His only experience down that road happened when he was fifteen and play wrestling in an alley with his friend Johnny who groped him. The grope turned into copping a feel which turned into heavy petting and kissing and mind blowing mutual hand jobs, their trousers around their knees as they huddled behind a bunch of construction debris and groaned out their orgasms like the inexperienced boys they were. They separated without talking, both knowing they had tripped over a dangerous line, and on the way home, still buzzing from his orgasm and the feel of a dick not-his-own in his hand, Gene looked around and saw the world closing its doors on him. He was fifteen, so he knew what he did was wrong and he knew that men who did that were thought of as queers and sick and perverted. Doing something like that cut him off from the life around him, the women hanging out laundry to dry and the children playing football and the cop on the corner who knew his name. What he did in that alley had the power to cast him out of that world, and his dreams of becoming a police officer would be gone forever.
He never talked to Johnny again. He never went down that road, not even when he arrested rent boys so handsome and hard bodied it made him choke on lust and dream of raping them in the cells. He never touched, except to hit or drag. He learned not to look. Over the years, he simply became immune.
Or so he thought.
He was sitting in the Lost and Found watching a gay porno with Sam Tyler, and he was suddenly uncomfortable, and out of ideas, because for all that he had seen the pictures and caught men at it and locked up the films, he had never heard gay sex. Too late, far far far too late, Gene realized that one reason he could be so cavalier about photos or magazines or even just the idea of it was because all of that was silent. No noise. Not like the groaning and huffing and low-octave ‘fuck me’ sounds that were emitted out of the cheap projector next to him and sent straight into his cock. Listening was a turn on, a hard core primal unbeatable turn on and Gene’s imagination was back in an alley with a cock in his hand, listening oh-god-yes listening to Johnny come, growling Gene’s name in his ear.
Gene refused to shift in his chair, to give even a hint that he was bothered. He reached over to turn off the sound but Sam stopped him.
“We might hear something.”
Gene thought that they were already hearing too damn much, but they were not watching this for a good time, despite the depraved ideas his dick was encouraging at the moment. The movie showcased the now-deceased Tony Johnson as a truly gorgeous, flexible, and loud bottom. At this point in time, Gene preferred to think of him on the slab in the morgue, actually. Safer that way…but on the whole, an ineffective tactic.
Friends of the murdered boy - who were as much Tony’s friends as the prozzie who offered Gene a blow job to get out of being arrested last week was his missus - tried to finger one of the filmmakers as the murderer, but conveniently those filmmakers were known as “Joe”, “Frank”, and “Todd” and that was it. The phone number one of the boys had for this group of high minded cinematic artistes was disconnected. So that left the film, and watching the film, trying to figure out where in the hell said film was shot. It was the most pathetic of leads to pursue, but it was pretty much all they had.
After Gene announced that they had to watch the movie, every man in CID did not come back from lunch, except of course Sam and their resident not-man, Cartwright. She actually seemed enthusiastic about watching it, which made Gene even more uncomfortable, so he told her it was too wicked even for a sick minded filthy girl like her and sent her off to something, anything, else.
Which left him in the dark with a gay porno that sounded downright, well, pornographic and Sam Tyler and Gene’s very own hard-on from Hell.
Not that Sam was really any part of that equation, because he most certainly was not. Sam was in no way an object of desire for Gene, because since the skinny, tight-arsed ponce waltzed through the doors of CID sounding like a lunatic, Gene had carefully and with great deliberation excised every dirty thought he ever had about Sam from his consciousness. Sam was not extraordinarily pretty, but he was handsome and built like a football player in his prime and he had intense dark eyes that could melt candles just by looking at them, which was everything Gene refused to wank off to about Sam Tyler, at all, ever. His degenerate subconscious imagination did not need the help, as it already was responsible for more wet dreams than Gene had suffered since he was a twelve.
So he sat in the dark, with a loud and wet-sounding porno and Sam Tyler, whom Gene did NOT want, and a hard on which he wanted even less.
He glanced over and Sam looked utterly cool and collected, the professional to the core, and not the least bit turned on, bothered, or much interested in the hard, slapping bodies projected against the fold-up screen. He watched, took a note or two, watched again, squinted, took down another note, and Gene tore his gaze away to pretend like he was looking at the bed sheets or the lamp or anything but that man’s hard, very thick cock pounding loudly into the perfect arse of a boy who had the breath control of deep sea diver.
“This is getting me hard,” Sam laughed, his voice amused and utterly at ease, not the least discomfited about admitting his erection. Gene narrowed his eyes and with every ounce of willpower his mother ever gave him (usually with a belt), stared straight at the screen and focused on the little hand of the alarm clock near the lamp on the night stand next to the bed where two men were fucking like rabbits.
“Glad Annie’s not here, Guv, watching us get boners to this.” Sam laughed again.
“Speak for yerself!” Gene snapped, knowing he sounded defensive but unable to stop himself.
“Riiiight. Anyway, it’s obviously a hotel room, and…” Sam pattered on as if he had just discussed the state of their cocks. Meanwhile the movie took up residence in Gene’s ears, eyes, and dick and was progressing quickly to its climax…and the irony of that description was not lost on him. His cock throbbed in its own desperation for friction and Gene willed his muscles to steel to keep from moving anything.
“Gene?”
“Yeah, yeah boy do it, come for me, yeahhhhhh…”
“What?”
“God oooooh oh oh oh daddy oh god…I’mmmm…oh oh yeah I’m….oh fuck….”
“You just seemed distracted. I was talking about…”
“Oh OH FUCK yeah I’m…yeah I’m comin’ in yer tight arse oh oh oh fuck fuck fuck fuck…”
“Do it! Do it! Oh yeah fuck me soooooOH GOD YES YES…”
Gene knew it was happening right before it started, which was far too late. He curled his fist, slammed it into his thigh and leaned over, grabbing the edge of the chair in a death grip with his other hand and closing his eyes, coming hard and trying desperately not to jerk his hips as the sounds of the cum shot played out next to him. He opened his eyes and stared at his knees, trying to breathe again as the film ran out and began flipping on it’s reel.
He finally took a deep breath and looked straight in front of him. There was no way Sam did not know what just happened, no way Gene could play that off to a stomach cramp or charley horse, no way if his life depended on it that Gene could make that look like anything other than what it was: getting off to a gay porno.
He heard Sam cough next to him and shift in his chair. “I don’t think there was much to go on, there. No way to know which hotel they were at. We’ll just…pack this up as evidence. No need to sit through it again.” Sam stood up and started taking the film off the projector. Gene did not say anything, just nodded without looking at Sam and walked out. He needed to clean up, and check for stains, of which there were fortunately none, thank God and all the saints for thick cotton Y-fronts. As he came out of the bogs Ray cornered him and asked if they found anything, and sometimes that man had the best timing in the world. Gene lit into him about skipping out and leaving Gene alone to watch that ‘filthy, cock-sucking perversion’ with ‘our own flouncey Gladys’ and that Ray had better come up with a solid lead before dawn or expect to spend the rest of his life counting pencils. His bad mood was so evident that most everyone in CID refused to even look his way, and even Sam steered clear. Gene thanked small miracles. When beer-o’clock came round Gene barreled out of the place without a word and went home. His empty home, as his wife had left him a while back, and while Gene entertained a few tarts in the time since, it was still his empty home, ands for the first time in a long time, Gene was very glad about that.
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Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17+)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Warnings: PWalP, aggressive!top!Sam
Word Count: 4,700 (in two parts; part one 1,700)
Summary: Sometimes watching just isn’t enough - a porno sends Gene off the deep end and Sam decides to investigate.
NOTES: I started this story with the first five paragraphs but stalled after that. However, I got into a conversation with draycevixen, that great pimpin’ enabler of legend, about top!Sam. Everything sorted itself out after that. Further notes at the end of part two.
Heavy Breathing, Part One
Gene had seen gay porn before. It was hard to avoid it, really, in a job where you dealt with the underbelly of society every day and night. He saw the magazines and amateur photos and confiscated a number of 8mm reels, and he saw the boys on Canal St. with their tight trousers advertising their wares and he had raided clubs where he found men going at each other like jackhammers in the bathroom or the back rooms. In fact there was simply nothing he had not seen before. Once when he was still a plod he even busted a man fucking the gear shift of his car near a park one night. After that it took Gene over a week to be able to drive without getting an erection, because it turned him on - all of it.
He hid his perversion well. In fact it was not even hiding, it was all out repression. His only experience down that road happened when he was fifteen and play wrestling in an alley with his friend Johnny who groped him. The grope turned into copping a feel which turned into heavy petting and kissing and mind blowing mutual hand jobs, their trousers around their knees as they huddled behind a bunch of construction debris and groaned out their orgasms like the inexperienced boys they were. They separated without talking, both knowing they had tripped over a dangerous line, and on the way home, still buzzing from his orgasm and the feel of a dick not-his-own in his hand, Gene looked around and saw the world closing its doors on him. He was fifteen, so he knew what he did was wrong and he knew that men who did that were thought of as queers and sick and perverted. Doing something like that cut him off from the life around him, the women hanging out laundry to dry and the children playing football and the cop on the corner who knew his name. What he did in that alley had the power to cast him out of that world, and his dreams of becoming a police officer would be gone forever.
He never talked to Johnny again. He never went down that road, not even when he arrested rent boys so handsome and hard bodied it made him choke on lust and dream of raping them in the cells. He never touched, except to hit or drag. He learned not to look. Over the years, he simply became immune.
Or so he thought.
He was sitting in the Lost and Found watching a gay porno with Sam Tyler, and he was suddenly uncomfortable, and out of ideas, because for all that he had seen the pictures and caught men at it and locked up the films, he had never heard gay sex. Too late, far far far too late, Gene realized that one reason he could be so cavalier about photos or magazines or even just the idea of it was because all of that was silent. No noise. Not like the groaning and huffing and low-octave ‘fuck me’ sounds that were emitted out of the cheap projector next to him and sent straight into his cock. Listening was a turn on, a hard core primal unbeatable turn on and Gene’s imagination was back in an alley with a cock in his hand, listening oh-god-yes listening to Johnny come, growling Gene’s name in his ear.
Gene refused to shift in his chair, to give even a hint that he was bothered. He reached over to turn off the sound but Sam stopped him.
“We might hear something.”
Gene thought that they were already hearing too damn much, but they were not watching this for a good time, despite the depraved ideas his dick was encouraging at the moment. The movie showcased the now-deceased Tony Johnson as a truly gorgeous, flexible, and loud bottom. At this point in time, Gene preferred to think of him on the slab in the morgue, actually. Safer that way…but on the whole, an ineffective tactic.
Friends of the murdered boy - who were as much Tony’s friends as the prozzie who offered Gene a blow job to get out of being arrested last week was his missus - tried to finger one of the filmmakers as the murderer, but conveniently those filmmakers were known as “Joe”, “Frank”, and “Todd” and that was it. The phone number one of the boys had for this group of high minded cinematic artistes was disconnected. So that left the film, and watching the film, trying to figure out where in the hell said film was shot. It was the most pathetic of leads to pursue, but it was pretty much all they had.
After Gene announced that they had to watch the movie, every man in CID did not come back from lunch, except of course Sam and their resident not-man, Cartwright. She actually seemed enthusiastic about watching it, which made Gene even more uncomfortable, so he told her it was too wicked even for a sick minded filthy girl like her and sent her off to something, anything, else.
Which left him in the dark with a gay porno that sounded downright, well, pornographic and Sam Tyler and Gene’s very own hard-on from Hell.
Not that Sam was really any part of that equation, because he most certainly was not. Sam was in no way an object of desire for Gene, because since the skinny, tight-arsed ponce waltzed through the doors of CID sounding like a lunatic, Gene had carefully and with great deliberation excised every dirty thought he ever had about Sam from his consciousness. Sam was not extraordinarily pretty, but he was handsome and built like a football player in his prime and he had intense dark eyes that could melt candles just by looking at them, which was everything Gene refused to wank off to about Sam Tyler, at all, ever. His degenerate subconscious imagination did not need the help, as it already was responsible for more wet dreams than Gene had suffered since he was a twelve.
So he sat in the dark, with a loud and wet-sounding porno and Sam Tyler, whom Gene did NOT want, and a hard on which he wanted even less.
He glanced over and Sam looked utterly cool and collected, the professional to the core, and not the least bit turned on, bothered, or much interested in the hard, slapping bodies projected against the fold-up screen. He watched, took a note or two, watched again, squinted, took down another note, and Gene tore his gaze away to pretend like he was looking at the bed sheets or the lamp or anything but that man’s hard, very thick cock pounding loudly into the perfect arse of a boy who had the breath control of deep sea diver.
“This is getting me hard,” Sam laughed, his voice amused and utterly at ease, not the least discomfited about admitting his erection. Gene narrowed his eyes and with every ounce of willpower his mother ever gave him (usually with a belt), stared straight at the screen and focused on the little hand of the alarm clock near the lamp on the night stand next to the bed where two men were fucking like rabbits.
“Glad Annie’s not here, Guv, watching us get boners to this.” Sam laughed again.
“Speak for yerself!” Gene snapped, knowing he sounded defensive but unable to stop himself.
“Riiiight. Anyway, it’s obviously a hotel room, and…” Sam pattered on as if he had just discussed the state of their cocks. Meanwhile the movie took up residence in Gene’s ears, eyes, and dick and was progressing quickly to its climax…and the irony of that description was not lost on him. His cock throbbed in its own desperation for friction and Gene willed his muscles to steel to keep from moving anything.
“Gene?”
“Yeah, yeah boy do it, come for me, yeahhhhhh…”
“What?”
“God oooooh oh oh oh daddy oh god…I’mmmm…oh oh yeah I’m….oh fuck….”
“You just seemed distracted. I was talking about…”
“Oh OH FUCK yeah I’m…yeah I’m comin’ in yer tight arse oh oh oh fuck fuck fuck fuck…”
“Do it! Do it! Oh yeah fuck me soooooOH GOD YES YES…”
Gene knew it was happening right before it started, which was far too late. He curled his fist, slammed it into his thigh and leaned over, grabbing the edge of the chair in a death grip with his other hand and closing his eyes, coming hard and trying desperately not to jerk his hips as the sounds of the cum shot played out next to him. He opened his eyes and stared at his knees, trying to breathe again as the film ran out and began flipping on it’s reel.
He finally took a deep breath and looked straight in front of him. There was no way Sam did not know what just happened, no way Gene could play that off to a stomach cramp or charley horse, no way if his life depended on it that Gene could make that look like anything other than what it was: getting off to a gay porno.
He heard Sam cough next to him and shift in his chair. “I don’t think there was much to go on, there. No way to know which hotel they were at. We’ll just…pack this up as evidence. No need to sit through it again.” Sam stood up and started taking the film off the projector. Gene did not say anything, just nodded without looking at Sam and walked out. He needed to clean up, and check for stains, of which there were fortunately none, thank God and all the saints for thick cotton Y-fronts. As he came out of the bogs Ray cornered him and asked if they found anything, and sometimes that man had the best timing in the world. Gene lit into him about skipping out and leaving Gene alone to watch that ‘filthy, cock-sucking perversion’ with ‘our own flouncey Gladys’ and that Ray had better come up with a solid lead before dawn or expect to spend the rest of his life counting pencils. His bad mood was so evident that most everyone in CID refused to even look his way, and even Sam steered clear. Gene thanked small miracles. When beer-o’clock came round Gene barreled out of the place without a word and went home. His empty home, as his wife had left him a while back, and while Gene entertained a few tarts in the time since, it was still his empty home, ands for the first time in a long time, Gene was very glad about that.
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