Flashpoint, The one where Ed has a sexual identity crises, Part 2/2
Title: The one where Ed has a sexual identity crises.
Author: kristories
Fandom: Flashpoint
Pairing: Ed/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 12,387
Summary: In the midst of Sam having flashbacks and Ed’s life being turned upside down, an armed man takes hostages at a bioengineering firm and the team is called in to handle the situation.
Warnings: Slash, of the non-story evolving kind. Violence. Spike’s uniform getting tarnished. Some language.
Kink: First Time, Mid-life Crises, Torture
Beta: Always wonderful Ash/Jack Vale with thanks to musingdarkly for valuable input and silentflux for putting up with musingdarkly and I when we convince that running a million communities at once is a really smart idea.
Thanks to musingdarkly for the fabulous pinch hit artwork! And also the title is totally her fault (but only because I couldn't think of anything better!).
Part One
"You think you can stop me?" the man demands. Sam names his Crazy Asshole in his head. Crazy Asshole, 5'7", slim build, Caucasian male, blond but balding, blue eyes that are overly bright and shining. Crazy Asshole is a true believer but his hands are shaking like a junkie who needs a fix. He's late forties, early fifties and Sam wishes he could relay all of this to Greg. He has no idea how he managed to shoot the gun in his hand with the shaking he's doing. The gun is a Glock 9mm, not a .357 magnum as reported, eyewitness accounts are for shit.
"We're not here to stop you," Ed says, he holds his hands up in front of him placatingly. "We just want to talk."
"Talk? I don't want to talk, this is my jihad and I won't have you interfere," he hisses.
The man stares at Sam, just stares at him, for a good ten minutes and Sam does his part of their impromptu staring contest and stares back, doesn't move, until finally the man speaks.
"You are a victim of my jihad," he says. He has a cultured voice, speaks English very well. Corporal Jessin is unconscious beside him. He mouthed off one too many times and one of their captors had knocked him on the side of the head with his AK. "You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place and the right time, if Allah wills it to be so. I think you Americans call your enemy Charlie, yes? You can call me Charlie."
"We're not Americans. What do you mean?" Sam asks. The man smiles brightly at him, eyes burning with some kind of frantic energy behind them that makes Sam's stomach clench in fear.
"Do not lie in the presence of Allah," Charlie says. "Allah has brought you to me, Allah only ever brings me those who truly believe in the cause or those who must truly be punished. So now, my friend, the question is not so much what do I mean, but more, who are you and what do you want?" Sam figures this is probably not going to end well and he is forever going to damn the fucking weekend warriors who were supposed to be his squad's backup but didn't show.
"Does it count if I truly believe that what you're doing to these people is wrong?" Sam asks. Charlie's smile turns hard and cold.
"Not in the slightest, my friend."
"We don't want to interfere," Ed says. "How about you just give me your name? My name's Ed and this is Sam. We just want to get everyone out of here safe and happy, including you." Sam freezes when the girl gets shoved out of the way and falls to the floor. She crawls under a desk covered in computer monitors and he realizes that this is the security centre. Crazy Asshole’s been watching them all along, he's relieved when he realizes that the cameras in the alley aren't picking up on Jules and Spike.
"Shut up," the man snarls. He points the gun at Ed and Sam takes a minute step forward. The gun doesn't waver though.
"Just a name, just something for me to call you," Ed says soothingly. The man screams in frustration as he pulls the trigger. Sam moves but it's too late, Ed is crumpled on the ground. He can see the bullet burn where it grazed Ed's helmet but the man is out cold on the floor and the gun swings to point at him. Sam checks Ed's pulse and it's there, it's a little fast but it's steady. Fucking asshole.
"Get up!" Crazy Asshole screams. "Get on your feet!" Sam complies when another bullet is fired into a computer monitor near him.
"Shots fired, shots fired!" Jules says. "Officer down, I repeat, Officer down!"
"Do you have the solution?" Greg demands. "Who got hit?"
"Ed's down, no solution, I do not have the solution. Goddammit, Sam, move your fucking head!" Sam doesn't move though.
"This is what happens when you interfere with the will of Allah." Sam stares down the barrel and doesn't move.
"You don't need them to complete your jihad," he gestures to the people under the table. He doesn't know how many of them there are, but he sees at least four sets of shoes.
"They are all part of Allah's will."
"But you don't need them," Sam repeats. "You don't need them because you have us, I'm not leaving without my partner, let them go, you can keep us."
"Don't do that Sam!" Greg orders. But Sam can see the man thinking about it.
"You let the others go, why did you let the others go?"
"There were too many to keep track of," he says. Crazy Asshole is starting to sweat, profusely, and Sam is starting to worry about his hold on the canister.
"There are still too many of us. You can let them go, and then there are only two of us and one of us is unconscious."
"Stop it, Sam, we negotiate but we don't make trades like that. I need you to think."
"You've gotta think, Sam," Corporal Jessin 'call me Jessie' says. His lungs are rattling from congestion. They're pressed together for warmth at the back of the cave. The guard lit a fire for them but they're not allowed close enough to it for it to do any good. "They're not going to do anything but hurt you for it."
"You're sick, I am thinking," Sam says. He's thinking that Jessie's been incredible to him the entire time they've been here. And if he can't have Jessie the way he wants, at least he can have Jessie healthy and whole. Charlie comes into the cave and steps forward. Sam can feel the watchful eyes of the guards.
"My men say you wanted something,” he says.
"My friend is sick, he needs a doctor or medicine," Sam says. Charlie smiles at him.
"You have nothing to bargain with, friend. Nothing that will endear you to me. You are infidels and if Allah wills it, he will die." Charlie leans down and touches Sam's cheek softly with the tip of his fingers. Sam swallows hard but he's learned the hard way not to flinch away and Charlie's smile widens.
"Good," he says. He stands and gestures to the guards. "Bring my friend. He needs to learn his place."
The first few whippings had been beyond any pain he'd ever been made to endure. The branding iron was a special hell, all of its own.
Crazy Asshole gestures at the table with his free hand. "Get out of here," he orders. It takes a minute for them to fully absorb that they're being released but when they do they scramble out from under the table as fast as they can. Seven people for him and Ed, he figures it's a fair trade.
***
"Where the hell is Dr. Luria?" Greg demands. "I need someone here, right now. Sam, you and I are going to have words when you get out of there, buddy." Sam doesn't answer. "Jules, status."
"I still have no solution," Jules says. She sounds tired and frustrated.
"Alternatives?" Greg demands.
"That's a no, Sergeant," Spike answers. "There's only one window into the room that isn't blocked by something and Sam's in the way."
***
"Okay, Sam, you're going to have to do this, don't worry, I'll be right here. I'll tell you what you need to say." Sam controls his shock at the words. Nothing like trial by fire. He hasn't been solo before, he doesn't know what to do and Crazy Asshole's hands are still shaking.
"What's in the canister?" he finds himself asking. Asshole stares at him, the gun pointed at the ground.
"None of your damned business," he says. "Shut the hell up."
"Ask him if there's something he wants, Sam, find out what his demands are."
"Do you want anything? Is there something I can have them bring you?" Sam asks.
The gun swings back up to him and the guy screams "Shut up!" so loud it echoes around the room for a moment.
"Okay, we all need to calm down here, just a little," Greg says. Ed is still unconscious on the floor at Sam's feet and Crazy Asshole is sweating so badly now that he has to keep adjusting his hand on the canister. If he's timed it right the hostages should have made it down the three flights of stairs and out to the street.
The room is muggy and Sam can feel sweat running down his back under his uniform. There's one window, closed, and it's behind Sam and not behind Crazy Asshole.
Sure enough Jules' voice comes over the radio, full of quiet frustration. "No solution, I repeat, I do not have the solution." This wasn't supposed to be how this played out. Both of the principle shooters weren't supposed to end up in the same room as a gun toting maniac while their back-up sits on a roof without a clear shot. Especially Ed, Ed's not supposed to be on the ground unconscious, Ed's supposed to be okay.
He does the math and comes up with an unacceptable answer, he's not going to be able to move fast enough to shoot the guy, jump over Ed's prone form, get across the eight feet that separates him from the subject and catch the canister before it hits the floor.
***
"Okay, we all need to calm down here, just a little," Greg says again. Sam takes a steadying breath.
"Okay," he says using the same inflections Greg had used. "We all need to calm down here, just a little."
"You need to stop talking, I don't need to calm down," Crazy Asshole says seriously. His arms are trembling minutely and Sam worries that the canister is going to fall.
"Yeah, you do, we need to talk here, you need to understand what you're about to do," Greg says and Sam bites his lip. He doesn't want to set this guy off and it sounds like that's going to set the guy off right away. "Go ahead, Sam, guy like this is going to want to rant, he's going to go classic villain on you and explain his evil plan. It's okay."
"Yeah, we need to calm down," Sam says, he's amazed at how calm his own voice is because inside he's pretty hysterical. Between the two of them he and Ed have exactly no protection whatsoever and they don't know what's in the canister and he has no negotiating experience whatsoever. This is giving Sam flashbacks to Afghanistan in a bad way and he knows that if … he knows that when he gets home tonight he's not going to be sleeping well. "We need to calm down and talk about this. You need to understand what you're about to do."
"Good, Sam, you're doing great," Greg says calmly. He thinks he hears Lewis' voice in the background, like maybe they've identified the contents of the canister. Identified the suspect.
"I know exactly what I'm doing here," Crazy Asshole says. "This is a holy war, this is my jihad and you and the rest of your friends aren't going to get in my way."
"Do you really believe that this is a jihad?" Greg asks so Sam asks too when really all he wants to do is scream about how this is all fucked up because this guy, he's not Muslim, there's no way he's Muslim and he's not on a holy war, he's some pissed off ex-employee who thought that taking down the people he works with is the thing to do because he got fired.
"You know nothing about my holy war," Crazy Asshole says.
"Peter Noles," Lewis says, his voice is tense and more than a little worried. "Forty-five years old, devout Christian, according to family and friends, he worked here until four years ago when he was let go. Employees from that time period say it was for a missing shipment of a gaseous chemical. The chemical isn't listed anywhere as being missing and Noles' dismissal papers list it as a layoff. Friends say he's been going downhill ever since. Started finding new friends that the family is afraid to have around, stopped going to church five weeks ago. Wife says he's been locked up in their basement for the last two weeks working on something and he wouldn't let her down to see."
"Okay, get a team down to the house, evacuate the family and run some tests," Greg says. "Someone get the wife down here, maybe she can talk to him."
Sam would normally have made a snide remark, even just in his head, at how right his assessment was except that he can feel every fibre of his being freeze at Lewis' words.
He can deal with gas, there are procedures for gas, it's not like he's never been threatened or had to take action when gas was involved. He's never been so terrified in his life up to and including being held hostage by insurgents.
"I know that God doesn't want you to do this, Peter, I know that you don’t pray to Allah and that there won't be seventy-two virgins waiting for you at the gates," Greg says. Sam parrots the words at the same time as he hears Dr. Luria's voice break onto the radio.
"No, don't push that, he's not going to respond to that." Sam can see the effect it's having on Crazy Asshole. The flash of anger in his eyes as he points the 9mm at his own head. He wishes Dr. Luria had been on time, hadn't been held up in court.
"This is my holy war," he says. Sam is down on the ground before the gun falls from Peter's limp hand. There's no time for him to get from his position to Peter's falling body to catch the canister but there is time to wrap his face in his jacket, pull Ed's face into his chest tight as he can and hope that's good enough.
The bleach smell is almost overpowering even through the material of his shirt and he coughs and tries to drag Ed backwards, but it doesn't work, he'll end up breaking Ed's neck if he tries to keep them both covered. He takes as deep a breath as he can through the jacket and holds it, burning in his lungs anyway. He pushes his jacket onto Ed's face. Even unconscious Ed is starting to cough. Sam wraps his arms around Ed and lifts and keeps lifting until he can get Ed onto his shoulder and stumbles out of the room to the stairs. He has to take another breath eventually and it still tastes like chemicals on his tongue but he's okay enough that he can breathe a little clearer, he can hear everyone shouting all at once in his ear.
"It's chlorine, it's just chlorine," he coughs 'just chlorine' like chlorine won't kill them if they don't get out. "I'm heading down; the suspect shot himself in the head. Have EMS standing by, Ed's still unconscious." He makes it down to the second floor and by then Greg and Lewis are there helping him. They take Ed and Sam finally sits down and just coughs and coughs. Eventually someone slips an oxygen mask over his face and he closes his eyes when the first few breaths start to feel better, the pain in his chest easing.
"You want medical attention for your friend?" Charlie asks him. He takes Sam by the arm, the arm conveniently connected to the shoulder that the asshole just branded. Everything feels like it's still on fire. Sam's head hurts and when Charlie pulls him upright black spots dance in front of his eyes. Charlie pulls him to another place, somewhere he hasn't been before. "I want medical attention for my people, who will help them?" he demands. Sam stares at them, fifty or so in various states, most of them wounded from shrapnel and bullets. A few are on oxygen but they still seem like they can't catch their breath.
"We don't always get what we want, my friend," Charlie says. "But I guarantee you, that if you ask for something so stupid as this again, I will kill your friend to put him out of his misery and I will put you to work in the mine field in the dark."
NOW
"So you're saying," the investigator says. "That the suspect shot himself because he believed he was in some form of holy war?" Sam stares at her. He's pieced the day together as best he can and that's all she came out of it with.
"Yeah," he says. His chest still feels tight, and he's fighting the urge to cough after all the talking. "I'm still not sure why you're here. It's not like there was an officer involved shooting, and you can see the transcripts of the tapes, I didn't set him off. Dr. Luria confirmed he would have done it anyway." The investigator smiles, a little brittle motion.
"That's unclear," she says. "Internal Affairs simply wants to be sure that your words didn't lead to him killing himself."
"You know," Greg's voice is like an angel's voice singing down from heaven right then. He claps a firm hand on Sam's shoulder and smiles down at him before looking at the investigator, his 'calm the civilians' expression firmly in place. The clap on Sam's shoulder sets off a round of coughing and he almost misses Greg's next words. "I think that you'll probably determine that the subject was mentally unsound, but aside from that, Officer Braddock needs to get back up to his room. His doctor's are looking for him, and after having been the victim of a Chlorine attack, he shouldn't be off his oxygen." The polite smile turns a little sharkish for a moment when he adds. "I'm sure you wouldn't be responsible for dragging my officer out of his sick bed and away from life saving treatment just to get a statement, would you?"
"I think we're done here," she says instead of answering. She looks at Sam, not at Greg. "I'll be contacting you for a formal written statement in a few days."
"Sure thing," Sam says and pointendly doesn't watch her pack away the tape recorder. It's more a power play on her part, but he can understand it, Greg may not look it, but he's certainly a very intimidating man up close. They wait until she's gone before Greg clasps Sam under the elbow and helps him to his feet.
"C'mon Sam, the doctors really are looking for you," Sam coughs all the way back to his room until Greg fits the oxygen mask over his face.
LATER
"So, I just wanted to assure you, you know. That you're not actually going to be charged. Internal affairs has decided that the shooting wasn't committed by you, and that your words did not incite the man into shooting himself," Greg says. Sam stares at him silently. "That was supposed to get a smile," Greg says and Sam shrugs and continues tying his boot. He's being released from the hospital. Finally.
He's tired, his lungs are burned from the chemical fumes and no one has bothered to tell him anything since the investigator left. "How's Ed?" his voice is a hoarse rasp that makes Greg wince in sympathy. Ed's been acting weird since the thing in the change room, with the staring and the overt concern, it's making it hard for Sam to remember that Ed is a married man and he's not going there, not again. Not after Jessie. He thinks about calling Jessie's wife, but she's never really had the patience for him.
"He's going to be fine, the helmet stopped the bullet and his head was hard enough." Greg gives a small relieved smile. "You're both going to be fine."
Sam nods. "They wouldn't discharge me otherwise," he says. “Is he awake yet?"
"Yeah, he uh…"
"He woke up like, an hour ago, and you were still unconscious," Ed says. He's leaning against the door behind Greg. He's even in his uniform. There's a very harried nurse hovering behind him.
"You can't just sign yourself out of the hospital," she says. Ed smiles at her brightly.
"And yet clearly, I can," he says. "Look, it's nothing personal, but these places creep me out, and if you're going to release the one of us who breathed in the chlorine gas, you can release the one of us who got shot in the head and doesn't even have a headache." She frowns at all three of them and Sam feels distinctly like a child being scolded.
"You shouldn't be leaving either," she says and he has a feeling there's a 'young man' that she's holding her tongue on. "At the very least the both of you should stay overnight for observation."
"I feel fine," he says.
"Besides," Ed adds. "Since I'm staying at his place he can make sure I don't burst a vessel in my brain and die, and I'll make sure he doesn't hack up any of his important organs." She lets out an irritated 'humph' sound but lets it go at that and a muttered 'damn macho men' comment.
"Staying with Sam?" Greg asks. Sam stares at Ed in a kind of horror. Ed shrugs.
"Well, it's either that or a motel," he says.
"I'm just saying, I've seen Sam's apartment. You might want to consider my couch, or you know, the alley behind the station even."
"Hey!" Sam says, "my apartment is not worse than the alley behind the station." The effort at defense almost makes him start coughing again and he stops to catch his breath.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Ed soothes. "You need to stop being such a mother hen, Greg." Greg rolls his eyes.
"Well, I can see when I'm not wanted, come on, I'll give you both a ride back to the station."
***
It doesn't seem right somehow, Ed thinks, to be having his existential crisis on a crappy floral pattern couch that sags in the middle with an odd spring that's guaranteed to massacre his back by morning and with Sam asleep in the other room. He doesn't feel wrong about wanting Sam, that's not what this is about. Mostly Ed's worried that it's just a rebound thing, a kneejerk reaction to having divorce papers handed to him. He doesn't want Sam to suffer, Sam's suffered enough and, from the sounds of it, he's still suffering in the middle of a nightmare. It's the startled shout that comes from the bedroom that makes his decision for him. Fuck it, Ed heaves himself off the couch and onto his feet.
In the bedroom Sam is sitting up, sheets pooled around his waist. Ed's eyes are kind of drawn to Sam's chest, the definition of it, the way it's covered in a sheen of sweat and he forces himself to admit that maybe this is just a Sam thing, but he still promises his brain he'll give it time to figure this all out later.
"You okay?" he asks, leaning on the door frame. Sam stares at him for a moment silently.
"Yeah," he says finally. "Sorry about that, didn't mean to wake you." Ed scoffs and pushes out of his slouch.
"Right, because I'm really getting a good night’s sleep on that torture device you call a couch," he jokes. "I think one of the springs was trying to get a little too friendly with my backside." Sam doesn't laugh but he cracks a little smile and Ed takes that as a good sign.
"Anyway," Ed adds and moves towards the bed. "I figure you'll do a better job of making sure my brains don't leak out my ear if I'm in here with you so shove over." He makes a shooing motion with his hands and Sam, confused and a little bit wary looking, slides over to the other side of the bed to let Ed lie down.
"I don't know what you're expecting," Sam says and Ed feels a wash of relief, because at least they're maybe on the same page.
"I'm not expecting anything right now," Ed answers. "We've both had a really rough day and we both need some sleep, we can figure the rest of this shit out tomorrow."
"Huh," Sam sounds amused, probably a good sign, Ed figures. "I was just going to let you know that the bed isn't any better than the couch, but if you're really careful, and don't roll over too close to the edge, the springs shouldn't do too much damage."
Ed reaches over without thought and smacks the top of Sam's thigh through the blanket now covering them both. "Don't be a smartass," he orders. "Go to sleep."
"Yes, Sir," Sam says and even though it's dark in the bedroom and Ed's not looking at him, he can still hear the smile in the other man's voice.
Ed's not surprised when sleep hits him like a freight train. He is surprised when he wakes up feeling fresh as a daisy that's been run over by a monster truck at 6:00 in the morning to the sound of someone's alarm going off. Really bad music is pouring through the paper thin bedroom wall and he frowns at it even though it hasn't even phased Sam. He thinks about hitting the wall but before he can move his arm, the alarm shuts off.
Sleep isn't going to come back no matter how much he wants it to, once he's up, he's up, so Ed carefully rolls out of bed and grimaces when two of the springs jab his side. He'll see what there is for breakfast, and he'll figure out what he's going to do.
The kitchen is woefully lacking in, well, anything edible, but there's a dozen eggs in the fridge and a pound of bacon in the freezer and a jar of instant coffee on the counter and an oven that has definitely seen better days.
***
When Sam wakes up, Ed is gone, for a second he figures he must have dreamed the whole thing, he certainly feels bad enough to have the stupid dreams that come with cough medicine, and then he smells the bacon and figures he's probably still dreaming. He lies in bed for few more minutes before he decides that the clattering means that yesterday, last night, did happen and he'd better just get himself up and face the awkward morning after. Hell, he didn't even get laid.
Ed's standing at the counter, draining bacon grease into an empty dish when Sam makes it into the kitchen. He realizes he hasn't put on a shirt, but it's not like Ed hasn't seen all that Sam has been trying to hide yesterday.
"You made breakfast?" Sam asks. God, his voice sounds awful. Ed smirks at him and gestures to the table.
"You're a little slow in the mornings aren't you?" Sam narrows his eyes.
"You might have cooked breakfast, but it's probably not the best idea to be insulting the man whose apartment you're staying at."
"Eat," Ed orders. "And really, I have to go with Greg on this one, I wouldn't really consider this an apartment." Sam would argue that now Ed has insulted both his host and his host's living environment but then again, no one's cooked him bacon and eggs in years.
"So," he says around a full mouth. "About last night." Ed looks at him across the table, Sam shifts and their knees bump, there's a blush staining his cheekbones.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"What exactly was I supposed to be expecting?" Sam asks. "Because I know what I'm in for, but I can't, it's just - you're married, you know?" Ed meets his eyes and Sam worries his bottom lip with his teeth before giving him and dropping his gaze back down to the table. Ed doesn't say anything and Sam's just about to shove another forkful of eggs into his mouth just to have something to do when he feels Ed's fingers on his chin, raising his head to meet Ed's eyes again.
"Sophie and I are getting a divorce," he says, quiet and matter of fact. "And I don't know what you should be expecting, because I haven't figured out exactly what this is yet."
"So I'm like, your rebound?" Sam asks incredulously, shock making him give name to what's happening between them. "That's going to be kind of awkward at work."
"Yeah," Ed says, and he sounds really certain. Sam tries to work himself up to a righteous anger but Ed's next words take the metaphorical wind out of his sails. "That's not the way I'm looking at things at all." Sam should have been prepared for it, but it still comes as a surprise when Ed leans across the table, Sam's chin still held firmly in hand, and plants a kiss on Sam's lips. He pulls barely an inch away, Sam doesn't remember closing his eyes but when he opens them and sees Ed looking at him, he surges up to meet him again.
The chair clatters to the floor and Sam's back, lungs and sense of cleanliness protest his landing on the kitchen floor but with Ed heavy on him, he can't bring himself to really care. Ed's lips on his are firm and insistent, Sam opens to his tongue without a real thought to consequence and the heat pooling in his belly ratchets up a notch. Ed kisses like he's on a mission, kisses like he's taking over, owning, and Sam shudders under him at the realization that this is what he wants.
Ed buries his hands in Sam's hair, just holding his head still, kissing and kissing and Sam's hands, almost of their own accord, slide down until he can push up under Ed's shirt and reach the warm bare skin there. He can feel Ed hard against his thigh and grinds up against him as much as he can. Ed chuckles into his mouth and pulls away for a second, eyebrow lifted.
"Was there something you wanted?" he asks, his voice is smoky, deeper than usual. Sam grunts and shoves and rolls them over.
"You to shut up," he says. He wraps his hands around the hem of his own t-shirt and pulls it over his head. His entire body shifts when Ed sits up to do the same, and then it's just the two of them on Sam's dirty kitchen floor in their boxers. Ed's arms wrap around Sam's back, one hand in Sam's hair, one hand on the curve of Sam's ass as he rocks up. Sam can't help the small huff of sound at the friction. It's a mess of hot and wet, Ed's mouth attached to Sam's neck, Sam rocking down against Ed until they're shaking with it. Ed cries out, a deep throaty sound, when he comes that sends shivers up Sam's back. Sam has an insane desire to see what he looks like but for the life of him and the white bright lights flashing behind his eyelids, he can't make himself. Ed's hands clenching tighter on Sam's body, holding him impossibly closer as he sinks his teeth into the tendon in Sam's neck. It's the feel of it. The sting of the bite and the soothing of the tongue working the flesh in Ed's mouth that pulls Sam over so hard and quickly that he's not even sure he's actually come until he's back to himself, head resting on Ed's shoulder, mother of all hickeys on his neck.
"I could probably get used to that," Sam says. He can feel more than hear Ed's laugh.
"Yeah," Ed says, "but we're getting a new mattress." This time Sam doesn't hesitate to reply as he pushes himself up off the floor, they've both made a disgusting mess of their boxers and breakfast is getting cold.
"You know you've managed to insult me, my apartment, my couch and my matress in the last 12 hours? You're not a very grateful guest." Ed wraps an arm around Sam's waist and pulls him closer.
"I can very grateful," he says seriously, voice husky. Sam licks his lips.
"Yeah?" he asks. "How grateful?"
"Grateful enough that we're going to pick out a new matress today," Ed answers and slips past Sam. "I call the shower first." Sam feels justified in not warning him about the fact that the hot water takes a minute to really get going. Cold eggs, worth it. The startled shout, priceless.
/end
Author: kristories
Fandom: Flashpoint
Pairing: Ed/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 12,387
Summary: In the midst of Sam having flashbacks and Ed’s life being turned upside down, an armed man takes hostages at a bioengineering firm and the team is called in to handle the situation.
Warnings: Slash, of the non-story evolving kind. Violence. Spike’s uniform getting tarnished. Some language.
Kink: First Time, Mid-life Crises, Torture
Beta: Always wonderful Ash/Jack Vale with thanks to musingdarkly for valuable input and silentflux for putting up with musingdarkly and I when we convince that running a million communities at once is a really smart idea.
Thanks to musingdarkly for the fabulous pinch hit artwork! And also the title is totally her fault (but only because I couldn't think of anything better!).
Part One
"You think you can stop me?" the man demands. Sam names his Crazy Asshole in his head. Crazy Asshole, 5'7", slim build, Caucasian male, blond but balding, blue eyes that are overly bright and shining. Crazy Asshole is a true believer but his hands are shaking like a junkie who needs a fix. He's late forties, early fifties and Sam wishes he could relay all of this to Greg. He has no idea how he managed to shoot the gun in his hand with the shaking he's doing. The gun is a Glock 9mm, not a .357 magnum as reported, eyewitness accounts are for shit.
"We're not here to stop you," Ed says, he holds his hands up in front of him placatingly. "We just want to talk."
"Talk? I don't want to talk, this is my jihad and I won't have you interfere," he hisses.
The man stares at Sam, just stares at him, for a good ten minutes and Sam does his part of their impromptu staring contest and stares back, doesn't move, until finally the man speaks.
"You are a victim of my jihad," he says. He has a cultured voice, speaks English very well. Corporal Jessin is unconscious beside him. He mouthed off one too many times and one of their captors had knocked him on the side of the head with his AK. "You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps the right place and the right time, if Allah wills it to be so. I think you Americans call your enemy Charlie, yes? You can call me Charlie."
"We're not Americans. What do you mean?" Sam asks. The man smiles brightly at him, eyes burning with some kind of frantic energy behind them that makes Sam's stomach clench in fear.
"Do not lie in the presence of Allah," Charlie says. "Allah has brought you to me, Allah only ever brings me those who truly believe in the cause or those who must truly be punished. So now, my friend, the question is not so much what do I mean, but more, who are you and what do you want?" Sam figures this is probably not going to end well and he is forever going to damn the fucking weekend warriors who were supposed to be his squad's backup but didn't show.
"Does it count if I truly believe that what you're doing to these people is wrong?" Sam asks. Charlie's smile turns hard and cold.
"Not in the slightest, my friend."
"We don't want to interfere," Ed says. "How about you just give me your name? My name's Ed and this is Sam. We just want to get everyone out of here safe and happy, including you." Sam freezes when the girl gets shoved out of the way and falls to the floor. She crawls under a desk covered in computer monitors and he realizes that this is the security centre. Crazy Asshole’s been watching them all along, he's relieved when he realizes that the cameras in the alley aren't picking up on Jules and Spike.
"Shut up," the man snarls. He points the gun at Ed and Sam takes a minute step forward. The gun doesn't waver though.
"Just a name, just something for me to call you," Ed says soothingly. The man screams in frustration as he pulls the trigger. Sam moves but it's too late, Ed is crumpled on the ground. He can see the bullet burn where it grazed Ed's helmet but the man is out cold on the floor and the gun swings to point at him. Sam checks Ed's pulse and it's there, it's a little fast but it's steady. Fucking asshole.
"Get up!" Crazy Asshole screams. "Get on your feet!" Sam complies when another bullet is fired into a computer monitor near him.
"Shots fired, shots fired!" Jules says. "Officer down, I repeat, Officer down!"
"Do you have the solution?" Greg demands. "Who got hit?"
"Ed's down, no solution, I do not have the solution. Goddammit, Sam, move your fucking head!" Sam doesn't move though.
"This is what happens when you interfere with the will of Allah." Sam stares down the barrel and doesn't move.
"You don't need them to complete your jihad," he gestures to the people under the table. He doesn't know how many of them there are, but he sees at least four sets of shoes.
"They are all part of Allah's will."
"But you don't need them," Sam repeats. "You don't need them because you have us, I'm not leaving without my partner, let them go, you can keep us."
"Don't do that Sam!" Greg orders. But Sam can see the man thinking about it.
"You let the others go, why did you let the others go?"
"There were too many to keep track of," he says. Crazy Asshole is starting to sweat, profusely, and Sam is starting to worry about his hold on the canister.
"There are still too many of us. You can let them go, and then there are only two of us and one of us is unconscious."
"Stop it, Sam, we negotiate but we don't make trades like that. I need you to think."
"You've gotta think, Sam," Corporal Jessin 'call me Jessie' says. His lungs are rattling from congestion. They're pressed together for warmth at the back of the cave. The guard lit a fire for them but they're not allowed close enough to it for it to do any good. "They're not going to do anything but hurt you for it."
"You're sick, I am thinking," Sam says. He's thinking that Jessie's been incredible to him the entire time they've been here. And if he can't have Jessie the way he wants, at least he can have Jessie healthy and whole. Charlie comes into the cave and steps forward. Sam can feel the watchful eyes of the guards.
"My men say you wanted something,” he says.
"My friend is sick, he needs a doctor or medicine," Sam says. Charlie smiles at him.
"You have nothing to bargain with, friend. Nothing that will endear you to me. You are infidels and if Allah wills it, he will die." Charlie leans down and touches Sam's cheek softly with the tip of his fingers. Sam swallows hard but he's learned the hard way not to flinch away and Charlie's smile widens.
"Good," he says. He stands and gestures to the guards. "Bring my friend. He needs to learn his place."
The first few whippings had been beyond any pain he'd ever been made to endure. The branding iron was a special hell, all of its own.
Crazy Asshole gestures at the table with his free hand. "Get out of here," he orders. It takes a minute for them to fully absorb that they're being released but when they do they scramble out from under the table as fast as they can. Seven people for him and Ed, he figures it's a fair trade.
***
"Where the hell is Dr. Luria?" Greg demands. "I need someone here, right now. Sam, you and I are going to have words when you get out of there, buddy." Sam doesn't answer. "Jules, status."
"I still have no solution," Jules says. She sounds tired and frustrated.
"Alternatives?" Greg demands.
"That's a no, Sergeant," Spike answers. "There's only one window into the room that isn't blocked by something and Sam's in the way."
***
"Okay, Sam, you're going to have to do this, don't worry, I'll be right here. I'll tell you what you need to say." Sam controls his shock at the words. Nothing like trial by fire. He hasn't been solo before, he doesn't know what to do and Crazy Asshole's hands are still shaking.
"What's in the canister?" he finds himself asking. Asshole stares at him, the gun pointed at the ground.
"None of your damned business," he says. "Shut the hell up."
"Ask him if there's something he wants, Sam, find out what his demands are."
"Do you want anything? Is there something I can have them bring you?" Sam asks.
The gun swings back up to him and the guy screams "Shut up!" so loud it echoes around the room for a moment.
"Okay, we all need to calm down here, just a little," Greg says. Ed is still unconscious on the floor at Sam's feet and Crazy Asshole is sweating so badly now that he has to keep adjusting his hand on the canister. If he's timed it right the hostages should have made it down the three flights of stairs and out to the street.
The room is muggy and Sam can feel sweat running down his back under his uniform. There's one window, closed, and it's behind Sam and not behind Crazy Asshole.
Sure enough Jules' voice comes over the radio, full of quiet frustration. "No solution, I repeat, I do not have the solution." This wasn't supposed to be how this played out. Both of the principle shooters weren't supposed to end up in the same room as a gun toting maniac while their back-up sits on a roof without a clear shot. Especially Ed, Ed's not supposed to be on the ground unconscious, Ed's supposed to be okay.
He does the math and comes up with an unacceptable answer, he's not going to be able to move fast enough to shoot the guy, jump over Ed's prone form, get across the eight feet that separates him from the subject and catch the canister before it hits the floor.
***
"Okay, we all need to calm down here, just a little," Greg says again. Sam takes a steadying breath.
"Okay," he says using the same inflections Greg had used. "We all need to calm down here, just a little."
"You need to stop talking, I don't need to calm down," Crazy Asshole says seriously. His arms are trembling minutely and Sam worries that the canister is going to fall.
"Yeah, you do, we need to talk here, you need to understand what you're about to do," Greg says and Sam bites his lip. He doesn't want to set this guy off and it sounds like that's going to set the guy off right away. "Go ahead, Sam, guy like this is going to want to rant, he's going to go classic villain on you and explain his evil plan. It's okay."
"Yeah, we need to calm down," Sam says, he's amazed at how calm his own voice is because inside he's pretty hysterical. Between the two of them he and Ed have exactly no protection whatsoever and they don't know what's in the canister and he has no negotiating experience whatsoever. This is giving Sam flashbacks to Afghanistan in a bad way and he knows that if … he knows that when he gets home tonight he's not going to be sleeping well. "We need to calm down and talk about this. You need to understand what you're about to do."
"Good, Sam, you're doing great," Greg says calmly. He thinks he hears Lewis' voice in the background, like maybe they've identified the contents of the canister. Identified the suspect.
"I know exactly what I'm doing here," Crazy Asshole says. "This is a holy war, this is my jihad and you and the rest of your friends aren't going to get in my way."
"Do you really believe that this is a jihad?" Greg asks so Sam asks too when really all he wants to do is scream about how this is all fucked up because this guy, he's not Muslim, there's no way he's Muslim and he's not on a holy war, he's some pissed off ex-employee who thought that taking down the people he works with is the thing to do because he got fired.
"You know nothing about my holy war," Crazy Asshole says.
"Peter Noles," Lewis says, his voice is tense and more than a little worried. "Forty-five years old, devout Christian, according to family and friends, he worked here until four years ago when he was let go. Employees from that time period say it was for a missing shipment of a gaseous chemical. The chemical isn't listed anywhere as being missing and Noles' dismissal papers list it as a layoff. Friends say he's been going downhill ever since. Started finding new friends that the family is afraid to have around, stopped going to church five weeks ago. Wife says he's been locked up in their basement for the last two weeks working on something and he wouldn't let her down to see."
"Okay, get a team down to the house, evacuate the family and run some tests," Greg says. "Someone get the wife down here, maybe she can talk to him."
Sam would normally have made a snide remark, even just in his head, at how right his assessment was except that he can feel every fibre of his being freeze at Lewis' words.
He can deal with gas, there are procedures for gas, it's not like he's never been threatened or had to take action when gas was involved. He's never been so terrified in his life up to and including being held hostage by insurgents.
"I know that God doesn't want you to do this, Peter, I know that you don’t pray to Allah and that there won't be seventy-two virgins waiting for you at the gates," Greg says. Sam parrots the words at the same time as he hears Dr. Luria's voice break onto the radio.
"No, don't push that, he's not going to respond to that." Sam can see the effect it's having on Crazy Asshole. The flash of anger in his eyes as he points the 9mm at his own head. He wishes Dr. Luria had been on time, hadn't been held up in court.
"This is my holy war," he says. Sam is down on the ground before the gun falls from Peter's limp hand. There's no time for him to get from his position to Peter's falling body to catch the canister but there is time to wrap his face in his jacket, pull Ed's face into his chest tight as he can and hope that's good enough.
The bleach smell is almost overpowering even through the material of his shirt and he coughs and tries to drag Ed backwards, but it doesn't work, he'll end up breaking Ed's neck if he tries to keep them both covered. He takes as deep a breath as he can through the jacket and holds it, burning in his lungs anyway. He pushes his jacket onto Ed's face. Even unconscious Ed is starting to cough. Sam wraps his arms around Ed and lifts and keeps lifting until he can get Ed onto his shoulder and stumbles out of the room to the stairs. He has to take another breath eventually and it still tastes like chemicals on his tongue but he's okay enough that he can breathe a little clearer, he can hear everyone shouting all at once in his ear.
"It's chlorine, it's just chlorine," he coughs 'just chlorine' like chlorine won't kill them if they don't get out. "I'm heading down; the suspect shot himself in the head. Have EMS standing by, Ed's still unconscious." He makes it down to the second floor and by then Greg and Lewis are there helping him. They take Ed and Sam finally sits down and just coughs and coughs. Eventually someone slips an oxygen mask over his face and he closes his eyes when the first few breaths start to feel better, the pain in his chest easing.
"You want medical attention for your friend?" Charlie asks him. He takes Sam by the arm, the arm conveniently connected to the shoulder that the asshole just branded. Everything feels like it's still on fire. Sam's head hurts and when Charlie pulls him upright black spots dance in front of his eyes. Charlie pulls him to another place, somewhere he hasn't been before. "I want medical attention for my people, who will help them?" he demands. Sam stares at them, fifty or so in various states, most of them wounded from shrapnel and bullets. A few are on oxygen but they still seem like they can't catch their breath.
"We don't always get what we want, my friend," Charlie says. "But I guarantee you, that if you ask for something so stupid as this again, I will kill your friend to put him out of his misery and I will put you to work in the mine field in the dark."
NOW
"So you're saying," the investigator says. "That the suspect shot himself because he believed he was in some form of holy war?" Sam stares at her. He's pieced the day together as best he can and that's all she came out of it with.
"Yeah," he says. His chest still feels tight, and he's fighting the urge to cough after all the talking. "I'm still not sure why you're here. It's not like there was an officer involved shooting, and you can see the transcripts of the tapes, I didn't set him off. Dr. Luria confirmed he would have done it anyway." The investigator smiles, a little brittle motion.
"That's unclear," she says. "Internal Affairs simply wants to be sure that your words didn't lead to him killing himself."
"You know," Greg's voice is like an angel's voice singing down from heaven right then. He claps a firm hand on Sam's shoulder and smiles down at him before looking at the investigator, his 'calm the civilians' expression firmly in place. The clap on Sam's shoulder sets off a round of coughing and he almost misses Greg's next words. "I think that you'll probably determine that the subject was mentally unsound, but aside from that, Officer Braddock needs to get back up to his room. His doctor's are looking for him, and after having been the victim of a Chlorine attack, he shouldn't be off his oxygen." The polite smile turns a little sharkish for a moment when he adds. "I'm sure you wouldn't be responsible for dragging my officer out of his sick bed and away from life saving treatment just to get a statement, would you?"
"I think we're done here," she says instead of answering. She looks at Sam, not at Greg. "I'll be contacting you for a formal written statement in a few days."
"Sure thing," Sam says and pointendly doesn't watch her pack away the tape recorder. It's more a power play on her part, but he can understand it, Greg may not look it, but he's certainly a very intimidating man up close. They wait until she's gone before Greg clasps Sam under the elbow and helps him to his feet.
"C'mon Sam, the doctors really are looking for you," Sam coughs all the way back to his room until Greg fits the oxygen mask over his face.
LATER
"So, I just wanted to assure you, you know. That you're not actually going to be charged. Internal affairs has decided that the shooting wasn't committed by you, and that your words did not incite the man into shooting himself," Greg says. Sam stares at him silently. "That was supposed to get a smile," Greg says and Sam shrugs and continues tying his boot. He's being released from the hospital. Finally.
He's tired, his lungs are burned from the chemical fumes and no one has bothered to tell him anything since the investigator left. "How's Ed?" his voice is a hoarse rasp that makes Greg wince in sympathy. Ed's been acting weird since the thing in the change room, with the staring and the overt concern, it's making it hard for Sam to remember that Ed is a married man and he's not going there, not again. Not after Jessie. He thinks about calling Jessie's wife, but she's never really had the patience for him.
"He's going to be fine, the helmet stopped the bullet and his head was hard enough." Greg gives a small relieved smile. "You're both going to be fine."
Sam nods. "They wouldn't discharge me otherwise," he says. “Is he awake yet?"
"Yeah, he uh…"
"He woke up like, an hour ago, and you were still unconscious," Ed says. He's leaning against the door behind Greg. He's even in his uniform. There's a very harried nurse hovering behind him.
"You can't just sign yourself out of the hospital," she says. Ed smiles at her brightly.
"And yet clearly, I can," he says. "Look, it's nothing personal, but these places creep me out, and if you're going to release the one of us who breathed in the chlorine gas, you can release the one of us who got shot in the head and doesn't even have a headache." She frowns at all three of them and Sam feels distinctly like a child being scolded.
"You shouldn't be leaving either," she says and he has a feeling there's a 'young man' that she's holding her tongue on. "At the very least the both of you should stay overnight for observation."
"I feel fine," he says.
"Besides," Ed adds. "Since I'm staying at his place he can make sure I don't burst a vessel in my brain and die, and I'll make sure he doesn't hack up any of his important organs." She lets out an irritated 'humph' sound but lets it go at that and a muttered 'damn macho men' comment.
"Staying with Sam?" Greg asks. Sam stares at Ed in a kind of horror. Ed shrugs.
"Well, it's either that or a motel," he says.
"I'm just saying, I've seen Sam's apartment. You might want to consider my couch, or you know, the alley behind the station even."
"Hey!" Sam says, "my apartment is not worse than the alley behind the station." The effort at defense almost makes him start coughing again and he stops to catch his breath.
"I'm sure it'll be fine," Ed soothes. "You need to stop being such a mother hen, Greg." Greg rolls his eyes.
"Well, I can see when I'm not wanted, come on, I'll give you both a ride back to the station."
***
It doesn't seem right somehow, Ed thinks, to be having his existential crisis on a crappy floral pattern couch that sags in the middle with an odd spring that's guaranteed to massacre his back by morning and with Sam asleep in the other room. He doesn't feel wrong about wanting Sam, that's not what this is about. Mostly Ed's worried that it's just a rebound thing, a kneejerk reaction to having divorce papers handed to him. He doesn't want Sam to suffer, Sam's suffered enough and, from the sounds of it, he's still suffering in the middle of a nightmare. It's the startled shout that comes from the bedroom that makes his decision for him. Fuck it, Ed heaves himself off the couch and onto his feet.
In the bedroom Sam is sitting up, sheets pooled around his waist. Ed's eyes are kind of drawn to Sam's chest, the definition of it, the way it's covered in a sheen of sweat and he forces himself to admit that maybe this is just a Sam thing, but he still promises his brain he'll give it time to figure this all out later.
"You okay?" he asks, leaning on the door frame. Sam stares at him for a moment silently.
"Yeah," he says finally. "Sorry about that, didn't mean to wake you." Ed scoffs and pushes out of his slouch.
"Right, because I'm really getting a good night’s sleep on that torture device you call a couch," he jokes. "I think one of the springs was trying to get a little too friendly with my backside." Sam doesn't laugh but he cracks a little smile and Ed takes that as a good sign.
"Anyway," Ed adds and moves towards the bed. "I figure you'll do a better job of making sure my brains don't leak out my ear if I'm in here with you so shove over." He makes a shooing motion with his hands and Sam, confused and a little bit wary looking, slides over to the other side of the bed to let Ed lie down.
"I don't know what you're expecting," Sam says and Ed feels a wash of relief, because at least they're maybe on the same page.
"I'm not expecting anything right now," Ed answers. "We've both had a really rough day and we both need some sleep, we can figure the rest of this shit out tomorrow."
"Huh," Sam sounds amused, probably a good sign, Ed figures. "I was just going to let you know that the bed isn't any better than the couch, but if you're really careful, and don't roll over too close to the edge, the springs shouldn't do too much damage."
Ed reaches over without thought and smacks the top of Sam's thigh through the blanket now covering them both. "Don't be a smartass," he orders. "Go to sleep."
"Yes, Sir," Sam says and even though it's dark in the bedroom and Ed's not looking at him, he can still hear the smile in the other man's voice.
Ed's not surprised when sleep hits him like a freight train. He is surprised when he wakes up feeling fresh as a daisy that's been run over by a monster truck at 6:00 in the morning to the sound of someone's alarm going off. Really bad music is pouring through the paper thin bedroom wall and he frowns at it even though it hasn't even phased Sam. He thinks about hitting the wall but before he can move his arm, the alarm shuts off.
Sleep isn't going to come back no matter how much he wants it to, once he's up, he's up, so Ed carefully rolls out of bed and grimaces when two of the springs jab his side. He'll see what there is for breakfast, and he'll figure out what he's going to do.
The kitchen is woefully lacking in, well, anything edible, but there's a dozen eggs in the fridge and a pound of bacon in the freezer and a jar of instant coffee on the counter and an oven that has definitely seen better days.
***
When Sam wakes up, Ed is gone, for a second he figures he must have dreamed the whole thing, he certainly feels bad enough to have the stupid dreams that come with cough medicine, and then he smells the bacon and figures he's probably still dreaming. He lies in bed for few more minutes before he decides that the clattering means that yesterday, last night, did happen and he'd better just get himself up and face the awkward morning after. Hell, he didn't even get laid.
Ed's standing at the counter, draining bacon grease into an empty dish when Sam makes it into the kitchen. He realizes he hasn't put on a shirt, but it's not like Ed hasn't seen all that Sam has been trying to hide yesterday.
"You made breakfast?" Sam asks. God, his voice sounds awful. Ed smirks at him and gestures to the table.
"You're a little slow in the mornings aren't you?" Sam narrows his eyes.
"You might have cooked breakfast, but it's probably not the best idea to be insulting the man whose apartment you're staying at."
"Eat," Ed orders. "And really, I have to go with Greg on this one, I wouldn't really consider this an apartment." Sam would argue that now Ed has insulted both his host and his host's living environment but then again, no one's cooked him bacon and eggs in years.
"So," he says around a full mouth. "About last night." Ed looks at him across the table, Sam shifts and their knees bump, there's a blush staining his cheekbones.
"Yeah?" he asks.
"What exactly was I supposed to be expecting?" Sam asks. "Because I know what I'm in for, but I can't, it's just - you're married, you know?" Ed meets his eyes and Sam worries his bottom lip with his teeth before giving him and dropping his gaze back down to the table. Ed doesn't say anything and Sam's just about to shove another forkful of eggs into his mouth just to have something to do when he feels Ed's fingers on his chin, raising his head to meet Ed's eyes again.
"Sophie and I are getting a divorce," he says, quiet and matter of fact. "And I don't know what you should be expecting, because I haven't figured out exactly what this is yet."
"So I'm like, your rebound?" Sam asks incredulously, shock making him give name to what's happening between them. "That's going to be kind of awkward at work."
"Yeah," Ed says, and he sounds really certain. Sam tries to work himself up to a righteous anger but Ed's next words take the metaphorical wind out of his sails. "That's not the way I'm looking at things at all." Sam should have been prepared for it, but it still comes as a surprise when Ed leans across the table, Sam's chin still held firmly in hand, and plants a kiss on Sam's lips. He pulls barely an inch away, Sam doesn't remember closing his eyes but when he opens them and sees Ed looking at him, he surges up to meet him again.
The chair clatters to the floor and Sam's back, lungs and sense of cleanliness protest his landing on the kitchen floor but with Ed heavy on him, he can't bring himself to really care. Ed's lips on his are firm and insistent, Sam opens to his tongue without a real thought to consequence and the heat pooling in his belly ratchets up a notch. Ed kisses like he's on a mission, kisses like he's taking over, owning, and Sam shudders under him at the realization that this is what he wants.
Ed buries his hands in Sam's hair, just holding his head still, kissing and kissing and Sam's hands, almost of their own accord, slide down until he can push up under Ed's shirt and reach the warm bare skin there. He can feel Ed hard against his thigh and grinds up against him as much as he can. Ed chuckles into his mouth and pulls away for a second, eyebrow lifted.
"Was there something you wanted?" he asks, his voice is smoky, deeper than usual. Sam grunts and shoves and rolls them over.
"You to shut up," he says. He wraps his hands around the hem of his own t-shirt and pulls it over his head. His entire body shifts when Ed sits up to do the same, and then it's just the two of them on Sam's dirty kitchen floor in their boxers. Ed's arms wrap around Sam's back, one hand in Sam's hair, one hand on the curve of Sam's ass as he rocks up. Sam can't help the small huff of sound at the friction. It's a mess of hot and wet, Ed's mouth attached to Sam's neck, Sam rocking down against Ed until they're shaking with it. Ed cries out, a deep throaty sound, when he comes that sends shivers up Sam's back. Sam has an insane desire to see what he looks like but for the life of him and the white bright lights flashing behind his eyelids, he can't make himself. Ed's hands clenching tighter on Sam's body, holding him impossibly closer as he sinks his teeth into the tendon in Sam's neck. It's the feel of it. The sting of the bite and the soothing of the tongue working the flesh in Ed's mouth that pulls Sam over so hard and quickly that he's not even sure he's actually come until he's back to himself, head resting on Ed's shoulder, mother of all hickeys on his neck.
"I could probably get used to that," Sam says. He can feel more than hear Ed's laugh.
"Yeah," Ed says, "but we're getting a new mattress." This time Sam doesn't hesitate to reply as he pushes himself up off the floor, they've both made a disgusting mess of their boxers and breakfast is getting cold.
"You know you've managed to insult me, my apartment, my couch and my matress in the last 12 hours? You're not a very grateful guest." Ed wraps an arm around Sam's waist and pulls him closer.
"I can very grateful," he says seriously, voice husky. Sam licks his lips.
"Yeah?" he asks. "How grateful?"
"Grateful enough that we're going to pick out a new matress today," Ed answers and slips past Sam. "I call the shower first." Sam feels justified in not warning him about the fact that the hot water takes a minute to really get going. Cold eggs, worth it. The startled shout, priceless.
/end