Fic, Atmosphere Part Two, darkest red cortina
Title: Atmosphere Part Two
Characters: Sam/Gene, Frank Morgan
Rating: Darkest Red Cortina for blood, violence, talk of non-con, bloodplay and sex
Warnings: Character Death! I am so sorry, I didn't intend, originally, for it to end in a death, but the story told itself and it had to be done, it is true to this story. Being that this is a monster!fic for Halloween, I hope that you can forgive me! Also, this is full of blood and some bloodplay as well as hints of non-con, though there are no full on scenes of it, more like glimpses.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, BBC and Kudos do, and I do this for sick and twisted pleasure.
A/N: Written for the spook_me challenge, with a prompt of werewolf, my favorite of all the monster types ;) Again, the hugest, gropiest hugs and kisses go out to severinne who was an absolute gem about this with her help and beta skills. She rocks my world :) Again, I had so much fun writing this, I loved this challenge and I love this story, I hope you enjoy reading the end!
Part Two
Everything tinted red, blood red...the walls he grasps blindly against, the door leading to the empty field and then everything is sheer black and shades of gray, the cold ground beneath his bare feet, the night sky with no stars, no moon.
Lost, he's lost, calling out to someone, anyone.
Sam.
He hears his name faint over the wind and dust that picks up and whips fierce around him, blinding him with its red particles, stinging his eyes and his skin until it stops, just as suddenly as it started and he is left, alone and cold. Scared.
Sam.
He hears again, calls out against the wind towards his name, his voice louder now in the eerie stillness, fear causing him to shake, his voice to crack as the gray light changes, replaced once more with red; blood red until there is nothing but deep colour around him and he wakes in his bed covered in sweat and shivering against the cool morning air, his own blood dried and caked on his neck, his shirt, his bed and he remembers.
**
Sam glances down at the disjointed, bloodied body, recognizable only by its face. His stomach lurches, threatens to spill; another quick scan of the body has him doubled over, catching his breath. Someone's hand is on his shoulder, asking him if he's okay, offering him a cup of water and he wonders when he dropped to his knees, when his hands found their way on to the body. He hits the water out of the nameless person's hand, pushes his way off his knees with strength and determination he isn't sure he possesses, looks around to find everyone is nameless to him, these coppers and curious onlookers and he feels lost, here without Gene, in his city.
Hands on either side of his face slap himself, demanding he wake up out of his fog, people stare at him, approach him, ask him if he's okay. Eyes roam back over the dead body, back on Frank Morgan, on the deep gashes in his arms...arms that held him down...the twisted, broken fingers...fingers that grazed his skin...the chunk of flesh missing from his neck...the neck he burrowed against during the assault, the place where he hid his tears...the deep pool of blood between his mangled legs...the thing he pushed inside of Sam, in his mouth, his arse...
Again he looks to the sea of unknown faces; hand over his mouth, keeping him from speaking, from hurling, from yelling something to someone, to anyone. He wants to shout, make them understand Gene did it for Sam, needs to make himself understand.
Sam walks away from the scene, runs away from the sea of blood and death and unknown things, eyes awash in shades of red, doesn't notice Gene as he slips away, unseen, his own insides twisting into a cruel mix of pain, of bone and muscle preparing for its transformation and of overwhelming sadness at what has to come, of age old tales come to life.
**
Gene walks the city, his city...their city, down forgotten alleys, cobblestone streets. He questions if Sam is up to the mighty challenge, ready to take on their city, ready to take on his destiny. Hunting, Morgan, monsters...It had all been practice for what was to come for them, for Sam. He looks to the darkening, reddening sky, closes his eyes to feel the wind whip around him, knows the time is near.
He finds himself in front of the station, at the gates to his city, proudly walks up her stairs, her hallways and settles in to his lair after a pause at Sam's empty desk.
He waits.
**
"What are you doing with Sam?"
"Sam? Surely you can be more specific than that Mister..."
"Hunt. Gene Hunt, DCI over in Manchester, and I'll ask you again, what are you doing with my Sam."
"DCI Hunt from Manchester. Ah, I see. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam speaks of you often..." Morgan sneers, extending his hand in superficial greeting.
"Does he? Funny, he's never mentioned you." Gene looks, arms crossed, at the outstretched hand.
"Frank Morgan, known Sam a long time, he's a good man, you're lucky to have him." Morgan retreats, focuses on his paperwork, aiming for an air of indifference.
Gene can smell the fear; fear and something else familiar and startling, something like...Sam. His nostrils flare as he grabs for Morgan, pulls him in close, baring his teeth and biting back a snarl. "Stay away from Sam, you understand me, Frank Morgan?"
"Detective Inspector Hunt," Morgan starts, voice calm over his obvious fear, "I think you've got it wrong, all wrong. Why don't you tell Sam to stay away from me, from here? I suggest you stay away too, you've no idea what you're getting in to..."
"Don't I?" Gene seethes, releasing his grip on Morgan and throwing him back into his sensible seat before he walks away.
"Did you know he came to me last night, Detective?" Morgan taunts Gene, voice dripping with arrogance and innuendo. "Begged me to take him back, take him away from you and away from Manchester. Got on his knees and grovelled, and not for the first time. Of course, he had to be punished, the poor, sad thing..."
Blind with possessive rage, Gene stalks back to Morgan, rips him up out of his chair and throws him on the floor, towering over him before a swarm of armed men surround them. Gene releases him, pushes past the group of men. "Touch Sam again and I promise, I will kill you, slowly, rip you limb from limb as you beg me for your sorry life."
"He knows, Gene. Sam knows who you are...what you do..."
**
Sam closes his eyes, breathes deeply, awareness creeping over his skin as the night settles in, as darkness sweeps across Manchester. He aches, body and mind, heart and soul. He splashes cold water on his face, chasing away the sweat, the heat and the itch. Absentmindedly he brings a hand to his neck, traces over the unscarred wound, wincing at the pain, at the memory. It's done, he knows this as he glances upon his still human reflection, feels the emerging beast ripping at him from the inside, ready to stalk the night.
Morgan is gone, killed in the line of duty like so many hunters before him. Sam will never mourn that life, will never forgive the blood Morgan splattered on Gene's hands, will never forget the painful task Morgan dropped on his doorstep.
It doesn't matter, won't matter when the moon is high in the sky, when the beast lives and breathes. It won't matter when he has to take the beast down.
**
The moon is high, her cycle complete once more as she glows high and bright over her city. The serenity that is CID this time of night is shattered as her light shines through the windows, pierced by high pitched cries, sickening sounds of popping bones, stretching skin and torn clothing.
The transformation is painful, like thousands of little deaths, over and over, month by month and in those last moments of awareness Gene imagines Sam, overcome with fear and wracked with pain, unable to completely transform until he makes his first kill. He's ready to lie in wait, ready for Sam to come to him, to give Sam that which he needs.
**
A painful cry, sweet as sin to the beast inside as fingers are twisted and mangled, bent so far back they snap like twigs. Morgan begs, grovels as his arm is torn from its socket. An intense feeling of victory and twisted pleasure well up inside both man and beast followed quickly by vehement disgust as he feels warm wetness against him, smells the strong stench of urine and reaches a hand down between legs he's kicked cruelly apart. He grasps with all his might, pulling and ripping away the flesh he finds there, flesh that violated Sam, basks in the exquisite pain of the twitching, dying body against him until he is lost to all but the kill. He sinks sharp teeth and claws into neck and rips out a hunk of flesh, dropping the body coldly to the ground as the blood and power course through his veins.
**
Sam is taken over by instinct, blindly following scent like a true canine, all other senses falling by the wayside until he steps out of the lift, into the hallway. He registers movement a moment before the beast is standing, full and tall, beautiful before him, body covered in dark blonde hair, eyes yellow and red, no longer the brilliant green of the man. The beast moves in on him, quick and sure in its movements until Sam, calling forth his hunting skills, snarls and kicks a leg out, tripping the beast up while he dodges claws and teeth, snakes out from under a limb and runs down the hall, towards Gene's office.
The beast is up again, fast, faster than Sam's human legs can carry him and Sam is caught, a mighty paw upon his chest pushing him, backing him through the doors to the office, backing him into a corner. Sam does not cower, does not back down, stares that beast down with fierce, already yellowing eyes of his own. He can taste it, the kill; the desire for it coursing through him like a drug.
The beast lunges at Sam, claws coming down sharp against the old wound, causing fresh blood to run down Sam's neck, stilling Sam for the briefest moment, stilling the world around them. The beast, or maybe what's left of Gene leans in, sniffs deeply, inhaling profoundly before its long tongue stretches out, laps coarsely, whimpering at the bittersweet taste of Sam. Sam closes his eyes, aims blindly as the blanket of red falls around him again and shoots, the bullet ripping through flesh as a cry is ripped from Sam's throat.
The beast howls in pain, falling back with a pained look for Sam before it whimpers and scampers off, wounded, trailing blood through the office, out the door, into the streets.
**
Sam finds him there sometime after dawn, on his bed, curled up and sleeping, clothes shredded and torn, stained dark with blood. Curiosity grips him as he makes his way slowly towards the sleeping, now human form, as his eyes move over half bare skin. He stills upon reaching the bed, his shaking hand hovering over the freshly torn and twisted flesh,the wound he'd inflincted, his fingers itching to dip into the shallow pool of blood gathering at Gene's abdomen, somehow wanting the blood on his hands, needing to feel it warm and sticky on his skin; marking him as Sam marked the flesh of both beast and man, flesh he’s come to love. A quick, familiar hand seizes him by the wrist, startling him out of his twisted thoughts before he can touch the wound.
He closes his eyes, lets the warmth of the skin to skin contact spread before he opens them again, focusing on familiar, once again green eyes staring back at him. The moment hangs thick in the air, unspoken words dangling precariously over them, threatening to fall. Sam leans in, ghosts his lips over Gene's, hushing the protest before it forms. Sam needs this, wants this, and he will not let Gene refuse him. His eyes search Gene's face, from lips to eyes and back before he leans in again, more urgent this time, his tongue running along Gene's parted lips, tasting blood and sweat and Gene and God he just wants more. His tongue pushes in against those lips, against the teeth that sunk into his own neck, brought him here to the brink of something too big to process, prodding and searching until Gene responds with a growl against him, a noise that shoots straight through Sam, through all his extremities until it settles hot and thick in his cock.
He can't explain it, doesn't understand it, this need that takes over, this desire that possesses him. He's had Gene, the man and now he needs the beast, needs that raw, unbridled passion that makes up the whole of the being underneath him. He responds to the strong hands groping his arse with a growl of his own, a push of his hips against Gene's and in that moment he is lost, in that moment that Gene flips them, in one fluid motion and with a show of strength that Sam can hardly believe Gene still possesses. His legs come up to twist around the powerful body, his hands slide through silky hair, grasping at the root and pulling Gene in and down to him, against him.
Sam feels the warmth of fresh blood soaking through his shirt, oozing from the fresh wound and spreading over his skin. He groans; a sound from somewhere deep inside of himself, some place that he doesn't yet recognize, as Gene pulls himself up on one arm, hovers over Sam and looks down their bodies, running a cruel hand over the blood soaked shirt before tearing it open, unable to deal with triviality, with buttons and niceties. Sam shivers from the cool air, from the fingers trailing blood over his bare skin, smearing it across his belly and up his chest until a single finger traces over his neck, dances a whisper over his parted lips, tinting them the barest shade of red. His tongue creeps slowly out of his mouth, responding and warming to this new sensation, this tingling heat and sweetness spreading over his lips and settling into crevices, spilling over nothing more but the hint of a taste, the lure of something grand.
Sam closes his eyes as Gene repeats the process, wincing as he dips a finger into the shallow wound and gathers the viscous liquid again on his fingers, bringing it once more to Sam's lips, watching as Sam holds his tongue out, waiting for it, wanting it. Sam swirls his tongue around the coated finger, less tentatively this time, more eager, wraps his lips around it and sucks greedily, feeding the growing hunger until not a trace is left, until his fingers are moving against Gene of their own accord, searching out the object of this new lust.
Gene allows it, gives this to Sam like he's never been able to give him anything before, biting through his own lip against the burning pain, focussing instead on the intense pleasure of Sam's skin against his, on the smell of arousal and lust and blood surrounding them. He wants to say things, too many things, but Gene isn't a man of words, and he wants to tell him, tell him their city will be a better place for having him guarding it, taking Gene's place as if it was always meant to be. Sam seems to understand, craning his neck towards Gene, thrusting his hips against him and begging for contact, not needing words, only needing Gene.
Gene understands these non-words, repeats his actions of hours earlier, drags his tongue against the scratches, licking the wounds clean for Sam, tasting and smelling and falling as emotion, fear and love and pride come forth, spilling out in harsh touches, in bodies rutting against each other like the animal Gene is, like the animal Gene's almost made out of Sam. With a mind to finish the task Gene rips at the rest of Sam's clothes, easily tearing away cheap fabric until there is just skin on skin, Gene against Sam, inside of him, fierce and unprepared, rough and painful. Just as Sam needs to feel the power in Gene, needed to taste his blood, Gene needs this, Sam underneath him, willingly gritting against the pain, finding pleasure in it as he gives himself completely over to Gene.
Sam understands this, closes his eyes as he works past the pain, his every nerve exploding with it until it's all he knows, pain and blood and as the red blankets him again, veils his eyes, he hears his name...
"Sam." Like in the dream, he's lost, scared.
"Sam." The name is louder, no longer a whisper, urgent against his ear. "Sam, open your eyes..."
Sam opens his eyes, grasping loosely at this new reality, grunting against Gene, feeling the slick thrust of his thick cock inside of him over and over, no longer painful but intensely pleasurable. A hot white light flashes behind his eyes when Gene runs a rough hand between his thighs, over his balls, up his shaft and he struggles to keep his eyes open against the excruciating bliss until something tells him to let go, until Gene demands he let go, sinking deep into him one last time, heat between his legs and on his neck where sharp teeth sink against already torn and bruised flesh.
Sam is no longer lost and scared, convulsing against Gene with a feeling he's never known, with a lust he can't explain, a thirst and a hunger not satiated with his release, hot and sticky, messy and mingling with blood on Gene's belly. Gene moves his hand up Sam's body, stilling him, calming him down, fingers grazing his skin until they move off of Sam, move under the pillow next to Sam, curling around something cold and hard and Gene shivers then, shaking as he pulls Sam's gun full of silver out, places it on the bed next to them as he flips their bodies once more, lies on his back as he guides Sam's hand to the gun.
Sam looks down at Gene, unbidden images of their mingled lives coming to him too fast, speeding by in a rush of messy emotion. He curls his fingers around the gun, runs it over Gene's bare, heated skin stopping to hold it steady over his heart, eyes not leaving Gene's as he fingers the trigger and after a pause falters, pulling the gun away only to find a firm hand over his, fingers joining his on the trigger, the slightest tension helping him pull it back, slowly.
"It's time to take over your city, Sam."
Sam leans down, whispers against Gene's lips as he closes his eyes. "Our city, Gene...Always our city..."
He pulls the trigger, his transformation complete.
Characters: Sam/Gene, Frank Morgan
Rating: Darkest Red Cortina for blood, violence, talk of non-con, bloodplay and sex
Warnings: Character Death! I am so sorry, I didn't intend, originally, for it to end in a death, but the story told itself and it had to be done, it is true to this story. Being that this is a monster!fic for Halloween, I hope that you can forgive me! Also, this is full of blood and some bloodplay as well as hints of non-con, though there are no full on scenes of it, more like glimpses.
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, BBC and Kudos do, and I do this for sick and twisted pleasure.
A/N: Written for the spook_me challenge, with a prompt of werewolf, my favorite of all the monster types ;) Again, the hugest, gropiest hugs and kisses go out to severinne who was an absolute gem about this with her help and beta skills. She rocks my world :) Again, I had so much fun writing this, I loved this challenge and I love this story, I hope you enjoy reading the end!
Part Two
Everything tinted red, blood red...the walls he grasps blindly against, the door leading to the empty field and then everything is sheer black and shades of gray, the cold ground beneath his bare feet, the night sky with no stars, no moon.
Lost, he's lost, calling out to someone, anyone.
Sam.
He hears his name faint over the wind and dust that picks up and whips fierce around him, blinding him with its red particles, stinging his eyes and his skin until it stops, just as suddenly as it started and he is left, alone and cold. Scared.
Sam.
He hears again, calls out against the wind towards his name, his voice louder now in the eerie stillness, fear causing him to shake, his voice to crack as the gray light changes, replaced once more with red; blood red until there is nothing but deep colour around him and he wakes in his bed covered in sweat and shivering against the cool morning air, his own blood dried and caked on his neck, his shirt, his bed and he remembers.
**
Sam glances down at the disjointed, bloodied body, recognizable only by its face. His stomach lurches, threatens to spill; another quick scan of the body has him doubled over, catching his breath. Someone's hand is on his shoulder, asking him if he's okay, offering him a cup of water and he wonders when he dropped to his knees, when his hands found their way on to the body. He hits the water out of the nameless person's hand, pushes his way off his knees with strength and determination he isn't sure he possesses, looks around to find everyone is nameless to him, these coppers and curious onlookers and he feels lost, here without Gene, in his city.
Hands on either side of his face slap himself, demanding he wake up out of his fog, people stare at him, approach him, ask him if he's okay. Eyes roam back over the dead body, back on Frank Morgan, on the deep gashes in his arms...arms that held him down...the twisted, broken fingers...fingers that grazed his skin...the chunk of flesh missing from his neck...the neck he burrowed against during the assault, the place where he hid his tears...the deep pool of blood between his mangled legs...the thing he pushed inside of Sam, in his mouth, his arse...
Again he looks to the sea of unknown faces; hand over his mouth, keeping him from speaking, from hurling, from yelling something to someone, to anyone. He wants to shout, make them understand Gene did it for Sam, needs to make himself understand.
Sam walks away from the scene, runs away from the sea of blood and death and unknown things, eyes awash in shades of red, doesn't notice Gene as he slips away, unseen, his own insides twisting into a cruel mix of pain, of bone and muscle preparing for its transformation and of overwhelming sadness at what has to come, of age old tales come to life.
**
Gene walks the city, his city...their city, down forgotten alleys, cobblestone streets. He questions if Sam is up to the mighty challenge, ready to take on their city, ready to take on his destiny. Hunting, Morgan, monsters...It had all been practice for what was to come for them, for Sam. He looks to the darkening, reddening sky, closes his eyes to feel the wind whip around him, knows the time is near.
He finds himself in front of the station, at the gates to his city, proudly walks up her stairs, her hallways and settles in to his lair after a pause at Sam's empty desk.
He waits.
**
"What are you doing with Sam?"
"Sam? Surely you can be more specific than that Mister..."
"Hunt. Gene Hunt, DCI over in Manchester, and I'll ask you again, what are you doing with my Sam."
"DCI Hunt from Manchester. Ah, I see. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Sam speaks of you often..." Morgan sneers, extending his hand in superficial greeting.
"Does he? Funny, he's never mentioned you." Gene looks, arms crossed, at the outstretched hand.
"Frank Morgan, known Sam a long time, he's a good man, you're lucky to have him." Morgan retreats, focuses on his paperwork, aiming for an air of indifference.
Gene can smell the fear; fear and something else familiar and startling, something like...Sam. His nostrils flare as he grabs for Morgan, pulls him in close, baring his teeth and biting back a snarl. "Stay away from Sam, you understand me, Frank Morgan?"
"Detective Inspector Hunt," Morgan starts, voice calm over his obvious fear, "I think you've got it wrong, all wrong. Why don't you tell Sam to stay away from me, from here? I suggest you stay away too, you've no idea what you're getting in to..."
"Don't I?" Gene seethes, releasing his grip on Morgan and throwing him back into his sensible seat before he walks away.
"Did you know he came to me last night, Detective?" Morgan taunts Gene, voice dripping with arrogance and innuendo. "Begged me to take him back, take him away from you and away from Manchester. Got on his knees and grovelled, and not for the first time. Of course, he had to be punished, the poor, sad thing..."
Blind with possessive rage, Gene stalks back to Morgan, rips him up out of his chair and throws him on the floor, towering over him before a swarm of armed men surround them. Gene releases him, pushes past the group of men. "Touch Sam again and I promise, I will kill you, slowly, rip you limb from limb as you beg me for your sorry life."
"He knows, Gene. Sam knows who you are...what you do..."
**
Sam closes his eyes, breathes deeply, awareness creeping over his skin as the night settles in, as darkness sweeps across Manchester. He aches, body and mind, heart and soul. He splashes cold water on his face, chasing away the sweat, the heat and the itch. Absentmindedly he brings a hand to his neck, traces over the unscarred wound, wincing at the pain, at the memory. It's done, he knows this as he glances upon his still human reflection, feels the emerging beast ripping at him from the inside, ready to stalk the night.
Morgan is gone, killed in the line of duty like so many hunters before him. Sam will never mourn that life, will never forgive the blood Morgan splattered on Gene's hands, will never forget the painful task Morgan dropped on his doorstep.
It doesn't matter, won't matter when the moon is high in the sky, when the beast lives and breathes. It won't matter when he has to take the beast down.
**
The moon is high, her cycle complete once more as she glows high and bright over her city. The serenity that is CID this time of night is shattered as her light shines through the windows, pierced by high pitched cries, sickening sounds of popping bones, stretching skin and torn clothing.
The transformation is painful, like thousands of little deaths, over and over, month by month and in those last moments of awareness Gene imagines Sam, overcome with fear and wracked with pain, unable to completely transform until he makes his first kill. He's ready to lie in wait, ready for Sam to come to him, to give Sam that which he needs.
**
A painful cry, sweet as sin to the beast inside as fingers are twisted and mangled, bent so far back they snap like twigs. Morgan begs, grovels as his arm is torn from its socket. An intense feeling of victory and twisted pleasure well up inside both man and beast followed quickly by vehement disgust as he feels warm wetness against him, smells the strong stench of urine and reaches a hand down between legs he's kicked cruelly apart. He grasps with all his might, pulling and ripping away the flesh he finds there, flesh that violated Sam, basks in the exquisite pain of the twitching, dying body against him until he is lost to all but the kill. He sinks sharp teeth and claws into neck and rips out a hunk of flesh, dropping the body coldly to the ground as the blood and power course through his veins.
**
Sam is taken over by instinct, blindly following scent like a true canine, all other senses falling by the wayside until he steps out of the lift, into the hallway. He registers movement a moment before the beast is standing, full and tall, beautiful before him, body covered in dark blonde hair, eyes yellow and red, no longer the brilliant green of the man. The beast moves in on him, quick and sure in its movements until Sam, calling forth his hunting skills, snarls and kicks a leg out, tripping the beast up while he dodges claws and teeth, snakes out from under a limb and runs down the hall, towards Gene's office.
The beast is up again, fast, faster than Sam's human legs can carry him and Sam is caught, a mighty paw upon his chest pushing him, backing him through the doors to the office, backing him into a corner. Sam does not cower, does not back down, stares that beast down with fierce, already yellowing eyes of his own. He can taste it, the kill; the desire for it coursing through him like a drug.
The beast lunges at Sam, claws coming down sharp against the old wound, causing fresh blood to run down Sam's neck, stilling Sam for the briefest moment, stilling the world around them. The beast, or maybe what's left of Gene leans in, sniffs deeply, inhaling profoundly before its long tongue stretches out, laps coarsely, whimpering at the bittersweet taste of Sam. Sam closes his eyes, aims blindly as the blanket of red falls around him again and shoots, the bullet ripping through flesh as a cry is ripped from Sam's throat.
The beast howls in pain, falling back with a pained look for Sam before it whimpers and scampers off, wounded, trailing blood through the office, out the door, into the streets.
**
Sam finds him there sometime after dawn, on his bed, curled up and sleeping, clothes shredded and torn, stained dark with blood. Curiosity grips him as he makes his way slowly towards the sleeping, now human form, as his eyes move over half bare skin. He stills upon reaching the bed, his shaking hand hovering over the freshly torn and twisted flesh,the wound he'd inflincted, his fingers itching to dip into the shallow pool of blood gathering at Gene's abdomen, somehow wanting the blood on his hands, needing to feel it warm and sticky on his skin; marking him as Sam marked the flesh of both beast and man, flesh he’s come to love. A quick, familiar hand seizes him by the wrist, startling him out of his twisted thoughts before he can touch the wound.
He closes his eyes, lets the warmth of the skin to skin contact spread before he opens them again, focusing on familiar, once again green eyes staring back at him. The moment hangs thick in the air, unspoken words dangling precariously over them, threatening to fall. Sam leans in, ghosts his lips over Gene's, hushing the protest before it forms. Sam needs this, wants this, and he will not let Gene refuse him. His eyes search Gene's face, from lips to eyes and back before he leans in again, more urgent this time, his tongue running along Gene's parted lips, tasting blood and sweat and Gene and God he just wants more. His tongue pushes in against those lips, against the teeth that sunk into his own neck, brought him here to the brink of something too big to process, prodding and searching until Gene responds with a growl against him, a noise that shoots straight through Sam, through all his extremities until it settles hot and thick in his cock.
He can't explain it, doesn't understand it, this need that takes over, this desire that possesses him. He's had Gene, the man and now he needs the beast, needs that raw, unbridled passion that makes up the whole of the being underneath him. He responds to the strong hands groping his arse with a growl of his own, a push of his hips against Gene's and in that moment he is lost, in that moment that Gene flips them, in one fluid motion and with a show of strength that Sam can hardly believe Gene still possesses. His legs come up to twist around the powerful body, his hands slide through silky hair, grasping at the root and pulling Gene in and down to him, against him.
Sam feels the warmth of fresh blood soaking through his shirt, oozing from the fresh wound and spreading over his skin. He groans; a sound from somewhere deep inside of himself, some place that he doesn't yet recognize, as Gene pulls himself up on one arm, hovers over Sam and looks down their bodies, running a cruel hand over the blood soaked shirt before tearing it open, unable to deal with triviality, with buttons and niceties. Sam shivers from the cool air, from the fingers trailing blood over his bare skin, smearing it across his belly and up his chest until a single finger traces over his neck, dances a whisper over his parted lips, tinting them the barest shade of red. His tongue creeps slowly out of his mouth, responding and warming to this new sensation, this tingling heat and sweetness spreading over his lips and settling into crevices, spilling over nothing more but the hint of a taste, the lure of something grand.
Sam closes his eyes as Gene repeats the process, wincing as he dips a finger into the shallow wound and gathers the viscous liquid again on his fingers, bringing it once more to Sam's lips, watching as Sam holds his tongue out, waiting for it, wanting it. Sam swirls his tongue around the coated finger, less tentatively this time, more eager, wraps his lips around it and sucks greedily, feeding the growing hunger until not a trace is left, until his fingers are moving against Gene of their own accord, searching out the object of this new lust.
Gene allows it, gives this to Sam like he's never been able to give him anything before, biting through his own lip against the burning pain, focussing instead on the intense pleasure of Sam's skin against his, on the smell of arousal and lust and blood surrounding them. He wants to say things, too many things, but Gene isn't a man of words, and he wants to tell him, tell him their city will be a better place for having him guarding it, taking Gene's place as if it was always meant to be. Sam seems to understand, craning his neck towards Gene, thrusting his hips against him and begging for contact, not needing words, only needing Gene.
Gene understands these non-words, repeats his actions of hours earlier, drags his tongue against the scratches, licking the wounds clean for Sam, tasting and smelling and falling as emotion, fear and love and pride come forth, spilling out in harsh touches, in bodies rutting against each other like the animal Gene is, like the animal Gene's almost made out of Sam. With a mind to finish the task Gene rips at the rest of Sam's clothes, easily tearing away cheap fabric until there is just skin on skin, Gene against Sam, inside of him, fierce and unprepared, rough and painful. Just as Sam needs to feel the power in Gene, needed to taste his blood, Gene needs this, Sam underneath him, willingly gritting against the pain, finding pleasure in it as he gives himself completely over to Gene.
Sam understands this, closes his eyes as he works past the pain, his every nerve exploding with it until it's all he knows, pain and blood and as the red blankets him again, veils his eyes, he hears his name...
"Sam." Like in the dream, he's lost, scared.
"Sam." The name is louder, no longer a whisper, urgent against his ear. "Sam, open your eyes..."
Sam opens his eyes, grasping loosely at this new reality, grunting against Gene, feeling the slick thrust of his thick cock inside of him over and over, no longer painful but intensely pleasurable. A hot white light flashes behind his eyes when Gene runs a rough hand between his thighs, over his balls, up his shaft and he struggles to keep his eyes open against the excruciating bliss until something tells him to let go, until Gene demands he let go, sinking deep into him one last time, heat between his legs and on his neck where sharp teeth sink against already torn and bruised flesh.
Sam is no longer lost and scared, convulsing against Gene with a feeling he's never known, with a lust he can't explain, a thirst and a hunger not satiated with his release, hot and sticky, messy and mingling with blood on Gene's belly. Gene moves his hand up Sam's body, stilling him, calming him down, fingers grazing his skin until they move off of Sam, move under the pillow next to Sam, curling around something cold and hard and Gene shivers then, shaking as he pulls Sam's gun full of silver out, places it on the bed next to them as he flips their bodies once more, lies on his back as he guides Sam's hand to the gun.
Sam looks down at Gene, unbidden images of their mingled lives coming to him too fast, speeding by in a rush of messy emotion. He curls his fingers around the gun, runs it over Gene's bare, heated skin stopping to hold it steady over his heart, eyes not leaving Gene's as he fingers the trigger and after a pause falters, pulling the gun away only to find a firm hand over his, fingers joining his on the trigger, the slightest tension helping him pull it back, slowly.
"It's time to take over your city, Sam."
Sam leans down, whispers against Gene's lips as he closes his eyes. "Our city, Gene...Always our city..."
He pulls the trigger, his transformation complete.