Fic: Slow Burn Chapter Thirteen: Sunday, by Girl With the Mousy Hair, Green Cortina
Title: Slow Burn Chapter 13: Sunday
Rating: PG - Green Cortina
Word Count/Length: 2309
Summary: Chapter thirteen of twenty one. Sam and Gene have very much passed the point of no return. How do they feel about it in the cold light of day?
Dodgy historical accuracy note: There is a shower again. Again, my excuse is that Sam misremembers there being showers in the 70s.
When Gene woke up, he found himself confused about where he was. The grey light, filtered through heavy curtains, made it difficult to see the detail around him and he blinked, trying to make sense of it. Slowly, the furniture became familiar: he was in the spare room. And there was someone here with him.
Gene was lying on his side, facing away, and the events of last night came flooding back to him.
Sam Tyler. Who would have thought it?
He felt Sam shifting beside him, and rolled onto his back, turning his head towards the other man. Sam had opened his eyes, and was looking up at the ceiling.
‘Well, this is a turn up for the books,’ said Gene, not wanting them to get into an awkward spell of silence if he could help it. There had been enough of that. Sam looked over at him with an unsure smile.
‘That’s one way of putting it,’ he replied. Gene maintained his serious expression for a moment, but he was still feeling a certain post-coital glow and a small smile broke out on his face. Sam watched it grow, then answered it with a short laugh. He looked back up at the ceiling, still smiling.
‘I’m in bed with Gene Hunt,’ he said, seemingly to the light fitting, shaking his head slowly. Gene wasn’t too sure what to make of that. He shifted himself on to his side, propped up on his elbow.
‘And how does that feel?’ he asked, partly serious. Sam continued to keep his gaze fixed ahead, not answering at first.
‘Good.’ He turned his head now, to look at Gene. ‘It feels good.’ He gave another shy smile.
‘Good,’ replied Gene. ‘You want a brew?’
Sam blinked at this change of subject, then nodded. ‘Yeah. Yeah, milk and two.’ Gene nodded and heaved himself up out of bed. Sam tried not to look, but his eyes were drawn downwards as Gene crossed the foot of the bed. He looked back up again quickly to meet a knowing expression.
‘Why don’t you take a photo, Tyler? It’ll last longer.’ Gene smirked at him, continuing on his way out of the room so that Sam was now treated to the view of his retreating arse, surprisingly firm for a man who considered walking to the car a form of exercise. Sam could have sworn there was a bit of extra swagger in that walk, a certain roll of the hips. He thought that might be for his benefit. Extraordinary.
Gene had gone into the room next door. The one Sam lay in now had all the hallmarks of a spare room, the other must be the master bedroom. Sam wasn’t surprised by this - the Guv hadn’t long split up with his missus, the bed that had been theirs for all these years probably still held a lot of emotional baggage. Not enough emotional baggage to stop Gene screwing another man in the next room, of course...
What a thought. His morning glory had receded as he woke up, but he felt a momentary throb as he remembered the events of last night. It had been incredible; even if he wasn’t sure about anything else, that was a fact. In any other situation he’d probably have been embarrassed to have finished so quickly, but he hadn’t been on his own there. It appeared that they had both been in a state of high anticipation, to say the least. So he didn’t feel any shame over his own performance, such as it had been, and in fact didn’t feel any shame at all. At least, not yet. He knew it might come with time but for now he was flooded with endorphins, still feeling the afterglow, still amazed that it had happened at all.
He heard Gene walk past the door again, on his way downstairs, and wondered what today had to offer. In a situation like this with a woman, he’d usually expect them to spend the day half dressed, maybe getting naked another once or twice, and lots of giggling conversation and cuddling on the couch. He was finding it difficult to imagine much of the above happening here. All bets were off. He wondered what Gene would want - he might even want Sam to leave after he’d had his cuppa. He’d be disappointed if that happened, but he’d take it on the chin. He still felt a great urge to ‘be cool’ and not come across too keen. This was ridiculous, given that putting your hands inside someone’s pants was probably the epitome of being too keen, but that had been in the moment. You could excuse a lot of things, in the moment.
The smell of cigarette smoke drifted up the stairs. Sam had slept better last night than he had in months, maybe even since he’d woken up in 1973. Unlike last weekend, he was afflicted with neither Fear nor hangover. He felt excellent. He smiled again to himself. The recuperative powers of sex should never, ever be underestimated. He thought he should probably get himself dressed, head downstairs for that tea. He stretched out luxuriously instead, enjoying the feeling of a proper mattress under his back, finding the cool parts of the duvet to tuck his feet under. He drew in a deep breath, and let it out in a sigh of contentment, closing his eyes. Right now, life was good.
He must have dozed off again, because the next thing he knew Gene was back in the room, clad only in boxer shorts, and bearing two mugs.
‘Look alive, Tyler,’ he barked, and Sam’s eyes started open. He pushed himself upright, moving the pillows around to support him.
‘Thanks Guv,’ he said, taking one of the mugs carefully. Gene waited until he was settled then put his own mug down on the bedside cabinet and climbed back into bed. He lifted his mug and took a noisy sip.
‘I wasn’t expecting breakfast in bed,’ said Sam. Gene snorted.
‘You probably weren’t expecting to get your hands on me family jewels, either.’
‘Well... I don’t know if I’d say I wasn’t expecting that...’ Gene looked at him, eyebrow raised in a challenge.
‘What?’ he snapped.
‘Well, you did put your tongue in my mouth on Friday night...’ Gene opened his own mouth to answer, but Sam carried on ‘...and I’m pretty sure you’ve been flirting with me for weeks now.’
Gene’s eyes took on more fire. ‘Gene Hunt does not flirt. Especially not with nancy boys like you.’
‘Oh, that’s rich. Look where you are!’ Gene did just that, seeming to see the point of Sam’s argument, but retorted smartly.
‘I could be in bed with ten other men and I’d still be the straightest bloke in Manchester.’
Sam shifted himself around a little.
‘Oh come on, Gene, you lost all right to call me a nancy when you brought me home and slept with me.’ Gene looked affronted, and Sam didn’t know whether to be offended or entertained by this conversation. He hadn’t expected Gene to be so up front about last night, had thought there would be a certain level of angst over what had happened. It just went to prove, it didn’t do to underestimate Gene Hunt. Sam took a sip of his tea, then set it aside to cool.
‘Look, you little prick, I...’
‘Oi, oi, oi!’ Sam interrupted. ‘Less of the little!’
This stopped Gene in his tracks. He had no idea what to say to that, an event which was extremely rare. Sam looked serious but Gene thought there was a glint in his eye, the one that cropped up when the man was winding him up. Well, if it was a wind up he wanted...
‘Sorry Tyler. Would you prefer the term petite?’
‘As in la petite mort?’ he shot back, realising as he did that Gene would absolutely not get this. He was right.
‘Now you’re speaking French. You’re not doing yourself any favours, here.’ Gene found himself enjoying the banter a little more than usual.
‘Listen, Guv, if I’m a nancy, you are too. That’s just a fact.’
‘It certainly is not. For one thing, you wouldn’t catch me speaking bloody French!’
‘Apart from just then, you mean? Face it Guv, your unhealthy obsession with male bonding has finally started to make sense.’
‘Oh we’re back to my obsession with male bonding, are we? Why not go the whole hog? I believe I’m over weight, over-the-hill and homophobic as well?’
Sam’s own words, repeated back to him, rang in his ears. He’d been overwrought when he’d said them, caught up in trying to save his dad, his family and maybe even himself. He’d never apologised for them, and had hoped that Gene had forgotten that particular diatribe. It seemed that he hadn’t. It wasn’t fair of him to throw it back in Sam’s face now, though, when they were indulging in some good natured bickering. Sam decided not to let Gene beat him with them.
‘And I believe I’m a holier-than-thou dickhead?’
‘You’re also a Man United supporting poof,’ replied Gene. Sam was put out that Gene seemed to have absolutely no regrets about insulting him.
‘I wasn’t too much of a poof to take to bed last night, though, was I?’
‘Tyler, that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and believe me, that is saying something. You were exactly the right amount of poof to take to bed.’ This struck Sam as funny.
‘Exactly the right amount of poof?' He couldn't quite contain a laugh. A grin broke slowly over Gene’s face.
‘Well you can’t take another straight bloke to bed, can you? You’d never get anything done.’ Sam had to admit he had a point. His laughter ran its course, and he lifted his mug from the cabinet. Gene followed suit, and they sat quietly for a moment. Sam was amazed at how matter of fact the Guv was being. It really showed how the man’s mind worked: if he had gone to bed with another man, then it was OK to go to bed with another man and still consider yourself straight. It was admirable, in a way, that level of self-confidence.
Gene said, ‘About last night...’
Sam’s heart sank. He’d heard those words before - said them himself, more often - and he knew that they rarely meant good news. Gene must have seen this and hurried on.
‘...just don’t expect me to treat you any different, that’s all. You’re still my DI. You’re still a pain in the arse. I won’t be bringing you flowers and calling you sweetheart.’
Sam was profoundly relieved. If Gene started bringing him flowers he would have no idea what to make of it. The essence of their relationship - the arguing, the fighting - was the whole reason he’d ended up here in the first place. If that changed, their feelings for each other would surely change, and he didn’t want that. As complicated and even dangerous as it was, this was also deeply exciting. And, if last night was anything to go by, there was a lot of fun still to be had, and it would never happen if that air of conflict between them disappeared.
‘Wouldn’t expect you to, Guv. Wouldn’t want you to,’ he answered, trying to convey how he felt in these few words. He thought he’d managed it, since Gene nodded before finishing off his tea.
‘As long as that’s clear. Don’t expect any privileges just because we’re... well, whatever we are.’
‘Partners?’ Sam suggested, that wicked glint back in his eye. That was a word full of connotations in 2006, though maybe less so in 1973.
‘Partners,’ answered Gene. If he knew the subtext to the word, he wasn’t letting on. ‘Right then, if that’s sorted, I’m off for a shower.’
Sam nodded. ‘Alright. Want me to nip out and get breakfast?’
‘Good idea. In fact, hang on...’ Gene climbed back off the bed and headed off downstairs. Sam set about getting dressed, not sure what Gene was up to but sure it would become clear sooner rather than later. As he pulled on the last of his clothes, Gene reappeared.
‘Here,’ he said, tossing something at Sam. Sam caught it out of reflex, and opened his hand to see the keys of the Cortina. He looked up at Gene, stunned.
‘Get yourself back to your place, pick up a change of clothes. Grab some beers on the way back. Sunday should be a day of rest, after all.’
Sam couldn’t believe this. Gene, willingly giving him the keys to the Cortina? This was bigger than a bouquet of a dozen roses. The Guv obviously knew this, tried to explain his way out of it.
‘Well, you drive like a pensioner, I know she’ll be safe. Besides, I’m hungry, it’ll be quicker if you drive.’
‘And... you want me to stay again tonight?’ This was the other part that was giving Sam trouble.
‘Well, not if you don’t want to...’ Gene’s tone was a little huffy, and he looked away.
‘No! I mean, yeah! Yeah, I do. I’ll get going,’ Sam tried to cover his eager tone with action, stood up and made his way past Gene to the bedroom door. ‘See you in a bit then.’
Gene nodded, letting him pass without speaking. As he was half way down the stairs, Sam heard the shout.
‘And mind the paintwork!’