Consequences and Resolutions, for joanne_c
Title: Consequences and Resolutions
Author: lozenger8
Recipient: joanne_c
Rating: Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1450 words.
Notes: Sam/Chris.
Summary: If you had asked Chris how he wanted to spend New Years Eve, his answer would not have been "trapped in a basement with DI Sam Tyler." Actually, DCI Hunt had asked Chris, and Chris' answer had been the somewhat guarded, but nonetheless cheerful, "down the Railway Arms."
If you had asked Chris how he wanted to spend New Years Eve, his answer would not have been "trapped in a basement with DI Sam Tyler." Actually, DCI Hunt had asked Chris, and Chris' answer had been the somewhat guarded, but nonetheless cheerful, "down the Railway Arms."
"You're in luck, Christopher," DCI Hunt had said, and really, that should have been the warning right there. "You will be spending New Years beside a bunch of bleeding bottles."
Chris was pretty sure he'd added in that alliterative stuff just to confuse him.
What had sounded like a whizbang time was actually Sam's punishment for beating the Guv at the latest darts tournament. Chris didn't know what he was being punished for. It's not like he'd spat "in your face, Hunt", as the Super from B-Division looked on and laughed. He had accidentally chatted up the Guv's wife, but in his defence, she'd dyed her hair from last time he saw her, she was there, at the tournament, which was a rarity, and her knockers were massive. Real fluffy funbags he'd've liked to have snuggled into. Every time he drank tequila at the Boss' behest, he found himself saying stupid shit like that without thinking about it first, so that bit wasn't at all his fault.
Anyway, the long and the short of it was, Christopher P. Skelton, self-confessed claustrophobe (though he didn't know how to spell it when he'd written his report from last time he'd been trapped in Toolbox Terry's boot), was stuck in a wine cellar beneath Georgie Garrison's house, doing surveillance. It was a wire-job on a drug smuggling deal. Georgie was grassing 'his mates' up (his mates actually being sworn rivals who didn't know just how much of a little scrote he was.) And ordinarily, this didn't require the cops lying in wait , but Sam had suggested the use of 'a wire', without considering the implications that a receiver would have to be nearby or that the Guv was pissed off with him. The wine cellar wasn't lead-clad, thank god, but similarly, hide nor hair of Georgie's mates had been seen or heard.
It was oddly warm and muggy in this cellar; making Chris feel more constricted and uncomfortable. And Sam obviously felt the same, because he'd lain his jacket down on a crate and was rolling up his sleeves. Chris' eyes fixated on the curve of his forearm, the way his fingers brushed against the poly-cotton blend. He snapped his mouth shut and faced the other way. The Boss was close; so close Chris had found himself breathing in time to the rise and fall of his chest. He smelled of peppermint and sweat and soap; not overpowering, just noticeable. He wouldn't let Chris talk and distract himself from these facts.
"We have to be silent, Chris," he'd whispered in remonstration, and Chris hadn't said a peep since, since he hated it when Sam looked disappointed in him. All he ever wanted was to impress the only bloke in the station who didn't always treat him as if he were a class-A div.
But he needed distraction. God, he needed anything else to think about, because he'd come to accept to himself on the quiet-like that Sam gave him a horrible case of a tingling tummy and regularly hard dick, but the thought of anyone else finding out filled him with back-breaking terror. He'd had the worst thoughts and pangs of jealousy when he'd heard about the Guv and Annie finding Sam handcuffed to his bed, stark bollock naked. He'd wondered whether Sam's dick was as big as his own, or if it curved at all, and if so, to the left or right? He'd pondered the texture, and how heavy it would feel against his tongue, and whether or not Sam was the whimpering or grunting type. He hoped he grunted. Maybe with a little breathy moan. He'd push his fingers through Chris' hair and pull.
Remembering all of these ruminations, Chris flushed. It was bad enough he had these fantasies, let alone that he had them in such close proximity to their star. Next he'd be blurting out his affections, and that never ended well. If he was landed with dead-end jobs on New Years Eve for chatting up a woman, what'd the Guv do for him chatting up a man? A superior officer, no less? He'd tie him up and chuck him the canal, with only his arm floats for cover.
He started at a hand on his thigh and turned to see Sam watching him closely. Sam's lips were parted and glistening, and his eyes were mysteriously bright in the dank, dark space. He shifted his hand closer towards Chris' crotch and the hardness rapidly developing. Chris stared with widening eyes as Sam traced the bulge of his zip.
"Er, Boss?"
"Shh. No talking, remember?" Sam murmured, twisting until he was now facing Chris, but his hand still splayed against his hard, denim enclosed cock.
Chris hadn't realised whispers could get high-pitched, but there he was, speaking with a frequency only dogs could hear in piercing clarity. "You're talking!"
"I'm allowed," Sam said with a mischievous raise of his eyebrow. He inched forward, until their noses were almost touching, his lips close enough to capture and kiss. "You've been staring at me, Chris."
"I wasn't! I was purposefully not staring at you."
"Maybe not in this moment, but you have before. I'm good at reading the signs, and they all point to you being attracted to me. Back in Hyde, many years ago, I had a boyfriend a lot like you. Friendly, funny, wickedly inventive in unassuming ways. I always had to make the first move. Is it the same here? Do you want me to move, Chris?"
No. No, Chris just wanted Sam to keep his hand there forever and ever and never go anywhere. He pushed close and kissed Sam, circling fingers around his wrist and applying subtle but insistent pressure. He kissed assuming he'd never be able to again beyond this night, licking over Sam's teeth and marvelling over the solid warmth of his tongue. He kissed until he forgot to breathe through his nose and almost suffocated, not minding in the slightest. And then he slid off the crate and settled on his haunches in front of Sam's splayed knees, balancing with his hands placed carefully, pulling Sam's legs further apart.
No human sounds echoed through the air as Chris pulled Sam's zip down and pulled his dick out from his underwear, Sam arching up so that the majority of the clothing could be pushed further down his legs. He noted that Sam's cock bended slightly to the left, was around the same size, and would undeniably feel thick in the best ways once within him. Only hushed breaths could be heard as Chris took a first, tentative swipe of his tongue along the tip of Sam's cock, one hand clutched at the base. Something like a groan came when Chris took Sam's cock into his mouth, and Sam tried to surge forward, but was stopped by Chris' physical command of digging into the flesh of his thighs that he stay perfectly still.
Chris used all of the techniques he'd dreamt about, remembering all the things he wanted most when he wanked. He fondled Sam's balls gently, alternating between sucking and licking at the very tip of his cock. He stroked with his hand and took more and more of Sam's cock into his mouth, beginning a rocking action that had Sam thrusting in and out at a tempo which suited him. Chris could hear Sam's breathing speeding up, could see his fingers clutching at the crate until his knuckles whitened. He felt immense satisfaction at this, especially when Sam started to grunt with a throaty husk that set the hairs at the back of his neck on end.
Sam came and Chris spluttered, feeling like an idiot as he spat onto the ground from the taste and unexpected nature of it, but Sam brushed his fingers through his hair and gave a warm chuckle, so Chris felt he didn't really care.
"I'm going to make sure you have a really happy new year, Chris," Sam said, syrupy and slow.
Chris couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face, but was soon arrested by the crackle of transmission over the radio and recording device set up in the corner of the cellar.
"They're here," Georgie's voice rumbled, and Chris amended his previous thoughts on the subject of punishment and torture. This was infinitely worse than anything the Guv could do. Yet, potentially, infinitely better too.
Author: lozenger8
Recipient: joanne_c
Rating: Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1450 words.
Notes: Sam/Chris.
Summary: If you had asked Chris how he wanted to spend New Years Eve, his answer would not have been "trapped in a basement with DI Sam Tyler." Actually, DCI Hunt had asked Chris, and Chris' answer had been the somewhat guarded, but nonetheless cheerful, "down the Railway Arms."
If you had asked Chris how he wanted to spend New Years Eve, his answer would not have been "trapped in a basement with DI Sam Tyler." Actually, DCI Hunt had asked Chris, and Chris' answer had been the somewhat guarded, but nonetheless cheerful, "down the Railway Arms."
"You're in luck, Christopher," DCI Hunt had said, and really, that should have been the warning right there. "You will be spending New Years beside a bunch of bleeding bottles."
Chris was pretty sure he'd added in that alliterative stuff just to confuse him.
What had sounded like a whizbang time was actually Sam's punishment for beating the Guv at the latest darts tournament. Chris didn't know what he was being punished for. It's not like he'd spat "in your face, Hunt", as the Super from B-Division looked on and laughed. He had accidentally chatted up the Guv's wife, but in his defence, she'd dyed her hair from last time he saw her, she was there, at the tournament, which was a rarity, and her knockers were massive. Real fluffy funbags he'd've liked to have snuggled into. Every time he drank tequila at the Boss' behest, he found himself saying stupid shit like that without thinking about it first, so that bit wasn't at all his fault.
Anyway, the long and the short of it was, Christopher P. Skelton, self-confessed claustrophobe (though he didn't know how to spell it when he'd written his report from last time he'd been trapped in Toolbox Terry's boot), was stuck in a wine cellar beneath Georgie Garrison's house, doing surveillance. It was a wire-job on a drug smuggling deal. Georgie was grassing 'his mates' up (his mates actually being sworn rivals who didn't know just how much of a little scrote he was.) And ordinarily, this didn't require the cops lying in wait , but Sam had suggested the use of 'a wire', without considering the implications that a receiver would have to be nearby or that the Guv was pissed off with him. The wine cellar wasn't lead-clad, thank god, but similarly, hide nor hair of Georgie's mates had been seen or heard.
It was oddly warm and muggy in this cellar; making Chris feel more constricted and uncomfortable. And Sam obviously felt the same, because he'd lain his jacket down on a crate and was rolling up his sleeves. Chris' eyes fixated on the curve of his forearm, the way his fingers brushed against the poly-cotton blend. He snapped his mouth shut and faced the other way. The Boss was close; so close Chris had found himself breathing in time to the rise and fall of his chest. He smelled of peppermint and sweat and soap; not overpowering, just noticeable. He wouldn't let Chris talk and distract himself from these facts.
"We have to be silent, Chris," he'd whispered in remonstration, and Chris hadn't said a peep since, since he hated it when Sam looked disappointed in him. All he ever wanted was to impress the only bloke in the station who didn't always treat him as if he were a class-A div.
But he needed distraction. God, he needed anything else to think about, because he'd come to accept to himself on the quiet-like that Sam gave him a horrible case of a tingling tummy and regularly hard dick, but the thought of anyone else finding out filled him with back-breaking terror. He'd had the worst thoughts and pangs of jealousy when he'd heard about the Guv and Annie finding Sam handcuffed to his bed, stark bollock naked. He'd wondered whether Sam's dick was as big as his own, or if it curved at all, and if so, to the left or right? He'd pondered the texture, and how heavy it would feel against his tongue, and whether or not Sam was the whimpering or grunting type. He hoped he grunted. Maybe with a little breathy moan. He'd push his fingers through Chris' hair and pull.
Remembering all of these ruminations, Chris flushed. It was bad enough he had these fantasies, let alone that he had them in such close proximity to their star. Next he'd be blurting out his affections, and that never ended well. If he was landed with dead-end jobs on New Years Eve for chatting up a woman, what'd the Guv do for him chatting up a man? A superior officer, no less? He'd tie him up and chuck him the canal, with only his arm floats for cover.
He started at a hand on his thigh and turned to see Sam watching him closely. Sam's lips were parted and glistening, and his eyes were mysteriously bright in the dank, dark space. He shifted his hand closer towards Chris' crotch and the hardness rapidly developing. Chris stared with widening eyes as Sam traced the bulge of his zip.
"Er, Boss?"
"Shh. No talking, remember?" Sam murmured, twisting until he was now facing Chris, but his hand still splayed against his hard, denim enclosed cock.
Chris hadn't realised whispers could get high-pitched, but there he was, speaking with a frequency only dogs could hear in piercing clarity. "You're talking!"
"I'm allowed," Sam said with a mischievous raise of his eyebrow. He inched forward, until their noses were almost touching, his lips close enough to capture and kiss. "You've been staring at me, Chris."
"I wasn't! I was purposefully not staring at you."
"Maybe not in this moment, but you have before. I'm good at reading the signs, and they all point to you being attracted to me. Back in Hyde, many years ago, I had a boyfriend a lot like you. Friendly, funny, wickedly inventive in unassuming ways. I always had to make the first move. Is it the same here? Do you want me to move, Chris?"
No. No, Chris just wanted Sam to keep his hand there forever and ever and never go anywhere. He pushed close and kissed Sam, circling fingers around his wrist and applying subtle but insistent pressure. He kissed assuming he'd never be able to again beyond this night, licking over Sam's teeth and marvelling over the solid warmth of his tongue. He kissed until he forgot to breathe through his nose and almost suffocated, not minding in the slightest. And then he slid off the crate and settled on his haunches in front of Sam's splayed knees, balancing with his hands placed carefully, pulling Sam's legs further apart.
No human sounds echoed through the air as Chris pulled Sam's zip down and pulled his dick out from his underwear, Sam arching up so that the majority of the clothing could be pushed further down his legs. He noted that Sam's cock bended slightly to the left, was around the same size, and would undeniably feel thick in the best ways once within him. Only hushed breaths could be heard as Chris took a first, tentative swipe of his tongue along the tip of Sam's cock, one hand clutched at the base. Something like a groan came when Chris took Sam's cock into his mouth, and Sam tried to surge forward, but was stopped by Chris' physical command of digging into the flesh of his thighs that he stay perfectly still.
Chris used all of the techniques he'd dreamt about, remembering all the things he wanted most when he wanked. He fondled Sam's balls gently, alternating between sucking and licking at the very tip of his cock. He stroked with his hand and took more and more of Sam's cock into his mouth, beginning a rocking action that had Sam thrusting in and out at a tempo which suited him. Chris could hear Sam's breathing speeding up, could see his fingers clutching at the crate until his knuckles whitened. He felt immense satisfaction at this, especially when Sam started to grunt with a throaty husk that set the hairs at the back of his neck on end.
Sam came and Chris spluttered, feeling like an idiot as he spat onto the ground from the taste and unexpected nature of it, but Sam brushed his fingers through his hair and gave a warm chuckle, so Chris felt he didn't really care.
"I'm going to make sure you have a really happy new year, Chris," Sam said, syrupy and slow.
Chris couldn't stop the grin spreading across his face, but was soon arrested by the crackle of transmission over the radio and recording device set up in the corner of the cellar.
"They're here," Georgie's voice rumbled, and Chris amended his previous thoughts on the subject of punishment and torture. This was infinitely worse than anything the Guv could do. Yet, potentially, infinitely better too.