1. Heavy Breathing

Gene had seen gay porn before. It was hard to avoid it, really, in a job where you dealt with the underbelly of society every day and night. He saw the magazines and amateur photos and confiscated a number of 8mm reels, and he saw the boys on Canal St. with their tight trousers advertising their wares and he had raided clubs where he found men going at each other like jackhammers in the bathroom or the back rooms. In fact there was simply nothing he had not seen before. Once when he was still a plod he even busted a man fucking the gear shift of his car near a park one night. After that it took Gene over a week to be able to drive without getting an erection, because it turned him on – all of it.

He hid his perversion well. In fact it was not even hiding, it was all out repression. His only experience down that road happened when he was fifteen and play wrestling in an alley with his friend Johnny who groped him. The grope turned into copping a feel which turned into heavy petting and kissing and mind blowing mutual hand jobs, their trousers around their knees as they huddled behind a bunch of construction debris and groaned out their orgasms like the inexperienced boys they were. They separated without talking, both knowing they had tripped over a dangerous line, and on the way home, still buzzing from his orgasm and the feel of a dick not-his-own in his hand, Gene looked around and saw the world closing its doors on him. He was fifteen, so he knew what he did was wrong and he knew that men who did that were thought of as queers and sick and perverted. Doing something like that cut him off from the life around him, the women hanging out laundry to dry and the children playing football and the cop on the corner who knew his name. What he did in that alley had the power to cast him out of that world, and his dreams of becoming a police officer would be gone forever.

He never talked to Johnny again. He never went down that road, not even when he arrested rent boys so handsome and hard bodied it made him choke on lust and dream of raping them in the cells. He never touched, except to hit or drag. He learned not to look. Over the years, he simply became immune.

Or so he thought.

He was sitting in the Lost and Found watching a gay porno with Sam Tyler, and he was suddenly uncomfortable, and out of ideas, because for all that he had seen the pictures and caught men at it and locked up the films, he had never heard gay sex. Too late, far far far too late, Gene realized that one reason he could be so cavalier about photos or magazines or even just the idea of it was because all of that was silent. No noise. Not like the groaning and huffing and low-octave ‘fuck me’ sounds that were emitted out of the cheap projector next to him and sent straight into his cock. Listening was a turn on, a hard core primal unbeatable turn on and Gene’s imagination was back in an alley with a cock in his hand, listening oh-god-yes listening to Johnny come, growling Gene’s name in his ear.

Gene refused to shift in his chair, to give even a hint that he was bothered. He reached over to turn off the sound but Sam stopped him.

“We might hear something.”

Gene thought that they were already hearing too damn much, but they were not watching this for a good time, despite the depraved ideas his dick was encouraging at the moment. The movie showcased the now-deceased Tony Johnson as a truly gorgeous, flexible, and loud bottom. At this point in time, Gene preferred to think of him on the slab in the morgue, actually. Safer that way…but on the whole, an ineffective tactic.

Friends of the murdered boy – who were as much Tony’s friends as the prozzie who offered Gene a blow job to get out of being arrested last week was his missus – tried to finger one of the filmmakers as the murderer, but conveniently those filmmakers were known as “Joe”, “Frank”, and “Todd” and that was it. The phone number one of the boys had for this group of high minded cinematic artistes was disconnected. So that left the film, and watching the film, trying to figure out where in the hell said film was shot. It was the most pathetic of leads to pursue, but it was pretty much all they had.

After Gene announced that they had to watch the movie, every man in CID did not come back from lunch, except of course Sam and their resident not-man, Cartwright. She actually seemed enthusiastic about watching it, which made Gene even more uncomfortable, so he told her it was too wicked even for a sick minded filthy girl like her and sent her off to something, anything, else.

Which left him in the dark with a gay porno that sounded downright, well, pornographic and Sam Tyler and Gene’s very own hard-on from Hell.

Not that Sam was really any part of that equation, because he most certainly was not. Sam was in no way an object of desire for Gene, because since the skinny, tight-arsed ponce waltzed through the doors of CID sounding like a lunatic, Gene had carefully and with great deliberation excised every dirty thought he ever had about Sam from his consciousness. Sam was not extraordinarily pretty, but he was handsome and built like a football player in his prime and he had intense dark eyes that could melt candles just by looking at them, which was everything Gene refused to wank off to about Sam Tyler, at all, ever. His degenerate subconscious imagination did not need the help, as it already was responsible for more wet dreams than Gene had suffered since he was a twelve.

So he sat in the dark, with a loud and wet-sounding porno and Sam Tyler, whom Gene did NOT want, and a hard on which he wanted even less.

He glanced over and Sam looked utterly cool and collected, the professional to the core, and not the least bit turned on, bothered, or much interested in the hard, slapping bodies projected against the fold-up screen. He watched, took a note or two, watched again, squinted, took down another note, and Gene tore his gaze away to pretend like he was looking at the bed sheets or the lamp or anything but that man’s hard, very thick cock pounding loudly into the perfect arse of a boy who had the breath control of deep sea diver.

“This is getting me hard,” Sam laughed, his voice amused and utterly at ease, not the least discomfited about admitting his erection. Gene narrowed his eyes and with every ounce of willpower his mother ever gave him (usually with a belt), stared straight at the screen and focused on the little hand of the alarm clock near the lamp on the night stand next to the bed where two men were fucking like rabbits.

“Glad Annie’s not here, Guv, watching us get boners to this.” Sam laughed again.

“Speak for yerself!” Gene snapped, knowing he sounded defensive but unable to stop himself.

“Riiiight. Anyway, it’s obviously a hotel room, and…” Sam pattered on as if he had just discussed the state of their cocks. Meanwhile the movie took up residence in Gene’s ears, eyes, and dick and was progressing quickly to its climax…and the irony of that description was not lost on him. His cock throbbed in its own desperation for friction and Gene willed his muscles to steel to keep from moving anything.

“Gene?”

“Yeah, yeah boy do it, come for me, yeahhhhhh…”

“What?”

“God oooooh oh oh oh daddy oh god…I’mmmm…oh oh yeah I’m….oh fuck….”

“You just seemed distracted. I was talking about…”

“Oh OH FUCK yeah I’m…yeah I’m comin’ in yer tight arse oh oh oh fuck fuck fuck fuck…”

“Do it! Do it! Oh yeah fuck me soooooOH GOD YES YES…”

Gene knew it was happening right before it started, which was far too late. He curled his fist, slammed it into his thigh and leaned over, grabbing the edge of the chair in a death grip with his other hand and closing his eyes, coming hard and trying desperately not to jerk his hips as the sounds of the cum shot played out next to him. He opened his eyes and stared at his knees, trying to breathe again as the film ran out and began flipping on it’s reel.

He finally took a deep breath and looked straight in front of him. There was no way Sam did not know what just happened, no way Gene could play that off to a stomach cramp or charley horse, no way if his life depended on it that Gene could make that look like anything other than what it was: getting off to a gay porno.

He heard Sam cough next to him and shift in his chair. “I don’t think there was much to go on, there. No way to know which hotel they were at. We’ll just…pack this up as evidence. No need to sit through it again.” Sam stood up and started taking the film off the projector. Gene did not say anything, just nodded without looking at Sam and walked out. He needed to clean up, and check for stains, of which there were fortunately none, thank God and all the saints for thick cotton Y-fronts. As he came out of the bogs Ray cornered him and asked if they found anything, and sometimes that man had the best timing in the world. Gene lit into him about skipping out and leaving Gene alone to watch that ‘filthy, cock-sucking perversion’ with ‘our own flouncey Gladys’ and that Ray had better come up with a solid lead before dawn or expect to spend the rest of his life counting pencils. His bad mood was so evident that most everyone in CID refused to even look his way, and even Sam steered clear. Gene thanked small miracles. When beer-o’clock came round Gene barreled out of the place without a word and went home. His empty home, as his wife had left him a while back, and while Gene entertained a few tarts in the time since, it was still his empty home, ands for the first time in a long time, Gene was very glad about that.

---

One hour and one very cold shower later, Gene was in his kitchen, wearing his pajamas and pouring a triple while he waited for his Hoops to warm up on the stove. Someone knocked on the door and Gene rolled his eyes, knowing exactly who would be stupid enough to try and search him out tonight.

“Hey.” Sam stood on the stoop, his hands in his jacket, trying not to look suspicious and failing. Gene did not say anything, just left the door open as he padded back to the kitchen. Sam followed, not taking off his jacket. He sat down at the table and tapped it with his fingers. “So.”

“Why are you pestering me?” Gene asked, hoping his annoyance would chase off any misplaced concerns or idiotic notions of ‘talking about it’ that his DI was entertaining.

“You know why.”

“Pretend I don’t.”

“Gene, what happened – that has nothing to do with who you are, it’s just a natural reaction. That movie was very…intense and it was just a natural reaction. I told you earlier that I had a hard on and…”

“And I don’t need to know this about my DI! I don’t have any concern about when or where or who your todger gets up. And we are NOT bonding over this!” Gene slammed his drink and poured another.

“Okay, okay. I’m just here because I was worried and…”

“And because you are a touchy-feely gay boy ponce from Hyde. I’m sure you all circle jerk every week there, by department.”

That ruffled his feathers, and Sam squirmed in his chair, unhappy. “Don’ have to go insulting me, Guv, I was just trying to help.”

“I don’t need your bloody help!” Gene slammed his second drink and thankfully began to feel it. A few more of those, and this day would be over. He poured another. He thought for a moment, then poured a second glass and set it on the table in front of Sam. “You want to help, then help me kill this bottle.” Gene put the bottle on the table between them and went to stir his Hoops.

He heard Sam pick up the drink and then pour another and by the time Gene sat down with his Hoops on toast Sam was halfway through his third.

“Slow down, you ain’t me.” Gene said, waving his fork at Sam as he chewed.

Sam glared at him and then slammed the rest of it. Gene rolled his eyes.

They ended up in the living room, Sam on the sofa as Gene laid back in his lounger, enjoying the company but not the reason for it. Sam’s jacket was off, his shirt open a few buttons, and Gene resolved never too look at him ever again, ever. At least not that night. Certainly not for the next hour. He closed his eyes just to make sure.

“So…”

“Oi, I’m going to regret this.”

“Just wanted to ask…”

“No, YOU are going to regret this.”

“What got you off?”

“Tyler, I’m going to lay here and close my eyes and click my heels and when I wake up you’ll be gone.”

“You weren’t even looking at the screen.”

“Click click.” Gene tapped his feet together.

Sam snorted. “Never took you as a Friend of Dorothy.”

Gene’s head snapped up. “I’m not, and if…”

“Whoa, calm down, just joking.” Sam waved his hand, clearly frustrated with the conversation, clearly thinking that Gene should just admit that he was a poofter and throw his life away. Clearly not thinking at all.

“What occurred this afternoon is not a topic for discussion. Ever, for any reason. Got that?”

“Sure. Yeah, got it.” Sam sighed and took another drink. “Just thinkin’…”

“Damnit, Tyler, you always got to push.” Gene grimaced, and got up. He walked into the kitchen just to get away, not that he was running from Tyler. No. He just needed…he looked around the kitchen and spotted the faucet. A glass of water, that’s what he needed. He stood at the sink pouring water into a glass, and heard Sam walk in behind him.

“What was so different? Today? You’ve sat next to me for long stretches without even a hard on, and I know you’ve seen gay porn before…so was it both? Or was it just something about that movie? You ever watched a gay porno before?”

Gene just nodded, because he had, actually, seen gay pornos before. Not a lie, no harm in admitting what any man who had worked in CID for more than a few years had to confess whether they liked it or not.

“So, what then? What…sound? Was it the sound? You came during the cum shot…” Sam’s voice wandered off thoughtfully, the same way it did when they worked a case and Sam was reading from a file and getting an idea at the same time. The same way it did when he was detecting and Gene did not need his DI investigating him or this subject.

Gene rubbed his face, but kept his eyes closed. “Jesus, Sam, drop it.”

“Just wondered if it was the film or…me.”

Gene paused and closed his eyes, wondering just how insane Sam was to ask something like that. “Neither. It was neither. Can we talk about football?”

“Or both?”

“Sam, this is dangerous territory. You need to back off. I don’t know what you are trying to do, but you need to back the fuck off.” Gene slammed his hand down on the counter, trying to make his point without actually looking at Sam.

“No.”

Before Gene could turn around and slap some sense into Sam, he felt him at his back, his arms locking around him, pulling their bodies together. He felt Sam’s erection through their clothes, pushing into his upper thigh. The height difference between them was not extreme but Sam was long waisted where Gene was long legged, so Sam shoved one leg in between Gene’s and used his knees to lock the trapped leg next to him. He ground into Gene’s flesh and tightened the grip he had around Gene’s torso and moaned, a small keening sound that woke up all of Gene’s nerves and destroyed any thoughts of forcing Sam off of him. He did not want to think about where this going – it was wrong, and dangerous – but Gene could not stop now no matter how much his common sense was screaming at him. Very, very few times in his life could he count where he lost control of himself, and this was lining up to be top on the list.

Sam kissed the back of his neck and Gene grabbed blindly for the counter in front of him to keep from falling as nerves snapped down the length of his body like rapid gunfire. “Sam…bad…this is…bad…” Gene growled, hoping, praying…he was not sure what for, anymore. Unbidden, the images from the cheap, loud porno sprang to mind and his erection was fully brought to life.

“No, this is good, this is very good…damn, watching you cum in your pants was the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen, you were gorgeous an’ I want to see that again…come on, Gene, I’m taking you there…I’m taking you…” Sam whispered in his ear, gasping in between phrases as he continued his soft, rhythmic thrusting against Gene’s thigh. One of his hands dropped down, slowly lowering until Sam was sliding inside of Gene’s pajama bottoms and he was holding Gene’s erection. Gene felt his body flush hot and he lowered his head, pushing backwards, maybe trying to push Sam off but he was not sure and Sam was not moving an inch. Except around Gene’s cock – there, Sam’s strong fingers stroked and teased and felt just bloody marvelous. Most women were so shy about it, treating cock like some strange external attachment, and very few in Gene’s experience understood the value of a damn good hand job. Something another man would instinctively know, and something Sam knew well…Gene cut that thought train short. He turned his head to say something but then Sam’s tongue was reaching up into his ear.

“Ohhhh god yeah, Gene, you are so hot, so fuckin’ hard…” Sam breathed heavily and Gene lost what little control he had left, groaning and thrusting his hips until Sam took the hint and began pumping him mercilessly in short, brutal strokes. “Yeah…yeah, do it, come for me, just like you did today watching that porno, watching those hardbodies fuck each other, ramming into…that…tight…hole…”

Of all the things that would surprise Gene, the most surprising was finding out that Sam talked dirty, which was the closing thought of Gene’s consciousness as his brain exploded in sensory overload. He thought he roared or groaned or something as he came and fell forward over the counter, his dick throbbing like a dying creature in Sam’s unforgiving grip. He felt Sam removing his hand, pulling at him, directing him and Gene was too blown away to fight or question it until he was on his back on the cold floor with his pants off. Sam was on his knees, frantically fighting his own trousers, undoing them and shoving them down.

“No…I don’t…” Gene tried to sound clear and authoritative although he could barely speak.

“No?” Sam grinned as he stroked his cock, nothing to be ashamed of but something that actually struck fear into Gene’s body. He started pushing back from Sam, frowning, the orgasmic haze of his mind clearing. “Gene…stop.” Sam put his hands on Gene’s thighs, and Gene looked at him. “Have you?” Sam sat on his heels, surprised as if he did not believe it. Gene refused to answer, damned either way. Sam studied him for a second, then reached out to pet Gene’s balls and Gene tried not to whine.

Sam sucked in air and growled out his next words. “We’re doing this…oh god damn, Gene…” Sam fell forward and kissed him, their first kiss and it was astounding. It was a man kissing him, hard and ruthless, tasting like a man should taste with a hint of whiskey on his tongue. Sam twisted his whole body into the kiss, pushing down into Gene’s mouth and demanding an answer. Gene wrapped his arms around Sam and pulled and only then realized that the move brought their cocks together, and this time Gene did whine, gasping into Sam’s mouth. He wanted to reach down and touch something he had not touched since he was fifteen: another man’s cock, and it was something he wanted every night if he was honest about it, but he could not do it and his hands stalled in conflict. Sam kept at the kiss, rolling his hips and grinding them together, then pulled off completely. He reached up to the counter and Gene heard glass clinking, and realized that Sam was raiding the butter dish. Gene squinted, displeased, as Sam rubbed the butter over himself with focused concentration.

“Sam…”

Sam glared at him and frowned. “Shut up.”

Gene’s jaw dropped and he considered a reply but he did not have time as Sam moved in, and Gene thought there had to be more to this than just Sam slamming into his arse but apparently not. He held his breath and grabbed Sam shoulders, his fingers curling like claws into his skin, and focused his willpower on not flinching – he could not admit even to himself how nervous he was about this.

But Sam did not slam in, he moved gently, a slicked up finger pushing at the entrance to Gene’s arse, sliding in tenderly and Sam was a fudge packer and Gene was about to get packed and it unnerved him. He never felt more like a virgin in his life, even counting when he was a virgin. He scooted backwards again, his eyes focused on Sam’s glistening, hard cock which turned him on like almost nothing else in his whole damn life but his mind was at cross purposes and simply unable to process what was happening.

Sam slapped his other hand lightly on Gene’s thigh and Gene stopped, looking up at Sam face, which was a mistake. He was possessed, heated and driven and angry and gloriously sexy. He was flushed with desire and riding on lust and he was the most beautiful man Gene had ever seen, more intoxicating than any cold photo spread or even the hot sweaty bodies of the porno they watched.

“You want this. I want this. Don’t even try to tell me you don’t.” Sam stroked his finger deeper inside of him, and Gene grimaced trying to fight off the wave of pleasure that spread out from the touch.

“Sam, I can’t…” Gene found the strength to reach down and push Sam’s hand away, his words stalling in the sensation of Sam’s finger sliding out which was both a relief and a tragedy. His body rebelled at the loss.

“Oh. Right.” Sam nodded clinically, then began stroking himself like he meant it, sitting on his heels, throwing his head back, gasping for air. He was pumping furiously, his hips jerking as if he was trying to get himself over as fast as possible, and Gene could only stare at the beauty of it, feeling his own spent cock filling up again just from watching. Sam lowered his head to look at him, his eyes dilated and dazed, and then he breathed out, moaning, looking right at him and if Gene could, he would have come again on the spot just from the sound.

“Ahhhhh…yessss, yes yes oh God yesssss…” Sam hissed and groaned as he stroked, still staring at Gene, rising up onto his knees with every stroke. “Yeah, that does it…the sound…like this…” Sam slapped his other hand against his thigh and Gene flinched, his hips bucking rebelliously in response. “Oh yeah, that’s how it’s going to be, our skin slapping together, hot and slick…unhhhh…” Sam lost his train of thought as he pleasured himself, reduced to groans and sighs and grunts, and Gene thought his brain was going to implode. He lifted one leg to draw Sam in before he realized he was doing it and in that second Sam broke off and wrapped both Gene’s legs around his waist and shuffled forward, hunched over. Then it was happening before Gene had time to back off, Sam was pushing his cock into Gene’s arse and he was huffing and groaning in pleasure and it was obscene, horrible, and magnificent.

After the first few moments it was nowhere near as painful as Gene always assumed it would be, and he stared in amazement at Sam’s face, contorted in abandonment to the moment, as Sam filled him up as nothing ever had before in his life. Sam moved forward to put his hands on the ground while his hips pushed, demanding full access to Gene. As it kept happening and Sam kept going and Gene’s body stretched to accommodate, Gene finally let go of the cast iron grip he was holding on his own lust, because now it was too late to pretend that he was doing anything but getting fucked by Sam Tyler. He reached up and started pulling at Sam’s shirts, dragging them off and exposing Sam’s gorgeous, naked flesh to Gene’s explorations and needs.

As Gene ran his hands over Sam’s shoulders, Sam turned his head to the side, took a deep breath, and pulled out. It was pure agony and bitter loss, and Gene groaned in complaint. Sam looked at him.

“Yeah, oh yeah, oh fuck yeah you are gorgeous…” Sam snarled the last word and slammed back in, and Gene curled up in shock. Sam started thrusting, then, a steady measured pace of hard core fucking pounding and he grunted with every push and Gene groaned when he pulled out and the noises they made were dirty and wet and soon Gene closed his eyes, listening to the slapping of flesh as Sam rode him, sliding in and out with machine-like precision. Then Sam twisted and scooted forward, and his angle of entry changed and he hit Gene’s prostate which Gene always knew was there but never quite appreciated until now. He began huffing and whining, Sam hammering into those nerves as he moaned and gasped.

“Sam…oh fuck, oh fuck fuck me I’m going again…damn it FUCK me..I’m…I’m…”

“Come on, come for me, do it! Oh god yes Gene do it for me, I want to see you shoot off while I’m riding you oh you damn stallion come ON…” Sam moved one hand and began fisting Gene’s cock again and Gene was undone a second time, coming on himself and slamming his hips up into Sam who took it and bowed up and began hammering like a rabbit on speed. Gene’s whole body spasmed and he just held on to Sam’s arms, his senses short circuiting and throwing switches in his brain he did not know existed as Sam roared, throwing his body on top of Gene when he came. His hips snapped and jerked, and Sam cried out into Gene’s chest, his entire body lost to his orgasm. Gene’s muscles clinched around Sam’s cock, drawing him out to the last shudder, and the strange feeling of cum inside his arse was pleasant in a bizarre, slippery, warm way.

Gene rested with his feet back on the floor and Sam in his arms, dripping sweat and still moaning a little when he moved. He pulled out of Gene and scooted up so he was hunched over him, still held in his arms, and kissed his chest.

“Please tell me that wasn’t your first time,” Sam said quietly, bringing his own arms up to wrap around Gene’s shoulders.

“No lie. Popped my cherry good, Sam, all delicate and gentle and romantic like a damn diamond bit drill.”

“Shit.”

“Not good for you?” Gene looked down at him, and Sam’s head raised up quickly.

“What? You must be jokin’.” He shook his head. “Just…I might have done things differently…”

“What, scented hand lotion instead of butter?”

“…You told me. You let me know, I jus’ didn’t believe you. Not with what happened this afternoon, and how you looked at me…” Sam looked at him. “I just needed this. After watching you come today, I had to do this.” He reached up and kissed Gene on the mouth. Sam studied him after the kiss, genuinely worried. “I jus’ hope you can live with it.”

“Live with you every day, that’s punishment enough.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Gene…”

“Sam…” Gene said quietly, running a hand over Sam’s face and mouth to shut him up. “It’s dangerous. It could ruin us. I’ve run from this for years an’ I don’t know what we’re doing. So let’s just take it slowly from here. Carefully. Can you do that?”

“If it means we advance to a mattress and off the hard kitchen floor, I’m all yours.”

“Knew that already.”

“Bastard.” Sam smiled as he sat back. He looked somewhat foolish on his knees with his pants bunched up and his hair out of whack and his glossy, spent cock hanging limp but Gene knew he did not look any more dignified himself. “One condition, though.”

Gene held his breath, wondering if the nancy ponce was waiting for words of endearment, a declaration of undying love, or – Christ, don’t even think it – rings?

“What, then? Out wit’ it.”

“I might have…lost that movie. Might have misplaced it. Might have accidentally left it in my car…you do have a projector here, yeah?”

---

Authoria: This story was ‘enabled’ by the following comment by Drayce: “I think the problem with Gene is exactly WHY there isn't much top!Sam. It isn't just that Gene is physically bigger it's also that alpha male/silverback thing. It's almost impossible to hand the ‘power’ to Sam without writing it as Gene gives it to him which isn't quite the same thing.” To my mind, aggressiveness is really the core of it (not brutality, I hasten to add). Gene has an aggressive nature so it is easy to write him "pushing Sam up against the wall and flipping him around and...etc. etc." Sam can be aggressive -- we see it in the series and I don't think he would have made DCI as young as he did without that boiling in him somewhere. So this story was my shot at aggressive!top!Sam. Brought to you today by the letter “P”!