Characters and Pairings: Annie pov, Sam/Gene, fantasy Annie/Gene
Word Count: 1,400 approx
Warning: Fantasy het!sex
Summary: Even unshaven in a drunken sleep he had the feral essence of pure sex.
A/N: This started as something quite different, but Annie took over. Possibly my first wank!fic, and certainly my first female one. (Concrit welcome!) I’d hoped to post in time for Porntober, but RL ensured that I even missed Pervember. Maybe we could consider it my entry for Sex
Previously Posted: Not The Dark (by dakfinv) / Body & Soul / Nightmare / Another Day / Watching / The Only One / Fantasy Lover / Hope / In The Eye Of The Beholder / Breaking Through /Still With Us / On The Road to Freedom / Not Just a Cry For Help / Keep Taking the Tablets / Breaking Glass / Useless / Out to Lunch / Still Want You / Fighting to Survive / Into the Dark / Talk to Me
Annie smiled as Gene’s face finally went slack and he started to snore. He’d argued for going home, but she’d pointed out that he wouldn’t want her driving his precious car, and she certainly wasn’t letting him drive it in this state. Ray, pragmatic as ever, had merely said,
“Think he’ll be OK now. Get some more Scotch down him, let him sleep it off,” before disappearing into the night.
That had been two hours ago, and Annie’s eyes were sore from being cooped up in Gene’s office with Gene’s cigarette smoke. It had been an uncomfortable evening, but the alcohol had finally started to dissolve the strain and terror of the past few weeks, and in the end Gene had seemed to gain some relief from telling her, in slightly too much detail, exactly how he’d felt at seeing Sam laid out, cold and helpless, in the neat hospital bed.
She waited a few more minutes until Gene was relaxed enough for her to gentle him into a comfortable position, then folded the jacket next to him on the cracked red leather. It would hold him in place and perhaps offer some spurious comfort as he slept alone one more night.
As his breathing settled, she moved quietly around the office, picking up papers and sorting them into folders. A rustling made her look round: Gene shifted on the sofa, and she stirred uncomfortably as his hands strayed to his trousers. His surprisingly elegant fingers caressed gently along the zip, and she swallowed hard as the unmistakable shape of his erection firmed and grew.
Oh, God. Annie knew the real reason she’d refused to take him home had nothing to do with driving his car. It was this.
Gene Hunt, the man who held her career in his hands, also held her - what? - not heart, nothing so pure. More like her desire. Every guilty fantasy she’d ever had about being taken, hard, right there on that sofa, was tied up with this man. Even unshaven in a drunken sleep he had the feral essence of pure sex and she knew if she’d had to spend another minute with him in the dark confines of the Cortina she’d have given herself away completely.
She took a deep breath and tried not to imagine the feel of him heavy against her as they staggered up the path to his door; the warmth of his breath on her neck as she reached into his trouser pocket for his house keys.
Bloody hell. She took a shaky breath and determinedly closed off that line of thought - it wasn’t even as if he’d be interested.
“You’re disgusting,” she told herself firmly, not believing it for a moment.
She felt herself getting warm as she watched Gene stroke himself for a few moments longer, then as he murmured Sam’s name his hand dropped and he fell into a deeper sleep. She stayed still as his breathing slowed, one hand moving unconsciously downwards. When she found her fingers moving rhythmically against her skirt she hurriedly put the papers in a pile then backed out of the office as quietly as she could.
Her pants rubbed awkwardly and she was so hot and swollen she knew she’d have to sort herself out in the Ladies’ before going home. Couldn’t walk the streets in this state; she’d be giving off all sorts of signals that a nice young lady copper should know nothing about. As she involuntarily walked faster, she bit her lip and thought through the contents of her handbag. She’d never dared to go into one of those dimly-lit shops in the back streets, and at home she relied on an old hand-cream bottle so perfect it had to have been moulded personally by a woman. But today there was nothing in her bag that would do. It would have to be fingers and imagination.
Inside the brightly-lit toilets she winced at the sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot from the smoke and at some point she’d chewed off the last of her lipstick. Even if the Guv did go for women he wasn’t likely to choose her looking like this; not when he could have anyone he cared to fix with those compelling eyes. As she looked at her reflection her hand was already down the front of her skirt and when her fingertips inched into her pants she watched the woman in the mirror open her mouth and take a long breath. Her skirt was too tight to allow her hand down any further, she couldn’t get her fingers inside herself, so she moved her hips, rubbing herself against the edge of the basin.
Her back arched involuntarily and suddenly she couldn’t tease herself any longer. She hurried into a cubicle, one hand already reaching up under her skirt and scrabbling desperately past the elastic as with the other she closed the door as quietly as possible and shot the bolt shakily across.
Moving carefully away from the door - it tended to rattle at the critical moment - she used both hands to hitch her neat fitted skirt savagely above her hips and in a fast, desperate movement she ripped at her pants, dragging them unevenly down to her knees. They were too tight, and even as she impatiently lifted one foot to take them off she was rubbing herself, fingertips carefully either side of the too-sensitive little bud, and gasping as the swollen, tender warmth started to tighten and spread through her entire body.
Forcing herself to slow down for a moment she spread her knees far apart and concentrated on the feelings, imagining Gene pushing himself deep into her. Her lips parted and as she started to move she had to remind herself to breathe quietly.
Sometimes she allowed free rein to the groans and gasps, the sounds feeding into her arousal and turning her on even more, but here in this cubicle she was always silent, biting her lip as she concentrated. The need to keep strict control while fucking herself on whatever she could find lent a wild edge to the sensations, magnifying the feelings in a way she could never achieve with a man groaning above her.
Gene would have been different, though, she knew. Her hips moved as she felt him, a tightly-reined force of nature, filling her, moving to her rhythm.
She could feel her muscles tightening around him, and knew this would be one of those hard, gut-wrenching ones that left her utterly paralysed for minutes afterwards. She smiled briefly at her need to analyse her own reactions at such a time, and made herself stop for a moment, teetering on the very edge.
She waited, breathing slowly and deeply, for as long as she could bear, then both hands were moving again, fast and desperate. As she tightened she thought briefly about stopping again, drawing this out, but she couldn’t, Gene was coming now, groaning her name, and she was taking him in deep, convulsing around him with a hoarse cry as he gasped her name and shuddered inside her. As the fierce spasms hit her she staggered slightly, sagging sideways with her fingers still inside herself, shoulder hitting the wall while she continued to stroke herself, more slowly now, coaxing two, three...four more, each warmer and gentler than the last. When, finally, there was no more to be had, she rested against the partition waiting for her heart rate to return to normal.
Eventually, the cold of the cubicle wall started to seep through her flimsy blouse and she stood shakily upright. She straightened her stockings - she’d started wearing them for Gene, just in case, and by the time she realised that this was one department she was never going to have to sleep her way to the top of it had become a habit - and then pulled up her pants, patting the damp lace gently into place.
Finally, satisfied that she looked reasonably calm and collected, she walked quietly back to Gene’s office and peeped round the door. He was still asleep, the strain of the past few weeks etched deeply on his face. He was clutching the jacket and she smiled at him fondly as he murmured Sam’s name once again.
She stroked his face then turned and left quietly, stepping out alone into the warm night.
~ ~ ~