Porntoberfest : When I grow up I want to be... by fawsley, brown Cortina with Sam and Gene
Title: When I grow up I want to be...
Author: fawsley
Rating: brown Cortina
Characters: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 780
Warnings: Porntoberfest filth!
Disclaimer: All the property of the BBC and Kudos
Summary: Sam and Gene discuss possible career choices.
Notes: blame candesgirl for the comment exchange following Cosmo Man which resulted in the suggestion for a sequel involving Sam. Cucumber. Gene. Coming. Gene taking the test to find that his ideal man is hyper and somewhat slight with crazy brown eyes and short blonde-ish hair (and an appetite for sex that could rival any rent boy's). Hope this sort of fits the bill!
When I grow up I want to be...
Watching Sam work is fascinating. He knows exactly what he’s doing and even more clearly exactly what he’s going to do next. There’s no hitch or hesitation, only cool calm confidence.
If Gene was a soppy girl he might think it was like a dance. But he isn’t so he doesn’t, simply continues to watch, empty stomach joining him in appreciating the prospect of things yet to come.
‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’ he remarks.
Sam smiles at the compliment, not pausing for a moment as he gathers together what he needs for the next stage of operations.
‘I enjoy it. Think that’s half the secret.’
Gene nods, wondering whether he can be said to be good at anything he really enjoys. He hopes so.
‘Could make some money out of it if you had to, I reckon.’
It’s the sort of poncy thing Tyler would do too.
The smile widens as the work continues.
‘Thanks. But I think I’ll stick to being a copper. It’s what I always wanted to do, right from when I was a kid.’
But then Sam stills for a moment, smile morphing into a leer.
‘Although…’
‘Although what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Is something. Tell me!’
‘Well…’
Sam picks out some of the salad ingredients, chops a cucumber in half and stands it upright with a couple of tomatoes at the base, a more than suggestive dribble of salad dressing tracking a lazy downward path.
‘Well… As I got older, there was a time when I fancied being a rent boy…’
Sam grins wickedly at Gene’s cough of surprise and proceeds to lick the cucumber slowly from top to bottom and back up again, eyes never leaving Gene’s flushed face.
‘Sucking beautiful rock-hard cocks all day. Getting my tight arse stretched and ploughed by one gorgeous thick ramrod after another. Being paid for it….’
He closes his eyes, goes down on the cucumber in one sinfully sinuous movement, throat convulsing, moaning like a half-crown whore. Gene’s eyes can’t get any wider. He’s glued to his seat, stunned into silence, massively and somewhat uncomfortably aroused.
But then Sam straightens up and snaps out of his fantasy.
‘Course it’s not like that really. All skanky ol’ pervs, stinking of piss, riddled with drugs and disease. Nah - think I’ll stick to policing after all.’
He pauses.
‘Although…’
‘Although…?’ Gene echoes with a croak.
‘Although I think I’d make quite a good sex slave…’
Sam dips a finger into the salad dressing and runs it up and down the glistening cucumber, narrowed eyes boring deep down into Gene’s underpants, bypassing his doomed soul altogether.
‘Yeah… Property of my master, owned by him, marked by him. Ready to be used and abused, whenever and wherever. Whatever, too. No say in the matter, always open and lubed, waiting to satisfy his needs. Desperate for him to take me and fill me up, fucking me so hard, making me scream, making me know I’m just a filthy slut. His filthy slut…’
He sucks on his finger salaciously.
‘My master…’
And with that Gene is up and out of his chair, forcing Sam down over the table and the table back against the wall with a loud crash of tumbling crockery. There’s a brief fumbling with clothing then the entire contents of the dressing jug are poured down the crack of Sam’s arse and Gene’s fingers are demanding entrance against a ring of rigidly resistant muscle, cock following hard behind, Sam’s gasps and groans at the brutal invasion ignored and unimportant.
It’s very quick, very messy, and very very good.
Sam doesn’t even complain when Gene uses the tea-towel to clean them both up afterwards.
He twists and twines around Gene’s still-shaking body, clawing and purring, still a randy little cat on heat.
‘My master…’
‘Bloody hell!’ Gene moans as he pushes Sam back onto his feet, holds him at a distance and stares.
‘What the hell have I got myself into with you, Tyler?’
Sam grins, lunges in for a hug and a kiss before turning away, switching scarily fast from sex slave back to consummate chef.
‘Nothing you can’t handle, Gene. Nothing that isn’t rocking your socks off and you know it!’
He dices the cucumber with speed and skill enough to make Gene gulp nervously and help himself to a large glass from the wine bottle.
‘Just not sure I’ve got the stamina to keep up with you, lad…’
Sam dons oven gloves, opens the cooker door and produces a huge, fragrant lasagne. Gene’s mouth begins to water and he accepts the proffered chair and generous portion without protest.
‘Why d’you think I’m so intent on feeding you up?’ Sam chuckles.
Author: fawsley
Rating: brown Cortina
Characters: Sam/Gene
Word Count: 780
Warnings: Porntoberfest filth!
Disclaimer: All the property of the BBC and Kudos
Summary: Sam and Gene discuss possible career choices.
Notes: blame candesgirl for the comment exchange following Cosmo Man which resulted in the suggestion for a sequel involving Sam. Cucumber. Gene. Coming. Gene taking the test to find that his ideal man is hyper and somewhat slight with crazy brown eyes and short blonde-ish hair (and an appetite for sex that could rival any rent boy's). Hope this sort of fits the bill!
When I grow up I want to be...
Watching Sam work is fascinating. He knows exactly what he’s doing and even more clearly exactly what he’s going to do next. There’s no hitch or hesitation, only cool calm confidence.
If Gene was a soppy girl he might think it was like a dance. But he isn’t so he doesn’t, simply continues to watch, empty stomach joining him in appreciating the prospect of things yet to come.
‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’ he remarks.
Sam smiles at the compliment, not pausing for a moment as he gathers together what he needs for the next stage of operations.
‘I enjoy it. Think that’s half the secret.’
Gene nods, wondering whether he can be said to be good at anything he really enjoys. He hopes so.
‘Could make some money out of it if you had to, I reckon.’
It’s the sort of poncy thing Tyler would do too.
The smile widens as the work continues.
‘Thanks. But I think I’ll stick to being a copper. It’s what I always wanted to do, right from when I was a kid.’
But then Sam stills for a moment, smile morphing into a leer.
‘Although…’
‘Although what?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Is something. Tell me!’
‘Well…’
Sam picks out some of the salad ingredients, chops a cucumber in half and stands it upright with a couple of tomatoes at the base, a more than suggestive dribble of salad dressing tracking a lazy downward path.
‘Well… As I got older, there was a time when I fancied being a rent boy…’
Sam grins wickedly at Gene’s cough of surprise and proceeds to lick the cucumber slowly from top to bottom and back up again, eyes never leaving Gene’s flushed face.
‘Sucking beautiful rock-hard cocks all day. Getting my tight arse stretched and ploughed by one gorgeous thick ramrod after another. Being paid for it….’
He closes his eyes, goes down on the cucumber in one sinfully sinuous movement, throat convulsing, moaning like a half-crown whore. Gene’s eyes can’t get any wider. He’s glued to his seat, stunned into silence, massively and somewhat uncomfortably aroused.
But then Sam straightens up and snaps out of his fantasy.
‘Course it’s not like that really. All skanky ol’ pervs, stinking of piss, riddled with drugs and disease. Nah - think I’ll stick to policing after all.’
He pauses.
‘Although…’
‘Although…?’ Gene echoes with a croak.
‘Although I think I’d make quite a good sex slave…’
Sam dips a finger into the salad dressing and runs it up and down the glistening cucumber, narrowed eyes boring deep down into Gene’s underpants, bypassing his doomed soul altogether.
‘Yeah… Property of my master, owned by him, marked by him. Ready to be used and abused, whenever and wherever. Whatever, too. No say in the matter, always open and lubed, waiting to satisfy his needs. Desperate for him to take me and fill me up, fucking me so hard, making me scream, making me know I’m just a filthy slut. His filthy slut…’
He sucks on his finger salaciously.
‘My master…’
And with that Gene is up and out of his chair, forcing Sam down over the table and the table back against the wall with a loud crash of tumbling crockery. There’s a brief fumbling with clothing then the entire contents of the dressing jug are poured down the crack of Sam’s arse and Gene’s fingers are demanding entrance against a ring of rigidly resistant muscle, cock following hard behind, Sam’s gasps and groans at the brutal invasion ignored and unimportant.
It’s very quick, very messy, and very very good.
Sam doesn’t even complain when Gene uses the tea-towel to clean them both up afterwards.
He twists and twines around Gene’s still-shaking body, clawing and purring, still a randy little cat on heat.
‘My master…’
‘Bloody hell!’ Gene moans as he pushes Sam back onto his feet, holds him at a distance and stares.
‘What the hell have I got myself into with you, Tyler?’
Sam grins, lunges in for a hug and a kiss before turning away, switching scarily fast from sex slave back to consummate chef.
‘Nothing you can’t handle, Gene. Nothing that isn’t rocking your socks off and you know it!’
He dices the cucumber with speed and skill enough to make Gene gulp nervously and help himself to a large glass from the wine bottle.
‘Just not sure I’ve got the stamina to keep up with you, lad…’
Sam dons oven gloves, opens the cooker door and produces a huge, fragrant lasagne. Gene’s mouth begins to water and he accepts the proffered chair and generous portion without protest.
‘Why d’you think I’m so intent on feeding you up?’ Sam chuckles.