Fic: Four times Gene brought Sam breakfast, White Cortina, Sam/Gene, by talkingtothesky
Title: Four times Gene brought Sam breakfast
Rating: White Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1,415
Notes: For lozenger8, inspired by the prompts 'breakfast' and "This isn't exactly what I had in mind." I wanted this to be a five times fic but it ended up a 4+1.
They've been on another overnight stakeout in the Cortina. Gene's been nodding off in ten minute intervals for the past hour, but as dawn sunlight creeps in through the window and warms his face, he cracks his eyes open and stretches his legs in the driver's footwell. "Breakfast time I think, Sammy-boy." He yawns, spreading his arms wide and nudging Sam on the back of the neck with an outstretched hand.
Sam shrugs off his hand. "No, you get it." Sam has every right to prod him, he's gone to fetch it the last ten times. It ought to be Gene's turn by now.
Gene scowls at him, but he opens the door and slowly gets out, joints clearly sore and stiff.
"Something healthy for me." Sam adds, belligerently. "Maybe a salad. You know what one of those is, right? It'll have green things in it, they're called leaves!" He asserts, just as Gene slams the car door shut and stalks off down the street.
He returns fifteen minutes later. "My favourite greasy spoon didn't do salad so I got you something from the park."
Sam frowns, he didn't think the mobile food stalls started up this early - that kind of twenty-four-hour service was a thing of the future.
Gene's brought back his usual bacon and egg butty, and a paper bag for Sam.
With a deeply suspicious glare, Sam opens it up to find...it's full of autumn leaves.
"That's very funny, Guv."
---
Sam shoves several tables together in a huge rectangle in the middle of CID and slides chairs in all round the edges of it. He's just finished laying out pens and pencils and reports and action sheets for the day when Gene strolls in. He takes one look at what Sam has organised and pouts.
"You said we needed a special morning conference. This isn't exactly what I had in mind." Gene sits down at one end of the table nevertheless, rubbing his hands together. He clearly thinks that's the head of it, automatically assumes he's the king of everything.
"What did you have in mind?" Sam retorts, perplexed. Gene knows full well they need to run through this case as a whole team before Huddersfield arrive to liaise with them at half past nine about their escaped convict.
Gene looks up at him with a strange glint in his eye, about to reply. But then Chris tumbles through the doors, Ray ruffling his hair and guffawing, both of them acting like utter children as usual. Sam draws a long-suffering sigh and complains, "I'm going to need more coffee for this."
To Sam's consternation, Gene jumps up at once. "I'll get it. Could do with some myself."
Vince, Geoff, Carl, Tony, and five others have arrived before Gene returns. When Annie takes her place next to him at the table, Sam asks "Did you see the Guv on your way in?"
"Yes, actually! He was talking to Phyllis in the corridor. I think I heard your name." She smiles knowingly at him and Sam gets the odd sense that she's mocking him.
Finally, Gene comes back and hands him his coffee. "Did you lace it with arsenic?" Sam snarks, wondering if Gene and Phyllis are conspiring to poison him on account of his getting them all out of bed extra early.
Gene's eyebrows go up. He seems genuinely hurt by Sam's low opinion of him. "Nah."
He waits until Sam's taken a sip. "Just good clean spit."
Sam ends up spraying coffee all over the table. The meeting has to be delayed for ten minutes while he mops it up and dries out the paperwork.
---
They sit in Gene's office drinking until the early hours of the morning, talking and theorizing and throwing darts, hoping something will spark some inspiration on a lead for the case they're stuck on. It's half three when Sam realises his glass is empty. They'd split the last of the bottle between them and now he's staring at Gene's whisky and hoping he might, y'know, share. And isn't that a ludicrous thought. If he could just tip half of what is left into his own glass...
Subtly, Sam slides his hand across the wooden surface. Gene's twiddling a dart in his fingers, eyeing the flight wings up close and spinning them as though they're going to turn into a kaleidoscope and provide him with all the messed-up answers to the crazy universe. But the moment Sam makes contact with the glass, Gene smacks Sam's hand away. "Mine," he says, lowering the dart to tap the point on the desk.
Sam grimaces, disappointed, quickly moves his hands out of potential harm's way. "I'm thirsty." He sounds like a petulant child but is too tired to care.
Gene puts down the dart. He glances at the finger of golden liquid and chucks it back in one go, doesn't swallow.
He stands up with his cheeks all puffed out, walks around the desk. Leans over Sam in his chair, seals their lips together and Sam thinks finally. The whisky tastes a little different, but still good, so good.
When they part for breath, Gene says "Mine" again, in exactly the same matter-of-fact way.
Sam's not proud of how flustered that makes him. "Does this mean...? You want to...?"
Gene straightens up and looks him square in the face. "Yeah." There's no indication that this is some horrible practical joke. Litton doesn't pop out from under the desk with a camera and yell 'Boo!'
They don't immediately rip off each other's clothes, either. They nod at one another, and then Gene digs out two thick blankets to sleep under. Sam curls up on his side on the red leather couch while Gene props his feet on the desk and leans back in his chair.
Sam wakes up a couple of hours later when Gene shakes his shoulder, kisses his forehead, and asks him if he wants something to eat.
Sam blinks sleepily up at him. "After last time, I don't trust you not to come back with a dead rat for me."
Gene laughs. He disappears for a bit, while Sam gets up and straightens his shirt and borrows Gene's comb to somewhat flatten his hair. He wanders out of Gene's office, over to his own desk.
Gene comes back carrying a whole tray from the canteen, sets it down in front of Sam. He must have made it himself, since - Sam checks his watch - Gwen and the other caterers don't start serving for another hour yet. It's ages before anybody else arrives.
He smiles up at Gene, a lot of things now making sense. The stupid pranks, attempts to wind Sam up, like schoolboys pulling pigtails. "You're only doing all this because you want to get into my pants."
Gene snaps his fingers. "Bingo, he gets it." He waits, glances between Sam and the tray of food expectantly. "And?"
Sam smirks. "No chance. This orange juice has pips in, for starters. And the toast's burnt."
Gene leans in, rests his fists on the desk. "Where?"
Sam points. "Just there."
"That's one corner."
"Doesn't matter. You'll have to try harder."
Gene stalks off muttering about bloody perfectionists. When he's out of sight, Sam happily eats his breakfast, burnt bits and all.
---
Sam's flat is cool, and Gene's back is smooth and warm and sweaty. Sam's curled around him in bed, too lazy to get up. But Sam's stomach rumbles for the third time in a row, and Gene gets out of bed without being asked and heads to the kitchen area, swaggering away completely naked. Sam figures that sight's worth properly waking up for.
Gene just goes to the cupboard, retrieves a box of cereal, shoves his fist right in and delivers a handful of the contents straight to his own mouth. Sam stares at him in horror.
"'ere." He throws the box on the bed by Sam's knees.
"Would it be too much to ask for a bowl?"
Gene stares at him and then shrugs, gets him one.
"A spoon?" He trudges back and forth sleepily.
"Some milk?" Gene goes all the way to the fridge and retrieves a bottle.
Sam grins, delighted with his newfound power. "The Eiffel Tower and a motorbike?"
Gene thumps him in the arm and climbs back in bed. "Sod off. Eat your breakfast."
---
The week after that, Gene uses all his savings to buy him a motorbike.
Rating: White Cortina
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1,415
Notes: For lozenger8, inspired by the prompts 'breakfast' and "This isn't exactly what I had in mind." I wanted this to be a five times fic but it ended up a 4+1.
They've been on another overnight stakeout in the Cortina. Gene's been nodding off in ten minute intervals for the past hour, but as dawn sunlight creeps in through the window and warms his face, he cracks his eyes open and stretches his legs in the driver's footwell. "Breakfast time I think, Sammy-boy." He yawns, spreading his arms wide and nudging Sam on the back of the neck with an outstretched hand.
Sam shrugs off his hand. "No, you get it." Sam has every right to prod him, he's gone to fetch it the last ten times. It ought to be Gene's turn by now.
Gene scowls at him, but he opens the door and slowly gets out, joints clearly sore and stiff.
"Something healthy for me." Sam adds, belligerently. "Maybe a salad. You know what one of those is, right? It'll have green things in it, they're called leaves!" He asserts, just as Gene slams the car door shut and stalks off down the street.
He returns fifteen minutes later. "My favourite greasy spoon didn't do salad so I got you something from the park."
Sam frowns, he didn't think the mobile food stalls started up this early - that kind of twenty-four-hour service was a thing of the future.
Gene's brought back his usual bacon and egg butty, and a paper bag for Sam.
With a deeply suspicious glare, Sam opens it up to find...it's full of autumn leaves.
"That's very funny, Guv."
---
Sam shoves several tables together in a huge rectangle in the middle of CID and slides chairs in all round the edges of it. He's just finished laying out pens and pencils and reports and action sheets for the day when Gene strolls in. He takes one look at what Sam has organised and pouts.
"You said we needed a special morning conference. This isn't exactly what I had in mind." Gene sits down at one end of the table nevertheless, rubbing his hands together. He clearly thinks that's the head of it, automatically assumes he's the king of everything.
"What did you have in mind?" Sam retorts, perplexed. Gene knows full well they need to run through this case as a whole team before Huddersfield arrive to liaise with them at half past nine about their escaped convict.
Gene looks up at him with a strange glint in his eye, about to reply. But then Chris tumbles through the doors, Ray ruffling his hair and guffawing, both of them acting like utter children as usual. Sam draws a long-suffering sigh and complains, "I'm going to need more coffee for this."
To Sam's consternation, Gene jumps up at once. "I'll get it. Could do with some myself."
Vince, Geoff, Carl, Tony, and five others have arrived before Gene returns. When Annie takes her place next to him at the table, Sam asks "Did you see the Guv on your way in?"
"Yes, actually! He was talking to Phyllis in the corridor. I think I heard your name." She smiles knowingly at him and Sam gets the odd sense that she's mocking him.
Finally, Gene comes back and hands him his coffee. "Did you lace it with arsenic?" Sam snarks, wondering if Gene and Phyllis are conspiring to poison him on account of his getting them all out of bed extra early.
Gene's eyebrows go up. He seems genuinely hurt by Sam's low opinion of him. "Nah."
He waits until Sam's taken a sip. "Just good clean spit."
Sam ends up spraying coffee all over the table. The meeting has to be delayed for ten minutes while he mops it up and dries out the paperwork.
---
They sit in Gene's office drinking until the early hours of the morning, talking and theorizing and throwing darts, hoping something will spark some inspiration on a lead for the case they're stuck on. It's half three when Sam realises his glass is empty. They'd split the last of the bottle between them and now he's staring at Gene's whisky and hoping he might, y'know, share. And isn't that a ludicrous thought. If he could just tip half of what is left into his own glass...
Subtly, Sam slides his hand across the wooden surface. Gene's twiddling a dart in his fingers, eyeing the flight wings up close and spinning them as though they're going to turn into a kaleidoscope and provide him with all the messed-up answers to the crazy universe. But the moment Sam makes contact with the glass, Gene smacks Sam's hand away. "Mine," he says, lowering the dart to tap the point on the desk.
Sam grimaces, disappointed, quickly moves his hands out of potential harm's way. "I'm thirsty." He sounds like a petulant child but is too tired to care.
Gene puts down the dart. He glances at the finger of golden liquid and chucks it back in one go, doesn't swallow.
He stands up with his cheeks all puffed out, walks around the desk. Leans over Sam in his chair, seals their lips together and Sam thinks finally. The whisky tastes a little different, but still good, so good.
When they part for breath, Gene says "Mine" again, in exactly the same matter-of-fact way.
Sam's not proud of how flustered that makes him. "Does this mean...? You want to...?"
Gene straightens up and looks him square in the face. "Yeah." There's no indication that this is some horrible practical joke. Litton doesn't pop out from under the desk with a camera and yell 'Boo!'
They don't immediately rip off each other's clothes, either. They nod at one another, and then Gene digs out two thick blankets to sleep under. Sam curls up on his side on the red leather couch while Gene props his feet on the desk and leans back in his chair.
Sam wakes up a couple of hours later when Gene shakes his shoulder, kisses his forehead, and asks him if he wants something to eat.
Sam blinks sleepily up at him. "After last time, I don't trust you not to come back with a dead rat for me."
Gene laughs. He disappears for a bit, while Sam gets up and straightens his shirt and borrows Gene's comb to somewhat flatten his hair. He wanders out of Gene's office, over to his own desk.
Gene comes back carrying a whole tray from the canteen, sets it down in front of Sam. He must have made it himself, since - Sam checks his watch - Gwen and the other caterers don't start serving for another hour yet. It's ages before anybody else arrives.
He smiles up at Gene, a lot of things now making sense. The stupid pranks, attempts to wind Sam up, like schoolboys pulling pigtails. "You're only doing all this because you want to get into my pants."
Gene snaps his fingers. "Bingo, he gets it." He waits, glances between Sam and the tray of food expectantly. "And?"
Sam smirks. "No chance. This orange juice has pips in, for starters. And the toast's burnt."
Gene leans in, rests his fists on the desk. "Where?"
Sam points. "Just there."
"That's one corner."
"Doesn't matter. You'll have to try harder."
Gene stalks off muttering about bloody perfectionists. When he's out of sight, Sam happily eats his breakfast, burnt bits and all.
---
Sam's flat is cool, and Gene's back is smooth and warm and sweaty. Sam's curled around him in bed, too lazy to get up. But Sam's stomach rumbles for the third time in a row, and Gene gets out of bed without being asked and heads to the kitchen area, swaggering away completely naked. Sam figures that sight's worth properly waking up for.
Gene just goes to the cupboard, retrieves a box of cereal, shoves his fist right in and delivers a handful of the contents straight to his own mouth. Sam stares at him in horror.
"'ere." He throws the box on the bed by Sam's knees.
"Would it be too much to ask for a bowl?"
Gene stares at him and then shrugs, gets him one.
"A spoon?" He trudges back and forth sleepily.
"Some milk?" Gene goes all the way to the fridge and retrieves a bottle.
Sam grins, delighted with his newfound power. "The Eiffel Tower and a motorbike?"
Gene thumps him in the arm and climbs back in bed. "Sod off. Eat your breakfast."
---
The week after that, Gene uses all his savings to buy him a motorbike.