Ficathon 2009: Hotline, by candesgirl, brown cortina, Sam/Gene
Title: Hotline
Author: candesgirl
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating: Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1022
Disclaimer: BBC and Kudos STILL own the boys, damn it!
Notes: Written for the 2009 Ficathon. It's been awhile since I wrote Sam and Gene! This was fun :) Written for bistokids, with a prompt of Sam/Gene, phone sex, busy office. I admit, the outer office doesn't feature too heavily, but Gene's office does ;) Other than that, does what it says on the tin, doesn't it? Sam, Gene and some phone sex. Hope you like it!
“What are you wearing?” said the tinny voice on the other end.
“What am I wearing? Is that you, Tyler? What am I bloody well wearing…What are you wearing? Nice white jacket with the fastenings in the back?”
“No, I’m not wearing a straight jacket.”
A stutter of breath on Sam’s end.
“You alright there, Sammy? Sound a little winded. Been out running for no particular reason again, you daft…”
“Not been running, Gene.”
Another stutter of breath, a stilted sound.
“Not been running, not daft. Not wearing anything.”
“No wonder you sound so funny, I can hear your teeth chattering. Now why don’t you put some of those nice girlie clothes of yours on and enjoy that day off of you begged for. Now that I see how bored you are with them, ringing me up when I have a busy department to run…” Gene peeked out at a particularly busy office.
“Not cold. God, Gene, can’t you just…Do you have on that green shirt? You know, I, uh, I tried it on one day when you were sleeping. It was crumpled up at the end of my bed and it still smelled like you and…I wanted a day off to get away from you, you drive me crazy, you know, and here I am with a day off, away from you and…”
“What are you on about, Tyler? Someone slip you something funny again? Your ankles aren’t cuffed up to something are they? And what’s this about my green shirt? Thing’s too big for a slight, lady like thing such as yourself.”
“God. Gene. That’s why I wore it. Too big. Wrapped around me like a big, I don’t know maybe I am crazy, it was like a big Gene blanket. Smelled like you, tasted like you, felt like…you, all over my body…”
“What’d you do you little pervert, lick the sweat off the collar? What do you need one of my shirts for anyway, you’ve got plenty of your own there, at least four or five of them with pretty colors and patterns, more than a bird has in her wardrobe, Sam.”
“I don’t want to wear your shirt now, Gene. I wanted to know if you were wearing the shirt, looks so good on you. I’m not wearing anything, remember?”
“Oh I remember, Sam, I remember. Still trying to work that out, you see. Why is my nutter of a DI calling me on his day off, waxing all poet like about some shirt that he gets his rocks off on, telling me that he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and sounding all out of breath like he just chased a perp down to the river?”
“Was thinking about you.”
“Isn’t that lovely.”
“Gene. I was thinking about you. You know, the way a man might do when he’s alone.”
“You know, Mr. I’m So Smart I’m From Hyde, that’s not called thinking.”
“Yeah, Guv, what’s it called then, huh? What’s it called when I call you from my bed, lonely, naked, touching myself, wishing it was you that was touching me? What’s that called?”
“That’s called crazy, Sam. I’m at work, here, and there are people…there,” Gene waved his hands towards his office door. “Busy people. Decent people, well, some of them decent, I’m sure.”
“They’re busy, Gene, you aren’t. You dictate, remember? In fact, I bet when I called you’d just been leaning back in that old chair you favour, legs kicked up over the desk, maybe you were reaching for that spare bottle you keep in your bottom drawer when the phone rang.”
“Maybe I was,” Gene planted his feet flat on the floor, cradled the phone against his ear as he adjusted and pulled at his suddenly too tight in the groin trousers.
“Maybe you’re thinking now that your little tart might be crazy. Crazy enough for a straightjacket or a stint in the nuthouse, or maybe crazy enough to call you and beg you to talk dirty to him. Maybe you’re crazy for him. Are you, Gene? Are you crazy for him? Are you sitting all wide legged in that throne of yours, trying to relieve some pressure?”
“Damn it, Sam.” Gene croaked, throat dry despite the three fingered shot he’d just tossed down his throat.
“Are you? Crazy about him? Are you crazy about me? Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing now, on the other end of this phone?”
“Maybe I do. Do you want to tell me, Sammy boy? Want to tell me what’s got you all hot and bothered over there, all by yourself?” Gene rubbed his palm rough over himself, rolled his eyes and cursed Sam even as he was pulling his dick out, stuttering his own moan out at Sam a he thrust hard up into his own hand.
“Aren’t you afraid they’re going to see, Guv? All your minions? They could, you know, could see you there at your desk with that glorious cock our, proud and hard, wanking off over the sound of your begging DI. Scandalous, Gene, really.” Sam’s voice tightened.
“Cocky bastard, think that’s what I’m doing?” Gene stammered. “Think I’d go along with one of your…one of your cockamamie schemes? Think I’m wishing you were here, squatting under my desk with dirty little…mouth…Jesus…of yours wrapped around…”
“Yeah. That’s it, Gene, there I am on my knees. Anyone could walk in. Would you care? Would you make me stop? Could you stop? I can taste you, God, I can feel you on my tongue, against the back of my throat. I can feel your hands in my hair. God, oh God, Gene, I can feel it. Can you feel me?”
“Talk too much, Tyler… Always talk too much”
“Want me to stop talking? Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Haven’t screamed your name while I come.”
“Are you gonna? Let’s hear it then, Sam, let’s hear you say my name.” Gene’s grip on himself tightened, imagining Sam doing the same, hearing Sam doing the same, moaning his name into the phone, pushing him to his own release.
Author: candesgirl
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating: Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1022
Disclaimer: BBC and Kudos STILL own the boys, damn it!
Notes: Written for the 2009 Ficathon. It's been awhile since I wrote Sam and Gene! This was fun :) Written for bistokids, with a prompt of Sam/Gene, phone sex, busy office. I admit, the outer office doesn't feature too heavily, but Gene's office does ;) Other than that, does what it says on the tin, doesn't it? Sam, Gene and some phone sex. Hope you like it!
“What are you wearing?” said the tinny voice on the other end.
“What am I wearing? Is that you, Tyler? What am I bloody well wearing…What are you wearing? Nice white jacket with the fastenings in the back?”
“No, I’m not wearing a straight jacket.”
A stutter of breath on Sam’s end.
“You alright there, Sammy? Sound a little winded. Been out running for no particular reason again, you daft…”
“Not been running, Gene.”
Another stutter of breath, a stilted sound.
“Not been running, not daft. Not wearing anything.”
“No wonder you sound so funny, I can hear your teeth chattering. Now why don’t you put some of those nice girlie clothes of yours on and enjoy that day off of you begged for. Now that I see how bored you are with them, ringing me up when I have a busy department to run…” Gene peeked out at a particularly busy office.
“Not cold. God, Gene, can’t you just…Do you have on that green shirt? You know, I, uh, I tried it on one day when you were sleeping. It was crumpled up at the end of my bed and it still smelled like you and…I wanted a day off to get away from you, you drive me crazy, you know, and here I am with a day off, away from you and…”
“What are you on about, Tyler? Someone slip you something funny again? Your ankles aren’t cuffed up to something are they? And what’s this about my green shirt? Thing’s too big for a slight, lady like thing such as yourself.”
“God. Gene. That’s why I wore it. Too big. Wrapped around me like a big, I don’t know maybe I am crazy, it was like a big Gene blanket. Smelled like you, tasted like you, felt like…you, all over my body…”
“What’d you do you little pervert, lick the sweat off the collar? What do you need one of my shirts for anyway, you’ve got plenty of your own there, at least four or five of them with pretty colors and patterns, more than a bird has in her wardrobe, Sam.”
“I don’t want to wear your shirt now, Gene. I wanted to know if you were wearing the shirt, looks so good on you. I’m not wearing anything, remember?”
“Oh I remember, Sam, I remember. Still trying to work that out, you see. Why is my nutter of a DI calling me on his day off, waxing all poet like about some shirt that he gets his rocks off on, telling me that he’s not wearing a stitch of clothing, and sounding all out of breath like he just chased a perp down to the river?”
“Was thinking about you.”
“Isn’t that lovely.”
“Gene. I was thinking about you. You know, the way a man might do when he’s alone.”
“You know, Mr. I’m So Smart I’m From Hyde, that’s not called thinking.”
“Yeah, Guv, what’s it called then, huh? What’s it called when I call you from my bed, lonely, naked, touching myself, wishing it was you that was touching me? What’s that called?”
“That’s called crazy, Sam. I’m at work, here, and there are people…there,” Gene waved his hands towards his office door. “Busy people. Decent people, well, some of them decent, I’m sure.”
“They’re busy, Gene, you aren’t. You dictate, remember? In fact, I bet when I called you’d just been leaning back in that old chair you favour, legs kicked up over the desk, maybe you were reaching for that spare bottle you keep in your bottom drawer when the phone rang.”
“Maybe I was,” Gene planted his feet flat on the floor, cradled the phone against his ear as he adjusted and pulled at his suddenly too tight in the groin trousers.
“Maybe you’re thinking now that your little tart might be crazy. Crazy enough for a straightjacket or a stint in the nuthouse, or maybe crazy enough to call you and beg you to talk dirty to him. Maybe you’re crazy for him. Are you, Gene? Are you crazy for him? Are you sitting all wide legged in that throne of yours, trying to relieve some pressure?”
“Damn it, Sam.” Gene croaked, throat dry despite the three fingered shot he’d just tossed down his throat.
“Are you? Crazy about him? Are you crazy about me? Do you want me to tell you what I’m doing now, on the other end of this phone?”
“Maybe I do. Do you want to tell me, Sammy boy? Want to tell me what’s got you all hot and bothered over there, all by yourself?” Gene rubbed his palm rough over himself, rolled his eyes and cursed Sam even as he was pulling his dick out, stuttering his own moan out at Sam a he thrust hard up into his own hand.
“Aren’t you afraid they’re going to see, Guv? All your minions? They could, you know, could see you there at your desk with that glorious cock our, proud and hard, wanking off over the sound of your begging DI. Scandalous, Gene, really.” Sam’s voice tightened.
“Cocky bastard, think that’s what I’m doing?” Gene stammered. “Think I’d go along with one of your…one of your cockamamie schemes? Think I’m wishing you were here, squatting under my desk with dirty little…mouth…Jesus…of yours wrapped around…”
“Yeah. That’s it, Gene, there I am on my knees. Anyone could walk in. Would you care? Would you make me stop? Could you stop? I can taste you, God, I can feel you on my tongue, against the back of my throat. I can feel your hands in my hair. God, oh God, Gene, I can feel it. Can you feel me?”
“Talk too much, Tyler… Always talk too much”
“Want me to stop talking? Haven’t even gotten to the good part yet. Haven’t screamed your name while I come.”
“Are you gonna? Let’s hear it then, Sam, let’s hear you say my name.” Gene’s grip on himself tightened, imagining Sam doing the same, hearing Sam doing the same, moaning his name into the phone, pushing him to his own release.