fic: The World's Best Hangover Cure
Title: The World's Best Hangover Cure
Author: Bistokids
Rating: Brown Cortina (explicit sex)
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Word count: 1,365
A/N: Dedicated to
wiccagal_1996, who has given us so much excellent kinky!fic recently that I thought she deserved one in return!
Blatant, shameless PWP, cos I'm in the middle of a long and v complex fic, and needed a break. This was inspired by the sight of Cal MacCaffrey being frisked on his way into the Parliament buildings (State of Play ep 4, or maybe 5). Which possibly makes me shallow.
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Sam Tyler hauled himself up from the feeble excuse for a bed that he was saddled with, staggered across the dimness of the flat towards the sink. Running the tap for a good minute or so in a vain attempt to attract fresh cold water, he sank two pints of the resulting tepid liquid without stopping, cursing himself for again falling into the trap of assuming a hefty whisky quota would ensure dreamless nights. It never worked, and invariably led to him having to endure a hangover as well as the exhaustion of broken sleep.
As he placed the glass on the counter, splashing water onto his face from the still-running tap, the door behind him crashed open. He sighed, turning slowly and without surprise. "Guv, do you think if I gave you a key, you’d…?"
The question fizzled and died, doomed never to be completed. Gene Hunt stood before him, legs apart, almost filling the doorway with his bulky frame. No surprise there. The unexpected element was that he appeared positively incandescent. Not with rage, mind - just radiating a power, an energy, the clear blue eyes alight with an undefinable but terrifying potency. Oh, and the gun. The gun held in Gene’s two-handed grip, trained unerringly at Sam’s forehead. That was unexpected, too.
"Guv?" Sam had to try three times before he finally managed to get the word coherently past his constricted throat. He swallowed. "What the…?"
"Shut up, Tyler." All the more frightening for the deceptive softness of the tone. Sam shut up, concentrating on breathing evenly and maintaining an entirely false façade of cool curiosity. What the hell was this all about? He thought wildly, trying to piece together any rational explanation. He’d seen Gene at the Arms only hours ago. No problems then - the Guv had left a little earlier than usual, claiming a dawn meeting with a grass. That couldn’t have anything to do with this, though. Could it?
Gene gestured fractionally with the gun. "Hands up." Silently, slowly, careful to do nothing to arouse suspicion, Sam raised his arms, linking his fingers on the back of his head. Gene nodded once, satisfied. "Right, up against the wall." The gaping mouth of the pistol followed Sam as he took the few short steps necessary, glancing back over his shoulder, unsure where this was going.
"Don’t turn round." Gene was curt, cold. "Spread ‘em."
Sam opened his mouth, desperate now to find out what was going on. Had Gene flipped? Was he arresting him?
"Do it!"
All right then. Maybe not question time. Sam placed his hands on the smooth, hideous wallpaper, grateful for the support, his legs suddenly unsteady. He heard Gene move in behind him, shivered involuntarily at the contact of cold metal against his neck. Gene’s free hand ran expertly along his arms, across his chest, down his sides, finding nothing. Down the outside of one leg, slowing perceptibly as it made its way back up the inside. Stroking along Sam’s thigh through the thin cotton of the pyjama bottoms. Lingering, so slightly that Sam was unsure if he had imagined it, as the cool fingers grazed across his balls. Fuck. Oh fuck. He was getting hard. He rested his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, trying to regain control before Gene noticed the unwanted and inappropriate arousal.
The tantalising hand slid lower along the length of the other leg. Gene straightened behind him, the pistol barrel again coming to rest at the nape of Sam’s neck for a long, taut moment before it was withdrawn. "Right. Hands behind your back." Sam noticed that Gene’s voice was huskier, unsteadier than it had been before. Deciding that, for the moment, the safest course of action was to play along, he complied without comment, hearing the unmistakable rattle of handcuffs before the smooth cool metal clamped firmly round one wrist with an ominous click.
Without warning, a steely grip locked onto his shoulders, and Sam found himself launched bodily across the room, coming to land jarringly on the rickety bed, head crashing sickeningly against the metal bars. Dazed, he lay passive as Gene’s weight landed astride him, pinning him helplessly on his back. His arm was jerked up to the side of his head, the cuffs threaded through the bars and fastened onto his other wrist, immobilising him with ruthless effectiveness.
"Bloody hell, Guv," he stammered. In response, Gene slapped him, open handed, hard, across the face. "I told you, Tyler, keep it shut. One more word from that smart bloody mouth of yours and I’ll gag you. Got it?"
Sam got it. He nodded, wide darkening eyes locked on Gene’s. Swallowed again.
Gene grunted, his own gaze searching. "Hmm." Apparently satisfied with what he read in Sam’s expression, he shifted his weight downwards, settling himself across Sam’s ankles. His hands trailed down Sam’s sides, pausing on either side of his waist, suddenly jerking the pyjamas down around Sam’s knees, exposing a rock-hard, raging erection. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks burning. Managed not to speak, the threat of the gag firmly present in his mind. And anyway, what could he say?
"Well, well. What have we here?" The note of amusement in Gene’s voice did nothing to calm either Sam’s embarrassment or his arousal. "We like this, do we, Sammy-boy?" Stretching out an arm, he retrieved the gun from wherever he’d abandoned it, running the barrel lightly up and down Sam’s thigh. The barest moan escaped Sam. He couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried. Breathing was proving a problem.
Gene’s gaze shifted from the movement of the gun, up to Sam’s face, then back down. His head dipped. Sam felt the whisper of warm breath at the base of his stomach, raising goose bumps the length of his body, before the tip of his cock was enveloped in moist warmth, a rough tongue swiping across the aching head.
Sam arched, gasping. "Ah Jesus!" Gene chose to ignore this disobedience, pulling back slightly, licking the length of the shaft, root to tip, carefully and with admirable thoroughness. Four times. Five. Sam was trembling violently now, almost sobbing with need. Unable to hold himself back. "Oh God, please Gene, please."
Gene paused. Contemplative. "I thought I warned you. You don’t learn, do you, Sammy-boy." Fishing out a large, mercifully clean, handkerchief from a side pocket, he stuffed it roughly in Sam’s mouth. "Right then, where were we?"
And now the game was on. Sam cried out, his yell muffled by the coarse material, as Gene’s mouth fully enveloped his throbbing cock, sucking and teasing. He felt fingernails grazing with unbearable lightness over his over-sensitised balls, as Gene’s other hand forced its way under his arse, a questing finger probing his hole. Ragged, indecipherable sounds were torn from him, lights dancing behind his closed eyelids as he fought in vain for the breath he needed. A powerful ache built, gathered deep within him, making him jerk, twitch, head thrashing from side to side. Gene continued his ministrations, relentless.
It couldn’t last long. The ache grew until it overwhelmed Sam, and he came violently, pouring seemingly endlessly into Gene’s receptive throat. The lights merged together into an all-consuming whiteness, and he slumped nervelessly, losing himself in the moment.
It must have been several minutes before awareness returned to Sam, minutes during which Gene had unlocked the cuffs, removed the handkerchief and used it to wipe them both down. He came to gradually, opening his eyes to find Gene gazing down at him inscrutably from the side of the bed, lack of expression belied by the telltale dampness on the front of his trousers. "You okay, Sam?"
Sam laughed, an infectious sound of pure contentment that caused an answering grin. "Yeah. Christ, Gene, yes."
Gene almost purred. "That’s okay then." He glanced around. "You got anything to eat around here? I’m bloody starving."
"No problem." Sam hoisted himself upright, legs still unsteady as he made his way across to the fridge. "Oh, and Guv?"
Gene paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. "What?"
Their eyes locked, and Sam’s expression held a promise that made Gene shiver. "I think that makes it your turn."
Author: Bistokids
Rating: Brown Cortina (explicit sex)
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Word count: 1,365
A/N: Dedicated to
wiccagal_1996, who has given us so much excellent kinky!fic recently that I thought she deserved one in return!
Blatant, shameless PWP, cos I'm in the middle of a long and v complex fic, and needed a break. This was inspired by the sight of Cal MacCaffrey being frisked on his way into the Parliament buildings (State of Play ep 4, or maybe 5). Which possibly makes me shallow.
------------------------
Sam Tyler hauled himself up from the feeble excuse for a bed that he was saddled with, staggered across the dimness of the flat towards the sink. Running the tap for a good minute or so in a vain attempt to attract fresh cold water, he sank two pints of the resulting tepid liquid without stopping, cursing himself for again falling into the trap of assuming a hefty whisky quota would ensure dreamless nights. It never worked, and invariably led to him having to endure a hangover as well as the exhaustion of broken sleep.
As he placed the glass on the counter, splashing water onto his face from the still-running tap, the door behind him crashed open. He sighed, turning slowly and without surprise. "Guv, do you think if I gave you a key, you’d…?"
The question fizzled and died, doomed never to be completed. Gene Hunt stood before him, legs apart, almost filling the doorway with his bulky frame. No surprise there. The unexpected element was that he appeared positively incandescent. Not with rage, mind - just radiating a power, an energy, the clear blue eyes alight with an undefinable but terrifying potency. Oh, and the gun. The gun held in Gene’s two-handed grip, trained unerringly at Sam’s forehead. That was unexpected, too.
"Guv?" Sam had to try three times before he finally managed to get the word coherently past his constricted throat. He swallowed. "What the…?"
"Shut up, Tyler." All the more frightening for the deceptive softness of the tone. Sam shut up, concentrating on breathing evenly and maintaining an entirely false façade of cool curiosity. What the hell was this all about? He thought wildly, trying to piece together any rational explanation. He’d seen Gene at the Arms only hours ago. No problems then - the Guv had left a little earlier than usual, claiming a dawn meeting with a grass. That couldn’t have anything to do with this, though. Could it?
Gene gestured fractionally with the gun. "Hands up." Silently, slowly, careful to do nothing to arouse suspicion, Sam raised his arms, linking his fingers on the back of his head. Gene nodded once, satisfied. "Right, up against the wall." The gaping mouth of the pistol followed Sam as he took the few short steps necessary, glancing back over his shoulder, unsure where this was going.
"Don’t turn round." Gene was curt, cold. "Spread ‘em."
Sam opened his mouth, desperate now to find out what was going on. Had Gene flipped? Was he arresting him?
"Do it!"
All right then. Maybe not question time. Sam placed his hands on the smooth, hideous wallpaper, grateful for the support, his legs suddenly unsteady. He heard Gene move in behind him, shivered involuntarily at the contact of cold metal against his neck. Gene’s free hand ran expertly along his arms, across his chest, down his sides, finding nothing. Down the outside of one leg, slowing perceptibly as it made its way back up the inside. Stroking along Sam’s thigh through the thin cotton of the pyjama bottoms. Lingering, so slightly that Sam was unsure if he had imagined it, as the cool fingers grazed across his balls. Fuck. Oh fuck. He was getting hard. He rested his forehead against the wall, eyes closed, trying to regain control before Gene noticed the unwanted and inappropriate arousal.
The tantalising hand slid lower along the length of the other leg. Gene straightened behind him, the pistol barrel again coming to rest at the nape of Sam’s neck for a long, taut moment before it was withdrawn. "Right. Hands behind your back." Sam noticed that Gene’s voice was huskier, unsteadier than it had been before. Deciding that, for the moment, the safest course of action was to play along, he complied without comment, hearing the unmistakable rattle of handcuffs before the smooth cool metal clamped firmly round one wrist with an ominous click.
Without warning, a steely grip locked onto his shoulders, and Sam found himself launched bodily across the room, coming to land jarringly on the rickety bed, head crashing sickeningly against the metal bars. Dazed, he lay passive as Gene’s weight landed astride him, pinning him helplessly on his back. His arm was jerked up to the side of his head, the cuffs threaded through the bars and fastened onto his other wrist, immobilising him with ruthless effectiveness.
"Bloody hell, Guv," he stammered. In response, Gene slapped him, open handed, hard, across the face. "I told you, Tyler, keep it shut. One more word from that smart bloody mouth of yours and I’ll gag you. Got it?"
Sam got it. He nodded, wide darkening eyes locked on Gene’s. Swallowed again.
Gene grunted, his own gaze searching. "Hmm." Apparently satisfied with what he read in Sam’s expression, he shifted his weight downwards, settling himself across Sam’s ankles. His hands trailed down Sam’s sides, pausing on either side of his waist, suddenly jerking the pyjamas down around Sam’s knees, exposing a rock-hard, raging erection. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks burning. Managed not to speak, the threat of the gag firmly present in his mind. And anyway, what could he say?
"Well, well. What have we here?" The note of amusement in Gene’s voice did nothing to calm either Sam’s embarrassment or his arousal. "We like this, do we, Sammy-boy?" Stretching out an arm, he retrieved the gun from wherever he’d abandoned it, running the barrel lightly up and down Sam’s thigh. The barest moan escaped Sam. He couldn’t have spoken if he’d tried. Breathing was proving a problem.
Gene’s gaze shifted from the movement of the gun, up to Sam’s face, then back down. His head dipped. Sam felt the whisper of warm breath at the base of his stomach, raising goose bumps the length of his body, before the tip of his cock was enveloped in moist warmth, a rough tongue swiping across the aching head.
Sam arched, gasping. "Ah Jesus!" Gene chose to ignore this disobedience, pulling back slightly, licking the length of the shaft, root to tip, carefully and with admirable thoroughness. Four times. Five. Sam was trembling violently now, almost sobbing with need. Unable to hold himself back. "Oh God, please Gene, please."
Gene paused. Contemplative. "I thought I warned you. You don’t learn, do you, Sammy-boy." Fishing out a large, mercifully clean, handkerchief from a side pocket, he stuffed it roughly in Sam’s mouth. "Right then, where were we?"
And now the game was on. Sam cried out, his yell muffled by the coarse material, as Gene’s mouth fully enveloped his throbbing cock, sucking and teasing. He felt fingernails grazing with unbearable lightness over his over-sensitised balls, as Gene’s other hand forced its way under his arse, a questing finger probing his hole. Ragged, indecipherable sounds were torn from him, lights dancing behind his closed eyelids as he fought in vain for the breath he needed. A powerful ache built, gathered deep within him, making him jerk, twitch, head thrashing from side to side. Gene continued his ministrations, relentless.
It couldn’t last long. The ache grew until it overwhelmed Sam, and he came violently, pouring seemingly endlessly into Gene’s receptive throat. The lights merged together into an all-consuming whiteness, and he slumped nervelessly, losing himself in the moment.
It must have been several minutes before awareness returned to Sam, minutes during which Gene had unlocked the cuffs, removed the handkerchief and used it to wipe them both down. He came to gradually, opening his eyes to find Gene gazing down at him inscrutably from the side of the bed, lack of expression belied by the telltale dampness on the front of his trousers. "You okay, Sam?"
Sam laughed, an infectious sound of pure contentment that caused an answering grin. "Yeah. Christ, Gene, yes."
Gene almost purred. "That’s okay then." He glanced around. "You got anything to eat around here? I’m bloody starving."
"No problem." Sam hoisted himself upright, legs still unsteady as he made his way across to the fridge. "Oh, and Guv?"
Gene paused in the act of lighting a cigarette. "What?"
Their eyes locked, and Sam’s expression held a promise that made Gene shiver. "I think that makes it your turn."