Cosmo Man by fawsley, green Cortina with Sam and Gene
Title: Cosmo Man
Author: fawsley
Rating: green Cortina
Characters: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 1600
Warnings: Rather soppy flokey stuff.
Disclaimer: All the property of the BBC and Kudos
Summary: Gene has something of an epiphany in the back seat of the Cortina.
Notes: I've been stuck in bed with a chest infection and a lap-top so I has done writing.
Cosmo Man
‘Flaming Nora! It’s a bloody tip in here!’
Gene rooted around in the footwell of the back seat, pulling up papers and packets and goodness only knows what else like rabbits from a hat to be flung straight out of the window.
‘Told you you shouldn’t’ve let Chris and Ray use the car. Knew it would all end in tears.’
Sam sounded especially smug from the depths of his newspaper.
‘S’not as if I let ’em drive it! Was only two hours while we had our lunch. And Cartwright was with ’em. She should’ve kept ’em under control. Bloody women’s lib!’
Sam tutted absentmindedly over his crossword, did nothing in the way of offering to help tidy up.
‘All I want’s a bit of a kip in me own car but oh no! Turned into ruddy Mrs Mopp I am, clearing up after me own filthy team!’
Gene retrieved what he at first thought might be a girly mag but which turned out to girly of a different nature altogether. He held it at arms length between his fingertips and eyed it suspiciously. Well, Tyler was in the front, busy with the puzzle page. He’d never notice if Gene took a bit of a look… And anyway, it would always do to keep the sun off his eyes if he ever did get that snooze. Which with the way Tyler was huffing and puffing didn’t seem much of a possibility. Not that part of him didn’t mind hearing Tyler huff and puff a bit now and then. Maybe if he did nod off he could summon up a nice little dream with that for a soundtrack. The poof would never know.
He wouldn't admit to ever having wondered what this sort of women’s magazine was like, what dubious delights lay hidden behind the glossy cover. The girls on the front never seemed much different to those on the top shelf titles, though with their clothes on of course. What was inside was one of the great mysteries in life, one not solved by his mum’s lifelong devotion to The People’s Friend or the missus’ to Woman’s Own. Which had turned out to have more significance than he’d realised when she ran off with Mrs Hazelhurst.
Draping himself across the back seat, Gene flicked through the pages as quietly as he could. Blimey! He’d thought there might be one or two pictures of blokes, attractive blokes - not that he was going looking for that sort of thing of course - but bloody hell! They might have kept their kit on and not looked so, well, so up for it! Specially that skinny short-haired one with the cheeky grin about him.
He turned over quickly to the next article and rearranged his cramped legs. He hoped the inadvertent harrumph sounded like one of discomfort rather than - well, it was discomfort, but not the sort he wanted anyone else knowing about.
Twenty ways to make him beg for more!
Christ! This sort of thing shouldn’t be allowed! What was the world coming to? Whatever happened to wholesome family stories, knitting patterns, and how to make a mouth-watering meal for six out of a tin of beef mince and a turnip? But still he couldn’t stop reading.
What’s your ideal type of man? You might just be surprised!
‘Big, blond, bolshy. Green-eyed, gorgeous, god-like…’
Gene swallowed hard as his stomach sank, his mind spun, and stark realisation struck.
‘You stuck…’
He cleared his throat in the hope of making his voice drop back down to something like it’s normal depth.
‘You stuck on one of them word puzzles, Tyler?’
There was far too much knowing in Sam’s chuckle.
‘Thought you was asking me a question!’
Gene growled and kicked at the back of the passenger seat.
‘Wasn’t. Just reading Cartwright’s disgusting rag what she left behind. Can’t believe I’m seeing some of the things in here.’
Couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard, either. He flapped the pages loudly, trying to cover his tracks.
‘Bloody odd it is too - got adverts for fancy posh jam stuck in amongst the sexy knickers!’
Gene could almost hear Sam’s frown of confusion.
‘Are you sure about that, Guv?’
‘Sure I’m sure. Wise wives use rose petal jelly right next to Slinky cat suit to make you both purr.’
That got Sam twisting round to laugh at him in his face.
‘Where the hell have you been, Guv? That’s not the sort of stuff you go spreading on your toast of a morning!’
‘Well what is it then?’
‘It’s lubricant you idiot!’ Mr Bloody-know-it-all informed him, eyes rolling in disdain. ‘For sex. You know - makes things all nice and slippy-slidey.’
What Tyler did with his hands and the way he grinned whilst he was doing it was something else that shouldn’t be allowed in public. Or private. And definitely not in the Cortina when there was only the two of them there. Or anyone there. Or - oh bloody hell!
Gene flung the magazine into the far reaches of the footwell, crossed his arms and grumped.
‘Spose you know all about that an’ all, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
Tyler’s look was defiant but his voice was calmer now.
‘I do. Like it to be good, for both involved. Good and fun and hot and, well, bloody amazing whenever possible.’
That stare lingered just a little too long for the comfort of parts of his anatomy that Gene didn’t like to name.
‘Life isn’t like in magazines, Guv. Not all black and white. It’s every shade in between and glorious technicolour too. You should try it some time.’
Gene meant his reply to be an indignant retort, but somehow got the emphasis all wrong and instead it came out as a questioning ‘Should I?’
‘Yeah. You should.’
There was a moment when they were silently staring at each other that he could have, should have, gone for and grasped. But then Tyler was slumping back in his seat, attention turned again to the fun and games page.
‘Anyway, you should be bloody thankful it’s not Litton.’
‘What?’
‘My ideal man. Not Litton. Think that’s a good thing on the whole.’
Gene pouted to himself. He had to agree there. There were quite a few things he had to agree with Tyler about. Not that he was going to let on about them all in a hurry, mind you.
In next month’s issue - Exploring your sexuality! Jump off the straight and narrow and take a walk on the wild side!
The magazine stared up at him from where it had landed. Yeah, it was a journey. One where he almost had a tentative toe on the first brick in the road. One where Tyler was offering a helping hand along the way. And the thoughts of exactly where Tyler’s hand - no doubt glistening with a copious amount of some sort of jam or jelly or whatever it was - might go and what it might do were so very gloriously filthy.
‘Spose it is, Sam, spose it is. One good thing about you. Shame the same can’t be said for Cartwright.’
‘What? What about her?’
Gene snorted and poked his foot at the discarded magazine.
‘Well judging by her answers to that there quiz and the little heart she’s drawn around his name at the bottom, Litton seems to be WDC Cartwright’s Mr Divine Dreamboat.’
‘You are bloody kidding me!’
‘Nope. Funny. Always thought you were more her type, thought you could’ve been inside upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber.’
Sam let out a long whistle of amazement.
‘Blimey! Nowt so queer as folk, eh Guv?’
Nowt so queer indeed, Gene told himself.
‘Daft bird. What’s she want to go running after Litton for when there’s a bit of class like you knocking about the place? Reckon she must’ve lost her marbles somewhere along the line.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.’
‘Cept of course for the fact you’re batting for the other side.’
‘Does rather throw something of a spanner in the works.’
‘Silly tart.’
‘Who? Me or Annie?’
‘Both, probably.’
Sam’s pencil scratched away at the crossword.
‘Did you really mean it?’
There was a quiet vulnerability about his voice.
‘Mean what?’
‘Me being a bit of class?’
It would be so easy to spit out something about Yeah - bottom of the divs’ class but Gene managed to bite his lip.
‘Course I did. Skinny short-haired annoyance needing a regular slap around the chops to remind him where his place is.’
‘You moved on to reading the latest ideas on police and community relations, Guv?’
‘Nah. Just working out what my ideal type is.’
First step taken. And it didn’t hurt so much after all. Apart from the bleeding lip.
‘I see. Thanks. For making it clear, you know.’
‘S’all right. Just keep it to yourself. And it’s about time you shut up and let me get forty winks.’
‘Will do. Whatever you say Guv.’
He could tell that Tyler was grinning like the lunatic he was.
‘Just don’t start snoring or I’ll have to kill you.’
‘Told you before, I don’t snore!’
‘Told me a lot of things, you have. I’ll wake you up in an hour, okay?’
Gene wiped his lip on his hankie, leaned back, closed his eyes, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had a hopeful suspicion that any dreams would be more of the hot than the sweet kind.
Who needed Cartwright’s daft magazine when you had Sam around?
Author: fawsley
Rating: green Cortina
Characters: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 1600
Warnings: Rather soppy flokey stuff.
Disclaimer: All the property of the BBC and Kudos
Summary: Gene has something of an epiphany in the back seat of the Cortina.
Notes: I've been stuck in bed with a chest infection and a lap-top so I has done writing.
Cosmo Man
‘Flaming Nora! It’s a bloody tip in here!’
Gene rooted around in the footwell of the back seat, pulling up papers and packets and goodness only knows what else like rabbits from a hat to be flung straight out of the window.
‘Told you you shouldn’t’ve let Chris and Ray use the car. Knew it would all end in tears.’
Sam sounded especially smug from the depths of his newspaper.
‘S’not as if I let ’em drive it! Was only two hours while we had our lunch. And Cartwright was with ’em. She should’ve kept ’em under control. Bloody women’s lib!’
Sam tutted absentmindedly over his crossword, did nothing in the way of offering to help tidy up.
‘All I want’s a bit of a kip in me own car but oh no! Turned into ruddy Mrs Mopp I am, clearing up after me own filthy team!’
Gene retrieved what he at first thought might be a girly mag but which turned out to girly of a different nature altogether. He held it at arms length between his fingertips and eyed it suspiciously. Well, Tyler was in the front, busy with the puzzle page. He’d never notice if Gene took a bit of a look… And anyway, it would always do to keep the sun off his eyes if he ever did get that snooze. Which with the way Tyler was huffing and puffing didn’t seem much of a possibility. Not that part of him didn’t mind hearing Tyler huff and puff a bit now and then. Maybe if he did nod off he could summon up a nice little dream with that for a soundtrack. The poof would never know.
He wouldn't admit to ever having wondered what this sort of women’s magazine was like, what dubious delights lay hidden behind the glossy cover. The girls on the front never seemed much different to those on the top shelf titles, though with their clothes on of course. What was inside was one of the great mysteries in life, one not solved by his mum’s lifelong devotion to The People’s Friend or the missus’ to Woman’s Own. Which had turned out to have more significance than he’d realised when she ran off with Mrs Hazelhurst.
Draping himself across the back seat, Gene flicked through the pages as quietly as he could. Blimey! He’d thought there might be one or two pictures of blokes, attractive blokes - not that he was going looking for that sort of thing of course - but bloody hell! They might have kept their kit on and not looked so, well, so up for it! Specially that skinny short-haired one with the cheeky grin about him.
He turned over quickly to the next article and rearranged his cramped legs. He hoped the inadvertent harrumph sounded like one of discomfort rather than - well, it was discomfort, but not the sort he wanted anyone else knowing about.
Twenty ways to make him beg for more!
Christ! This sort of thing shouldn’t be allowed! What was the world coming to? Whatever happened to wholesome family stories, knitting patterns, and how to make a mouth-watering meal for six out of a tin of beef mince and a turnip? But still he couldn’t stop reading.
What’s your ideal type of man? You might just be surprised!
‘Big, blond, bolshy. Green-eyed, gorgeous, god-like…’
Gene swallowed hard as his stomach sank, his mind spun, and stark realisation struck.
‘You stuck…’
He cleared his throat in the hope of making his voice drop back down to something like it’s normal depth.
‘You stuck on one of them word puzzles, Tyler?’
There was far too much knowing in Sam’s chuckle.
‘Thought you was asking me a question!’
Gene growled and kicked at the back of the passenger seat.
‘Wasn’t. Just reading Cartwright’s disgusting rag what she left behind. Can’t believe I’m seeing some of the things in here.’
Couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard, either. He flapped the pages loudly, trying to cover his tracks.
‘Bloody odd it is too - got adverts for fancy posh jam stuck in amongst the sexy knickers!’
Gene could almost hear Sam’s frown of confusion.
‘Are you sure about that, Guv?’
‘Sure I’m sure. Wise wives use rose petal jelly right next to Slinky cat suit to make you both purr.’
That got Sam twisting round to laugh at him in his face.
‘Where the hell have you been, Guv? That’s not the sort of stuff you go spreading on your toast of a morning!’
‘Well what is it then?’
‘It’s lubricant you idiot!’ Mr Bloody-know-it-all informed him, eyes rolling in disdain. ‘For sex. You know - makes things all nice and slippy-slidey.’
What Tyler did with his hands and the way he grinned whilst he was doing it was something else that shouldn’t be allowed in public. Or private. And definitely not in the Cortina when there was only the two of them there. Or anyone there. Or - oh bloody hell!
Gene flung the magazine into the far reaches of the footwell, crossed his arms and grumped.
‘Spose you know all about that an’ all, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, I do.’
Tyler’s look was defiant but his voice was calmer now.
‘I do. Like it to be good, for both involved. Good and fun and hot and, well, bloody amazing whenever possible.’
That stare lingered just a little too long for the comfort of parts of his anatomy that Gene didn’t like to name.
‘Life isn’t like in magazines, Guv. Not all black and white. It’s every shade in between and glorious technicolour too. You should try it some time.’
Gene meant his reply to be an indignant retort, but somehow got the emphasis all wrong and instead it came out as a questioning ‘Should I?’
‘Yeah. You should.’
There was a moment when they were silently staring at each other that he could have, should have, gone for and grasped. But then Tyler was slumping back in his seat, attention turned again to the fun and games page.
‘Anyway, you should be bloody thankful it’s not Litton.’
‘What?’
‘My ideal man. Not Litton. Think that’s a good thing on the whole.’
Gene pouted to himself. He had to agree there. There were quite a few things he had to agree with Tyler about. Not that he was going to let on about them all in a hurry, mind you.
In next month’s issue - Exploring your sexuality! Jump off the straight and narrow and take a walk on the wild side!
The magazine stared up at him from where it had landed. Yeah, it was a journey. One where he almost had a tentative toe on the first brick in the road. One where Tyler was offering a helping hand along the way. And the thoughts of exactly where Tyler’s hand - no doubt glistening with a copious amount of some sort of jam or jelly or whatever it was - might go and what it might do were so very gloriously filthy.
‘Spose it is, Sam, spose it is. One good thing about you. Shame the same can’t be said for Cartwright.’
‘What? What about her?’
Gene snorted and poked his foot at the discarded magazine.
‘Well judging by her answers to that there quiz and the little heart she’s drawn around his name at the bottom, Litton seems to be WDC Cartwright’s Mr Divine Dreamboat.’
‘You are bloody kidding me!’
‘Nope. Funny. Always thought you were more her type, thought you could’ve been inside upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady’s chamber.’
Sam let out a long whistle of amazement.
‘Blimey! Nowt so queer as folk, eh Guv?’
Nowt so queer indeed, Gene told himself.
‘Daft bird. What’s she want to go running after Litton for when there’s a bit of class like you knocking about the place? Reckon she must’ve lost her marbles somewhere along the line.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment. I think.’
‘Cept of course for the fact you’re batting for the other side.’
‘Does rather throw something of a spanner in the works.’
‘Silly tart.’
‘Who? Me or Annie?’
‘Both, probably.’
Sam’s pencil scratched away at the crossword.
‘Did you really mean it?’
There was a quiet vulnerability about his voice.
‘Mean what?’
‘Me being a bit of class?’
It would be so easy to spit out something about Yeah - bottom of the divs’ class but Gene managed to bite his lip.
‘Course I did. Skinny short-haired annoyance needing a regular slap around the chops to remind him where his place is.’
‘You moved on to reading the latest ideas on police and community relations, Guv?’
‘Nah. Just working out what my ideal type is.’
First step taken. And it didn’t hurt so much after all. Apart from the bleeding lip.
‘I see. Thanks. For making it clear, you know.’
‘S’all right. Just keep it to yourself. And it’s about time you shut up and let me get forty winks.’
‘Will do. Whatever you say Guv.’
He could tell that Tyler was grinning like the lunatic he was.
‘Just don’t start snoring or I’ll have to kill you.’
‘Told you before, I don’t snore!’
‘Told me a lot of things, you have. I’ll wake you up in an hour, okay?’
Gene wiped his lip on his hankie, leaned back, closed his eyes, and breathed a deep sigh of relief. He had a hopeful suspicion that any dreams would be more of the hot than the sweet kind.
Who needed Cartwright’s daft magazine when you had Sam around?