Seeking Same by alyse [ - ]
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Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Romance
Warnings: None

Summary: The Sunday papers give a new dimension to Sam and Chris' relationship.

Kudos: Many thanks to my excellent beta Lou, for the eagle eyed spotting of typos.


When he was younger Sundays, to Chris, used to mean Church in the morning followed by lunch at his grandmother's, if he was lucky, and at home cooked by his mother when he wasn't. It meant dressing up in his best clothes and being on his best behaviour.

When he was older it became a day like any other. A day to study while at Annapolis, and a day to pull shifts when he was in the Navy proper. When he wasn't on duty and was on shore it became a day to go for a drive with Teresa in those heady days before their wedding and his world crashed around his ears, often to the coast and sometimes going sailing if they could manage it. After Teresa's death, in the SEALs, it was a day to hit the bars in the afternoon with his friends and comrades.

And now he was with CI5, on those rare weekends they weren't working, it meant a day spent with Sam.

It had started early on in their partnership, when it had finally dawned on Sam that Chris didn't really know anyone in London, had nowhere to go and Sam had simply extended the invitation that they spent the day doing nothing in particular. Together. And eventually the invitation had become a standing one, without it ever being said.

Sometimes they watched a match on the television. Once or twice they'd even made it to a live one, and he'd frozen on the terraces while wrestling, in vain, with the concept of the offside rule. Occasionally he spent it on his own, when Sam had been unable to escape family responsibilities and had been forced to go to his sister's for Sunday lunch. Chris had never been invited along, not, he realised, because Sam didn't want him there but because Sam seemed to consider the whole experience as an extreme form of torture and failed to see why he should inflict it on Chris. He had to suffer his sister, her 'Neanderthal' husband and their two obnoxious children. Chris didn't have to so Chris didn't suffer. And even on those days, Sam escaped as soon as he could and met him in the pub.

Mostly, however, they spent it like they were today. Chris ambled over to Sam's sometime around eleven a.m., when he finally managed to get himself out of bed. When he got there, Sam usually already had dinner cooking, always making enough for two without ever commenting on it, simply assuming that Chris would turn up some time before it was ready. His partner would already have been out and bought the Sunday papers.

That was the real tradition, the thing that, to Chris' mind, made Sundays these days actually Sundays. The 'thud factor' Sam called it. The feel of one of those huge broadsheets, or the sight of various sections spread out over the couch and floor while they leisurely perused them, fortifying themselves with ample cups of coffee before lunch and wine or beer afterwards. It was the one time that Sam didn't comment on Chris' slovenly habits and Chris cherished the moments, the quiet companionship that it gave him.

If only it could be more.

With a sigh, he quashed the thought ruthlessly with the ease of long practice, and turned his attention back to the sports pages he was reading. Not that they were real sports pages. No baseball. No basketball. And the football was soccer and not the game he'd grown up with. But sometimes there was motor racing and golf, and at least those sports he had a passing familiarity with. Soccer he was persevering with, but he'd given cricket up months ago as a lost cause.

That was becoming a tradition too. He started off with the comics and moved on to the sports pages. Sam started off with the news part and moved on to the business pages. Sometimes they read snippets that caught their attention out to each other. And then, when they'd finished they'd swap. Sometimes after lunch they'd argue over who got the magazine, but how much they argued depended on which supermodel was gracing the cover. They never read the horoscopes or the gardening section.

So it was with immense surprise today that Chris realised that Sam was reading the personal ads. Immense surprise and a sinking heart. The last thing he wanted was Sam looking in the personal ads for someone.

"Hey, Chris. Listen to this. 'Mature, experienced gentleman, well read and successful, seeks elegant lady, early thirties, for companionship, friendship and obedience.' I wonder who's supposed to be the obedient one? Her I'd guess."

He swallowed around a suddenly dry tongue. "I didn't know you read the personal ads."

"Just the alternate lifestyles ones," Sam replied easily, his eyes still focused on the page in front of him. He was relaxing on the couch while Chris spread himself over the floor, and Chris could only envy him his ease. He couldn't be expected to know, however, how close to home this whole topic of conversation was. "The others - girl seeks boy, boy seeks girl, boy seeks boy - are usually a bit dull so I don't bother." Thank god for small mercies. Chris relaxed slightly, thinking that at least in that case Sam wasn't going to read anything with too personal a slant. "But these fascinate me. Not for what they say, but for what they don't."

"What do you mean?" Chris asked, still on edge, not sure that this was a conversation that he should be getting into but unable to resist anyway.

"Well, take that one for example. Mature means he's probably in his fifties. Well read and successful is short hand for educated and well off. But it's the 'friendship, companionship and obedience' that just tickles me. I wonder if he'll get a reply."

"Mature, well read, successful and requiring obedience sounds like Malone," muttered Chris, trying to distract his partner from reading any further. Perhaps if he squicked the man, Sam would let the matter drop.

"Thank you, Chris," retorted Sam dryly. "That has just put an image in my head that has no business being there." He turned his attention back to his paper, seemingly unaware of Chris watching him out of the corner of his eye. "What about this one?" he asked. "'Married couple seek young woman for mutual enjoyment.' No doubt what they're after. Think it's for the husband or the wife?"

Sam looked at him, obviously expecting an answer, and he forced himself to respond, as lightly as he could, "Perhaps for both of them?"

"Hmm. Which begs the question of whether it's infidelity if both of them are involved."

"I'm not getting into that one."

There was a long silence and he glanced up to see Sam frowning slightly. Through suddenly nervous lips he forced out, "Something wrong?"

"Hmm?" Sam looked up, appearing startled, and then gave him a keen look. "No, not really. Just this one is a bit... odd."

"Odd how?" He really didn't want to ask the question, didn't want to put himself in that position, but his goddamned mouth wasn't following the instructions from his brain.

"Oh, just a bit..." Sam's voice trailed off uncertainly and the frown was back on his face. He was staring back down at the paper again, and then he seemed to come to a sudden decision. "It's more detailed than the others, that's all. And... well, just listen...

"'Male, 28, American, inexperienced bisexual, athletic, straight acting seeks same, tall, dark hair, green eyes, late twenties/early thirties for friendship, maybe more.'"

There was another long silence while Chris struggled to find something to say and Sam just stared down at the paper, apparently lost in thought. Finally, Chris couldn't stand the silence anymore.

"That could be describing you," he said, his tone subdued.

"I know," replied his partner quietly. "That's why it's so odd."

Sam's face gave nothing of what he was feeling away, merely appearing thoughtful. No disgust, just considering.

"I didn't think you read the 'boy seeks boy' ones," Chris forced out, trying and, as far as he was concerned failing, for light in tone.

"I wasn't," replied Sam, still thoughtfully and still not looking at him. "It was in 'Alternate lifestyles'."

"I wonder why," he ground out.

Sam shrugged. "Maybe it is an alternate lifestyle for him."

That hadn't quite been what Chris meant. It was probably just a mistake on the part of the paper in not putting it among the 'gay' ads, but what a mistake if it meant it caught Sam's eye. Regardless of the reason it was there, it was too close to the bone for him to be comfortable with it and he wondered if he should just tell Sam to drop it and that he didn't find the whole topic funny. That, however, seemed a short cut to suicide since he could hardly explain exactly why he was so upset, and even after Teresa he hadn't been that desperate to end his life. The only thing he could do now was sit and watch his partner think about it, because for the life of him he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say.

Sam was frowning again, although it seemed to be a frown of concentration rather than a suggestion that he was annoyed. Maybe he was lucky. Maybe Sam was now reading through the ads for dominatrices wanting slaves, or for swingers wanting to add to their number and had dismissed the ad out of his mind.

"You're right," Sam said abruptly. "It could describe me perfectly."

No chance of Sam letting it drop then.

"Yeah," Chris shot back, aiming for sarcasm. "Add English and anally retentive and it's a dead ringer."

Sam snorted and spared him a brief disgruntled look. "Add slob to the description of the guy placing the ad and it could be you too," he threw in thoughtlessly, and turned his attention back to the paper.

Chris froze, but his reaction appeared to go unnoticed by Sam. Or at least his partner's attention didn't waiver from the paper in front of him. "Oh?" was all Chris said, and to him the strain was clear in his voice.

Once again, Sam seemed to miss it. "Yep," he said, not looking up. He frowned again. "There's a phone number. Guess it's for a recorded message."

"Like an answering machine?" This time his voice didn't shake.

"I think so. That's what the stuff at the top of the page suggests." He stared thoughtfully at the paper for a while. "I wonder what he sounds like?" he murmured, more to himself it seemed than to Chris. Looking as though he almost wasn't aware of it, Sam started to reach for the phone.

"Sam, don't." The words were torn out of his throat and Sam's hand paused halfway there while he looked at his partner, startled. "Don't make fun of him."

Sam frowned again, this time for real. "I wasn't going to."

He gaped at his partner for a second, completely thrown by the sincerity in Sam's voice. "Then why...?"

Sam let his hand fall back into his lap, tilting his head to one side as he gave Chris a long, slow, almost considering look. "Why not?" he asked, sounding perfectly reasonable. Chris returned his look with an uncertain one of his own.

"Because this guy, whoever he is, is looking for a guy, Sam. And more than for just walks in the park."


Again, Sam made the question sound reasonable, rather than something that was turning Chris' world upside down.

"And you don't like guys."

"Says who?"

He blinked, and then gave Sam a frown of his own. "Since when?" he demanded bluntly.

Sam shrugged. "Since I was seventeen, on and off." He still seemed completely unconcerned by the admission. "I'm surprised you haven't noticed."

The unreality of the situation was starting to overwhelm Chris. "Why would I notice?"

"I haven't exactly hidden it around you, Chris. I mean, I know I'm discreet but you've met Michael."

"Your friend Michael?"

"My boyfriend Michael." That stunned him into silence and Sam gave him that shuttered, considering look again and continued, "Ex-boyfriend actually."

"You date women," he stuttered out.

"So? I happen to like women too." And so do I, Chris thought, but didn't dare say. "So did Michael," continued Sam. "So do a lot of men. That's where the 'bi' in 'bisexual' comes from."

Too much was happening too fast and he was finding it difficult to adjust to. He stared down at the floor, avoiding his partner's eyes while he struggled to absorb their conversation.

Sam reached for the cordless phone again, turning it over and over in his hands but thankfully not dialling.

"And this is too strange to pass up, Chris. Someone who wants someone exactly like me. Could be the start of something good." The Englishman hazarded a small smile that Chris couldn't find it in him to return.

"So why aren't you dialling?"

Sam's look turned intense, either at the expression on Chris' face or the dead tone in his voice. Chris couldn't tell which.

"Because," he said gently, "I have more than a sneaking suspicion that it's not me he wants."

Chris blinked at him, wondering what the hell was going on now. "What do you mean?" he ventured.

"Well, look at it this way, Chris." Sam's eyes never left his face. "The ad's too specific. If it were just an archetype he was looking for that ad would have asked for someone with blue or grey eyes. But green? It's too unusual. No, he knows someone like that, wants someone like that. He's looking for a substitute."

Did the man have to be a detective all of the time? Chris struggled not to squirm, not with Sam's eyes still watching him closely. Did he know? He must suspect, surely. It was too close to the truth for Sam not to suspect, especially given the way that Sam was now looking at him.

With a decisive move, Sam placed the phone firmly back in its cradle. At Chris' quizzical look, he gave a quiet and almost sad seeming smile. "I don't want to be a substitute, Chris. I think I deserve more than that. Besides..."

"Besides what?" The words were forced out of him.

"Besides, maybe I'd just be looking for a substitute of my own."

It felt as though they were having two different conversations, or maybe just one that neither of them was willing to admit to. Well, one Chris wasn't willing to admit to. After Sam's revelations so far he wasn't quite sure just what his partner was willing to admit to.

"Someone American, 28 and straight acting?" he asked past dry lips.

Sam chuckled, his attention still fixed on Chris' face and his eyes still serious and intent. There was no tension in his face, just a quiet watchfulness that made Chris intensely nervous. "Maybe," he said. And then he leant back in his seat, apparently at ease although his eyes still held Chris'. "It's not something I normally do. Answer personal ads. But I don't know. This guy just seemed..."


He couldn't let go of the conversation. Couldn't change the subject, even if every fibre of his being was screaming at him that this was a bad idea, that he was letting too much show, giving too much away.

"Seemed lonely, Chris." He was captured, trapped and there was no escape. "I think you know that feeling. I know I do."


"Do you?" The question was a caress and he almost leant into it as he would any gentle touch.

"Yes..." The word was a long, drawn-out sigh.

"And how much worse must it be, wanting something you can't have? Something so close that you can almost reach out and touch it and yet daren't. That must be worse, so much worse."

Layers upon layers, and he was forcibly struck again by the feeling that he was missing all of the nuances. Mainly because he wouldn't let himself believe that the nuances he was picking up could really be there. He couldn't let himself believe it because if he were wrong it would be devastating. Better to live in hope that was never realised than to have that hope crushed forever.

Sam, however, wouldn't let it go. Pinning him, helpless, with that silvery gaze, he continued, his voice soft and even. Almost intimate.

"Wouldn't that be worse, Chris?"


"To see, day after day, what you can't touch and yet want to, desperately."

Was Sam talking about the guy who supposedly placed the ad, Chris or himself? He couldn't tell. He could only sit there, mesmerised, listening to that voice washing over him.

"That must be the worst thing of all. To know that you're one touch from heaven. Or from hell. And to never get the courage up to find out which..."

He blinked, realising that their faces were only inches apart now, and wondering when the hell he'd leant in closer to Curtis. Sam didn't seem to mind, leaning in even closer so that their mouths were only a hairsbreadth apart.

"Which would it be?" he breathed, the warm air caressing Chris' lips.

Heaven. It was heaven.

He drew back, unable to fully grasp, even now, that he'd kissed his partner. Found the courage to kiss his partner. And then Sam closed the gap between them again and he didn't care about anything but the feel of Sam's mouth against his.

With a low moan, he hooked his hands into Sam's shirt, pulling his partner closer and closer to him, until he was pressed up as hard against Sam's body as he could be without crawling into the other man's skin. Sam's tongue plundered his mouth and he willingly gave it access, moaning again, deep in his throat, as it danced along his own. He was consumed, lost on a tide of passion and he... just... didn't... care.

Minutes, hours, maybe even days later, Sam finally pulled back and let him catch his breath. His eyes were shining, green and silver, entrancing and his look was hungry. There was no other way to describe it. Once again that gaze transfixed him only this time he didn't want to escape.

"How inexperienced?" his partner growled.

He stared, confused, at Sam's lips, knowing somehow that his partner had asked something but he couldn't get his brain organised enough to figure out what it was. All he knew was that he wanted more. More of those kisses. More of those touches. More of Sam.

"Chris. The ad said inexperienced." Sam was repeating the question slowly, and some part of him grasped the basic concept this time. "I need to know how inexperienced. I don't want to push you..."

Eventually part of the question sank into his lust-addled brain, even if he didn't quite grasp most of it. "Very," he managed to squeeze out and then he was lunging for Sam again. "But can't push me," he muttered in between kisses. "Want everything."

Sam chuckled against his demanding mouth, his hands coming up to capture Chris' face and slow the American down. "Easy," he murmured against Chris' frantic lips. "We have all day and all night, and I've waited too long for this to want to rush it."

Sam. Waiting for him. It was both terrifying and wonderful at the same time. He didn't have time to dwell on it, though, not when Sam was sliding off the couch into his arms, fitting there as though he was made for them. Maybe he was.

"Longer," he all but growled into Sam's mouth.


"Longer. Not all day and all night. Longer." That was all the coherence he was capable of when it felt like every inch of Sam's body was pressed against his, branding him with need. "Not just today." That was important. Part of him knew that was important, even if most of him was caught up in a surge of almost uncontrollable lust.

Sam chuckled again, his fingers busy with the buttons of Chris' shirt. "I meant before we go back on duty, Chris."

He caught hold of Sam's head, holding his partner's gaze. "Not just tonight," he repeated firmly. Sam's gaze actually softened, something he was amazed to see, and his friend smiled, a sweet and sexy smile that sent a shudder through the American.

"Not just tonight," Sam confirmed softly.

"Good." And that was all the speech he was capable of for a while. Sam was doing things to him that reduced him to a quivering wreck, touching him with gentle, stroking fingers and following the line he traced with his lips. In those brief periods of lucidity, when he was capable of any thought, it struck him that Sam seemed to be exploring him, filing each gasp and moan away in that ordered brain of his. It could have been clinical, but wasn't, not when he could see the pleasure and the simple joy that touching him gave Sam, written clearly on his partner's mobile face. He let go, trusting Sam completely. Trusting that Sam wouldn't hurt him, wouldn't rush him and would catch him when he fell.

And fall he did, spiralling over into bliss, Sam's mouth coaxing him over the edge and driving a harsh cry from him as he climaxed, feeling his lover swallow everything he had to give.

His lover.

When he was once again aware of his surroundings, he rolled the word around in his mind, savouring it.

His lover.

His lover who was lying beside him on the floor, his head propped up in his hand, looking down at him with a secretive little smile.

His lover who was still clothed and, by the looks of him, still hard. He felt a brief pang of guilt at that, but Sam didn't seem to be bothered by it. He finally managed to get his vocal chords working.


Sam's smile deepened. "Hey." He reached out and traced the line of Chris' cheek and jaw with one gentle finger. "Want to move this to the bedroom?" he asked. "I can assure you that my bed is softer than this floor."

"You going to get naked in there?" he asked rather cheekily. Sam's smile turned into a grin.

"I think I could be persuaded to."

"Then count me in." He took the proffered hand and hauled himself to his feet, only to be wrapped in Sam's arms and pulled closer for another kiss, tasting himself on his partner's lips and tongue. He fought the urge to purr. He could most definitely get used to this.

He'd never ventured into Sam's bedroom before, mainly because he'd never had a reason to be in there, and that was something he was planning on remedying. In fact, he was planning on Sam and he spending a great deal of time in one bedroom or another. And, no doubt, Sam was planning along similar lines if the still hungry look in his eye was anything to go on.

He couldn't blame Sam for being hungry. So far, Chris had had all of the fun and he intended to remedy that too, starting about now...

Sam didn't even flinch as he tackled him and knocked him onto the bed, but the action did startle a laugh out of him. It was a wonderfully liberated sound, and he stared down, grinning himself, into Sam's sparkling eyes.

"Hey," he said again.

"Hey yourself," replied Sam, still grinning like the cat that got the cream.

"You planning on getting naked anytime soon?"

"You planning on helping? Or are you just going to sit on me?"

He didn't bother answering the question, but moved to strip Sam of his clothing. All day and all night, his partner had said, and longer than that, and so, with that in mind, he took his time, easing each button out of its buttonhole and exploring the expanses of skin that were revealed to his gaze.

It was silky soft underneath his fingertips, smooth apart from the inevitable scars that their line of work always brought, and his fingers tingled and twitched with a need that increased with each touch.

Sam just watched him, seemingly content to give him this opportunity to explore, and it was only fair, he reflected, given that Sam had already carried out some reconnaissance work of his own. Remembering how Sam had touched him, he mimicked that now, following his curious fingers with his mouth and listening to his lover's moans and sighs as he progressed.

Sam's trousers provided no barrier to his quest and were soon dispensed with along with his boxers - silk of course. It made him smile a little, reflecting that even though his partner's orientation may have come as a surprise to him, in some things Sam was almost predictable.

And then he stopped thinking, caught up in the act of simply admiring Sam's form which allowed no room for anything as base and clinical as analysis.

He was beautiful, pale ivory but for those small patches of skin exposed to the sunlight, all lean muscle without an ounce of fat, broad shoulders and narrow waist, built for speed and agility. A swimmer's form, built for endurance, less broad a shape than Chris' own but even more prized because of it.

He'd seen Sam in very little before, of course, when they'd showered at HQ or when they'd been swimming together, but any looks he'd taken then had been stolen and tainted by guilt. Now, however, he could look his fill with no lingering shame or fear and he indulged it to the full.

He once more reached out and touched Sam, this time his fingers tracing a path that his eyes had already mapped. Down Sam's chest, in the valley of his breastbone, and along to his lover's groin where what he was most interested in rose proudly out of its nest of dark curls.

Sam groaned out loud as he wrapped his hand around the Englishman's erection and tugged lightly, Sam's body arching off the bed in response.

"Mine," Chris growled, grinning wolfishly.

"Yes, fine. Yours," shot back his partner, sounding needy and breathless. "Now will you just get your clothes off and get over here?"

He grinned again, but didn't tease, knowing that would be unfair when Sam had removed the urgency from his own arousal and he had yet to return the favour. He briefly considered bringing Sam over the edge with his mouth, but dismissed that. Much as he looked forward to tasting his lover, there was something he wanted to do much more.

Moving back from the bed, he shrugged off his open shirt and pulled off his own trousers and underwear, discarding them in a heap on the floor before moving back to rejoin Sam.

Oh Christ. Nothing in any of his fantasies matched the feel of Sam's naked length pressed against him or Sam's arms wrapped around him while his lover plundered his mouth. Nothing else on earth could be this good.

Sam's hands moved down to his buttocks and pulled him hard against his lover. Chris gasped at the feel of their erections touching, all electricity and fire that shot through his veins, consuming him. Despite his earlier orgasm, he was hard and ready now, wanting more.

Wanting everything.

He rolled Sam underneath him, writhing in his lover's grasp as he explored Sam's mouth, imprinting the feel and taste of his lover, branded into his senses and his skin. Until he was sure that he would recognise Sam blindfolded in the dark from the sheer presence of the man. He finally established enough control to pull back and look down into Sam's stormy, sea-green eyes.

"Want you," he ground out.

"Feeling's mutual," Sam replied, his tone still needy. "This okay?"

To demonstrate 'this' he pulled Chris against him again, grinding their heated groins together and sending another sharp surge of lust and pleasure through the American. Chris sensed that it would be enough to bring him off, but he wanted everything of Sam he could get and patience had never been a particular virtue of his, in work or out of it.

"Want everything, Sam."

Sam's brow creased in a small frown as his lover tried to figure out what he meant. Not willing to wait even that long, he elaborated. "I want you to fuck me."

Sam's frown deepened. "Have you...?"

"No." His voice was harsh with need. "You're the first. I want you to be the first, and I want it now."

To do his partner credit, Sam knew better than to try and talk him out of it. He nodded briefly and then rolled them over so that Chris was on the bottom. Leaning down for another soul-stealing kiss, he scrabbled in his bedside drawer for something and retrieved a small tube. Another foray resulted in a small foil packet. That, at least, Chris was familiar with, even if the tube was something new.

Sam didn't waste any time, reaching up for a pillow and placing it under Chris' hips, canting them upwards, and gently spreading Chris' legs, kissing his knee briefly in passing. The position rather surprised Chris who, when he'd thought about this and he seemed to have been thinking about it a lot, thought that the deed would be done with him on his hands and knees. He hadn't even really been aware that there was an alternative. As he'd told Sam, he was very inexperienced, just knowing enough to know he wanted it.

Sam covered his fingers with gel from the tube, which must be lube - that much he figured out - and began to circle gentle fingers around the entrance to Chris' body. He forced himself to relax, knowing that it probably wasn't going to be comfortable this time but still wanting it desperately. He'd soon get used to it and he intended that he'd have every opportunity to do so.

Soon, Sam was easing one finger into him, still gently and it didn't hurt, just felt... strange. He didn't really have the words to describe it. No melting pleasure yet, and he wondered when that would come, if that would come being at least experienced enough to have heard of the prostate gland.

Two fingers now, and still no pain, just an odd sense of fullness. Sam was taking this slowly, obviously concerned that he would hurt Chris, and he struggled not to tell the man to hurry up. This was Sam's show, he was the one who knew what he was doing and Chris was just going to have to hand control over to him for now, trust him in this.

The sensation of fullness increased and Chris finally figured out that Sam was moving his fingers around inside him, trying to loosen him he guessed. And then Sam's fingers brushed over something that sent a liquid surge of pleasure through him, short-circuiting his brain and shooting straight to his groin. He arched his back and cried out, all of his synapses firing, overwhelmed with sheer sensation, more intense than he'd ever experienced before.

Damn trusting Sam with this and letting the man take it at his own speed. His good intentions forgotten, Chris begged almost incoherently for Sam's cock in him, wanting more, wanting everything, wanting it now.

Sam, damn him, ignored his pleas, continuing to prepare him at his own pace, occasionally letting his fingers brush over that hotspot inside that made him see stars. The fullness gave way to some discomfort and he dimly realised that Sam must have moved on to three fingers. Still Sam continued to move them in and out until eventually the discomfort eased.

"Now," he begged again and this time Sam listened to him. He pulled out his fingers and Chris grunted slightly at the loss, leaving him empty and almost bereft. Soon, however, Sam pushed his legs up to his chest and something larger and hotter than Sam's fingers was pressed against his entrance.

It hurt a little, but only a little, Sam's careful preparation paying off. Sam took his time to ease in to Chris' welcoming body, an inch at a time, waiting until Chris had relaxed and his body had adjusted to the invasion before moving in deeper. He was lucky, he realised, to have Sam as his 'first time', the other man taking such good care of him that it touched places deep inside him that even Sam's cock wasn't reaching.

Finally Sam was sheathed fully within him and he leant over Chris, placing his hands on either side of Chris' head. The movement pushed Sam against that magic place inside and he moaned as once again liquid fire coursed through his veins. He let his legs slide down to wrap around Sam's waist, and then Sam was kissing him again and moving within him in a rhythm older than time.

He gave himself over to the pure physical sensations, each thrust of Sam's cock into his body mimicked in the thrusting of Sam's tongue into his willing mouth, driving him wild, building the fire within to almost unbearable levels. He returned the kisses desperately, arching into Sam at each thrust, aiming to ensure that each movement of Sam's body touched against that place. He was vaguely aware of someone moaning and crying out, and on some level he knew it was him, but he couldn't bring himself to care about it, merely lost in the feelings Sam was generating. Lost in the feel of Sam in him. Lost in the building ecstasy.

The feeling swelled, overwhelming him with its intensity until he couldn't stand it anymore and leapt willingly over the precipice, his body shuddering and jerking as his orgasm swept through him, but this was more powerful than he'd ever known, prolonged and intensified by the feel of Sam's silken steel length in him, pressing constantly against that newly discovered pleasure centre inside him. He cried out again, unable to hold back when every nerve ending was burning with bliss, consuming him whole, going on and on until finally, when he thought that he couldn't bear it anymore, the flow ebbed leaving him drained and satiated and barely aware of his surroundings.

He retained just enough awareness to feel Sam tense against him and then his lover's body bucked, thrusting so deep within him it sent another dim tendril of pleasure through him, even in his almost somnolent state. Sam's fingers dug into his shoulders, even that dull pain transmuted into pleasure with the knowledge that Sam was emptying himself into his body, coming deep within Chris and that it was all because of him, all the pleasure that Sam was feeling, all the joy. And then Sam collapsed limply against him, breathing raggedly into his ear. He found the energy from somewhere to wrap his arms around his lover and press his lips against Sam's sweaty hair and then let himself slip into that drowsy, half-conscious state of the well loved and well fucked.

Some time later, he came to sufficiently to realise that Sam had rolled off him and was lying by his side, his arm draped possessively over Chris' chest. He liked that sensation, liked it a lot, letting it warm all of those places inside him that had been empty for so long. The look in his new lover's eyes warmed him even more.

Seeing that he was awake, Sam raised himself up onto his elbow and gave him a considering look.

"Yes?" he asked, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. He hadn't realised that he'd screamed quite so loud.

"That advert, Chris..."

He raised one eyebrow quizzically, encouraging his lover to continue.

"You won't be picking up any of those messages, will you?"

There was a note of possessiveness in Sam's voice, a hint that the answer had better be no.

"No, Sam," he responded meekly, as all the while his mind was whirring away.

"Good." There was now a distinct jealous tone in the normally reserved Englishman's voice. "You don't need a substitute when you have the real thing."

He didn't have the heart to tell Sam he hadn't placed the advert. He wondered who had. He had briefly toyed with the idea that maybe Sam had, as a way of moving things forward, but as good an actor as Sam could be when the job required it, Chris knew him well enough to realise that the jealousy was not put on but was real.

It was a pity that he would never know the truth, he reflected as Sam's arm tightened around him and his partner leant in for another kiss.

He'd like to thank them.

The End