fic: Anytime Because You're Mine rating: Brown Cortina
Title: Anytime Because You're Mine
Author: totallywow
Rating: Brown Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene, Sam/OMC
Disclaimer: Not mine
Summary: Sam, you tart! Gene forgives him though because he's Gene's tart. Bless.
A/N: I got sidetracked from writing porn and ending up writing more porn! This is the one I ended up finishing. Heh.
There had been all sorts of jokes circulating the office when the combined duo of Gene and Ray had managed to beat some sort of a lead out of a suspect wanted for two murders because the lead was only a place - a club - well known for its gay-friendly atmosphere. Gene had volunteered Sam to go undercover “because he’d feel at home”, Ray had point-blank refused, Chris looked terrified, so he decided he’d go along too, claiming he could “break one of ‘em in half if ‘e so much as winks at me.” The plan was to go on the club’s busiest night, stay sober - that was Tyler’s idea - try and talk to the regulars a bit, watch out for anything suspicious.
“Like blokes bummin’ each other?” Ray had contributed.
Sam had folded his arms, un-amused.
“If the killer frequents this club, he won’t miss a weekend night, when it’s busy. You’re a detective Ray - it’s debatable, true - but anything suspicious, you know? If we just keep quiet,” he glared at Gene, “and SOBER”, still glaring at Gene, “just mix in, be friendly,” jeers and laughter started, “like TALKING to people - God, you lot are impossible. They’re not going to pounce on you, hold you down and have their way with you. They’re not animals, they’re gay.”
“Gene?”
The Guv seemed lost in thought, pouting down at the floor, frowning intensely.
“Eh?”
Sam sighs, exasperated.
“Let’s just get on with it.”
*
Gene deliberates for ages over what to wear. Doesn’t want anything that might attract ‘em, give off the wrong signal. Tyler might have blathered on about ‘blending’ and ‘fitting’ in but there’s no way he’s letting some queer touch him up all night just to get a bleeding name out of one of ‘em.
The pink shirt? No. Far too obvious.
He throws the black shirt on the heap, makes him look too formal or dressed up.
He’s got to pick Tyler up in ten minutes. They are not going in together, Gene made a point of telling everyone, Sam and himself, they’re not going to talk or look or acknowledge each other in the slightest, unless it’s really needed, of course.
He wears the green shirt and takes a large swig of his hip flask. Sod what Sam said, he’s not doing this without some good old Dutch courage. Tyler might be used to hanging out at these sorts of places, the bloody poof, always knew he was a poof, Gene thinks, but Gene Hunt doesn’t go to gay bars.
*
Sam’s already waiting for him, slides into the front passenger seat with ease.
“You’ve been drinking. I can smell it, Gene.” Sam announces, disgusted.
“Give over! I’m not like you, Gladys, I can ‘andle me drink. A little one won’t hurt.”
Sam just shakes his head like a disappointed Mother. He takes in Sam’s choice of clothes: black cords, a red-brown belt and a white striped shirt.
“Lookin’ good, Sammy.”
He wasn’t going to say that, but before he has a chance to take it back or stutter, embarrassed, Sam looks at him, a grin in place.
“Thanks, Guv. Not so bad yourself. You look like you’ve made an effort.”
The little bastard.
“I ‘ave not.”
“Besides, the objective of tonight isn’t to pull.”
“Not that - obviously - I mean, I’m obviously not going to pull tonight anyway… being, well, you know. Um. I’m not-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Dorothy!”
“No, Guv, it’s not like I-”
“I don’t care.” Gene realised he was telling the truth.
He could hear Sam controlling his breathing so he punched him lightly on the shoulder.
“C’mon, let’s do it, then.”
*
It’s very easy. He doesn’t see Sam for much of the night. He’s not sure what all the fuss is about. No one looks at him. He knows that these pretty young lads are probably wondering what the hell some big gruff bloke is doing sat on his own at the bar. He talks to the barman who clearly likes to gossip and thinks Gene is some big wig from another city. He nods, feigns disinterest and mentally stores away everything he’s told. Some blokes talk to him when they come up and get a round in but its friendliness and nothing more. When it’s quieter Gene thinks up horror stories he can tell Ray and the rest of them in the morning.
One thing for sure is that it’s bloody boiling. Gene takes enough trips to the toilet to realise it will look dodgy if he goes again and he exits by a back door, which takes him slightly into an alleyway. There’s a pair of blokes grappling and fondling each other who stop in their drunken lust to acknowledge Gene. He walks down a bit, leaves them to it, doesn’t want to see anyway. He hopes Sam has made some progress. Andy, the bloke on the bar, spoke about one the guys who was killed and mentioned names Gene is going to drag in tomorrow, the very first thing. He’ll probably bring this bar bloke in too - first one to speak, and all that.
He hears sucking and gasping and moaning as he continues to walk down. There’s a door leading back into the club about two steps away from him and a little further down, in the corner of the alleyway, right at the bottom, he can see two blokes - one thrusting, holding tightly onto the man’s head, the man who is on his knees and sucking happily by the sounds of it.
He watches, for a little bit, moves forward, hand resting on the blue door as if to open and return back inside but he doesn’t. Just watches. The lights adjust with his eye line and fall on the couple. Jesus Christ. Gene’s eyes nearly pop. Fuck. That’s definitely Sam. The same white striped shirt, belt, head bopping up and down with long, thick fingers twisted in his short hair.
“Want a go, mate?” He looks back up to see the stranger grin, his cock pulled out of Sam’s mouth with an audible pop. Sam moves to twist his head round but the man he’s kneeling in front of grips him with his hands. Gene waits for Sam to bite down on the bastard’s cock, to smack him or say something in protest of being passed about from bloke to bloke like a toy. But he doesn’t, he stays silent and unmoving in the hands holding him, waiting.
Gene shakes his head and frowns, shaken, stalks back into the club.
*
He won’t mention it. He’ll ignore it. Just won’t say anything.
Sam walks in two seconds after the man he’s just being sucking off in the back of an alleyway, making it blatantly obvious what he’s been up to the whole damn club. He was the idiot who was prattling on about being subtle. Gene’s stomping up towards him before he can stop himself, and Tyler’s licking his lips, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He might as well have a great fuck-off sign on his forehead advertising his services to anyone with a cock.
“We’re leaving.”
“No - not yet, Guv - I haven’t had the chance to -”
“Yes yer ‘ave. Maybe if yer weren’t wastin’ time behavin’ like a little tramp yer would ‘av found somethin’ out but lucky for you, I ‘aven’t been bendin’ me arse over for queers all night. I’ve been doin’ what I oughta while yer been out there bobbing up and down on some pricks’ dick.”
Sam’s eyes are wide and he stares at Gene. Gene walks away knowing he’ll follow.
*
“Look, Guv-”
“I don’t want to know. Get in.”
“Please, listen to me, Gene.”
“Get in the car or else, Tyler.”
Thankfully Tyler doesn’t ask “or else what?” because Gene doesn’t have an answer. He’s seething because he’s so angry at Sam, with his double standards. Fine, so it’s unlikely Gene or any of the lads will go to a place like that thinking they’d get lucky later, but for all Sam’s telling off and pointing the finger he’s the one caught red-handed, thinking of his dick rather than what they’re supposed to be doing. He’s fucking angry at Sam for being so un-professional, so loose, so docile as the bloke held him down and offered him to Gene, staring at Gene, and for being so bloody obvious. Most of all, he’s furious because Sam’s his. He might not have claimed him, must have took it for granted Tyler knew; he hardly admits it to himself. Of course Sam belongs to him but there he is letting some random bloke shove his cock down his throat. That should be something Gene and Gene only is allowed to do. Gene grips the steering wheel tighter.
*
Sam thinks his heart might take off; it’s beating so hard in his chest. What a stupid bastard, he curses himself, oh fuck. Somewhere in the back of his head as he allowed himself to be gently manoeuvred outdoors he thought of Gene, of Gene catching him but brushed it off as an unlikely thing. Surely he wouldn’t be that unlucky.
Fuck.
*
They come an abrupt halt outside Sam’s flat. Sam wants to say something to calm the situation down. He doesn’t know what he can say. Gene is looking at him, waiting for something and he’s got nothing.
“I’m sorry,” seems the most appropriate, as brown eyes meet green ones.
“For what?”
Sam frowns. How has he not answered this correctly?
“Um, for, well… for what you saw.”
“Yer sorry for doin’ it, or fer me seein’ it?
“Both.”
“What yer want to be sorry for, Sammy-Boy,” and Sam has thought of that fucking nick-name being used in that tone of voice Gene is speaking in right now when wanking off, slowly, savouring it - “is for lettin’ the bastard prize yer gob open - not that it’s a difficult task, mind you - and not lettin’ me.”
Sam pauses, his mind over-working like mad.
“You’ve never tried it on with me before, Guv. How would you know I wouldn’t let you?”
Gene’s head rises a little, and he glances over the deserted street.
“Would yer?”
Sam edges closer.
“You’d have to try to find out.”
Gene eyes him up and down and huffs, the tiniest of smiles at the corner of his lips. He moves closer to Sam, with a soft, almost whispered “come ‘ere then” and Sam does, and they kiss. It’s how Gene imagined. Sam is soft, sweet, matching his pace, moaning. Flung back into the present, Gene can taste something else and realises it’s the random bloke’s come. Fuck, he’d almost forgotten about that.
“What, what’s wrong?” Sam asks as Gene pulls away.
“I can taste that wanker’s soddin’ you-know-what, Tyler. Couldn’t yer ‘av just finished by tossin’ ‘im off?”
“It’s hardly the best end to a blowjob. I like to be thorough.”
Gene licks his lips. Damn Sam for being so incredibly sexy.
“Proper procedure and all that shite?”
“Oh, oh - definitely.”
“Attention to detail, I do hope, Gladys.”
“Yes, Guv. Always.”
“Yer like to be the best.”
“I am the best.”
Gene takes a hold of Sam’s chin, tilts him slightly.
“Yer might be, but yer know one thing, Sam. Yer mine. Don’t make me ‘av to beat that into yer. Don’t you ever let me catch yer with some nancy-boy’s cock in yer mouth or yer arse or your bloody ear’ole, or you will be sorry.”
Sam smiles.
“You’re not a nancy-boy?”
“Obviously not, genius.”
“Best come up then.”
“It would probably be for the best, yer right, Gladys.”
*
Hands are on Sam’s body already, on the bed, pulling and pushing clothes off, the feeling of Sam’s legs wrapped tightly around him is so good, his fingernails digging into his back. Fuck. He rips off everything he thought was so attractive earlier - the tight belt and the tighter trousers, his own clothes discarded and he holds Sam’s head like the bloke in the alleyway did, furiously wiping away those grubby fingerprints and replacing them with his own, the right ones, the ones Sam will get used to. The fingertips that are to trace every part of Sam’s body: his pink lips, his eyes, eyelids, mouth and tongue and collarbone and nipples and thighs and arse and cock. His tongue tasting and his arms holding Sam, bringing him up, closer, and those clever pretty hands in his own hair tugging and brushing over his hands. He finally grips Sam’s hips as Sam begins to beg, ready.
“I’ve never done this,” he admits, feels stupid as soon as the words leave his mouth.
“You don’t have to.”
He looks at Sam’s cock, holds it, strokes firmly and that seems to please him enough, but he does want to. He licks at first, holding Sam’s heavy swollen balls in one hand, massaging gently but applying pressure in all the right spots, licking stripes from the base to the top, daring to swirl around the head and suck a little. His other hand is busy, sliding from the base to the top of Sam’s cock, getting braver as Sam gets needier, so much louder, more desperate. He begins to fists Sam fast and hard, the other stroking balls and thighs and he licks his fingers, working his hand underneath Sam to find his arse - ah, and he takes Sam into his mouth, sucks, thrusts inside him. Sam comes with a string of swear words and “Guv, oh God, Gene”, and Gene swallows. He grimaces slightly. It’s not the most pleasant taste ever. He stays down; rubbing what he didn’t quite manage to swallow of Sam’s orgasm over his own hard cock and Sam’s softening one. Sam’s hands are on the back of his head and neck, urging him to come up and his does, straddling Sam’s body. Sam pulls him up further, to his face, his mouth. He takes Gene’s cock in whole and keeps his eyes locked on his Guv’s as he sucks. He drops his hands. Gene accepts the gesture, the almost apology. Sam’s letting him have control, do what he likes. He does, brings Sam’s head up slightly and slides in and out of his hot, wet mouth. He’s so frustrated, so excited, nervous and horny. He wishes he could last longer, doesn’t want Sam thinking he cums this quickly, but fuck it. He needs the release. He’s waited longer than he even realises himself for this.
He pulls out of Sam’s mouth and that pretty, over-worked head of his flops down. Gene jerks himself off quickly and Sam wiggles up a little so he’s got a better chance of getting it on his face. Sam’s eyes are open and he looks at Gene. Gene knows, right then, that he’s got Sam, and he’s going to fucking die before he lets this exotic, intoxicating man slip through his fingers.
He comes hard and as he comes back down to the earth after his powerful orgasm, he smiles, impressed with his aim. Sam licks the corner of his lip and wipes his right eye, cursing that it “stings like fuck,” as Gene just collapses besides his Inspector.
“Ah. That hurts, fuck.”
He moves and Gene’s grateful as he cools down, the heat of Sam over-bearing. Sam comes back much calmer, his eye looking nasty and bloodshot. He turns off the light and climbs on top of Gene. That’s the only way they’ll fit into Sam’s bed anyway.
Gene kisses Sam’s hair, wraps his arms around the fidgeting man on top of him. Sam moves and accommodates Gene’s arms. Somehow it’s just as satisfying as his orgasm, wrapping up like with Tyler. Sam starts to talk, he wants to know what Gene found out, he makes a joke about Ray and he licks, kisses Gene’s neck and shoulder as he does so. Gene doesn’t answer, just kisses back, moving, rubbing up against Sam. Gene tells him he doesn’t want to talk about anything now, unless Sam wants to tell him what a brilliant shag he is.
“You’re a brilliant shag, Gene.”
“Thanks, Tyler.”
They nuzzle and move and Gene grabs Sam’s arse, feeling the flesh, running hands all over the Tyler’s body. Sam giggles and gets even closer to Gene, sighing and ahh’ing and moaning into Gene’s skin.
“Can I assume I’m forgiven and you’re not going to keep making me pay for, you know...”
“No, no way. You’ll be makin’ up it fur the rest of yer days.”
“With…?”
“Being a good boy, o’course, and occasionally a very, very bad boy indeed.”
“Actually, you know what, Guv, I can live with that.”
“I thought so.”
“However, maybe you’ll need to thank me…”
“WHAT? - ”
“Ssh! Well, if it hadn’t of happened, we probably wouldn’t be lying here right now.”
“That’s bollocks and don’t tell me to bloody ‘ssh’. We’d be shaggin’ by some point, was always gonna happen.”
“Probably. I did induce it, though.”
“By bein’ a slapper?”
“At least I don’t creep up on people. Mmmm. Don’t want to think about it anyway. Just want…to forget… stay with you.” Something along those lines was mumbled into Gene’s shoulder. Gene stroked Sam’s hair.
“Well, I’m not goin’ anywhere. I swear. You stay just as long as yer like, Sammy. I’ve got you.”
*