Five Ways
to
Kiss Sam Tyler
by Clonesgirl
Gene Hunt likes to kiss Sam Tyler.
The technical stuff:
RATING: PG-13 Blue Cortina
PAIRING: Gene/Sam
WORD COUNT: 1,040
WARNINGS: Slashiness and schmaltz but I hope not enough to rot your teeth
SPOILERS: None
ARCHIVE: The Motley Collection
DISCLAIMER: Characters borrowed strictly for fun, not profit. No offence intended.
BETA: No beta. Apologies. If you spot any goofs please let me know.
FEEDBACK: Would be lovely, not to mention encourage me to scribble some more fic.
NOTE: If you wish to link to this story it would be much appreciated if you could let the
author know.
* * *
Gene Hunt sat morosely at his desk, occasionally flicking a dart at the board. City had lost on the weekend and he'd lost a considerable wager as a result. There didn't seem to be any juicy murders to solve at the moment so his irritating DI had started going over old, unsolved cases. Fat lot of good that would do, he thought.
Tyler, he mused, glancing through the blinds to see him in conversation with Chris and Vince. Trouble was that now he found himself gazing at Sam's lips - such an expressive mouth - and briefly wondering like a romantic fool if a kiss really was just a kiss+ any more like the old song said. Had been with his missus. Lucky to get a peck on the cheek from that one. These days one of the things he thoroughly enjoyed about life was kissing Sam. Sam didn't smoke and, to Gene, he always tasted good. Besides, let's face it, sometimes it was just downright necessary. That was the kind of kiss that came after an endless argument over which wretched tosser offed some bloke who probably deserved it anyway. Take last week when they'd had an exchange of views - as Sam liked to call it - over City versus United with Sam extolling the virtues of United and its players and someone named Beckham who Gene was sure he'd never heard of. Well a bloke could only take so much and, after all, the honour of City and its far superior team was at stake. So Gene had grabbed him, banged him up against the nearest hard surface and, where once upon a time he would have used a bunch of fives to good advantage, put his DI's great flapping gob to far better use by kissing him until he was breathless while surreptitiously making good use of his hand which, in turn, got the sexy little gobshite so distracted he lost his train of thought. Worked a charm every time.
Another kind of kiss that Gene Hunt occasionally made use of was the risky kind. The stolen kisses. The kind of kissing that he knew damn well should never be indulged in at all. The quick peck on the cheek in his office, or Lost and Found, or the lift, or the bog. He told himself that it shouldn't happen, that they shouldn't do it. He worried that one day somebody would spot them and there'd be hell to pay, but he did it anyway. They did it anyway - but never on the lips though. That would be foolhardy on account of snogging the sexy little sod could lead to more - far more - and usually did when they were alone. So it was a quick peck on the cheek and a look that promised "more later" - and he knew there would be - and then it was back to work and Tyler banging on about procedures and the importance of paperwork 'til beer o'clock when he could drag him off to the pub and pour a beer down him, and later home for some real snogging.
Still another kind of kiss was the dangerous kind. The kind that they sometimes indulged in at night when they were on stakeouts. The kind that could lead to more. Long, boring hours spent sitting in the car trying to concentrate and stay awake and one look and an affectionate touch was all it took. Take three nights ago. Two o'clock in the morning and the car parked in the darkest part of a narrow street. The only sound was the sound of rain hitting the roof as they watched the road ahead and the nearby premises for any activity, but there was none. The car cocooned them in a private world as they leaned across until their lips met and Gene Hunt could indulge in the singular pleasure of kissing Sam Tyler. And it was wonderful. And one thing led to another. And they indulged themselves with hands and hungry mouths while they took turns to watch the road. And afterwards they took a slug from Gene's flask and Sam reached for his hand and brought it to his mouth and the feel of the soft lips on his palm made him wish that they were at home so they could indulge themselves some more and he could fall asleep with Sam's warmth beside him. Of course that's mostly because he loves Sam.
Then there was the lazy kind of kiss. The affectionate kind they indulged in at night when they were curled up on the couch watching TV. The just-because-they-could type of kiss when they'd spent the last eight or nine hours being careful not to touch lest they betray themselves in front of others. So sometimes he would want to kiss more than most people would just for the sake of it; or just because a bullet whizzed past his head last week when they arrested the Allen brothers; just because they were alone at last and there was no one to tell them that they shouldn't do that; because he loves to kiss Sam and, really, when you come right down to it, just because he can.
Then there were the kisses that made him lose his mind. The kind that gripped him and blinded him to all around him. The kind where his tongue was down Sam's throat in an effort to possess every single inch of him and all he wanted was to bury himself in the wonderful, wet warmth, a foretaste of what he's about to do with his cock. As Sam moaned the sound vibrated through both of them and he would feel him pressed up against him and glory in his arousal as Sam sucked greedily on his tongue before insinuating his own. Those were the kind of kisses where his eyes closed in rapture and he knew deep down that Sam was all he'd ever need and his only reality.
No, Gene Hunt decided. Contrary to what the old song proclaimed, a kiss was never just a kiss - not with Sam Tyler anyway.
* * *
+ Lyrics from "As Time Goes By" which was featured in Casablanca (1942).
