RSS
The Shooting Sharks Series by alyse [Reviews - 8]
Printer Chapter or Story - Text Size +

Category: CI5: The New Professionals > Slash
Characters: Chris Keel
Rating: NC-17
Genres: None
Warnings: None

Summary: A game of pool becomes another kind of game altogether.





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

~*~

It was late by the time we got back to my place. We'd stopped off briefly at Ops to file the reports we'd, for once, written on the plane back, mainly because Sam had taken out his slim-line laptop and I'd followed suit once I realised I had no one to talk to and the cabin staff weren't interested in flirting. Sam's car had been left for the last week in the CI5 underground car park and he'd offered to drive me home, an offer I'd gratefully accepted.

It had been a difficult case, not in terms of complexity or danger but the way it had turned out... Well, let's just say that once the FBI got involved it looked like it was shaping up to be another cover-up. And Sam wonders why I have such a downer on law enforcement types. Politics disgust me, especially when they get in the way of what's right, replacing it with what's convenient. Sam accuses me sometimes of being na´ve but I'm not. Just not willing to sweep things under the carpet.

Anyway, the lingering depression I was feeling about the whole case had me asking him up for a beer. I really didn't want to be alone. Too much time to think. Like I said, sometimes the politics gets to me. Normally Sam is able to shake it off better than I can - he's a cynical sonofabitch sometimes - but I think by then he was feeling as reluctant to go home to an empty apartment as I was. We covered it up with our normal banter, of course, but he certainly accepted fast enough.

I couldn't help but wonder, as I did every time one of us came to the other's apartment, whether this would be the night that we finally admitted what the pair of us had been dancing around for so long. I mean, I have just enough experience with men to know when one is interested. And I'd bet a year's salary that Sam was interested. The question was, of course, were either of us going to do something about it? The flirting's fun, but I'd rather get to the meat, pardon the pun. So we walked up my stairs, me in front, wondering if he's staring at my ass the way I do at his when he's in front, and all the time I'm wondering what tonight will bring.

Of course, Sam being the highly trained CI5 agent that he is, he spotted the pool table almost as soon as he walked through the door.

"When did you get this?"

I headed towards the fridge, deciding that I definitely needed a Bud and hell, Sam was just going to have to drink one too.

"Oh. Christmas present."

Sam went over to examine it more closely. "Christmas present? Someone bought you a pool table for a Christmas present?" He didn't quite say 'who the hell buys a pool table for a Christmas present?' but he might as well have. I knew he was thinking it.

I pulled out two chilled bottles, about the only thing in my fridge that was still fit for human consumption, and sauntered back over towards him. He was sitting on the edge of the table, lightly rolling one of the balls across the surface under the palm of his hand.

"What can I say?" I asked rather flippantly. "I have an eccentric aunt."

He chuckled lightly, replying, "Must have."

Well, she's not quite an aunt, being my late mother's cousin, but she is rather eccentric. But it always made birthdays and Christmas fun since you never knew what you would get. Mind you, sometimes I'm convinced she still thinks I'm twelve. Still, this present beats the elephant foot umbrella rack she bought my sister one year. Jeannie was mortified.

Seeing Sam sitting there, looking thoughtful, gave me an idea. "You play?" I ask, thinking that if nothing else it might be relaxing to play a few games. It's been a while since we just sat back, just the two of us, and did nothing in particular. Although with us competition is bound to enter into the equation sooner or later.

Sam shrugged. "I had as great a misspent youth as the next person," he grinned at me. I took that as a yes.

"Fancy a game?"

"Sure," he said, taking the bottle I offered. "Why not?"

He was quite good when he got going, lining up the shots with a casual ease that was a joy to see. Almost as much of a joy as seeing him bend over that table in his tight jeans. After a couple of games, one win each, and a couple of beers the beginnings of an idea were starting to percolate through my tired and by now pleasantly buzzing brain.

"Fancy making this more interesting?" I asked, trying to sound completely unconcerned.

He snorted, and looked up from the corner shot he was lining up. "Is this where I find out you paid your way through college as a pool shark?" he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up and his eyes narrowing at me in amusement.

I returned his snort with one of my own. "Like you're a poker shark?"

He potted the ball effortlessly and straightened up to give me another amused and slightly supercilious look. "I am not a poker shark," he explained. "I only cheat in the name of national security."

"Uh huh," I said as he leaned over to line up another shot. "That aside, there is no way I'm ever playing poker with you." He gave me another amused look but didn't comment. "And besides, it wasn't money I had in mind."

"Oh?" He was concentrating on the ball and I waited until he was about to take his shot before I dropped my little bombshell.

"I was thinking strip pool."

He missed. However, by the time he straightened up and turned to face me, I had pasted my best innocent look on my face and he'd assumed a blank, almost disinterested expression. There was still a hint of amusement in his eyes though, and that was how I knew he wasn't pissed at me, and I let a hint of a sly smile of my own form on my face in response.

"What on earth," he asked, moving aside to let me to the table, "gave you the idea that I would be interested in playing strip pool with you?"

His question was almost casual and I adopted the same tone for my reply. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the way you eye me up when I'm wearing that tight cream sweater I have."

I sank the ball easily and moved on to lining up my next shot.

"You're imagining things." His tone was still casual, but unless I was mistaken there was a hint of interest underlying it. He graciously waited until I'd finished my next shot before asking his next question. "Why on earth would you want to play strip pool with me?"

I shrugged, my eyes fixed on the remaining balls as I tried to give the impression that I was more concerned about figuring out my next shot than the way that the conversation was going. "Maybe because I look at you the same way when you're wearing those tight jeans and grey sweater," I answered completely coolly before going on to pot the next ball.

I hit the ball too hard and it ricocheted too far, meaning that I missed my next shot and it was Sam's turn. He gave me a searching look and then leant over the table again. Maybe it was my imagination, but I'm almost sure he didn't have to lean quite that far over to make the shot. I got the feeling he was taunting me with that perfect ass of his.

I'm a bastard so I didn't wait until he'd made his shot before I waded in with a, "Of course, if you don't think you can handle it..." It was a little more subtle than 'Chicken' but not much. Like I said, sooner or later competition always enters the equation.

It didn't faze him, and he potted his chosen ball with ease, pausing to take a swig of his beer and eye me over the top. I leant on my cue and smirked at him.

"I'd be less concerned if I still didn't have the feeling that I'd end up buck naked while you were still fully clothed."

"I promise you, Sam, I've been playing as well so far as I ever do. I'm not going to hustle you."

"Uh huh." He didn't look quite convinced and his eyes drifted to the pool table. "Exactly how many items of clothing are you wearing, Chris, because I think it's going to be a short game?"

Two things struck me. One, I couldn't believe how easy this was, and two, he had a point. And as much as I wanted to get him naked I also wanted to have time to savour the experience.

"Okay. How about an item of clothing per game?"

"We'd be here all night."

"You got somewhere else to be?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, staring at the table. I knew him well enough to see that the wheels were turning, and well enough to know when to push and when not to. I didn't push.

"Okay," he said decisively. And then, without another word, he moved to pot his next shot. "I assume we're starting with the next game and not this one?"

"Uh huh," I replied intelligently, still reeling slightly from the idea that I might finally get to see Sam naked. Or he'd see me. Either one was good because I had a damned good idea now about how the evening was going to end up. At last.

It was a good plan to start with the next game, because Sam won that one, making it two to him and one to me at that point. By then, though, I had an incentive to play well.

I still lost the next game, though, mainly because instead of concentrating on my shots I was thinking about Sam naked. I'm sure the sonofabitch knew exactly what was going through my mind, because when he'd potted the eight ball he leant on his cue and smirked at me, waiting for me to take something off.

I went for the shoes, kicking one off and hesitating for a moment before kicking off the other one too. I mean, I'm all for savouring the moment but there is a point where it becomes torture.

Since Sam won the last game, he broke next. I potted a striped ball and then we were off again.

By then I was focused enough on the game to give Sam a run for his money, and that time I was the one to pot the eight ball and win the game. My turn to stand there and smirk. My turn to watch as Sam removed something.

He went for the sweater - the grey sweater that I like so much. Whoah, Momma, the way he removed it would do a Las Vegas stripper proud. I never knew you could take off a sweater and make it sexy. Mind you, the way I felt just then he could have stood up and recited the Lord's Prayer and I would have found it sexy, I was so turned on.

When he'd taken it off, he stood there and gave me a half-grin, his hair sexily tousled. Kind of like the way I imagined it would be after a night of passion. I realised then and there that I was going to have to focus again if I was to stand any chance of winning the next game.

To buy myself some time, I went to the fridge and got us both another beer. While I was there, I decided to turn the heating on. It was late enough for it to have switched itself off and it was becoming a little chilly. Too cold to wander around naked.

Sam was waiting for me to break when I got back to the table, watching me with that kind of considering look he gets sometimes. I wondered what he was thinking but all that did was make me nervous and I fluffed the break, giving Sam several good shots.

He took them and proceeded to clear the table.

Bastard! I thought, as I watched in dismay while he potted one ball after another. I didn't even get a shot before he was smiling smugly at me over the top of the cue and lining up the eight ball. He potted that too, and stood back, still grinning smugly at my open-mouthed expression, and waited for me to take something else off.

I had a feeling that if there was a pool shark here it wasn't me.

"Misspent youth?" I asked him a little sarcastically.

He grinned back at me, unrepentant. "Can I help it if your concentration appears to be shot?"

"I wonder why," I muttered darkly, leaning down to peel my socks off.

"No idea," he murmured back urbanely, leaning over to break again. Which only served to give me another look at that perfect backside, unhindered by the sweater this time.

Oh my. It was definitely getting hot and I wondered how much that was to do with the fact that the heating was now on. Not a lot, I suspected.

He knew exactly what effect he was having on me, and I got just pissed enough at his smugness to take the edge of my arousal and enable me to at least attempt to focus on the game. I examined the layout of the balls in front of me and called a safety shot, potting a solid colour and placing the white ball in a position that didn't give Sam any opportunity to sink a ball.

We played a tactical game this time, both of us apparently focused on the task in hand although I did occasionally sneak a peek when he was leaning over that table and I swear he was doing the same.

It was a tight match and it came down to which of us managed to pot the eight ball first. I just managed it, squeezing off a complicated ricochet off two cushions and sinking it neatly in the corner pocket in a move born of desperation. I don't know who was more surprised by my success - me or Sam. But let's face it, desperate times called for desperate measures. I had a strong suspicion that, knowing Sam, he had started off with more clothes than I had anyway. We are talking about a man who wears a vest in deepest, darkest Africa after all. Even if it is a tight, white vest that sets off his muscles quite nicely. I wasn't so far out of things that I didn't notice that.

He kicked his shoes off with a nonchalant shrug and waited for me to line up the next shot. His shirt had come untucked while we'd been playing, and he reached up to unfasten his top two shirt buttons, apparently unconsciously, but to be perfectly honest I wouldn't put it past him to have done it deliberately as a way to unease me.

Cursing under my breath, I took the break, unsurprised when once again I fluffed it. There were several decent shots for Sam, and he smirked as he examined the table and then leaned over it to take a perfectly easy shot.

It was time to play dirty.

I waited until he was completely focused on the shot in front of him and then I casually sauntered past him, letting my fingers trail lightly over the bare skin covering the small of his back, revealed when he'd leant over and his shirt had ridden up.

He jumped and missed his shot.

When he glared at me, I gave him another innocent look but it didn't fool him. "You put me off my stroke," he accused me.

I smirked. "Uh huh."

"That's all you have to say for yourself? Uh huh?"

"Yep."

"I think I deserve another shot for that."

"No. No other shot." I leant in to him and put on my best apologetic look. "I promise not to put you off your stroke again, Sam. At least," I lowered my voice seductively, "not the stroke that matters."

Oh boy. The look he gave me then had the temperature in the room rising faster than could be accounted for by the thermostat.

"I take another shot," he reiterated while I was still reeling. "And no touching me while I take it." He retrieved the white ball and placed it neatly where it had been before his abortive attempt, and then gave me another heated look. "Between shots, maybe, but not while I'm taking them."

Oh boy.

A word of advice. Never try to take a shot when you have a hard on. Sam missed and I had to lean over the table while I still had a poker shoved down my pants and it wasn't comfortable. I think that's why I missed too. Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Sam won that game too, the little trick I'd played backfiring on me. However, it was quite close by the end because once I'd regained my faculties I took Sam's words as permission to touch him between shots. A lot. Nothing too overt, just gentle touches and strokes down his back, on his shoulder now and then. I was working my way up to his butt when he potted the black.

I gave him a fatalistic shrug and started to work on the buttons of my shirt. When I saw the effect it had on him, his eyes fixed on my hands like he was terrified of missing something, I slowed it down, made it as seductive as I could without being goddamned obvious.

His eyes glazed over and by now I would have taken bets that I wasn't the only one trying to play with a hard on.

It was definitely getting warmer. I could tell that by the way that little droplets of sweat were forming in the hollow of Sam's throat. I couldn't help but wonder what they would taste like if I licked them off. Salty, yes, but would they taste of Sam, taste of the light, clean musk that even now I could smell whenever I stood close to him, which was as often now as I thought I could get away with? It was a heady scent and it went straight to my groin.

I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from touching him, even if he hadn't effectively given me permission, but I managed to limit myself to only touching him between shots. However, this time it seemed to unnerve Sam more than it unnerved me. I was able to concentrate enough to be able to play just that little bit better than Sam was and it was enough to let me win. This game at least.

The socks came off and now he was padding around the table in his bare feet. I'd never really noticed his feet before, but they were nice. Very nice. Slender and narrow like his hands but still conveying the impression of strength.

I could see me quite happily developing a foot fetish. Only the realisation that he was still an item of clothing ahead of me enabled me to focus on the task in hand.

I broke, since I'd won the last game, and I managed to make it difficult for him, with no clear shots. And while he was leaning over, trying to decide on a shot, the cue resting on the ground so he couldn't claim I was putting him off his stroke, I walked up behind him and let my hand roam down over the contours of his back, stopping on his butt which I gave a light squeeze.

Needless to say I won that game.

I stood back and watched avidly as Sam started to peel his dark red shirt off, both relieved and pleased when the gradually opening buttons revealed bare flesh rather than the white of a vest. Not to mention even more turned on. He wasn't as broad as me, or as muscular, but it was a fine figure anyway, sleek and slim and trim.

And then there we were, both stripped down to our pants. Thankfully I'd decided it was too cold to go commando or I'd still be worried. I'd guessed that Sam wouldn't do anything that wild and unfettered. Although, maybe he'd surprise me...

It was the thought of Sam wearing nothing underneath those tight jeans that almost lost me the next game, so much so that it became time for desperate measures again. He'd taken one shot, potting it effortlessly, and was still leaning over the table, about to straighten up, when I made my move. I walked up behind him, placed my arm around his waist, the fingers of my hand splayed over his stomach, and pressed myself against his back, licking lightly at his bare shoulder. He tasted as sweet and musky as I'd thought he was going to.

He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like, 'unh' and dropped his cue from suddenly nerveless fingers. It fell to the floor with a loud clatter as he braced himself against the table. I continued to stroke my fingers lightly over the taut skin of his abdomen for a moment, feeling it twitch underneath my fingertips with each pass and letting him feel the hardness that was pressed against his ass, and then I moved away.

He stayed there, his hands resting on the edge of the table as if that was the only thing holding him up, and maybe it was, and then finally he turned his head to look at me, his green eyes dazed and glazed again.

"I... I thought we agreed no distracting me while I was taking the shot," he managed to get out. I think he was aiming at pissed but it just came out sounding as though someone had fried his brain. I was quite smug about that.

"You weren't taking a shot," I pointed out, quite reasonably I thought. "You'd just taken the shot."

"Wha... What about the next one?"

"You hadn't lined it up yet." Still reasonable, and I leant over for my beer, letting him watch as I took a swig. I think he swallowed more heavily than I did, his pupils dilating.

I won that game too.

I couldn't help licking my lips as I watched him starting on the button of his jeans. He hesitated for a brief moment, his eyes darting to my face, and then he unfastened the button and slid the zip down. It sounded unnaturally loud in the silent room, and I swallowed heavily. I was watching him hungrily, I know, and I don't know if that was what was making him nervous or whether that was what finally gave him the courage to pull them down and kick them off.

He wasn't wearing boxers, exactly. They were those briefs that are cut like boxers, more like shorts than not, but soft cotton and they clung to him like a second skin. Calvin Klein, of course, but none of the models had ever looked this good in them. Trust me on that.

This time when he leant over the table to take a shot all I could think of was what it would be like to be buried balls deep in that perfect ass.

I lost.

I was a little embarrassed at having to take my pants off, mainly it has to be said because I was sporting a hell of a hard on by then. I mean, there was a suspicious bulge in the front of Sam's underwear but you could run a flag up mine if you know what I mean. The sight of Sam in nothing but underwear, especially underwear that clung that tightly, had definitely had a positive effect on my libido. The only factor working in my favour was the fact that I favour loose boxers, a relic of my Navy days when they were standard issue. Consequently it wasn't quite as noticeable a hard on as it would have been if I'd been wearing shorts like Sam's.

Sam noticed anyway. He had to have done judging by the way he was smirking. Bastard. I wasn't going to let him win this time, not when I got to see him naked if I won. Believe me, that's a hell of an incentive. The trouble was that Sam seemed equally inspired and I found that I had a really hard fight on my hands. Admittedly neither of us was quite playing at our best, mainly I think because we were both too busy watching the other one and almost drooling with anticipation. I know I was.

I took every opportunity to touch him now, light caresses over his back and more than one touch to his ass. I couldn't keep away from that ass if I tried. Sam touched me too, although he was much more subtle about it. He'd brush past me as he moved to take another shot, leaving me with a sensation of heat passing over my burning skin. Or he'd stand too close to the table so that I would have to push past him. Christ I was hard, and judging by the increasing size of the bulge in his tight, clingy shorts so was he. I even considered throwing the game, simply to put us both out of our misery, that's how desperate I was, but that competitive instinct won out. In fact, once again, I managed to pull out some truly amazing shots born of desperation and sheer animal need and finally pulled off an astonishing one that potted the eight ball.

There was a stunned silence on both our parts and then I turned to him, grinning triumphantly.

"Get 'em off."

Admittedly that wasn't the most suave line I've ever come up with, but as I mentioned I was incredibly turned on and that has the effect of short-circuiting a man's patience.

Sam glanced at the window, his expression reluctant.

"Sam," I insisted impatiently. "All my neighbours are dead. No one is going to see you. Just me. And now would be a good time."

He got that stubborn look he gets sometimes and I caved. I wanted him naked and I wanted it now, and if to achieve that I had to close the curtains so be it. It was quicker than standing here arguing with him about it. Judging by the underlying nervousness that I could read in his gaze, he probably would seize on any chance to delay the inevitable. Not that I thought he would welch exactly, but if I was honest in his position I'd be a bit reluctant too.

He folded his arms and glared at me and so, muttering under my breath, I sauntered towards the window and shut the curtains before turning back to return the glare.

What I saw took my breath away. Once the curtains were closed Sam simply reached down, and with one simple and elegant move took off his underwear. Breathtaking doesn't come close to describing it.

He was all pale ivory, sculpted planes and shadowed muscles. Not a spare ounce of fat on him anywhere, just slim and sleek. His strength was conveyed in the trim lines of his frame, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the v of his torso merely serving to pull my gaze down to his groin, where his cock rested against its nest of curls. More than half hard already, it twitched at my look, ample evidence of how aroused my partner was.

Sam's hands hung at his side while I surveyed my prize, not attempting to cover himself from my avid gaze although his skin flushed slightly, the only sign of his embarrassment. It just made him more attractive as far as I was concerned.

I stalked towards him, stopping a hairsbreadth in front of him, not letting any part of our bodies touch although I wanted to touch him desperately. He must have been equally desperate because he swayed slightly on his feet, leaning almost instinctively towards me.

"Looks like you won," he breathed. His eyes had a silvery sheen to them, veiled and mysterious. I could have drowned in them quite happily.

"Uh uh," I disagreed. "Still at least one more game to play, maybe two."

He looked confused for a second, his gaze falling to my boxers. I could tell he was trying to count, figuring that maybe I meant that we'd have to play again to remove my underwear but what if he lost? I put him out of his misery.

"We have to play to see who's on top."

His eyes grew shuttered and I wondered if I'd overstepped some invisible mark. But wasn't this what we'd been working our way towards anyway? His next words seemed to confirm my fear.

"We aren't playing any more games, Chris."

Shit.

"I forfeit."

I barely had time to process the words before he was on me, mouth pressed firmly against my own. He wasn't shy any more, not judging by the way his tongue was demanding and gaining entry. His hands moved around my waist, pulling me hard against him, our erections grinding together.

I moved my hands up into his hair, holding his head steady as I plundered his mouth. Christ, he tasted wonderful, even when overlaid by the taste of the beer we'd been drinking. I couldn't get enough of it. It was like I'd been dying of thirst and he was the only thing that would quench it.

I think he felt that same way if the quiet moans he was letting out were any indication. His hands moved down my back, into the top of my boxers and sliding down to cup my ass and pull me even harder against him. I'd forgotten about my boxers, and I pulled away from him just long enough to wriggle out of them.

And then it was skin against bare skin and oh Christ that was even better. I could have come from the feel of his hard, hot length pressed against mine alone. But I wanted more and he'd already said that he forfeited.

I'd been wondering earlier about how it would feel to be buried balls deep in that ass and now I was about to find out.

I backed him up against the pool table, moving down his body when I had him pinned. I wanted to fuck him but I also wanted to taste him. I licked and nibbled my way down his torso, and his sweat tasted as sweet and addictive as the first time I'd tasted him. But as good as his chest tasted, that wasn't the main thing I was interested in.

Finally I reached my goal, and paused for a moment, letting the anticipation build. Contrary to what my partner might think, I am capable of patience when I know it's going to pay off. And this was paying off in spades.

Leaning forward I slid the tip of my tongue into the slit in the head of his cock, letting the taste of that most intimate part of him explode on my taste buds. It was wonderful but even more wonderful was the long, full-blooded moan that he let out. His knees gave way a little and he sagged. I caught hold of his hips and held him up, my own knees feeling a little weak. God, I wanted him so bad.

Too bad to wait any longer. With another swipe of my tongue along the length of his erection I rose to my feet and grabbed hold of his head for another kiss before pulling back far enough to growl, "Wait here."

"I'm definitely not going anywhere," he shot back. It would have been smart-arsed if he hadn't sounded so breathy and needy. Unfortunately I was too needy myself to call him on it.

I was back with lube, condoms and a towel in record time. It's amazing how motivated you can be to move fast when the situation calls for it. And this qualified.

I kissed him again, but that was all the foreplay I was willing to indulge in. Hell, the whole evening had been foreplay and if I had to wait any longer I'd explode, probably literally. I turned him around, and he braced himself against the table.

And oh Christ, that was one of the most erotic things I've ever seen. Sam, spread-eagled in front of me, the tension he was feeling clear in the outline of his body, taut, tense and wanting. Wanting me. I had to pause for a moment, imprinting that picture in my mind for all time. And then, when I had captured it to my satisfaction, I closed in.

My fingers, I noted absently, were shaking when I squeezed the lube onto them and they weren't the only thing. Sam was shaking too, but it wasn't fear. I could tell that much. He seemed to be shaking from need as much as I was. So I was really doing him a favour too by not wasting any time.

When I eased the first finger into him he was so tight I had to ask him, "How long has it been?"

"A while," was all he would say. He shifted his weight a little, spreading his legs slightly more apart and leaning further over the table. That made access a little easier, and I took advantage of it, easing two fingers into his tight heat.

He made that low moaning sound deep in his throat again, and it jumped straight to my cock. My fingers were shaking even more as I continued to prepare him as carefully as I could under the circumstances, when all I wanted to do was to bury myself in him as deep as I could go. Each time I brushed my fingers across that spot inside him he moaned again, and it was as if someone lit a fire in my groin. If it had been a while, though, I didn't want to rush him, no matter how horny I was.

Finally I'd taken as long as I could reasonably be expected to stand and I rolled the condom over my aching cock.

Oh Christ, he felt so good as I eased my way into him. I always thought 'fits like a glove' was a misnomer, but not in this case. Sam's body moulded to me as though it were made for me, and not just his ass. His back fit against my chest snugly too. But mostly his ass. Hot, and tight, and sexy, it gripped me and held me and drove me towards ecstasy.

I sank into him as deep as I could and just stayed there, giving him time to adjust to the feel of me in him, savouring it, breathing in the musky scent of him that spoke of need and arousal and more. And then, when I couldn't stand the wait any more, I pulled all the way out and slammed deep back in again. He made that noise again, that 'unh' deep in his throat and I felt the shudder that ran through the length of his body in every place it was pressed against mine.

I lowered my mouth and sucked at his neck. He let out another long, liquid moan and that was good too. I mean, it was real good. It was like there was this connection between his vocal chords and my cock and sheer electricity arched between them. Each moan he let out just made me harder and made me want him more, if that was possible. We were caught in a loop and there was no escaping it. I thrust, he moaned, I thrust harder until I was pounding into him wildly.

Good didn't even begin to cover it. It was heaven.

I gave myself over to the pure physical sensations, feeling that familiar tension building in my spine. I took hold of his cock, sliding it through my fist in time to my thrusts into the heat of his body. I wanted him to come before me. I wanted to feel his climax while I was buried within him, wanted to be as much a part of his coming as I could be and judging by the way he was moaning now I didn't think that he was very far from it. Which was also good, because I was so close I could almost taste it.

He was trembling now, I could feel it, feel it in every inch of his skin still pressed against mine. Trembling with need, with desire, maybe even with the pure sensation. It only added to my arousal, and oh Christ I was close. So close. Thankfully, he was closer and just as I was teetering on the edge, just when I thought I'd come without him, he fell, spurting through my fingers and calling out my name.

I felt his body clench around me, ripples of sensation that dragged me over the edge. Hearing my name said like that in his passion-filled voice only hastened the fall. I let go, bucking into him and literally seeing stars as I filled him with my seed.

I think I screamed.

When I became aware of my surroundings again, aware of something more than just bliss and the feel of him against me, I was slumped on the floor, my back pressed against the leg of the table. Sam's head was resting on my shoulder and when I glanced down the only words I could think of to describe the expression on his face were 'well-fucked'. I'm sure Sam would prefer something more cultured, like satiated, but that was just the way he looked to me.

"Okay?" I asked, when I'd recovered use of my vocal calls. Christ, I must have screamed loudly. I was surprised that no one phoned PC Plod to complain, except that my nearest neighbours are dead.

"Hmm," he replied, still looking a little dazed. "Fine."

I got a bit full of myself at that point, seeing what I'd done to him, the near incoherent bliss I'd reduced him to. "Are you going to be okay to sit down tomorrow?"

That earned me a chuckle. "As long as Malone doesn't put me on an eight hour flight, I think I'll cope."

"Good."

I sat there for a moment, basking in the post-coital glow and enjoying the feel of Sam's body pressed against mine, breathing in the scent of his hair, the scent of him.

"Chris...?"

"Yes?"

"Next time we play poker."

I got the distinct impression that I was going to get naked first next time. I had no problem with that.

The End






Enter the security code shown below: