Fic, Atmosphere, reddish brown cortina
Title: Atmosphere
Rating: Reddish Brown Cortina for this part, featuring blood, sexy stuff and a smattering of violence, at least in this part, followed by a deep Red Cortina for Part Two for some serious blood, hard core violence and even harder core sex.
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Disclaimer: Kudos and the BBC own all of it, I just like to play with them for fun!
Warnings:This is a dark themed fic, there will be blood and violence!
A/N:This is my entry for the spook_me challenge, with a prompt of werewolf, my favorite of the monster types ; ) Title is taken from the Joy Division song of the same name, which I listened to at least ten times today :) And you know, I am not gonna lie, I love this fic! I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. Also, and this is huge, it should be known that severinne is made of awesome, awesome stuff. She endured endless emails and questions, steered me clear of cheesy gothic stylings, discussed werewolf lore and let me know that it was okay to push that envelope. This would not have been written without her help and I heart her hard, fast and deep, baby!
Summary:There's a full moon in Manchester...
The mangled body lay crumpled on the ground, the pool of deep red blood around it taking on an almost blue hue in moonlight. The beast backs slowly away, sneering and swaggering, drunk off the blood coursing fresh and thick through its veins. Rising on hind legs, it howls proudly against the full moon, a last undying shred of human arrogance keeping him from full animal instinct, blinding him to the man in the shadows, watching.
**
"Well?" Sam asks as Gene stands up and kicks the grimy sheet back over the victim.
"Well what, Tyler? Bloke's dead isn't he? Been dead a good half a day already by the looks of it," Gene lights a cigarette, looks disdainfully at the cold, dead body.
"Yeah, he's dead Guv, because of a deliberate and violent act." Sam pulls back the sheet, waving his hand in the direction of what's left of the neck. "Same as the others."
"Yeah, well they weren't model citizens either, were they?"
"What are you saying?" Sam asks, turning his gaze from the body up to Gene. "That he deserved to have his throat ripped out? That any of them did?"
"I'm saying someone did us a favour here, Sam. These men were the lowest form of scum and I for one am a happier man for having them off my streets."
"Off your streets? Gene they're not off your streets, they're staining the cobbles with their blood. Killed by some vicious predator, some vigilante, in cold blood. That makes this...killer a problem on your streets, on our streets." Sam stares defiantly at Gene.
"They're our streets now, are they?" Gene asks, tossing his not yet burnt out cigarette to the ground, meeting Sam's eyes in challenge.
Sam doesn't back down, "I think they are, yeah. I want the same things you want Guv." Sam says, crossing his arms and looking at Gene. "I want this city, our city free from crime, from beasts...from cold blooded killers who think they're Christian Bale. This sort of thing, it won't be tolerated on my watch."
"I don't know who this Christian fella is, old boyfriend of yours or summat, and I don't care, neither. What I do care about is that you're with me on this. You say this is our city. Well Sammy, our city has a certain set of rules, you best play by them," Gene lowers his voice, speaking in a tone only for Sam. "Work with me on this, trust me for once, this is shit you don't want to get mixed up in, Sam. There's an order to these things, call it the food chain if you will. It'll work itself out, always does."
Sam lowers his arms to his side, backs away, raising his voice "I didn't come here to play by your rules, Gene, I know a thing or two, more than you think I do..."
"Lower your voice Sam. You'll do well to remember you're speaking to your superior officer, and let me tell you boy, you know nothing. You hear me? I can have you thrown off this case so fast you'll be scrubbing the toilets back in Hyde with your fancy new toothbrush before you know what hit you."
"Hyde,” Sam crosses his arms again, huffs. Do you know what I did back in Hyde, Gene? Do you even care? Do you think that...You know what? Forget it, doesn't matter."
Sam walks quickly away only to turn heel and double time back, pointing his finger at Gene, spitting out harsh words. "You'll do well to remember that I am not some little puppy dog, DCI Hunt. I'm not some drone you can just order around," Sam looks around, bringing his voice to a heated whisper, "...some boy you can shape in your mould. You don't snap your fingers and tell me what to do." Sam lowers his accusatory finger, walks away in silence.
**
The room is dark, quiet; only the first blush of dawn creeping in the windows. Sam throws his keys down on the small table by the door, tosses his jacket over the banister and checks the time, ready to head up the stairs for a few hours of sleep.
"You're late," Gene says from the far side of the other room. Sam startles, didn't expect him there, doesn't need to turn around; knows a drink is in his hand, the tie is hanging loose over his shoulders with his shirt half unbuttoned and the feet, shoes still on are propped up on some box full of relics left over from the missus.
"Know you weren't at the pub, because I was."
"I had some work to do." Sam doesn't turn around, runs a hand over the banister.
"Weren't at the station, neither."
Sam turns around then, angry, "And how would you know that? Come looking for me? I'm a big boy, Gene, I don't need a babysitter."
"Not interested in babysitting you, Sam."
Sam shakes his head, hands on his hips, moves away from the stairs, closer to Gene. "What then? Why'd you come looking for me?"
Gene stands up and stumbles, wobbly on his fee, grabbing the arm of the chair and leaning in towards Sam, sniffing him before he straightens out. "Interested in why you're coming home at dawn. Interested in why you have someone else's stink all over you, that's why."
"You're pissed." Sam reaches out an instinctive hand to steady Gene, pulls it back when he feels the cold, clammy skin of Gene's arm, brings the back of his hand to Gene's forehead. "You look like shit, Gene, you're burning up…" Sam is surprised by the tight grip around his wrist and the forceful shove that sends him arse first to the floor.
"You don't need no babysitter and I don't need no nurse." Gene steps over Sam, not looking at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam demands, hurt and anger in his words.
Gene stops, spins angrily towards Sam, comes at him with a loud, resounding backhand to the face.
The silence is deafening, magnifies Gene’s immediate regret over what he’d just done. Sam stares in shock, frozen to his spot on the floor until he wipes at his bleeding nose, using the same hand he’d tended to Gene with moments before, waiting for something, an apology, a hand to help him up, something that never comes in the moments that stretch and hang, stagnant in the air.
Sam gathers himself to his feet, brushes not quickly enough by Gene to dodge the hesitant grip on his arm.
"Sam..."
He shrugs Gene violently off, moving to grab his jacket over the banister, the keys off the small table; his hand on the doorknob before he looks at Gene again. "I won't do this." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly.
"Going back to Hyde, then?" Gene crosses his arms, finally able to look at Sam, able to see the hurt in his eyes, nostrils flaring at the puffy lip, the bloody nose he knew he'd see.
Sam stutters, taken aback at the fierce look on Gene's face. "What?"
"Hyde. Back to whatever it is you did there, whatever it is that you think I don't care about, the things you choose not to tell me about. It's where you were tonight, innit?" Gene moves towards the door, closer to Sam, close enough to reach out though he doesn't, instead balling his fingers into fists at his side before shoving them in his pockets.
"How do you...Yeah, yeah it is. I went to Hyde." Sam backs away from the door, into the cool, early morning air, the light allowing him to see Gene in earnest, see the dark, almost purple bags under his tired and bloodshot eyes, to see the twitching muscles under stained, crumpled clothes, the hands balled into fists, hiding their tremors behind a thin layer of cloth.
"You went back to whatever, or whoever it is that you do, there back in Hyde, in the middle of the night. Had the balls to try and sneak back into my house..." Gene pulls a fist from his pocket, braces his fingers against the top of the open door, pulls the other fist out and grasps the doorknob tight. "You're right Sam, you won't do this. I won't do this." Gene slams the door, leaves Sam, confounded and bruised.
Sam stands, catching his breath, pushing back the thought that he may have found what he was looking for, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill, unable to see Gene slump down on the other side of the door, drawing his knees to himself and shaking.
**
Gene waltzes into CID hours later, already guzzling from his hip flask, mumbling something about hair of the dog to anyone who dares shoot him a look.
"Had a fight with the boyfriend last night then, Dorothy?" Gene gibes cruelly at Sam's desk.
Sam sneers, "What do you want? I'm in no mood..." he's cut off mid sentence, a forceful hand on his arm pushing him around for the second time in mere hours, this time up out of his seat and into Gene's office, up against the filing cabinet that started the whole thing months ago.
"Gonna hit me again, Guv?" Sam spits out, fire blazing in his eyes. "Come on," he says, turning his un-bruised cheek to Gene, "only this time make it good, so I can't get back up."
Gene releases his hold on Sam, wincing inwardly at his words, at the venom behind them. "You're off the murder case." Gene looks down, unable to confront the hurt in Sam's face, as if he had struck him on the other cheek.
"What? Why? Because of a fight? You can't take me off this case, Gene, not when we're getting so close..."
Gene steps away from Sam, placing distance between them. "Done deal, Sam. Ray'll be taking over from here on in."
"Wait, Ray? Guv, come on, you need me on this...."
Gene steps in to Sam again, arms on either side of him, against the cabinet, looking him in the eye. "No, Sam, I don't need you." Gene moves his head closer to Sam, closes his eyes and wrinkles his nose before pushing off of the filing cabinet and heading for the doors to his office, "Do yourself a favour, go home and wash his smell off of you. You're stinking up my office."
**
Sam sits, still on the bed; phone in hand though the call ended minutes before. Like a tape recorder he plays the short, one sided conversation over and over again in his head.
"Sam, we understand you've been taken off the murder case, we’ll have to take you off on our end as well. We understand, Sam, we do, emotional attachments...happen from time to time. It's why you have to be there, when it goes down, see it through to the end, nip it in the bud if you will. Stay out of it for now, don't meddle, we'll strike when the iron is hot. We'll contact you when the time nears."
**
Weeks pass in a blur of paperwork and scotch for Sam. He watches and waits in silence as the month ticks slowly by, as Gene and Ray chase down leads that don't exist, leads he knows Gene's made up. Watches them run down roads that go nowhere, roads he knows Morgan will block, as the moon rises higher and fuller each night. He doesn't go to the pub, can't watch Gene resume his normal life if only for a little while. He doesn't look at Gene, can't stand to meet the intermittent disappointment, fear, longing and confusion in those green eyes; can't stand to watch the slow transformation and anxiety that washes over him, little by little, day by day, instead watching from the sidelines, not meddling, heart and spirit breaking as the day draws nearer.
**
Though awake, the knock on his door at the late hour startles him. He reaches for his gun full of silver, slips it under his pillow, to be safe. "Who is it?" he asks, hand under the pillow with the gun.
"It's me, you pillock." Gene slurs from outside the door.
Sam gets up from the bed, stands in front of the door without unlocking it. "Go away, Gene."
"Let me in, Tyler, or I break it down."
He unlocks the door, steps back against the bed as Gene stumbles in and slams the door behind him, clearly pissed as he tries to struggle out of his coat.
"What're you doing here?" Sam asks, trying to sound indifferent, instead coming off curious, maybe hopeful.
"Night cap." Gene throws his coat on the end of the bed, long legs carrying him in a few quick strides to the booze he knows Sam keeps near the sink.
"Go home and have a drink, Guv. Or better yet, go home and get some sleep, you still look like shit."
"Well aren't you the perfect hostess, insulting your guest." Gene can't be bothered with a glass, instead choosing to drink the cheap whisky right from the bottle.
"You aren't my guest, I didn't ask you to come. I didn't even invite you in." Sam rolls his eyes in tandem with his stomach, which rolls of its own accord.
"Guess I'm not a vampire then?" Gene says seriously, after swigging a quarter of the bottle and advancing on Sam.
"What?" Sam laughs nervously as Gene eyes him.
"You know, vampires, like Dracula, the ones that bite people and suck on their blood."
Sam would swear that Gene's voice crawled, close to a drawl.
"Yeah, right. I know what vampires are." Sam inches further on to the bed.
"Okay then. You didn't invite me in and I guess that means I'm not one of them vampires, because they can only come in to your home if you allow them to."
"That's just, er, just a myth, Guv. No such things as vampires and, you know, monsters and such."
"That right?" Gene stops, his knees hitting the bed between Sam’s thighs before he nudges them further apart and sinks down to the floor, kneeling between Sam's spread legs.
"How 'bout other monsters?" Gene's hands are moving up Sam's legs, slowly over his thighs, his movements matching the slow, sensual tone of his voice.
"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Sam closes his eyes, unable to think with Gene's hands on him.
"Shhh, come on Sammy, what do you think?" Gene asks, hands running over Sam's crotch, up and over his obvious erection. "Monsters...maybe werewolves?"
Sam moans in spite of himself, as Gene's hands are replaced with his lips, mouthing hot against his straining cock, sniffing and breathing him in as if his life depends on it. "Gene..." Sam's hands wind in Gene's hair, pulling him close, too close, not close enough.
Gene lifts his mouth off of Sam, murmuring against the thin fabric that separates him from flesh. "Smell so good...Like no one else. So fucking good, Sam, always so good...They make you feel good like this over in Hyde? Does Morgan get on his knees for you...Make you ache for him..."
Sam grasps hard at Gene's hair, willing himself to stop, but he can't. He needs to understand what Gene is saying, what he's doing here, but he needs this more, this rush of blood and adrenaline he feels with Gene. He tugs Gene harshly up and into a violent embrace, a kiss full of tongues and teeth and something metallic, something that transforms the moment of lust to an atmosphere full of electricity and need and unspoken things.
Sam scrabbles for purchase against Gene's attack, lost in the sensation of Gene sucking on his tongue, his lips, lapping up the trace amounts of blood before biting almost gently down again, drawing a sharp hiss of breath from Sam and an unearthly growl from Gene.
It's then that Sam understands; Gene knows, knows Sam is a hunter. Gene is preying on him, stalking Sam like he would his kill.
"Gene...stop." Sam tries to move away from Gene.
"I've been to Hyde, Sam. Wanted to know...I missed you. Talked to Morgan, told him my Sam would never...Damn it Sam, I missed you, couldn't breathe without you..." Gene is grinding against Sam, desperate thrusts that come from a need for contact, for flesh. "It was him, his stink all over you...But that's over, Sam, no more..."
"Don't do this, please...I wanted to tell you. You took me off the case, God, I knew it was you, I knew...I was so scared I'd lose you. I went to Morgan that night, told him it wasn't you. I lied, Gene, I fucking lied for you and they knew, they saw right through me..."
A lightning fast hand comes up to Sam's neck, joins the lips there, caressing and causing spikes of pleasure before it sinks sharp, claw like nails into his skin and rips flesh as easy as paper. Sam is lost, yelping against Gene, fighting the absurd pleasure and intense pain of the intimate moment, wanting to drown in it as he tries to wrestle off Gene.
"Gene...Gene!" He screams, scared.
Gene stills, hearing, feeling the fear in Sam. He looks down, sees the blood stained lips, the deep scratches in Sam's neck and pulls off of him, horrified, fearful of what he's done. Sam is still beneath him, unable to move, unwilling to speak. "Sam?" Gene questions, as if it isn't him, as if he weren't present moments before.
The light of the moon drifts over the room, over them, having moved from behind the clouds. She is gorgeous, round and almost full this night, her monthly twenty-eight day cycle nearly complete by only twenty four hours. Gene closes his eyes to her, to Sam, sadness washing over him, the need to escape taking him over completely. With one last look down at Sam he flees, the whisper of apology dying on his lips.
Click here for Part Two
Rating: Reddish Brown Cortina for this part, featuring blood, sexy stuff and a smattering of violence, at least in this part, followed by a deep Red Cortina for Part Two for some serious blood, hard core violence and even harder core sex.
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Disclaimer: Kudos and the BBC own all of it, I just like to play with them for fun!
Warnings:This is a dark themed fic, there will be blood and violence!
A/N:This is my entry for the spook_me challenge, with a prompt of werewolf, my favorite of the monster types ; ) Title is taken from the Joy Division song of the same name, which I listened to at least ten times today :) And you know, I am not gonna lie, I love this fic! I loved writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it. Also, and this is huge, it should be known that severinne is made of awesome, awesome stuff. She endured endless emails and questions, steered me clear of cheesy gothic stylings, discussed werewolf lore and let me know that it was okay to push that envelope. This would not have been written without her help and I heart her hard, fast and deep, baby!
Summary:There's a full moon in Manchester...
The mangled body lay crumpled on the ground, the pool of deep red blood around it taking on an almost blue hue in moonlight. The beast backs slowly away, sneering and swaggering, drunk off the blood coursing fresh and thick through its veins. Rising on hind legs, it howls proudly against the full moon, a last undying shred of human arrogance keeping him from full animal instinct, blinding him to the man in the shadows, watching.
**
"Well?" Sam asks as Gene stands up and kicks the grimy sheet back over the victim.
"Well what, Tyler? Bloke's dead isn't he? Been dead a good half a day already by the looks of it," Gene lights a cigarette, looks disdainfully at the cold, dead body.
"Yeah, he's dead Guv, because of a deliberate and violent act." Sam pulls back the sheet, waving his hand in the direction of what's left of the neck. "Same as the others."
"Yeah, well they weren't model citizens either, were they?"
"What are you saying?" Sam asks, turning his gaze from the body up to Gene. "That he deserved to have his throat ripped out? That any of them did?"
"I'm saying someone did us a favour here, Sam. These men were the lowest form of scum and I for one am a happier man for having them off my streets."
"Off your streets? Gene they're not off your streets, they're staining the cobbles with their blood. Killed by some vicious predator, some vigilante, in cold blood. That makes this...killer a problem on your streets, on our streets." Sam stares defiantly at Gene.
"They're our streets now, are they?" Gene asks, tossing his not yet burnt out cigarette to the ground, meeting Sam's eyes in challenge.
Sam doesn't back down, "I think they are, yeah. I want the same things you want Guv." Sam says, crossing his arms and looking at Gene. "I want this city, our city free from crime, from beasts...from cold blooded killers who think they're Christian Bale. This sort of thing, it won't be tolerated on my watch."
"I don't know who this Christian fella is, old boyfriend of yours or summat, and I don't care, neither. What I do care about is that you're with me on this. You say this is our city. Well Sammy, our city has a certain set of rules, you best play by them," Gene lowers his voice, speaking in a tone only for Sam. "Work with me on this, trust me for once, this is shit you don't want to get mixed up in, Sam. There's an order to these things, call it the food chain if you will. It'll work itself out, always does."
Sam lowers his arms to his side, backs away, raising his voice "I didn't come here to play by your rules, Gene, I know a thing or two, more than you think I do..."
"Lower your voice Sam. You'll do well to remember you're speaking to your superior officer, and let me tell you boy, you know nothing. You hear me? I can have you thrown off this case so fast you'll be scrubbing the toilets back in Hyde with your fancy new toothbrush before you know what hit you."
"Hyde,” Sam crosses his arms again, huffs. Do you know what I did back in Hyde, Gene? Do you even care? Do you think that...You know what? Forget it, doesn't matter."
Sam walks quickly away only to turn heel and double time back, pointing his finger at Gene, spitting out harsh words. "You'll do well to remember that I am not some little puppy dog, DCI Hunt. I'm not some drone you can just order around," Sam looks around, bringing his voice to a heated whisper, "...some boy you can shape in your mould. You don't snap your fingers and tell me what to do." Sam lowers his accusatory finger, walks away in silence.
**
The room is dark, quiet; only the first blush of dawn creeping in the windows. Sam throws his keys down on the small table by the door, tosses his jacket over the banister and checks the time, ready to head up the stairs for a few hours of sleep.
"You're late," Gene says from the far side of the other room. Sam startles, didn't expect him there, doesn't need to turn around; knows a drink is in his hand, the tie is hanging loose over his shoulders with his shirt half unbuttoned and the feet, shoes still on are propped up on some box full of relics left over from the missus.
"Know you weren't at the pub, because I was."
"I had some work to do." Sam doesn't turn around, runs a hand over the banister.
"Weren't at the station, neither."
Sam turns around then, angry, "And how would you know that? Come looking for me? I'm a big boy, Gene, I don't need a babysitter."
"Not interested in babysitting you, Sam."
Sam shakes his head, hands on his hips, moves away from the stairs, closer to Gene. "What then? Why'd you come looking for me?"
Gene stands up and stumbles, wobbly on his fee, grabbing the arm of the chair and leaning in towards Sam, sniffing him before he straightens out. "Interested in why you're coming home at dawn. Interested in why you have someone else's stink all over you, that's why."
"You're pissed." Sam reaches out an instinctive hand to steady Gene, pulls it back when he feels the cold, clammy skin of Gene's arm, brings the back of his hand to Gene's forehead. "You look like shit, Gene, you're burning up…" Sam is surprised by the tight grip around his wrist and the forceful shove that sends him arse first to the floor.
"You don't need no babysitter and I don't need no nurse." Gene steps over Sam, not looking at him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Sam demands, hurt and anger in his words.
Gene stops, spins angrily towards Sam, comes at him with a loud, resounding backhand to the face.
The silence is deafening, magnifies Gene’s immediate regret over what he’d just done. Sam stares in shock, frozen to his spot on the floor until he wipes at his bleeding nose, using the same hand he’d tended to Gene with moments before, waiting for something, an apology, a hand to help him up, something that never comes in the moments that stretch and hang, stagnant in the air.
Sam gathers himself to his feet, brushes not quickly enough by Gene to dodge the hesitant grip on his arm.
"Sam..."
He shrugs Gene violently off, moving to grab his jacket over the banister, the keys off the small table; his hand on the doorknob before he looks at Gene again. "I won't do this." Sam tells him, matter-of-factly.
"Going back to Hyde, then?" Gene crosses his arms, finally able to look at Sam, able to see the hurt in his eyes, nostrils flaring at the puffy lip, the bloody nose he knew he'd see.
Sam stutters, taken aback at the fierce look on Gene's face. "What?"
"Hyde. Back to whatever it is you did there, whatever it is that you think I don't care about, the things you choose not to tell me about. It's where you were tonight, innit?" Gene moves towards the door, closer to Sam, close enough to reach out though he doesn't, instead balling his fingers into fists at his side before shoving them in his pockets.
"How do you...Yeah, yeah it is. I went to Hyde." Sam backs away from the door, into the cool, early morning air, the light allowing him to see Gene in earnest, see the dark, almost purple bags under his tired and bloodshot eyes, to see the twitching muscles under stained, crumpled clothes, the hands balled into fists, hiding their tremors behind a thin layer of cloth.
"You went back to whatever, or whoever it is that you do, there back in Hyde, in the middle of the night. Had the balls to try and sneak back into my house..." Gene pulls a fist from his pocket, braces his fingers against the top of the open door, pulls the other fist out and grasps the doorknob tight. "You're right Sam, you won't do this. I won't do this." Gene slams the door, leaves Sam, confounded and bruised.
Sam stands, catching his breath, pushing back the thought that he may have found what he was looking for, pushing back the tears that threaten to spill, unable to see Gene slump down on the other side of the door, drawing his knees to himself and shaking.
**
Gene waltzes into CID hours later, already guzzling from his hip flask, mumbling something about hair of the dog to anyone who dares shoot him a look.
"Had a fight with the boyfriend last night then, Dorothy?" Gene gibes cruelly at Sam's desk.
Sam sneers, "What do you want? I'm in no mood..." he's cut off mid sentence, a forceful hand on his arm pushing him around for the second time in mere hours, this time up out of his seat and into Gene's office, up against the filing cabinet that started the whole thing months ago.
"Gonna hit me again, Guv?" Sam spits out, fire blazing in his eyes. "Come on," he says, turning his un-bruised cheek to Gene, "only this time make it good, so I can't get back up."
Gene releases his hold on Sam, wincing inwardly at his words, at the venom behind them. "You're off the murder case." Gene looks down, unable to confront the hurt in Sam's face, as if he had struck him on the other cheek.
"What? Why? Because of a fight? You can't take me off this case, Gene, not when we're getting so close..."
Gene steps away from Sam, placing distance between them. "Done deal, Sam. Ray'll be taking over from here on in."
"Wait, Ray? Guv, come on, you need me on this...."
Gene steps in to Sam again, arms on either side of him, against the cabinet, looking him in the eye. "No, Sam, I don't need you." Gene moves his head closer to Sam, closes his eyes and wrinkles his nose before pushing off of the filing cabinet and heading for the doors to his office, "Do yourself a favour, go home and wash his smell off of you. You're stinking up my office."
**
Sam sits, still on the bed; phone in hand though the call ended minutes before. Like a tape recorder he plays the short, one sided conversation over and over again in his head.
"Sam, we understand you've been taken off the murder case, we’ll have to take you off on our end as well. We understand, Sam, we do, emotional attachments...happen from time to time. It's why you have to be there, when it goes down, see it through to the end, nip it in the bud if you will. Stay out of it for now, don't meddle, we'll strike when the iron is hot. We'll contact you when the time nears."
**
Weeks pass in a blur of paperwork and scotch for Sam. He watches and waits in silence as the month ticks slowly by, as Gene and Ray chase down leads that don't exist, leads he knows Gene's made up. Watches them run down roads that go nowhere, roads he knows Morgan will block, as the moon rises higher and fuller each night. He doesn't go to the pub, can't watch Gene resume his normal life if only for a little while. He doesn't look at Gene, can't stand to meet the intermittent disappointment, fear, longing and confusion in those green eyes; can't stand to watch the slow transformation and anxiety that washes over him, little by little, day by day, instead watching from the sidelines, not meddling, heart and spirit breaking as the day draws nearer.
**
Though awake, the knock on his door at the late hour startles him. He reaches for his gun full of silver, slips it under his pillow, to be safe. "Who is it?" he asks, hand under the pillow with the gun.
"It's me, you pillock." Gene slurs from outside the door.
Sam gets up from the bed, stands in front of the door without unlocking it. "Go away, Gene."
"Let me in, Tyler, or I break it down."
He unlocks the door, steps back against the bed as Gene stumbles in and slams the door behind him, clearly pissed as he tries to struggle out of his coat.
"What're you doing here?" Sam asks, trying to sound indifferent, instead coming off curious, maybe hopeful.
"Night cap." Gene throws his coat on the end of the bed, long legs carrying him in a few quick strides to the booze he knows Sam keeps near the sink.
"Go home and have a drink, Guv. Or better yet, go home and get some sleep, you still look like shit."
"Well aren't you the perfect hostess, insulting your guest." Gene can't be bothered with a glass, instead choosing to drink the cheap whisky right from the bottle.
"You aren't my guest, I didn't ask you to come. I didn't even invite you in." Sam rolls his eyes in tandem with his stomach, which rolls of its own accord.
"Guess I'm not a vampire then?" Gene says seriously, after swigging a quarter of the bottle and advancing on Sam.
"What?" Sam laughs nervously as Gene eyes him.
"You know, vampires, like Dracula, the ones that bite people and suck on their blood."
Sam would swear that Gene's voice crawled, close to a drawl.
"Yeah, right. I know what vampires are." Sam inches further on to the bed.
"Okay then. You didn't invite me in and I guess that means I'm not one of them vampires, because they can only come in to your home if you allow them to."
"That's just, er, just a myth, Guv. No such things as vampires and, you know, monsters and such."
"That right?" Gene stops, his knees hitting the bed between Sam’s thighs before he nudges them further apart and sinks down to the floor, kneeling between Sam's spread legs.
"How 'bout other monsters?" Gene's hands are moving up Sam's legs, slowly over his thighs, his movements matching the slow, sensual tone of his voice.
"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Sam closes his eyes, unable to think with Gene's hands on him.
"Shhh, come on Sammy, what do you think?" Gene asks, hands running over Sam's crotch, up and over his obvious erection. "Monsters...maybe werewolves?"
Sam moans in spite of himself, as Gene's hands are replaced with his lips, mouthing hot against his straining cock, sniffing and breathing him in as if his life depends on it. "Gene..." Sam's hands wind in Gene's hair, pulling him close, too close, not close enough.
Gene lifts his mouth off of Sam, murmuring against the thin fabric that separates him from flesh. "Smell so good...Like no one else. So fucking good, Sam, always so good...They make you feel good like this over in Hyde? Does Morgan get on his knees for you...Make you ache for him..."
Sam grasps hard at Gene's hair, willing himself to stop, but he can't. He needs to understand what Gene is saying, what he's doing here, but he needs this more, this rush of blood and adrenaline he feels with Gene. He tugs Gene harshly up and into a violent embrace, a kiss full of tongues and teeth and something metallic, something that transforms the moment of lust to an atmosphere full of electricity and need and unspoken things.
Sam scrabbles for purchase against Gene's attack, lost in the sensation of Gene sucking on his tongue, his lips, lapping up the trace amounts of blood before biting almost gently down again, drawing a sharp hiss of breath from Sam and an unearthly growl from Gene.
It's then that Sam understands; Gene knows, knows Sam is a hunter. Gene is preying on him, stalking Sam like he would his kill.
"Gene...stop." Sam tries to move away from Gene.
"I've been to Hyde, Sam. Wanted to know...I missed you. Talked to Morgan, told him my Sam would never...Damn it Sam, I missed you, couldn't breathe without you..." Gene is grinding against Sam, desperate thrusts that come from a need for contact, for flesh. "It was him, his stink all over you...But that's over, Sam, no more..."
"Don't do this, please...I wanted to tell you. You took me off the case, God, I knew it was you, I knew...I was so scared I'd lose you. I went to Morgan that night, told him it wasn't you. I lied, Gene, I fucking lied for you and they knew, they saw right through me..."
A lightning fast hand comes up to Sam's neck, joins the lips there, caressing and causing spikes of pleasure before it sinks sharp, claw like nails into his skin and rips flesh as easy as paper. Sam is lost, yelping against Gene, fighting the absurd pleasure and intense pain of the intimate moment, wanting to drown in it as he tries to wrestle off Gene.
"Gene...Gene!" He screams, scared.
Gene stills, hearing, feeling the fear in Sam. He looks down, sees the blood stained lips, the deep scratches in Sam's neck and pulls off of him, horrified, fearful of what he's done. Sam is still beneath him, unable to move, unwilling to speak. "Sam?" Gene questions, as if it isn't him, as if he weren't present moments before.
The light of the moon drifts over the room, over them, having moved from behind the clouds. She is gorgeous, round and almost full this night, her monthly twenty-eight day cycle nearly complete by only twenty four hours. Gene closes his eyes to her, to Sam, sadness washing over him, the need to escape taking him over completely. With one last look down at Sam he flees, the whisper of apology dying on his lips.
Click here for Part Two