[fic] Pole Position
TITLE: Pole Position
AUTHOR: Janni
WORD COUNT: 1433
STYLE/WARNINGS: Brown Cortina, PWP, Sam/Gene, 18+. All slash, all the time.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Long-awaited sequel to With All The Trimmings. For lozenger8, because while you can't always get what you want, if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. XD Gone over with a fine-toothed comb (ouch!) by m31andy. My, Porntoberfest is truly the most wonderful time of the year, as it is positively full of gifts that keep on giving! >3
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars and associated characters are property of Kudos and the BBC. All of this is done for my (and your) amusement; no infringement is intended and no money is being made. Money is being maid, however. By Sam. With a featherduster. Oooh. >3
POLE POSITION
"Tongs beats baster, Gene." Sam laughed, brandishing a pair of alarmingly rust-coloured tongs in Gene's general direction as the two struggled against the oven.
Gene paled. "You wouldn't."
"Are you really willing to take that risk?" Sam's voice went all low and gravelly, hitching slightly over the "really" in that puddlemaking way he sometimes had. Irritating, really. But so ridiculously sexy. Gene gulped. Hard.
The thing about them was, while there were vague suspicions that something possibly untoward was going on between the DCI and his DI, no-one would ever have dared to say anything about it. Why? The simple fact was, almost everyone was intimidated by Gene Hunt.
And who wouldn't be? He put on a fantastic show, after all, roughing up friends and foes alike in grand fashion. He was, however, fiercely intelligent and even more fiercely loyal, and so no-one really minded. Most people took it as part-and-parcel of who he was, really.
Still, no-one would have wanted to risk incurring his wrath if they didn't need to. And so, those same people looked the other way whenever they witnessed the strange glints in their DCI's and DI's eyes. Or how they'd excuse themselves at odd moments and suddenly disappear within mere minutes of one another. It wasn't even as though they were consciously aware they did these things, either; it was just how things were.
But the real truth of the matter was, Gene Hunt was truly terrified of what was about to happen next. And yet also quivering in delicious anticipation. Just another night of the usual, then.
It was all part of their game, you see. Gene Hunt needed everyone to think he was in charge at all times---which he mostly was.
Except when he wasn't. Which was only and ever with Sam, and it wasn't as though Sam was going to tell...or was he? Gene mostly trusted him, but there was always that delicious frisson of fear of discovery that punctuated every move they made together. Every thrust, every lick, every swirl of tongue over erect nipple and sharp nipping of teeth on same.
And the truth was that Sam would never tell, oh no. But he didn't mind letting Gene think there was that possibility---especially when it meant he responded like he did.
"You won't be needing that," Sam said, very gently, his lips just brushing Gene's ear as he very pointedly removed the baster from his left hand.
Gene's throat tightened. He'd wanted to say something in response, really he had, but suddenly he found himself incapable as all the blood readily left his brain and flooded down, down, into trousers that were suddenly as too-tight as Sam's were on a daily basis. (How did he pull those on in the morning, anyway? He must have to lie down to do the zip, Gene decided, only it wasn't nearly as distracting a thought as he'd have liked it to be.)
"You won't be needing these, either," Sam got a certain utterly wicked glint in his eye as he began undoing Gene's flies with the help of his tongs.
The ridiculousness of this sight finally prompted a verbal response from Gene. "Are you sure you want to use those there? For all I know they're full of turkey juice."
"You said you wanted all the trimmings, right? I see a great big turkey in front of me needs stuffing," and with this last, Sam yanked Gene's trousers down and off. His anal-retentiveness about his floors (shoddy though they might be) and the fact he demanded all guests remove their shoes upon entrance to his flat had often served him well on just such occasions as random bouts of magnificent sex in his kitchen.
"You aren't serious about that, are you?" Gene looked a bit worried as he eyed up the packets of Bisto on the counter next to Sam.
"Course not, I did intend us to eat those," Sam scoffed. "That doesn't mean we can't be festive, though. I think you'll find this goes down a treat," he smiled as he took a small tube out of his pocket and began vigorously rubbing it between his palms.
"Have you got something new?"
"You'll find out in a moment. But you ask far too many questions. We've got to find a way to shut you up," Sam said as he undid his own flies.
At this, Gene was a bit apprehensive. This wasn't how it usually worked. True, if anyone had given thought to the question of his aggressive male bonding patterns, they would've expected he'd surely be on top at all times. But that wasn't the problem here---the problem was that all of a sudden, Sam's hugely engorged cock was down his throat and his warm, swollen balls were blocking his nose, causing him to gag as Sam straddled him on the kitchen floor.
"Bit of multitasking, Guv. They always said I was efficient. I hope you like it; I can tell you I certainly do," Sam's voice called distantly over Gene's eager slurping and laving of Sam's cock. He had no choice, really; it was swallow or suffocate. It was really all kind of hot, and his own cock answered by swelling even further and knocking slightly against Sam's chin as he positioned himself carefully on his now very-prone DCI's form, squeezed out a bit of something from the tube in his pocket, and slowly began working first one slickened finger, then two underneath Gene's warm, quivering balls and into his even warmer anus.
As always, Gene tensed as Sam worked him open, biting down slightly on Sam's tip as Sam rocked back onto his face, slamming his cock down Gene's throat as he teased the base of Gene's own cock with the tip of his tongue.
If Gene hadn't had a mouthful of Sam's cock just then, he'd have said something about how Sam's efficiency was the pride of A division.
Then again, he wouldn't nearly have been about to burst with need, either. This was all too much. He was at the point where he purposely wanted to do a very bad job at deep-throating Sam, just so that Sam would be frustrated into relieve his aching need that much sooner.
And Sam would make him pay for that, oh yes. Gene nearly shivered with delight as this very vivid image crossed in front of his eyes as he squeezed them shut.
"You'll get no presents this year if you're naughty, Guv. You really ought to watch that," Sam growled, hopping lightly onto the balls of his feet and quickly extricating himself from Gene's mouth and ass all at the same time. "Now it's time to bring you into line," Sam repositioned himself so he was now facing Gene and licked his lips, catlike.
"Yes, sir," Gene's voice did that low, husky thing---not at all like Sam's, but just as much of a turn-on.
"I'll need you on your knees. You aren't nearly as flexible as me," Sam grinned.
Gene grunted in reply and pulled himself up. He wasn't at all sure his weight would be supported adequately, given how wobbly his knees were just then. But he managed to pull himself into position OK, and indeed Sam mounted up with no trouble at all.
To say waves of pleasure coursed through both men as Sam slammed his taut, wiry length into Gene would have been a gross understatement. Every time was much like every other time, and yet every time was distinctly something new. They'd long ago found their proper rhythm, and indeed as Sam rode him for all he was worth once again, Gene came so hard he nearly shot himself in the face.
Not Sam, though. Sam was, as many would have guessed, an expert at self-control. This extended to controlling when he would actually come, and often dragging it out as long as possible, for maximum effect. Past lovers had praised his selfless pursuit of their pleasure, but really, it was all about him. He of course didn't mind them thinking it wasn't, however---what harm did that do?
Clearly none here. A full ten minutes after Gene had spent himself all over Sam's linoleum, Sam finally let himself course into Gene, wave after wave of Sam's orgasm pounding both of them into sated oblivion.
After a further ten minutes, by the time both men were quite cold after having lain extremely still on the floor, Sam finally rolled off of Gene and began to pull his apron back on.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starved."
"Good, the turkey's ready."
"Better make up some gravy, then. And toss me my trousers, I'm bloody freezin!"
AUTHOR: Janni
WORD COUNT: 1433
STYLE/WARNINGS: Brown Cortina, PWP, Sam/Gene, 18+. All slash, all the time.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Long-awaited sequel to With All The Trimmings. For lozenger8, because while you can't always get what you want, if you try sometimes, you just might find you get what you need. XD Gone over with a fine-toothed comb (ouch!) by m31andy. My, Porntoberfest is truly the most wonderful time of the year, as it is positively full of gifts that keep on giving! >3
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars and associated characters are property of Kudos and the BBC. All of this is done for my (and your) amusement; no infringement is intended and no money is being made. Money is being maid, however. By Sam. With a featherduster. Oooh. >3
POLE POSITION
"Tongs beats baster, Gene." Sam laughed, brandishing a pair of alarmingly rust-coloured tongs in Gene's general direction as the two struggled against the oven.
Gene paled. "You wouldn't."
"Are you really willing to take that risk?" Sam's voice went all low and gravelly, hitching slightly over the "really" in that puddlemaking way he sometimes had. Irritating, really. But so ridiculously sexy. Gene gulped. Hard.
The thing about them was, while there were vague suspicions that something possibly untoward was going on between the DCI and his DI, no-one would ever have dared to say anything about it. Why? The simple fact was, almost everyone was intimidated by Gene Hunt.
And who wouldn't be? He put on a fantastic show, after all, roughing up friends and foes alike in grand fashion. He was, however, fiercely intelligent and even more fiercely loyal, and so no-one really minded. Most people took it as part-and-parcel of who he was, really.
Still, no-one would have wanted to risk incurring his wrath if they didn't need to. And so, those same people looked the other way whenever they witnessed the strange glints in their DCI's and DI's eyes. Or how they'd excuse themselves at odd moments and suddenly disappear within mere minutes of one another. It wasn't even as though they were consciously aware they did these things, either; it was just how things were.
But the real truth of the matter was, Gene Hunt was truly terrified of what was about to happen next. And yet also quivering in delicious anticipation. Just another night of the usual, then.
It was all part of their game, you see. Gene Hunt needed everyone to think he was in charge at all times---which he mostly was.
Except when he wasn't. Which was only and ever with Sam, and it wasn't as though Sam was going to tell...or was he? Gene mostly trusted him, but there was always that delicious frisson of fear of discovery that punctuated every move they made together. Every thrust, every lick, every swirl of tongue over erect nipple and sharp nipping of teeth on same.
And the truth was that Sam would never tell, oh no. But he didn't mind letting Gene think there was that possibility---especially when it meant he responded like he did.
"You won't be needing that," Sam said, very gently, his lips just brushing Gene's ear as he very pointedly removed the baster from his left hand.
Gene's throat tightened. He'd wanted to say something in response, really he had, but suddenly he found himself incapable as all the blood readily left his brain and flooded down, down, into trousers that were suddenly as too-tight as Sam's were on a daily basis. (How did he pull those on in the morning, anyway? He must have to lie down to do the zip, Gene decided, only it wasn't nearly as distracting a thought as he'd have liked it to be.)
"You won't be needing these, either," Sam got a certain utterly wicked glint in his eye as he began undoing Gene's flies with the help of his tongs.
The ridiculousness of this sight finally prompted a verbal response from Gene. "Are you sure you want to use those there? For all I know they're full of turkey juice."
"You said you wanted all the trimmings, right? I see a great big turkey in front of me needs stuffing," and with this last, Sam yanked Gene's trousers down and off. His anal-retentiveness about his floors (shoddy though they might be) and the fact he demanded all guests remove their shoes upon entrance to his flat had often served him well on just such occasions as random bouts of magnificent sex in his kitchen.
"You aren't serious about that, are you?" Gene looked a bit worried as he eyed up the packets of Bisto on the counter next to Sam.
"Course not, I did intend us to eat those," Sam scoffed. "That doesn't mean we can't be festive, though. I think you'll find this goes down a treat," he smiled as he took a small tube out of his pocket and began vigorously rubbing it between his palms.
"Have you got something new?"
"You'll find out in a moment. But you ask far too many questions. We've got to find a way to shut you up," Sam said as he undid his own flies.
At this, Gene was a bit apprehensive. This wasn't how it usually worked. True, if anyone had given thought to the question of his aggressive male bonding patterns, they would've expected he'd surely be on top at all times. But that wasn't the problem here---the problem was that all of a sudden, Sam's hugely engorged cock was down his throat and his warm, swollen balls were blocking his nose, causing him to gag as Sam straddled him on the kitchen floor.
"Bit of multitasking, Guv. They always said I was efficient. I hope you like it; I can tell you I certainly do," Sam's voice called distantly over Gene's eager slurping and laving of Sam's cock. He had no choice, really; it was swallow or suffocate. It was really all kind of hot, and his own cock answered by swelling even further and knocking slightly against Sam's chin as he positioned himself carefully on his now very-prone DCI's form, squeezed out a bit of something from the tube in his pocket, and slowly began working first one slickened finger, then two underneath Gene's warm, quivering balls and into his even warmer anus.
As always, Gene tensed as Sam worked him open, biting down slightly on Sam's tip as Sam rocked back onto his face, slamming his cock down Gene's throat as he teased the base of Gene's own cock with the tip of his tongue.
If Gene hadn't had a mouthful of Sam's cock just then, he'd have said something about how Sam's efficiency was the pride of A division.
Then again, he wouldn't nearly have been about to burst with need, either. This was all too much. He was at the point where he purposely wanted to do a very bad job at deep-throating Sam, just so that Sam would be frustrated into relieve his aching need that much sooner.
And Sam would make him pay for that, oh yes. Gene nearly shivered with delight as this very vivid image crossed in front of his eyes as he squeezed them shut.
"You'll get no presents this year if you're naughty, Guv. You really ought to watch that," Sam growled, hopping lightly onto the balls of his feet and quickly extricating himself from Gene's mouth and ass all at the same time. "Now it's time to bring you into line," Sam repositioned himself so he was now facing Gene and licked his lips, catlike.
"Yes, sir," Gene's voice did that low, husky thing---not at all like Sam's, but just as much of a turn-on.
"I'll need you on your knees. You aren't nearly as flexible as me," Sam grinned.
Gene grunted in reply and pulled himself up. He wasn't at all sure his weight would be supported adequately, given how wobbly his knees were just then. But he managed to pull himself into position OK, and indeed Sam mounted up with no trouble at all.
To say waves of pleasure coursed through both men as Sam slammed his taut, wiry length into Gene would have been a gross understatement. Every time was much like every other time, and yet every time was distinctly something new. They'd long ago found their proper rhythm, and indeed as Sam rode him for all he was worth once again, Gene came so hard he nearly shot himself in the face.
Not Sam, though. Sam was, as many would have guessed, an expert at self-control. This extended to controlling when he would actually come, and often dragging it out as long as possible, for maximum effect. Past lovers had praised his selfless pursuit of their pleasure, but really, it was all about him. He of course didn't mind them thinking it wasn't, however---what harm did that do?
Clearly none here. A full ten minutes after Gene had spent himself all over Sam's linoleum, Sam finally let himself course into Gene, wave after wave of Sam's orgasm pounding both of them into sated oblivion.
After a further ten minutes, by the time both men were quite cold after having lain extremely still on the floor, Sam finally rolled off of Gene and began to pull his apron back on.
"Are you hungry?"
"Starved."
"Good, the turkey's ready."
"Better make up some gravy, then. And toss me my trousers, I'm bloody freezin!"