Fic: Retribution
Title: Retribution (Sequel to toe tapper)
Author: Moi!
Spoilers: None
Rating: Green/Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1225
Pairings: Sam/Gene
Summary: Gene's a slag, we all know why...;)
A/N:
jamie_dakinasked for a sequel...she got it,lol.
Shit, fuck and shit again. Why'd he agree to do this? Oh yea, the Super'd threatened decapitation, castration and all manner of unthinkable things, if he didn't suck it up and say yes. Basically he'd been between a rock and a hard place. Suddenly, that statement made a whole load more sense.
Key fuckin' note speaker at a soddin' Lancashire Constabulary address. If ever there's been anyone not suited to public speaking, it's Gene. So, with a heavy heart, sweaty palms and puckering arsehole, Gene climbs up the steps leading to his imminent doom.
There's a tiny podium with a curtain pulled across it, looks like velvet, smells like week old cat sick. Nice. Sat atop the shitty looking thing, is a microphone. Double shit.
Gene shuffles towards the mic, wipes greasy palms down his coat and clears his throat."Ahh, 'ello, this thing on?"
An ear splitting screech fills the auditorium and the entire room winces. Gene waits out the silence with the air of someone about to swing and studies the faces peering up at him from the crowd. Bollocks, is that Ray? Should have known he wouldn't miss a chance to rip the piss. Oh great, and there's Chris, smiling like a kid in a candy factory. Wonderful. Gene's life is now officially over.
The one person he'd really wanted to be there, isn't. Bloody Tyler and his 'I've made plans'. Arsehole.
Fine, if he's about to make himself look like a complete twat, so be it. In for a penny..
"Right, been asked to give a speech about, urmm, hang on, I've got it 'ere somewhere..." Gene rifles about in his pockets, producing a set of crumpled, whiskey stained cue cards and precedes to drop the lot. Swearing like a navvy and bending to retrieve them, he completely misses the collective grin on everyone's face.
Straightening, shoving a hand through already tangled locks, Gene clears his throat and tries again.
"My fellow officers. I've been called here today to talk about the proper procedure and...procedure! soddin' 'ell!" Guess who's not bothered to do his homework...Well that'll certainly teach him to pay attention in class.
Smiling sheepishly, Gene turns his attention back to the cards his Super'd dropped on his desk three days ago. "My fellow officers. I've been called here today to talk about the proper procedure and protocol when faced with a suspect who refuses to auqi...aquies...won't let you nick 'im"
In the far corner Gene can see his Super's face glaring angrily up at him. By rights, he should be pushing up daisies, judging by the scowl and set of his jaw. Traffic duty, here we come.
Well, someone certainly thinks they're funny. Gene Hunt, talking about the excessive use of force when detaining a suspect? Priceless.
"In such an instance as one has probable cause or reasonable grounds for suspicion.."
Gene feels something brush against his thigh and peers down curiously at the front of the podium. Dismissing it as wild imagination, brought on by stress and severe lack of alcohol consumption, he turns back to the audience.
"...supported by circumstances sufficiently strong enough to warrant a prudent an' cautious man to believe that the accused..."
There it is again. Something's definitely making the curtains twitch, causing cold air to whoosh round his legs.
"...is guilty of the offense with which 'e is charged"
The unmistakable feel of a hand slipping out from behind the curtain and pulling down his fly, almost makes Gene drop the cards again. He's about to scream blue bloody murder when he feels his cock being levered from his trousers, causing him to suck in a breath and shunt himself forwards.
"When fa..faced with a viol..ent and or temperament..al individual, one is allowed to use 'reasonable force'"
Gene can't help the hitch in his voice, but tries really fucking hard not to draw too much attention to what's going on behind that little curtain (difficult, considering he's stood in front of about 200 police officers, all eagerly awaiting his downfall and imminent fuck up) because whoever's managed to hide themselves away, currently has his cock engulfed in slick, unforgiving heat and is driving him off the edge of the bloody world.
His knees shudder and his legs almost buckle, causing him to stumble, nudging the crappy wooden box, making it and the microphone shake.
Gamely, he continues, fully aware of exactly what he looks like. His chest is heaving with the effort not to just keen and whimper and his eyes are fuzzy, dilated, making it practically impossible for him to actually read what's on the cards.
"The laAAwww allows us to use reasonaBle force to defend ourselves but does NOT give us the right to CausE excessivE haaaArmm"
Gene can no longer see a damn bloody thing. All his energy is focused solely on the person with their tongue wrapped sinfully round the head of his cock, flicking too and fro, scorching tiny patterns into his skin.
He gives up completely, throws the cards to the floor and grips the sides of the podium in shaking hands. Forget traffic duty, job queue here we come.
He doesn't actually give a good god damn though, seen as whoever's got their mouth so firmly placed over his throbbing cock, has now started to massage his ball sack with one bony hand. Scraping stubby nails through corse hair, they've begun to inch their fingers along the gap between his bollocks and his arsehole, making his back arch and his eyes cross.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, Gene's aware that people are pointing and staring, sniggering and standing up. He's sees through blurred eyes that the Super is marching towards him, shoving lesser mortals out the way in an effort to get to the idiot convulsing on the stage.
He's powerless to stop his hips from sliding back and fourth, pistoning his cock into a welcoming throat. The mystery attacker finally slips one finger inside his arse and Gene's whole world whites out.
With one final thrust, Gene feels himself shatter, pumping streams of hot, salty cum down the disembodied throat.
Before the Super's made it onto the stage, Gene feels familiar hands tucking him back in and zipping him up. As realization dawns, Gene's faced with the very real prospect of having his Chief Superintendent snap his neck if he doesn't come up with some kind of explanation. Fast.
"What the bloody hell's the matter with you Hunt?"
"So..sorry sir, I, I had some bad bacon for breakfast. It seems to be repeatin' on me"
"Well, get yourself out of my sight before I decide to demote you to lollypop lady"
Gene nods and stumbles away on liquefied legs. Turning back once, eyeing the now motionless curtain, he wonders how in the hell Sam's gonna make it out of there without being discovered.
When Sam finally wanders into his office, two hours later, Gene can't help the grin flicking the corners of his mouth up "Bastard"
Sam simply walks round the desk, hauls Gene to his feet and gives his arse one swift, hefty slap. Gene raises his eyebrows questioningly. If anyone's got the right to be slapping anyone, it's soddin' well him "What the 'ell was that for?"
"You didn't even check who was behind the curtain, you complete slut"
Author: Moi!
Spoilers: None
Rating: Green/Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1225
Pairings: Sam/Gene
Summary: Gene's a slag, we all know why...;)
A/N:
jamie_dakinasked for a sequel...she got it,lol.
Shit, fuck and shit again. Why'd he agree to do this? Oh yea, the Super'd threatened decapitation, castration and all manner of unthinkable things, if he didn't suck it up and say yes. Basically he'd been between a rock and a hard place. Suddenly, that statement made a whole load more sense.
Key fuckin' note speaker at a soddin' Lancashire Constabulary address. If ever there's been anyone not suited to public speaking, it's Gene. So, with a heavy heart, sweaty palms and puckering arsehole, Gene climbs up the steps leading to his imminent doom.
There's a tiny podium with a curtain pulled across it, looks like velvet, smells like week old cat sick. Nice. Sat atop the shitty looking thing, is a microphone. Double shit.
Gene shuffles towards the mic, wipes greasy palms down his coat and clears his throat."Ahh, 'ello, this thing on?"
An ear splitting screech fills the auditorium and the entire room winces. Gene waits out the silence with the air of someone about to swing and studies the faces peering up at him from the crowd. Bollocks, is that Ray? Should have known he wouldn't miss a chance to rip the piss. Oh great, and there's Chris, smiling like a kid in a candy factory. Wonderful. Gene's life is now officially over.
The one person he'd really wanted to be there, isn't. Bloody Tyler and his 'I've made plans'. Arsehole.
Fine, if he's about to make himself look like a complete twat, so be it. In for a penny..
"Right, been asked to give a speech about, urmm, hang on, I've got it 'ere somewhere..." Gene rifles about in his pockets, producing a set of crumpled, whiskey stained cue cards and precedes to drop the lot. Swearing like a navvy and bending to retrieve them, he completely misses the collective grin on everyone's face.
Straightening, shoving a hand through already tangled locks, Gene clears his throat and tries again.
"My fellow officers. I've been called here today to talk about the proper procedure and...procedure! soddin' 'ell!" Guess who's not bothered to do his homework...Well that'll certainly teach him to pay attention in class.
Smiling sheepishly, Gene turns his attention back to the cards his Super'd dropped on his desk three days ago. "My fellow officers. I've been called here today to talk about the proper procedure and protocol when faced with a suspect who refuses to auqi...aquies...won't let you nick 'im"
In the far corner Gene can see his Super's face glaring angrily up at him. By rights, he should be pushing up daisies, judging by the scowl and set of his jaw. Traffic duty, here we come.
Well, someone certainly thinks they're funny. Gene Hunt, talking about the excessive use of force when detaining a suspect? Priceless.
"In such an instance as one has probable cause or reasonable grounds for suspicion.."
Gene feels something brush against his thigh and peers down curiously at the front of the podium. Dismissing it as wild imagination, brought on by stress and severe lack of alcohol consumption, he turns back to the audience.
"...supported by circumstances sufficiently strong enough to warrant a prudent an' cautious man to believe that the accused..."
There it is again. Something's definitely making the curtains twitch, causing cold air to whoosh round his legs.
"...is guilty of the offense with which 'e is charged"
The unmistakable feel of a hand slipping out from behind the curtain and pulling down his fly, almost makes Gene drop the cards again. He's about to scream blue bloody murder when he feels his cock being levered from his trousers, causing him to suck in a breath and shunt himself forwards.
"When fa..faced with a viol..ent and or temperament..al individual, one is allowed to use 'reasonable force'"
Gene can't help the hitch in his voice, but tries really fucking hard not to draw too much attention to what's going on behind that little curtain (difficult, considering he's stood in front of about 200 police officers, all eagerly awaiting his downfall and imminent fuck up) because whoever's managed to hide themselves away, currently has his cock engulfed in slick, unforgiving heat and is driving him off the edge of the bloody world.
His knees shudder and his legs almost buckle, causing him to stumble, nudging the crappy wooden box, making it and the microphone shake.
Gamely, he continues, fully aware of exactly what he looks like. His chest is heaving with the effort not to just keen and whimper and his eyes are fuzzy, dilated, making it practically impossible for him to actually read what's on the cards.
"The laAAwww allows us to use reasonaBle force to defend ourselves but does NOT give us the right to CausE excessivE haaaArmm"
Gene can no longer see a damn bloody thing. All his energy is focused solely on the person with their tongue wrapped sinfully round the head of his cock, flicking too and fro, scorching tiny patterns into his skin.
He gives up completely, throws the cards to the floor and grips the sides of the podium in shaking hands. Forget traffic duty, job queue here we come.
He doesn't actually give a good god damn though, seen as whoever's got their mouth so firmly placed over his throbbing cock, has now started to massage his ball sack with one bony hand. Scraping stubby nails through corse hair, they've begun to inch their fingers along the gap between his bollocks and his arsehole, making his back arch and his eyes cross.
Somewhere in the back of his brain, Gene's aware that people are pointing and staring, sniggering and standing up. He's sees through blurred eyes that the Super is marching towards him, shoving lesser mortals out the way in an effort to get to the idiot convulsing on the stage.
He's powerless to stop his hips from sliding back and fourth, pistoning his cock into a welcoming throat. The mystery attacker finally slips one finger inside his arse and Gene's whole world whites out.
With one final thrust, Gene feels himself shatter, pumping streams of hot, salty cum down the disembodied throat.
Before the Super's made it onto the stage, Gene feels familiar hands tucking him back in and zipping him up. As realization dawns, Gene's faced with the very real prospect of having his Chief Superintendent snap his neck if he doesn't come up with some kind of explanation. Fast.
"What the bloody hell's the matter with you Hunt?"
"So..sorry sir, I, I had some bad bacon for breakfast. It seems to be repeatin' on me"
"Well, get yourself out of my sight before I decide to demote you to lollypop lady"
Gene nods and stumbles away on liquefied legs. Turning back once, eyeing the now motionless curtain, he wonders how in the hell Sam's gonna make it out of there without being discovered.
When Sam finally wanders into his office, two hours later, Gene can't help the grin flicking the corners of his mouth up "Bastard"
Sam simply walks round the desk, hauls Gene to his feet and gives his arse one swift, hefty slap. Gene raises his eyebrows questioningly. If anyone's got the right to be slapping anyone, it's soddin' well him "What the 'ell was that for?"
"You didn't even check who was behind the curtain, you complete slut"