Order
Title: Order
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina, oh yeahhhh (NC-17)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Warnings: No spoilers, just pr0n. And (a form of) BDSM.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Sam pushes, and Gene gives.
NOTES: Inspired by vicfarmer’s Hidden which is beautiful and moving in so many ways…as this is not. Oh well, I was reaching, and I failed, but it is what it is. And anyway, I got some bitching that LoM has not been treated to my own form of BDSM. So here. Take. I think it needs a sequel, but I have not written anything. Let me know if you want more. *shrugs*
EDIT: There will be a sequel. The ending to this *is* harsh and it has been pointed out to me that it needs some explanation. (Yes, Mistress, may I have another?)
Order
Sam refused to go to the pub because he was covered in bodily fluids. He thought it was a reasonable request to stop by his flat and change out of the blood soaked shirt he was wearing, although Gene made it clear that it was a profound inconvenience, as it was just the blood of some guilty shite crim and therefore not worth worrying about. The concept of ‘biohazard’ not being current in 1973, Sam mused sourly as he finally got his way and stomped up the stairs to his flat.
Gene only followed because he knew Sam kept a bottle on hand for him, and he dumped his jacket on ‘his’ chair and poured a double, or triple, or quadruple, as Sam striped off his shirt and vest. He knew better than to take time for a shower - Gene would simply leave and it would be Sam walking to the pub alone, then, which he refused to do. He had caught the suspect and saved the day from one of Gene’s hare-brained ‘stings’ and Sam deserved to be driven around like a prince. That was his opinion, in any case.
He threw down the dirty shirts and out of the corner of his eye caught Gene staring at him. Sam was not overly surprised; there was sexual tension there, and he was no fool, he simply did not know how aware of it Gene was, or more importantly, how tolerant he was. Gene was a product of his era and age and Sam did not want to push their attraction into mutual destruction.
But this time Gene was not hiding it. He stared blatantly at Sam as he put on a clean vest and shirt, and watched his fingers carefully as they buttoned up his polyester prison. Sam could not pretend he did not see, because Gene made no effort to pretend he was not looking.
“See something you like?” Sam asked sarcastically, trying to break the spell, hoping to avoid the worst.
Gene shrugged and finished his drink. “You make a production out of everything.” His normal tone was gone, shifted into something shady and insecure, and Sam stopped.
“I could…” He framed it as an almost-question, opening it for Gene to take the lead.
Gene looked at him and slammed his drink, displeased, and Sam knew he had pushed far enough. He turned and tucked in his shirt, and when he looked at Gene he saw him staring at the chair, still unhappy, but not angry. Disappointed, somehow, and Sam could not place it. There was a slant to his shoulders, a cant to his head, that was new and odd.
“I could.” This time Sam said it firmly, instinctively, resolved to push it this time.
Gene stuttered. He stopped and forced a snarl out, but Sam saw it. He stood still and stared at Gene, who now refused to look at him. He turned and picked up his coat from the chair and went to put it on, and Sam saw the rising tide of his bravado threatening to drown the moment.
“Put the coat down.” Sam said it firmly, testing him. The air was almost sparkling around them, both men heightened to a level of awareness that was nearly painful to experience. It was the edge of a very thin blade and it all rested on what Gene was willing to do, less than on what either man wanted.
Gene did not move, and stood with one arm into his coat but he did not put it on, and he did not put it down. Sam tensed, waiting, and was debating repeating the order as hard as he saw Gene was debating following it.
“Put it down.” Sam said at last, breaking the silent question open so that the pressure between them spilled. Gene let the jacket fall.
Sam’s breath fell out of him, amazed and excited and scared. Gene was staring at the carpet, thinking too much, and he would run hard and fast if Sam played this wrong. He wanted Gene on his knees, but that was a risk, especially since Gene was still antsy. The large man shifted on his feet and rolled one shoulder as he stood there, and in the next second it would be over because Sam waiting to long to grab this.
“Turn around.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, as if being pushed, Gene turned his back to Sam.
“Keep your head down, look at the floor,” Sam instructed softly, stepping forward, and placed his hand on Gene’s upper neck, right at the base of his skull, and pressed gently. Gene tried to turn his head to the side, and maybe it was a genuine attempt to see what Sam was doing or maybe it was just rebellion, but Sam kept the pressure, forcing Gene to put his head where Sam wanted it. Gene’s acquiescence was such an easy thing to break, because Gene could throw Sam out the window without even elevating his heart rate if Sam took this too far. Sam knew this was real power, because it was given and not stolen, and he discovered to his immense relief that Gene was not going to press back. Not yet.
Sam ran his hands over Gene’s broad back, and he heard Gene hiss or sigh and he felt him breathing under his touch. Sam reached around and unbuckled his belt, careful not to brush his hands against Gene’s stomach or groin, just keeping to the belt, and pulling it off Gene completely. He threw the belt to the front of them, where Gene could see it land on the floor. Safe, that was the message: safe. Still behind him, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and dragged it off him. Gene tried to move in reaction then, his head tipping to one side to peer at Sam, so Sam brought his hand up and gently re-directed Gene’s gaze back to the front, to the floor.
“Stay,” Sam whispered, nearly cooing as he stepped closer and undid Gene’s trousers, again careful not to touch Gene directly. He slipped the pants down and pushed on Gene’s left knee to get him to pull his foot up. Sam felt muscles clinch as Gene balanced on his other leg, and Sam took off his shoe and sock and slipped off the trousers. He pulled on the knee to lower the foot back down and repeated it with the other leg, and then Gene was standing in his underwear, barefoot. He had not moved otherwise, and Sam marveled. He stepped back, to let Gene feel his vulnerability. Sam’s mind was buzzing with a sensual high, and his brain clicked at a thousand miles per hour with ideas, but taking it slowly was important now. After a few more seconds he stepped back up to Gene and wrapped his arms around him, and he felt Gene twitch.
“No, stay still. Don’t move,” Sam said, rubbing his face against Gene’s shoulder and up to his neck as he hugged him. “You’re staying here tonight. You’ll be safe here tonight. Don’t talk. Just nod.”
Gene nodded, once, returning his gaze to the floor, but Sam felt his heart rate take off under his hands, hammering like a tribal drum inside Gene’s chest.
“Go take a shower, use hot water and lots of my soap. I want you to smell like me. Clean your hair and your whole body and your dick an’ every part of you.”
Another twitch, and an aborted move of the head.
“You’re safe, here, Gene, I told you that.”
Another nod.
“And don’t wank off in the shower. No getting off unless I say so. Come back out here naked. And never, ever, look up. Your eyes are on the floor, every step. Yeah?” Sam breathed, holding Gene close for a fierce hug, and then released him. “Okay. Go on.” Sam touched him as if it was a shove, and Gene walked to the bathroom, his head down.
Sam looked around his flat, anxious. He heard the water on and Gene bathing and Sam wanted to do something but he forced himself to sit in the chair and wait. He unbuttoned his own shirt and let it fall open but he did not take it off. When he heard the water turn off, he looked over, but Gene did not walk out. Sam panicked, but a thought hit him and he jumped on it.
“You can dry off first. Then come out here.” He called out, and was rewarded with the sound of movement. Sam rested his head against the chair, wide eyed. So this is how it was when Gene shut down: complete. Gene was still thinking, considering, and debating within himself, but he was not doing anything outside of Sam’s words. The trick, Sam knew, would be to push Gene’s inhibitions aside and make Sam’s words Gene’s only thought. He was not sure it could be done, but Gene was going this far with him…he wondered who else had done this with Gene before. Someone, because in the moment Gene stuttered and stopped he knew what he wanted, and Sam believed he saw muscle memory at work. How long ago? Who?
Gene snapped him back by walking out, dry and clean and soft and Sam’s nascent hard-on roared to attention. Sam ignored it. Gene was looking at the floor, and standing still, but breathing heavily.
“Set the mattress on the floor and fold up the damn cot. Make the bed for us, Gene.” Sam again kept his voice soft and firm. Gene nodded and turned and did it, moving as Gene always did with fast, aggressive motions full of purpose. He was doing his job and he was comfortable, even naked with Sam peering at him from the chair. Sam’s mind wandered to history again: National Service? Following orders…an easy step up from marching orders to bedroom orders, with the right person.
There was not much to making the bed on the floor with as little as Gene had to work with. As he threw the pillow down Sam called his name.
“Gene. Over here. Stand between my legs.” Sam spread his knees and Gene stepped in. Looking down, his gaze was forced to Sam’s groin where obvious signs of Sam’s arousal pressed against his pants. Sam watched the flush creep over Gene’s skin and his own cock begin to stiffen. “Get on your knees. You won’t be on them long, no need for a cushion.” Sam held his breath, then let it out slowly as Gene lowered himself, hands at his side. “Touch what you want, until I tell you to stop.” Sam whispered.
He was surprised when Gene’s hands did not go to his own erection, but landed on Sam’s thighs. His hands moved in hard, heavy motions, running up and down Sam’s legs as Gene stared at Sam’s hard-on. Sam sighed at the touch and closed his own eyes, feeling the weight of Gene on him. The hands moved up and to his torso, slipping over his chest, on top of his vest but it did not make any difference, because Sam could feel the heat of Gene’s body radiating off those hands. Then all of Gene; Sam looked down in shock as Gene curled over and laid his head against Sam’s chest and wrapped his arms around him in a hug, almost childlike in need. Sam responded in kind, rubbing Gene’s back with one hand and playing with his hair with his other hand. They stayed there for full minutes, longer than he imagined Gene could stay still for anything.
One of Gene’s hands moved to Sam’s front and tugged on the waistband and belt, a silent plea: take them off. Sam pushed his hands off of him and kept pushing until Gene was sitting back on his heels.
“Close your eyes.”
Gene shut his eyes and breathed deeply. This, again, was a memory for him, someone else giving him that order. Sam opened his pants and pulled out his cock, sighing with the release of pressure from the pants. He leaned forward and grasped the back on Gene’s head with one hand, his shoulder with the other, and dragged him down carefully. Gene did not even twitch, he let himself be led to Sam’s cock, and when he felt the soft, velvet touch of the head against his lips, opened his mouth and took Sam into him.
It was simple, then, just a blowjob, the type of thing any man could enjoy; but Sam was beside himself, watching Gene pull on him, draw his cock in and out of his mouth, sucking and licking as Sam rode him. His hands were on his head and his shoulder, they had not moved, but there was no pressure as Gene lifted and sank back down, his own hands on his thighs, holding himself up as he serviced Sam. He took it as Sam lost control, shoving Gene’s head down to choking on him, filling Gene with his cock and his cum, his hips snapping mercilessly as Sam moaned in pleasure.
Sam paused a moment then held Gene’s head up by grabbing his long blond hair, holding him back so Sam could watch the drool and cum dripping down his chin. Gene did not move his hands, did not open his eyes, and a vicious resolve hit Sam as he saw Gene gulping, swallowing him, nearly crying, weak and vulnerable. He stood up and let go of Gene, and walked away, stripping.
“You can open your eyes. Sit in the chair. Stay there.” Sam spoke harshly, almost punishingly. Gene pulled himself into the chair and looked at Sam, his face blank and wet, unwilling to clean himself off without permission. Sam smiled and when he was naked, laid down in the bed Gene made for them and went to sleep under Gene’s lonely gaze.
############
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina, oh yeahhhh (NC-17)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Warnings: No spoilers, just pr0n. And (a form of) BDSM.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 2,400
Summary: Sam pushes, and Gene gives.
NOTES: Inspired by vicfarmer’s Hidden which is beautiful and moving in so many ways…as this is not. Oh well, I was reaching, and I failed, but it is what it is. And anyway, I got some bitching that LoM has not been treated to my own form of BDSM. So here. Take. I think it needs a sequel, but I have not written anything. Let me know if you want more. *shrugs*
EDIT: There will be a sequel. The ending to this *is* harsh and it has been pointed out to me that it needs some explanation. (Yes, Mistress, may I have another?)
Order
Sam refused to go to the pub because he was covered in bodily fluids. He thought it was a reasonable request to stop by his flat and change out of the blood soaked shirt he was wearing, although Gene made it clear that it was a profound inconvenience, as it was just the blood of some guilty shite crim and therefore not worth worrying about. The concept of ‘biohazard’ not being current in 1973, Sam mused sourly as he finally got his way and stomped up the stairs to his flat.
Gene only followed because he knew Sam kept a bottle on hand for him, and he dumped his jacket on ‘his’ chair and poured a double, or triple, or quadruple, as Sam striped off his shirt and vest. He knew better than to take time for a shower - Gene would simply leave and it would be Sam walking to the pub alone, then, which he refused to do. He had caught the suspect and saved the day from one of Gene’s hare-brained ‘stings’ and Sam deserved to be driven around like a prince. That was his opinion, in any case.
He threw down the dirty shirts and out of the corner of his eye caught Gene staring at him. Sam was not overly surprised; there was sexual tension there, and he was no fool, he simply did not know how aware of it Gene was, or more importantly, how tolerant he was. Gene was a product of his era and age and Sam did not want to push their attraction into mutual destruction.
But this time Gene was not hiding it. He stared blatantly at Sam as he put on a clean vest and shirt, and watched his fingers carefully as they buttoned up his polyester prison. Sam could not pretend he did not see, because Gene made no effort to pretend he was not looking.
“See something you like?” Sam asked sarcastically, trying to break the spell, hoping to avoid the worst.
Gene shrugged and finished his drink. “You make a production out of everything.” His normal tone was gone, shifted into something shady and insecure, and Sam stopped.
“I could…” He framed it as an almost-question, opening it for Gene to take the lead.
Gene looked at him and slammed his drink, displeased, and Sam knew he had pushed far enough. He turned and tucked in his shirt, and when he looked at Gene he saw him staring at the chair, still unhappy, but not angry. Disappointed, somehow, and Sam could not place it. There was a slant to his shoulders, a cant to his head, that was new and odd.
“I could.” This time Sam said it firmly, instinctively, resolved to push it this time.
Gene stuttered. He stopped and forced a snarl out, but Sam saw it. He stood still and stared at Gene, who now refused to look at him. He turned and picked up his coat from the chair and went to put it on, and Sam saw the rising tide of his bravado threatening to drown the moment.
“Put the coat down.” Sam said it firmly, testing him. The air was almost sparkling around them, both men heightened to a level of awareness that was nearly painful to experience. It was the edge of a very thin blade and it all rested on what Gene was willing to do, less than on what either man wanted.
Gene did not move, and stood with one arm into his coat but he did not put it on, and he did not put it down. Sam tensed, waiting, and was debating repeating the order as hard as he saw Gene was debating following it.
“Put it down.” Sam said at last, breaking the silent question open so that the pressure between them spilled. Gene let the jacket fall.
Sam’s breath fell out of him, amazed and excited and scared. Gene was staring at the carpet, thinking too much, and he would run hard and fast if Sam played this wrong. He wanted Gene on his knees, but that was a risk, especially since Gene was still antsy. The large man shifted on his feet and rolled one shoulder as he stood there, and in the next second it would be over because Sam waiting to long to grab this.
“Turn around.”
Slowly, thoughtfully, as if being pushed, Gene turned his back to Sam.
“Keep your head down, look at the floor,” Sam instructed softly, stepping forward, and placed his hand on Gene’s upper neck, right at the base of his skull, and pressed gently. Gene tried to turn his head to the side, and maybe it was a genuine attempt to see what Sam was doing or maybe it was just rebellion, but Sam kept the pressure, forcing Gene to put his head where Sam wanted it. Gene’s acquiescence was such an easy thing to break, because Gene could throw Sam out the window without even elevating his heart rate if Sam took this too far. Sam knew this was real power, because it was given and not stolen, and he discovered to his immense relief that Gene was not going to press back. Not yet.
Sam ran his hands over Gene’s broad back, and he heard Gene hiss or sigh and he felt him breathing under his touch. Sam reached around and unbuckled his belt, careful not to brush his hands against Gene’s stomach or groin, just keeping to the belt, and pulling it off Gene completely. He threw the belt to the front of them, where Gene could see it land on the floor. Safe, that was the message: safe. Still behind him, Sam unbuttoned his shirt and dragged it off him. Gene tried to move in reaction then, his head tipping to one side to peer at Sam, so Sam brought his hand up and gently re-directed Gene’s gaze back to the front, to the floor.
“Stay,” Sam whispered, nearly cooing as he stepped closer and undid Gene’s trousers, again careful not to touch Gene directly. He slipped the pants down and pushed on Gene’s left knee to get him to pull his foot up. Sam felt muscles clinch as Gene balanced on his other leg, and Sam took off his shoe and sock and slipped off the trousers. He pulled on the knee to lower the foot back down and repeated it with the other leg, and then Gene was standing in his underwear, barefoot. He had not moved otherwise, and Sam marveled. He stepped back, to let Gene feel his vulnerability. Sam’s mind was buzzing with a sensual high, and his brain clicked at a thousand miles per hour with ideas, but taking it slowly was important now. After a few more seconds he stepped back up to Gene and wrapped his arms around him, and he felt Gene twitch.
“No, stay still. Don’t move,” Sam said, rubbing his face against Gene’s shoulder and up to his neck as he hugged him. “You’re staying here tonight. You’ll be safe here tonight. Don’t talk. Just nod.”
Gene nodded, once, returning his gaze to the floor, but Sam felt his heart rate take off under his hands, hammering like a tribal drum inside Gene’s chest.
“Go take a shower, use hot water and lots of my soap. I want you to smell like me. Clean your hair and your whole body and your dick an’ every part of you.”
Another twitch, and an aborted move of the head.
“You’re safe, here, Gene, I told you that.”
Another nod.
“And don’t wank off in the shower. No getting off unless I say so. Come back out here naked. And never, ever, look up. Your eyes are on the floor, every step. Yeah?” Sam breathed, holding Gene close for a fierce hug, and then released him. “Okay. Go on.” Sam touched him as if it was a shove, and Gene walked to the bathroom, his head down.
Sam looked around his flat, anxious. He heard the water on and Gene bathing and Sam wanted to do something but he forced himself to sit in the chair and wait. He unbuttoned his own shirt and let it fall open but he did not take it off. When he heard the water turn off, he looked over, but Gene did not walk out. Sam panicked, but a thought hit him and he jumped on it.
“You can dry off first. Then come out here.” He called out, and was rewarded with the sound of movement. Sam rested his head against the chair, wide eyed. So this is how it was when Gene shut down: complete. Gene was still thinking, considering, and debating within himself, but he was not doing anything outside of Sam’s words. The trick, Sam knew, would be to push Gene’s inhibitions aside and make Sam’s words Gene’s only thought. He was not sure it could be done, but Gene was going this far with him…he wondered who else had done this with Gene before. Someone, because in the moment Gene stuttered and stopped he knew what he wanted, and Sam believed he saw muscle memory at work. How long ago? Who?
Gene snapped him back by walking out, dry and clean and soft and Sam’s nascent hard-on roared to attention. Sam ignored it. Gene was looking at the floor, and standing still, but breathing heavily.
“Set the mattress on the floor and fold up the damn cot. Make the bed for us, Gene.” Sam again kept his voice soft and firm. Gene nodded and turned and did it, moving as Gene always did with fast, aggressive motions full of purpose. He was doing his job and he was comfortable, even naked with Sam peering at him from the chair. Sam’s mind wandered to history again: National Service? Following orders…an easy step up from marching orders to bedroom orders, with the right person.
There was not much to making the bed on the floor with as little as Gene had to work with. As he threw the pillow down Sam called his name.
“Gene. Over here. Stand between my legs.” Sam spread his knees and Gene stepped in. Looking down, his gaze was forced to Sam’s groin where obvious signs of Sam’s arousal pressed against his pants. Sam watched the flush creep over Gene’s skin and his own cock begin to stiffen. “Get on your knees. You won’t be on them long, no need for a cushion.” Sam held his breath, then let it out slowly as Gene lowered himself, hands at his side. “Touch what you want, until I tell you to stop.” Sam whispered.
He was surprised when Gene’s hands did not go to his own erection, but landed on Sam’s thighs. His hands moved in hard, heavy motions, running up and down Sam’s legs as Gene stared at Sam’s hard-on. Sam sighed at the touch and closed his own eyes, feeling the weight of Gene on him. The hands moved up and to his torso, slipping over his chest, on top of his vest but it did not make any difference, because Sam could feel the heat of Gene’s body radiating off those hands. Then all of Gene; Sam looked down in shock as Gene curled over and laid his head against Sam’s chest and wrapped his arms around him in a hug, almost childlike in need. Sam responded in kind, rubbing Gene’s back with one hand and playing with his hair with his other hand. They stayed there for full minutes, longer than he imagined Gene could stay still for anything.
One of Gene’s hands moved to Sam’s front and tugged on the waistband and belt, a silent plea: take them off. Sam pushed his hands off of him and kept pushing until Gene was sitting back on his heels.
“Close your eyes.”
Gene shut his eyes and breathed deeply. This, again, was a memory for him, someone else giving him that order. Sam opened his pants and pulled out his cock, sighing with the release of pressure from the pants. He leaned forward and grasped the back on Gene’s head with one hand, his shoulder with the other, and dragged him down carefully. Gene did not even twitch, he let himself be led to Sam’s cock, and when he felt the soft, velvet touch of the head against his lips, opened his mouth and took Sam into him.
It was simple, then, just a blowjob, the type of thing any man could enjoy; but Sam was beside himself, watching Gene pull on him, draw his cock in and out of his mouth, sucking and licking as Sam rode him. His hands were on his head and his shoulder, they had not moved, but there was no pressure as Gene lifted and sank back down, his own hands on his thighs, holding himself up as he serviced Sam. He took it as Sam lost control, shoving Gene’s head down to choking on him, filling Gene with his cock and his cum, his hips snapping mercilessly as Sam moaned in pleasure.
Sam paused a moment then held Gene’s head up by grabbing his long blond hair, holding him back so Sam could watch the drool and cum dripping down his chin. Gene did not move his hands, did not open his eyes, and a vicious resolve hit Sam as he saw Gene gulping, swallowing him, nearly crying, weak and vulnerable. He stood up and let go of Gene, and walked away, stripping.
“You can open your eyes. Sit in the chair. Stay there.” Sam spoke harshly, almost punishingly. Gene pulled himself into the chair and looked at Sam, his face blank and wet, unwilling to clean himself off without permission. Sam smiled and when he was naked, laid down in the bed Gene made for them and went to sleep under Gene’s lonely gaze.
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