2300 and a few more words.Notes/Summary:
I wanted to warm up before the ficathon. This was inspired by the recent discussions of Sam almost always bottoming in fanon. It’s PWP. "No. That’s part of it sure, but…” Sam stops. His face clears and he rubs his full lower lip with his thumb. It’s as if he’s finally figured out Pythagoras’s theorem after three solid years of being confused. “Do you, perhaps, need a crash course in male anatomy?"
Simply put, Gene’s fucking his DI. It’s bloody brilliant. Sam’s on his back, his legs high (“this is how we’re doing it,” Sam had said – there’d been no complaints), and Gene’s drawing his cock out and then in again. He’s ramming into Sam, the slick hot heat pushing him to his limits. Sam’s tighter than a cork up a duck’s arse (this is not personal experience, it’s a metaphor.) He’s hotter than a red-hot poker up a duck’s arse (still metaphor.) He’s other metaphors, other analogies, but Gene’s too busy concentrating on pushing, shoving, ploughing, to come up with any more.
For the single second of cognitive function Gene’s got, he’s thinking about how much Sam’s enjoying being fucked by his Guv. Sam’s making low keening sounds in the back of his throat. His eyes are crinkled and bright, staring up into Gene’s own. The hard cock hitting into Gene’s body is leaking, without even being worked, just from everything else going on. And Sam’s pushing back onto Gene as he pulls out and pistons home again. He’s loving it, gagging for it, positively obscene in his enjoyment.
Why? Gene can understand handjobs and blowjobs and their appeal. That’s direct. Straight to the cock and balls, as the story goes. He gets why birds get off on it, they’ve a bundle of nerves down there, and even then, they don’t always, just lie back and think of Manchester. So why’s Sam looking like he’s having the time of his life, full of, for wont of another word, glee?
Gene’s balls are drawing tight and there’s no other thought in his head, just sensation in his body, and he’s letting it all out with a growl that shakes the headboard – or maybe that’s Sam, fisting his cock and spilling up over his torso. And now they’re damp, sweat and stuff all over them. Sam doesn’t seem to mind, he’s all grins and that even seems like a giggle as he brushes his hand through his too short hair. Gene’s cock’s going limp in Sam’s hole and he pulls out for the final time and collapses next to the bloke who’s thin and thick all at once.
Breathing is it for a while, but now he’s got more blood in his brain, he’s still thinking about Sam’s obvious overwhelming joy at being pounded to last Saturday. Sam’s being his usual anal self (pun fully intended), wiping up at them with some cloth, but he’s also stretching his body back, cat-like, with a deep, satisfied noise that’d make Gene rock hard if he wasn’t already spent. He can’t help but want to know what it is that fairies and pseudo-fairies like Sam get from taking it up the arse.
Gene might be partaking in some nancy-boy fruit-picking, but he’s still a copper, so he asks, “Good, was it?”
Sam makes another contented sound as he answers. “Bloody brilliant.”
“What do you mean, why? Because you were going twenty-one-to-the-dozen. Because you’re hard and you’re hot and it’s so good looking into your eyes and knowing I’m making you wanna beg for release. Because you get the funniest expression on your face when you’re coming, mouth wide and eyes rolled back in your head. That’s why. Not like you to question your sexual prowess.”
“So it’s all psychological?”
“No. That’s part of it sure, but…” Sam stops. His face clears and he rubs his full lower lip with his thumb. It’s as if he’s finally figured out Pythagoras’s theorem after three solid years of being confused. “Do you, perhaps, need a crash course in male anatomy?”
“No, see this?” Gene asks, grasping hold of Sam’s flaccid cock. “This is where you keep your brain.” He frowns and lights a cigarette, ashtray on his thigh as he sits up and doesn’t look at Sam. Bloody like him, still managing superiority, despite having just had Gene’s truncheon up his jacksy.
“You’ve heard of the prostate, yeah?”
“To be in submission, extreme weakness or incapacitation.”
Sam takes on the tone of a lecturer. “No, that’s prostrate. The prostate’s a gland in the male reproductive system.”
“Funnily enough, I did actually pass basic biology,” Gene says bitingly. “I know what the sodding prostate is. God, you really do think I’m an oaf, don’t ya?”
“Well, you make it so easy,” Sam says, only a little taken aback. He resumes his lesson. “The reason I love it so much is that you somehow, despite apparently having had no idea, manage to hit it, the prostate, nearly every time you – you know.”
“Slam into you like a horde of elephants jumped up on peanuts.”
“Yeah. And it’s… nice.”
“If that’s you when nice things happen to you, I’d hate to see you when you win at the races.”
“Okay, it’s fucking marvellous. Happy?” Sam looks at the ashtray, tuts, seems to want to take it from Gene, then changes his mind. He gives Gene the searching gaze he uses in interrogation. “Wanna give it a go?”
Gene would scoot to the left if there was any room, but the side table’s in the way. “Oi. I never said that. I just wanted to know why you liked it, is all.”
“I thought you were all about first hand experience?”
“Maybe in some things, but not all.” Gene looks at Sam’s expression, cheeky smile and devious eyes. He says the next words to convince himself more than anything. “I’m the fudge-packer, not the fudge-wrapper.”
Gene narrows his eyes, looking at Sam’s prick. Even soft, it’s a certain size – long and thick. Curiosity nags at his insides. He can’t say he’s ever thought about having anything up there before. Then again, he never thought he’d want to stick it in another bloke either, but Sam’s the devil incarnate and sorted that out with a quick flick of his delicate wrist.
“I’ll be gentle,” Sam says, laughter in his voice.
“You’ve just shot your load halfway to Blackpool,” Gene reminds him.
“You know, there’s something about repression. I spend so much of my time bottled up that when the top comes off it fizzes all over the place. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready and raring to go another round with the Gene Genie.”
Gene licks his lower teeth, putting the ashtray on the floor and stubbing the cigarette butt into it. “You’re enjoying this, you twonk.”
Sam changes attitude. “No. I don’t wanna pressure you into anything you don’t wanna do.”
“Wish you’d felt like that when you first sucked my cock whilst on all fours under my desk, but no, you had to bring me to your level.”
“It’s good up here. Really it is.”
Gene’s about to tell him to shove it when the flicker of Sam’s ecstatic face as they fuck rushes through him and he changes his mind - just like that - decides he’ll do something new. After all, he’s all about compromise, taking new things as they come, even if he pretends he’s not.
He sniffs, levels Sam with a stare and throws his gauntlet down (the driving gloves are still in the Cortina.) “Right then, what do we do? How do we do it?”
“What would you prefer – front to back, back to front?” Sam asks, teasing. “Or front to front? Actually, don’t think you’re as flexible as me, you’ll have to flip over.”
Gene gets onto hands and knees and feels a fool, an undeniably turned on, slightly scared fool, who’s really too old for any of this, but too damn stubborn to admit it. Sam drags his hand over Gene’s skin and makes soft, breathy sounds, like he’s soothing an excitable horse. His fingers trail feather light over his back, sides and arse and Gene fairly moans with anticipation.
“We haven’t even started yet, and you’re already dying for it. I knew you wanted this,” Sam murmurs, cocky pillock. There’s a strange snapping sound and then cool liquid oozing down Gene’s crack.
“What’s that?” Gene asks, holding back panic. He tries to swivel his head to see, but Sam doesn’t let him. He pushes his head back into position with his free hand.
“You’ve seen me preparing myself, I have to do the same for you. Makes it easier. It’ll hurt less.”
“Hurt less? You mean it’s still gonna hurt?”
“Yeah, but it’s worth it, believe me.”
Sam pulls Gene’s cheeks apart. He brushes his fingertips over Gene’s hole, moving in circles, skimming and dipping in gently and then coming out again. It’s bloody strange, but compelling.
“Take a deep breath and when I put my finger in, let it out.”
Of all the things Gene has thought he’ll do before he dies, this is not one of them. He sucks in air and exhales as Sam’s finger presses into him, up to the second knuckle. His instinct is to push at it, clench down, but for once he goes against his instincts and is rewarded by the finger moving against some nerves that like the attention. He grunts, pushing his head closer to the bed, his hair getting in his face.
“You know, I could just do this.” Sam doesn’t sound amused anymore. He sounds horny as fuck. He sounds quiet and low and like melted butter.
“Come this far,” Gene replies brusquely. “Might as well go the whole hog.”
Sam moves more and then adds a second finger. It stings, but there’re other sensations that balance it out. He moves in and out, fucking Gene with only his fingers, making him want more, want it to go deeper, fuller. Gene’s not wondering or pondering if this makes him even more of a pansy than when he sucks Sam’s cock. There’s just Sam’s fingers in his arse, wet and welcome.
“Okay, I think you’re ready,” Sam says after a while, syrupy and deep.
Gene nods and waits. He hears the rustle of material and senses Sam getting into position. And then there’s Sam’s cock, thick and hard, pressing against his hole. Sam eases in, going past the first ring of muscle with a pop. It does hurt, quite a bit, but then Sam’s moving forward more quickly and Gene finds himself pushing back. Makes sense, then, all of Sam’s reactions when he’s under him. Finally close to understandable.
Sam pulls out again, almost to the tip, then rams back in, not as hard as Gene was doing to him earlier, but certainly not as gently as he said he’d go. Not that Gene cares right this moment, forehead now resting on the sheet and shoulders glistening with sweat. Sam pushes and pulls, slowing down, speeding up, trying to find the perfect rhythm. In, out, in, out, until Gene’s surprised by the noises escaping his throat, almost like praying. Harder
, he thinks, faster
. But that’s all he thinks, because Sam’s pounding into him like a hammer on an anvil and it’s bloody brilliant again. His hands are roaming all over Gene’s back and he’s kissing his spine, muttering words like, “yeah”, “so hot” and “stallion.” Gene’s thighs are straining as he arches back and his breath’s coming out in short bursts.
Sam angles to the left and that’s it, right there, like bonfire night, sparks of light and twirling, faster and faster. Sam grips hold of Gene’s cock and it’s gone from brilliant to amazing, to nothing like Gene’s ever experienced before. Pressure builds within him, his cock aching, his balls heavy and his arse getting treated to Sam drawing in and out again like a man possessed, making those sounds he makes with more guttural growl than usual. Hormones and senses combine to give Gene the best fuck he’s ever had and this time he’s the one who’s been fucked, and he’s glad about it, so glad about it, as he comes all over the sheets.
Sam rams in a few more times, dragging Gene up until he’s closer to upright, fingers clawing at his hips. He keeps rocking in and out until he comes too, shouting words Gene can’t comprehend. And that, that is weird, admittedly, but not terrible. Sam moves away completely, Gene crawling onto his side, suddenly only too aware of why Sam looks like he’s three-quarters to heaven during their off duty (and occasionally on duty) liaisons.
“Holy fuck,” Sam says, out of breath. He flops down, his arm over Gene’s chest.
“Yeah,” Gene replies, similarly winded.
A few moments pass as they collect themselves. Sam nudges into Gene's side, slightly too warm, but slightly too comfortable for Gene to tell him to piss off.
“You liked it?”
“You always need to ask stupid questions, Sammy-boy? D’you think I’d have let it go on if I didn’t like it? Now I know why you’ve always got the grin on your face.”
Sam’s smile is warm. “I’m glad. There was every chance you would’ve hated that.”
“It doesn’t work for everyone. For some, anal penetration is merely uncomfortable as opposed to pleasurable.”
“You decide to tell me this now?”
“Well, there was every chance you would’ve loved it. I was right, wasn’t I?”
Gene would punch him, but he’s too knackered and Sam’s likely to punch back, so he lets his head loll back against the pillow instead and looks at Sam, forehead gleaming, brown eyes full of humour.
“This time you were right,” Gene concedes, too zonked out to put up his normal resistance. “But next time it’s my turn.”
He yawns and closes his eyes, but Sam pokes him in the stomach. “We need to shower.”
“We’ll be stuck together when we wake up otherwise.”
“Then make do.”
“I’ll let you soap me up.”
Gene bats his hand off. “Legendary prowess does not mean unlimited bleeding supply, Tyler.”
“I’ll wear the apron.”
Gene drags himself out of the motel bed, catches Sam around the middle and bruises his lips with a kiss. He walks them to the bathroom and doesn’t look in the mirror as they pass it, because he knows he’ll see a changed man. He knows he’ll be pleased. And he’s had plenty of pleasure on his day off already.