(Or, 'How I learned to start tugging and love Myself')
Rating: Brown Cortina
Word Count: 1143 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash, originally intended for the "Unreliable Narrator" challenge.
1. Slapping Genie on the back.
A job well done. They'd finally captured the ugly bastard and he was rotting in a cell. It was time for a quick kip and a curry, followed by home. Only, he was still wired, charging on adrenaline and whisky.
His head said one thing, the rest of his body said another. Now, usually, he'd trundle off back, tell the wife he'd missed her, maybe slip her a pack of chocolates before slipping her something longer and thicker. But his wife was in Newcastle with her harpy sister.
The next course of action he could take would be to call up one of his 'informants', but it seemed an awfully big risk of contracting the clap, just for a few minutes of pleasure. Or several minutes. Or going on hour. You know what it's like.
So he rocked back in his chair, instead, pulling his zip down and his cock up. He idly stroked himself to full hardness, letting his mind wander to a big pair of round, bouncy tits. He closed his eyes and tugged with a steady, smooth rhythm, until the constant movement became perfect and he was about to come.
Sam's voice called over the partition. "Guv, you still working in there?"
Gene managed a strangled, "Sod off," before his hand was left wet and sticky.
2. Working up a foamy lather.
Ordinarily, the thought that Gene had come from the sound of another man's voice would have made him feel like kicking in a few heads, but he put it down to already being on the edge and absolutely nothing to do with the low, indecently rich tones of his young, slim and annoying DI. The young, slim and annoying DI who was currently narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion.
"You've just been reading the paper in here, hiding, haven't you? There's still work to do, you know, Gene. Your report, perhaps?"
Gene used clipped, dismissive tones. "I'm gonna say this only once - go home."
Sam crossed his arms. "You're not."
"I will be."
"But you're not."
Gene didn't dare rise and give Sam the ample evidence of what he'd walked in on, but he had the desperate urge to slam his head into the filing cabinet. He stared, instead - a cold, calculated stare that even Sam had grown to be wary of. Sam shrugged and muttered, "I guess it can wait 'til morning," and left, leaving Gene time to clean up and ship out.
He didn't clean up and ship out. Not straight away. He went for another round with the Gene Genie. He told himself he needed to alleviate the stress. He wasn't entirely lying.
3. Varnishing the banister.
Another week went by. This week held unsolved cases that made Gene's blood boil. Not even Ray had his regular high quota of collars. The one thing that they'd had any chance on had been cocked up by none other than Mr Stripey Shirt, with his head in the clouds and his arse --- no, Gene wouldn't think that next part.
He was finally at home, by himself, on his double bed, looking at the ceiling. It was late, he'd drunk too much - or not enough, he never could sort that out - he was horny. Random images were flashing through his mind, nothing concrete, nothing focussed, just - an arm, a denim clad leg, a rounded curve, a bright grin, dark brown eyes.
Gene placed his feet flat against the sheets and did something he hadn't done since National Service, teasing at his hole as he fisted his cock. His heart started thumping, his temperature rose, and he groaned to himself, in his quiet house, as the pressure ratcheted up to obscene levels and he spilled, hot and wet, all over the damn place.
4. Stretching the truth.
This was, definitely, nothing to do with Sam. He knew it, in his core. His instincts were telling him that thoughts of Sam flickering into his mind were just products of his underactive imagination unable to come up with anyone suitable because he'd been working too hard. Sometimes Gene's instincts - strong as they could be - were way off base.
The Cortina had seen a fair few quick fucks - plastic put down to preserve the upholstery - and there wasn't much else to do on stakeout. Gene threw his head back and revelled in the moment. Of course, the timing could have been better, but Gene couldn't care about that as he dragged his gloved hand from root to tip, clenching his teeth as his muscles bunched and tensed.
"Fuck, Gene," Sam said outside the passenger door window. Gene's head snapped around, his pulse racing with fear and something he wouldn't define. Sam was gazing at his cock wearing an expression that was not only shocked, but full of lust, licking his lower lip as he did so.
"Sam," Gene said, and lost it, lost everything. He didn't want it back.
5. Aiding and abetting a known felon.
He wasn't exactly sure how they'd got to this point, Sam straddled over him in the back of the car, his tongue dancing and darting with a steady beat that was driving Gene wild.
"This is such a bad idea," Sam murmured, pulling away and brushing his hand from the nape of Gene's neck through his hair. Gene nodded, but didn't speak, because if he said anything, he might be acknowledging that this was all real and that would be dangerous.
Sam unzipped and Gene found himself already responding to it. Sam started to stroke himself, his cock dark and flushed, his eyes dazed. Gene batted Sam's hand away and took charge. It was too much, too soon, but Gene didn't do things by halves. He began moving tentatively, skin on skin, fingers curving around a circumference that was considerably wider than his fantasies had lead him to believe. His own erection stood proud and nudged insistently, at which point, Sam said something Gene couldn't hear and arranged them so that their cocks were aligned.
They were together now, flesh against flesh. It felt so good, Gene thought he'd come without any other intervention, but then Sam guided his hand, up and down, and his breath caught in a low note in his chest as the pace increased and his ability to think decreased, and he came in a blissful jolt. Sam came a moment later, mouthing Gene's name.
"I've wanted to do that for the longest time," Sam said, breathlessly, kissing at the corner of Gene's lips.
Gene couldn't stop himself and figured there wasn't much point anyway. "Me too."
6-101 - weren't actually needed, because Gene now had a right hand man, and when Sam wasn't around, off on poncy conferences, Gene just called it what it was --- waiting for Sam to return.