fic: Boys and Their Toys by Mikey, brown cortina, Sam/Tufty!Gene
Title: Boys and their Toys
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: NC-17, for perversion
Pairing: Sam/Tufty!Gene (yep, I went there)
Warnings: Graphic plushie/furry love (really, I mean it. If teddybear-sex upsets you, DO NOT READ). Explicit m/m secks. Oh…and spoilery for 2.07. Guess why?
Word Count: 3,400~
Summary: Sequel to Toys. A squirrel suit is involved.
NOTES: 100% perversion here, AGAIN. *sighhhh* One of the images in this fic is the reason I wrote Toys to begin with, although I was never sure I was going to write this part. However since the reception to the first story was (shockingly) overwhelmingly positive (you big bunch of pervs), I decided why not write this? So I did.
This time I’m blaming…all of you! Everyone who encouraged this madness! And especially dorsetgirl: wife, mother, mathematician, ENABLER! I am blameless!!!!
Boys and their Toys
Gene’s first was a hooker. Five pounds got him thirty minutes and two go-rounds, and afterwards she laughed and said she was glad not all of her customers were quite so young and gung-ho, since she could not handle four poundings an hour (he felt smug about that until he was thirty and two go-rounds in one day felt like a damn miracle). What he remembered most about that first time - apart from the obvious - was the fifteen minutes she made him wait in her parlor while she ‘freshened up.’ He sat uncomfortably on a horse-hair sofa that reminded him of his grandmother, who was the last person on Earth he wanted to be thinking of right then, so he grabbed the photo album sitting on the table and started flipping through it, and nearly panicked. He thought for a terrifying moment that the hooker knew and left it for him on purpose, but he quickly got a grip on himself and sat back down.
He had seen naughty pictures before, of course - old postcards passed around behind sheds and rubble heaps, the women bright and round and draped in scarves or just wearing stockings, and sometimes even with a foolish looking men fucking them. But the photos in front of him now were from a different world, where women had fake dicks strapped to them and were fucking men, and men were fucking other men (which he suspected was possible, and found out later from a rent boy was definitely worthwhile), and men fucking…things. Dolls, and pillows, and other things, in all sorts of positions that he had only half-dreamed were possible. There were some women doing fake cocks and in one, a woman and horse, an image which to his dying day he would never be able to scrub out of his memory. He studied that photo album carefully and quickly, once the shock wore off, and spent the next twenty years of his life recreating every picture, one by one (except for the horse, which he really wanted to just forget about).
Later on he found other pictures, and other ideas, but really it all came back to that album, which marked the first time he realized that maybe he was not the circus freak he thought he was. After all, those people posed for those pictures, and somebody took them, and the hooker had the book out for her customers to look at. He might be a pervert, but he was not alone in his strange desires and fantasies, and over the course of his life he often thanked God for that photo album giving him some sense of peace about it all.
Now he was at the age where nothing shocked him, for better or worse, and when Sam Tyler showed up for work grinning like a school boy and practically floating through the room like flaming poofter, Gene knew what the score was, or rather, that Sam had scored. And not just any lay, it had to have been outstanding, something out the norm, something more than Sam could find anywhere in the building. Gene could spot a pervert at twenty paces - a lifetime of practice - and he had his eye on Sam for a while now, but this was the first time he suspected he might be able to figure out what made Tyler tick.
Gene thought, at first, that Sam had simply got with a rent boy, because that did seem to be the simplest answer, but for all Gene knew Sam just proposed to hermaphrodite. It was the not knowing that killed Gene; he could handle anything if he just knew. He went over that night to snoop about, look for a bottle of slick or a stranger’s socks, and when he found the stuffed squirrel he assumed it was some kind of cute lover’s present. Until he held it up and watched Sam Tyler panic. It was a reaction out of all proportion to the doll in his hands, and the bells went off in Gene’s head.
The moment he turned the stuffed squirrel over and saw the hole, he knew. He almost came on the spot, right there with Sam wavering in front of him, mostly naked and vulnerable, his eyes closed. Gene needed to see it, though, his desperation so acute he thought he was doing to pass out. He needed to know, for a fact, that the infuriating picky pain with the beautiful neck and the tight, tight arse was just as much of a pervert as Gene Hunt was.
In fact he had not even intended to fuck Sam that night, he really had just wanted to watch and maybe wank off, until Sam went into a fever state and Gene found himself on his knees by the bed, kissing him to rein him in. It was a done deal, then - a small perversion, compared to some of the things Gene did or had done to him over the years, and hardly worth slowing down for. Gene fucked Sam Tyler while Sam fucked the scratchy toy and Gene came so hard he thought for a moment that he went blind.
All because of a stupid squirrel suit.
Gene was not an ungrateful man, and if Tufty the Squirrel got him Sam and got him a very naughty and perverted Sam at that, then by God Gene was going to pay his debts. Sam wanted to fuck Tufty, so Sam was going to fuck Tufty. It was, in truth, a far less outlandish idea than some Gene had tried over the years (he was never going to let anyone piss on him again, no matter who asked or why).
He stole the suit, reported it as irretrievably damaged, and ordered a new one for the department. The old one, which was now his, rested peacefully in the boot for several weeks, because Gene was a pervert but he was only human and had to work himself up to making a complete div out of himself (he was always this way with something particularly new and perverted, so he knew he was going to do it, eventually). Finally, on one of their “nights in”, Gene pulled the box out and carried it into Sam’s flat.
“What’s this?” Sam said, stirring something on the stove. Every time Gene came over, Sam ‘experimented’ with dinner, and for that Gene reasoned he could have just stayed married. But Sam always made it up to him, to the point that Gene thought he was developing a Pavlovian response to stuffed animals. He lived in new-found terror of toy stores.
Instead of answering, Gene put down the box, opened it, and pulled out the costume head. Sam dropped the spoon, which sunk down into the sauce pan and disappeared unnoticed.
“Shit…Gene…”
“It’s what you wanted. Can’t say as I get the appeal, but I’m here to make you a happy man.” Gene studied the head in his hands. He looked up to see Sam propped up against the counter, facing him with a look of pain on his face, his hands grasping the edges of the counter so hard that his knuckles were white. “Sam?”
Sam stuttered and shook his head, his skin flushing bright, humiliated red.
“What the hell’s got into you? Just a costume.” Gene demonstrated by putting the head on and taking it of twice. When he was done, he saw Sam on his hands and knees on the floor, gasping. Gene dropped the prop and walked over to where Sam was crouched. He was not worried too much, assuming this was something to do with Tyler’s insanity, which Gene felt he had plenty of experience with. He leaned over Sam and put a hand on the middle of his back, and felt an unnatural heat coming off of him, straight through Sam’s shirts. Gene held him down and used his other hand to turn off the stove. Whatever kind of breakdown Sam was having, it would not be over in time to keep dinner from burning.
Sam was breathing heavily and slowly, and Gene patted his back but stayed silent. After a minute or so, Sam pulled back onto his knees and grabbed for Gene’s shirt, nearly unbalancing him. “Sam?”
“Put it on. Put it on now.”
Gene stared at him, surprised. Sam was not having the nervous breakdown Gene waited for every day, he was turned on. Turned on so hard that he could not stand, and could barely talk. There were very few times in Gene’s life where he had seen a man that far gone into his need, and he could say (with regret) that it had never hit him the way it was taking Sam down now. Gene glanced and saw Sam’s erection like a force of nature in his trousers, nearly breaking the seams.
“Can you wait that long?”
“Will. I will. Just…Jesus just…” Speechless and still panting, Sam waved towards the box.
Gene turned his back on him and walked over, stripping off his jacket and tie. He toed off his loafers and bent over to pull the costume out of the box. He listened, but Sam was not moving a muscle behind him. Gene studied the outfit for a second, remembering what it was like to wear it - hot and scratchy - so he took off his shirt and trousers but stayed in his pants and vest. He put the costume on slowly, not as a tease, but to get his own mind in the right place. Some kinks took work, and this one was not going to be easy for him because it was not even his own kink. He felt like a fool, for one, and the costume was uncomfortable too. It was not until he fit the head on and shook out his arms that he realized the crucial problem: access. Although, he considered, given the state Sam was in he might just tear a hole with his damn teeth. Snickering, Gene turned around and shrugged.
Sam was still resting on his heels, he hands propped on his thighs, and he was watching Gene like a predator. His eyes were dark and dilated so wide they were not reflecting light at all, the color of them gone. Gene’s vision was blurred somewhat by the costume, but what he saw was enough. He went to go sit on the bed.
Sam was up and over like a shot, grabbing by his arms to hold him still. “No, no, not yet, just…let me…” He was still breathing heavily, but more controlled than he had been earlier, as if watching Gene put on the suit had focused his energies into a narrow band of lust. He ran his hands up and down Gene’s arms, slowly, then moved his touch to shoulders and chest. Gene stood still, waiting, watching what Sam would do. Gene stopped giving a damn about the uncomfortable costume because Sam like this was his own personal porno and Gene was not about to rush it.
Hands rubbed over his body, strictly above the waist but that did not stop his cock from responding. It took him a moment to figure it out, with his vision restricted, but Gene finally realized that Sam was petting him - rubbing his shoulders, gently scratching his chest, massaging his back. It felt surprisingly relaxing, and Gene sighed.
“Oh, oh yeah, yeah…” Sam closed in, pressing against him while continuing with the petting. His hands roamed further to Gene’s arse, where they scratched and rubbed the fuzzy material and the muscles beneath. Instinctively Gene raised his arms to rest over the back of Sam’s shoulders, and he felt Sam tremble. Sam’s hands squeezed his arse in a long, solid grip, then Sam was moving like an eel. Gene braced himself as Sam rubbed up against him, rolling his face into Gene’s costumed shoulder and squirming his body closer. His breathing was getting ragged and even through Sam’s trousers and the damn costume, Gene could tell that his hard on was acute.
“Drop ‘em before you poke a hole and break the zip.” Gene said, pushing Sam back.
Nodding absently, Sam quickly began shucking his clothes, never breaking his gaze. Gene went and sat down on the bed, considering, because Sam was too far gone to think this out. Finally he laid down on his back, and had to adjust the head a few times before he could rest back in it comfortably, although the position of his head meant that he could not see anything. He waved an arm out to where he though Sam was standing.
“Get over here, and get on. Can’t see you.”
He heard movement, then Sam slowly climbed over and straddled him. Gene put his paws on Sam’s hips, which were high - Sam was on his knees, holding himself up and back.
“I don’t…what…OH FUCK…” Sam’s hips bucked as Gene brushed a paw over his cock. It was like being blind-folded - familiar territory, for Gene - so he relied on muscle memory as he stroked Sam, the paw feeling like a heavy towel in his hand. Still, he could sense the heat of Sam’s dick through the material. “Oh Gene, yeah, oh oh please oh GOD…” Sam was not, really, much of a talker when he was into it, and so this unusual litany amused Gene. He put his other paw on Sam’s arse and squeezed, while giving him a particularly hard stroke down. “Fuck you don’t….that’s…Gene.” Sam’s voice was getting harsh and breathy, and Gene’s cock was sore from standing up with nothing hard to rub on, so Gene pulled at Sam’s arse.
“Lay down on me. Hump my cock, boy, come on and rub off on me like the slut you are, begging for it.”
“Oh fuck, shut UP!” Sam fell down on him, a dead weight that pushed the air out of Gene’s lungs. “Just…shut…the fuck up…shut up…oh fuck, you’re so hard, so damn hard…shut up…No no no no…”
Gene had no idea what Sam was talking about but Sam’s body was easy enough to interpret, sliding up and down over Gene. Their cocks were aligned through the material of the costume and the heat generated by that was almost unbearable. Sam’s legs fell outside of Gene’s straddling him as he stretched out and wrapped his arms up under Gene’s shoulders, latching on, fisting the costume as an anchor. The unpracticed sliding around stopped suddenly and Gene nearly squeaked in pain when Sam began hammering him, bludgeoning their cocks together. Sam’s hips were pumping so fast Gene thought he was going to go dizzy, and he remembered Sam getting like this with the toy, but this time Gene was in no position to calm him or slow things down. Gene wrapped his arms around Sam’s back and held on, listening to Sam crank himself up as he humped hard.
“Shhh…ohhhnnnnhhh, shhh, just quiet, shhh…oh God, fuck me, yeah yeah yeah, fuck oh oh…” Sam burrowed his head into Gene’s chest. “Gonna…yeah, oh fuck, gonna make you shut up when I get…you…nrrgghhh…” Sam was purring like a jet engine warming up, his whole body stuttering. He came with a guttural, wordless moan, hips snapping so hard Gene thought his own dick was going to be broken off. Sam kept rolling his hips against him as he floated down from his high, and Gene petted his back, even though he could not feel much but Sam’s body heat through the paws.
“Gonna let me talk now?”
“No.” Sam curled up and rubbed his head over Gene’s chest, then clambered off him and rolled him onto his side. Gene was still mostly sightless inside the costume.
“Mebbe I want to contribute to the proceedings…”
“No.”
Gene felt the zipper along the back of the suit running down along his spine, followed by Sam’s hand snaking inside and around Gene’s torso, into his pants.
“Want to feel Tufty come, want to feel…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he grabbed Gene’s cock, and Gene finally got it, why Sam wanted him to be silent. It was completely against his nature to be quiet when his dick was anywhere warm and tight, like a hand or a pussy or an arse hole, but Gene could adjust. Sam wanted Gene to BE Tufty, to be the fuzzy rodent toy of his dreams (one more situation that Gene wondered exactly how he got himself into…his cock was sometimes more bizarre than even he imagined). Tufty would not talk dirty, but that did not mean Gene had to be silent. He steadied himself as Sam stroked his cock slowly, took a deep breath and let out a long, heartfelt moan. I felt good to make noise, to let it out, and he was well into his second or third groan before he realized that Sam was gasping for air again.
“Yeah, moan for me, damn, hot, yeah, do it, fuck…” Sam’s hips banged up against Gene’s arse like an order, a command to get on with the fucking, and with a grunt Gene obliged. Sam pushed his cock down and back up, running the head against the slightly scratchy material, and this time Gene did not have to think about it, he just wailed in pleasure and pain. He dropped his head forward to be muffled by the costume head.
Sam kept thrusting against his backside, despite his obviously spent cock, and put a brutal pace on the hand job. Gene felt like his dick was being skinned in double time, and he lost track of his own reactions, groaning and grunting and biting his tongue to keep from speaking. He tried crawling forward, hindered by the costume, but seeking some kind of release. Sam lurched onto him, pining him partially belly-down on the bed, and squeezed Gene’s cock hard. Gene bucked back and cursed and Sam went back at it, his forearm slapping against Gene’s hip while he pumped.
The heat inside the suit and Sam whining and gasping and pressing against his back and the harsh, demanding hand job finally did Gene in, stupid squirrel suit or not, and he lost control, yelling out something he would probably regret while his body thrummed through its orgasm. He felt his hips and legs moving, rolling, under Sam’s weight as his cock emptied onto the scratchy fabric of the suit.
Sam was still shaking, his body giving over to small convulsions every few seconds, but for the moment Gene was too far gone to try and take care of him. He felt Sam’s hand still clasped protectively around his cock as it finally gave up and gave out, and typically, Gene was back to logistics. He reached up and wrenched off the head and tossed it aside, then shoved around Sam’s octopus-like arms until he could shimmy onto his back and pull Sam over him.
“You’re a righteous pervert, Sam. One of the circus freaks.”
“Thank…thank you.” Sam panted while he laid draped on top of Gene. “Seemed to…work for you…too.”
“Mmmmm. Not bad.”
Sam snorted as he dragged his face across the material of the crumpled suit. Gene felt him filling his lungs, getting ready to say something, and Gene really did not want to know what so he cut him off.
“Seen and done worse than this, got no complaints. Anyway you’ve got a hand like a steel trap. Been holding out on me.”
“Just needed the proper motivation, I guess.” Sam grinned up at him, and Gene enjoyed the resulting silence while they laid together comfortably, but then Sam frowned. “Done worse?”
“This suit don’t scratch near as much as cheap stockings.”
####
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: NC-17, for perversion
Pairing: Sam/Tufty!Gene (yep, I went there)
Warnings: Graphic plushie/furry love (really, I mean it. If teddybear-sex upsets you, DO NOT READ). Explicit m/m secks. Oh…and spoilery for 2.07. Guess why?
Word Count: 3,400~
Summary: Sequel to Toys. A squirrel suit is involved.
NOTES: 100% perversion here, AGAIN. *sighhhh* One of the images in this fic is the reason I wrote Toys to begin with, although I was never sure I was going to write this part. However since the reception to the first story was (shockingly) overwhelmingly positive (you big bunch of pervs), I decided why not write this? So I did.
This time I’m blaming…all of you! Everyone who encouraged this madness! And especially dorsetgirl: wife, mother, mathematician, ENABLER! I am blameless!!!!
Boys and their Toys
Gene’s first was a hooker. Five pounds got him thirty minutes and two go-rounds, and afterwards she laughed and said she was glad not all of her customers were quite so young and gung-ho, since she could not handle four poundings an hour (he felt smug about that until he was thirty and two go-rounds in one day felt like a damn miracle). What he remembered most about that first time - apart from the obvious - was the fifteen minutes she made him wait in her parlor while she ‘freshened up.’ He sat uncomfortably on a horse-hair sofa that reminded him of his grandmother, who was the last person on Earth he wanted to be thinking of right then, so he grabbed the photo album sitting on the table and started flipping through it, and nearly panicked. He thought for a terrifying moment that the hooker knew and left it for him on purpose, but he quickly got a grip on himself and sat back down.
He had seen naughty pictures before, of course - old postcards passed around behind sheds and rubble heaps, the women bright and round and draped in scarves or just wearing stockings, and sometimes even with a foolish looking men fucking them. But the photos in front of him now were from a different world, where women had fake dicks strapped to them and were fucking men, and men were fucking other men (which he suspected was possible, and found out later from a rent boy was definitely worthwhile), and men fucking…things. Dolls, and pillows, and other things, in all sorts of positions that he had only half-dreamed were possible. There were some women doing fake cocks and in one, a woman and horse, an image which to his dying day he would never be able to scrub out of his memory. He studied that photo album carefully and quickly, once the shock wore off, and spent the next twenty years of his life recreating every picture, one by one (except for the horse, which he really wanted to just forget about).
Later on he found other pictures, and other ideas, but really it all came back to that album, which marked the first time he realized that maybe he was not the circus freak he thought he was. After all, those people posed for those pictures, and somebody took them, and the hooker had the book out for her customers to look at. He might be a pervert, but he was not alone in his strange desires and fantasies, and over the course of his life he often thanked God for that photo album giving him some sense of peace about it all.
Now he was at the age where nothing shocked him, for better or worse, and when Sam Tyler showed up for work grinning like a school boy and practically floating through the room like flaming poofter, Gene knew what the score was, or rather, that Sam had scored. And not just any lay, it had to have been outstanding, something out the norm, something more than Sam could find anywhere in the building. Gene could spot a pervert at twenty paces - a lifetime of practice - and he had his eye on Sam for a while now, but this was the first time he suspected he might be able to figure out what made Tyler tick.
Gene thought, at first, that Sam had simply got with a rent boy, because that did seem to be the simplest answer, but for all Gene knew Sam just proposed to hermaphrodite. It was the not knowing that killed Gene; he could handle anything if he just knew. He went over that night to snoop about, look for a bottle of slick or a stranger’s socks, and when he found the stuffed squirrel he assumed it was some kind of cute lover’s present. Until he held it up and watched Sam Tyler panic. It was a reaction out of all proportion to the doll in his hands, and the bells went off in Gene’s head.
The moment he turned the stuffed squirrel over and saw the hole, he knew. He almost came on the spot, right there with Sam wavering in front of him, mostly naked and vulnerable, his eyes closed. Gene needed to see it, though, his desperation so acute he thought he was doing to pass out. He needed to know, for a fact, that the infuriating picky pain with the beautiful neck and the tight, tight arse was just as much of a pervert as Gene Hunt was.
In fact he had not even intended to fuck Sam that night, he really had just wanted to watch and maybe wank off, until Sam went into a fever state and Gene found himself on his knees by the bed, kissing him to rein him in. It was a done deal, then - a small perversion, compared to some of the things Gene did or had done to him over the years, and hardly worth slowing down for. Gene fucked Sam Tyler while Sam fucked the scratchy toy and Gene came so hard he thought for a moment that he went blind.
All because of a stupid squirrel suit.
Gene was not an ungrateful man, and if Tufty the Squirrel got him Sam and got him a very naughty and perverted Sam at that, then by God Gene was going to pay his debts. Sam wanted to fuck Tufty, so Sam was going to fuck Tufty. It was, in truth, a far less outlandish idea than some Gene had tried over the years (he was never going to let anyone piss on him again, no matter who asked or why).
He stole the suit, reported it as irretrievably damaged, and ordered a new one for the department. The old one, which was now his, rested peacefully in the boot for several weeks, because Gene was a pervert but he was only human and had to work himself up to making a complete div out of himself (he was always this way with something particularly new and perverted, so he knew he was going to do it, eventually). Finally, on one of their “nights in”, Gene pulled the box out and carried it into Sam’s flat.
“What’s this?” Sam said, stirring something on the stove. Every time Gene came over, Sam ‘experimented’ with dinner, and for that Gene reasoned he could have just stayed married. But Sam always made it up to him, to the point that Gene thought he was developing a Pavlovian response to stuffed animals. He lived in new-found terror of toy stores.
Instead of answering, Gene put down the box, opened it, and pulled out the costume head. Sam dropped the spoon, which sunk down into the sauce pan and disappeared unnoticed.
“Shit…Gene…”
“It’s what you wanted. Can’t say as I get the appeal, but I’m here to make you a happy man.” Gene studied the head in his hands. He looked up to see Sam propped up against the counter, facing him with a look of pain on his face, his hands grasping the edges of the counter so hard that his knuckles were white. “Sam?”
Sam stuttered and shook his head, his skin flushing bright, humiliated red.
“What the hell’s got into you? Just a costume.” Gene demonstrated by putting the head on and taking it of twice. When he was done, he saw Sam on his hands and knees on the floor, gasping. Gene dropped the prop and walked over to where Sam was crouched. He was not worried too much, assuming this was something to do with Tyler’s insanity, which Gene felt he had plenty of experience with. He leaned over Sam and put a hand on the middle of his back, and felt an unnatural heat coming off of him, straight through Sam’s shirts. Gene held him down and used his other hand to turn off the stove. Whatever kind of breakdown Sam was having, it would not be over in time to keep dinner from burning.
Sam was breathing heavily and slowly, and Gene patted his back but stayed silent. After a minute or so, Sam pulled back onto his knees and grabbed for Gene’s shirt, nearly unbalancing him. “Sam?”
“Put it on. Put it on now.”
Gene stared at him, surprised. Sam was not having the nervous breakdown Gene waited for every day, he was turned on. Turned on so hard that he could not stand, and could barely talk. There were very few times in Gene’s life where he had seen a man that far gone into his need, and he could say (with regret) that it had never hit him the way it was taking Sam down now. Gene glanced and saw Sam’s erection like a force of nature in his trousers, nearly breaking the seams.
“Can you wait that long?”
“Will. I will. Just…Jesus just…” Speechless and still panting, Sam waved towards the box.
Gene turned his back on him and walked over, stripping off his jacket and tie. He toed off his loafers and bent over to pull the costume out of the box. He listened, but Sam was not moving a muscle behind him. Gene studied the outfit for a second, remembering what it was like to wear it - hot and scratchy - so he took off his shirt and trousers but stayed in his pants and vest. He put the costume on slowly, not as a tease, but to get his own mind in the right place. Some kinks took work, and this one was not going to be easy for him because it was not even his own kink. He felt like a fool, for one, and the costume was uncomfortable too. It was not until he fit the head on and shook out his arms that he realized the crucial problem: access. Although, he considered, given the state Sam was in he might just tear a hole with his damn teeth. Snickering, Gene turned around and shrugged.
Sam was still resting on his heels, he hands propped on his thighs, and he was watching Gene like a predator. His eyes were dark and dilated so wide they were not reflecting light at all, the color of them gone. Gene’s vision was blurred somewhat by the costume, but what he saw was enough. He went to go sit on the bed.
Sam was up and over like a shot, grabbing by his arms to hold him still. “No, no, not yet, just…let me…” He was still breathing heavily, but more controlled than he had been earlier, as if watching Gene put on the suit had focused his energies into a narrow band of lust. He ran his hands up and down Gene’s arms, slowly, then moved his touch to shoulders and chest. Gene stood still, waiting, watching what Sam would do. Gene stopped giving a damn about the uncomfortable costume because Sam like this was his own personal porno and Gene was not about to rush it.
Hands rubbed over his body, strictly above the waist but that did not stop his cock from responding. It took him a moment to figure it out, with his vision restricted, but Gene finally realized that Sam was petting him - rubbing his shoulders, gently scratching his chest, massaging his back. It felt surprisingly relaxing, and Gene sighed.
“Oh, oh yeah, yeah…” Sam closed in, pressing against him while continuing with the petting. His hands roamed further to Gene’s arse, where they scratched and rubbed the fuzzy material and the muscles beneath. Instinctively Gene raised his arms to rest over the back of Sam’s shoulders, and he felt Sam tremble. Sam’s hands squeezed his arse in a long, solid grip, then Sam was moving like an eel. Gene braced himself as Sam rubbed up against him, rolling his face into Gene’s costumed shoulder and squirming his body closer. His breathing was getting ragged and even through Sam’s trousers and the damn costume, Gene could tell that his hard on was acute.
“Drop ‘em before you poke a hole and break the zip.” Gene said, pushing Sam back.
Nodding absently, Sam quickly began shucking his clothes, never breaking his gaze. Gene went and sat down on the bed, considering, because Sam was too far gone to think this out. Finally he laid down on his back, and had to adjust the head a few times before he could rest back in it comfortably, although the position of his head meant that he could not see anything. He waved an arm out to where he though Sam was standing.
“Get over here, and get on. Can’t see you.”
He heard movement, then Sam slowly climbed over and straddled him. Gene put his paws on Sam’s hips, which were high - Sam was on his knees, holding himself up and back.
“I don’t…what…OH FUCK…” Sam’s hips bucked as Gene brushed a paw over his cock. It was like being blind-folded - familiar territory, for Gene - so he relied on muscle memory as he stroked Sam, the paw feeling like a heavy towel in his hand. Still, he could sense the heat of Sam’s dick through the material. “Oh Gene, yeah, oh oh please oh GOD…” Sam was not, really, much of a talker when he was into it, and so this unusual litany amused Gene. He put his other paw on Sam’s arse and squeezed, while giving him a particularly hard stroke down. “Fuck you don’t….that’s…Gene.” Sam’s voice was getting harsh and breathy, and Gene’s cock was sore from standing up with nothing hard to rub on, so Gene pulled at Sam’s arse.
“Lay down on me. Hump my cock, boy, come on and rub off on me like the slut you are, begging for it.”
“Oh fuck, shut UP!” Sam fell down on him, a dead weight that pushed the air out of Gene’s lungs. “Just…shut…the fuck up…shut up…oh fuck, you’re so hard, so damn hard…shut up…No no no no…”
Gene had no idea what Sam was talking about but Sam’s body was easy enough to interpret, sliding up and down over Gene. Their cocks were aligned through the material of the costume and the heat generated by that was almost unbearable. Sam’s legs fell outside of Gene’s straddling him as he stretched out and wrapped his arms up under Gene’s shoulders, latching on, fisting the costume as an anchor. The unpracticed sliding around stopped suddenly and Gene nearly squeaked in pain when Sam began hammering him, bludgeoning their cocks together. Sam’s hips were pumping so fast Gene thought he was going to go dizzy, and he remembered Sam getting like this with the toy, but this time Gene was in no position to calm him or slow things down. Gene wrapped his arms around Sam’s back and held on, listening to Sam crank himself up as he humped hard.
“Shhh…ohhhnnnnhhh, shhh, just quiet, shhh…oh God, fuck me, yeah yeah yeah, fuck oh oh…” Sam burrowed his head into Gene’s chest. “Gonna…yeah, oh fuck, gonna make you shut up when I get…you…nrrgghhh…” Sam was purring like a jet engine warming up, his whole body stuttering. He came with a guttural, wordless moan, hips snapping so hard Gene thought his own dick was going to be broken off. Sam kept rolling his hips against him as he floated down from his high, and Gene petted his back, even though he could not feel much but Sam’s body heat through the paws.
“Gonna let me talk now?”
“No.” Sam curled up and rubbed his head over Gene’s chest, then clambered off him and rolled him onto his side. Gene was still mostly sightless inside the costume.
“Mebbe I want to contribute to the proceedings…”
“No.”
Gene felt the zipper along the back of the suit running down along his spine, followed by Sam’s hand snaking inside and around Gene’s torso, into his pants.
“Want to feel Tufty come, want to feel…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he grabbed Gene’s cock, and Gene finally got it, why Sam wanted him to be silent. It was completely against his nature to be quiet when his dick was anywhere warm and tight, like a hand or a pussy or an arse hole, but Gene could adjust. Sam wanted Gene to BE Tufty, to be the fuzzy rodent toy of his dreams (one more situation that Gene wondered exactly how he got himself into…his cock was sometimes more bizarre than even he imagined). Tufty would not talk dirty, but that did not mean Gene had to be silent. He steadied himself as Sam stroked his cock slowly, took a deep breath and let out a long, heartfelt moan. I felt good to make noise, to let it out, and he was well into his second or third groan before he realized that Sam was gasping for air again.
“Yeah, moan for me, damn, hot, yeah, do it, fuck…” Sam’s hips banged up against Gene’s arse like an order, a command to get on with the fucking, and with a grunt Gene obliged. Sam pushed his cock down and back up, running the head against the slightly scratchy material, and this time Gene did not have to think about it, he just wailed in pleasure and pain. He dropped his head forward to be muffled by the costume head.
Sam kept thrusting against his backside, despite his obviously spent cock, and put a brutal pace on the hand job. Gene felt like his dick was being skinned in double time, and he lost track of his own reactions, groaning and grunting and biting his tongue to keep from speaking. He tried crawling forward, hindered by the costume, but seeking some kind of release. Sam lurched onto him, pining him partially belly-down on the bed, and squeezed Gene’s cock hard. Gene bucked back and cursed and Sam went back at it, his forearm slapping against Gene’s hip while he pumped.
The heat inside the suit and Sam whining and gasping and pressing against his back and the harsh, demanding hand job finally did Gene in, stupid squirrel suit or not, and he lost control, yelling out something he would probably regret while his body thrummed through its orgasm. He felt his hips and legs moving, rolling, under Sam’s weight as his cock emptied onto the scratchy fabric of the suit.
Sam was still shaking, his body giving over to small convulsions every few seconds, but for the moment Gene was too far gone to try and take care of him. He felt Sam’s hand still clasped protectively around his cock as it finally gave up and gave out, and typically, Gene was back to logistics. He reached up and wrenched off the head and tossed it aside, then shoved around Sam’s octopus-like arms until he could shimmy onto his back and pull Sam over him.
“You’re a righteous pervert, Sam. One of the circus freaks.”
“Thank…thank you.” Sam panted while he laid draped on top of Gene. “Seemed to…work for you…too.”
“Mmmmm. Not bad.”
Sam snorted as he dragged his face across the material of the crumpled suit. Gene felt him filling his lungs, getting ready to say something, and Gene really did not want to know what so he cut him off.
“Seen and done worse than this, got no complaints. Anyway you’ve got a hand like a steel trap. Been holding out on me.”
“Just needed the proper motivation, I guess.” Sam grinned up at him, and Gene enjoyed the resulting silence while they laid together comfortably, but then Sam frowned. “Done worse?”
“This suit don’t scratch near as much as cheap stockings.”
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