Fic: Untitled (2/2)
“Gov.” Sam rested a hand on Gene’s shoulder. “Gene. Gene!” He shook the other man’s shoulder lightly, and Gene responded by jerking forward. He started to cough again, and Sam pulled him upright, rubbing his back as the coughs shook him. “Here,” he picked up the glass from the counter and handed it to Gene, then fished two tablets out of the packet and held them out on his open palm. “Take these.”
As Gene swallowed the tablets, Sam grabbed all of the pillows on the bed and piled them behind Gene, propping him up into a sitting position. He took the half empty glass of water back, then held out the soup. “Eat this,” he said, and Gene shook his head.
“Not hungry,” he grunted, and turned his head to the side, starting to fall asleep again.
Sam shook his shoulder again, “You need to eat. It’ll make you feel better.”
Gene glowered at him. “Aren’t you all mother goose,” he snapped, then took the bowl and spoon from Sam and took a few spoonfuls. “Right little Nurse Nancy, you are,” he said, and Sam put his hand on Gene’s forehead.
“We ought to call a doctor,” Sam said, and Gene shook his head and handed the half empty bowl back.
“I’m not calling a doctor over a little cold,” Gene said, glaring. He sneezed twice into his hand, then leaned back against the pillows. “Where’re my fags?”
“Not until you’re better. And, if you want to live to see Major elected, not ever again,” Sam said, noticing the box of tissues on the other nightstand, sitting behind a wedding photo. He took the bowl and set it back on Gene’s nightstand, then moved to grab the tissues. He held the box out to Gene, who glared at him again and took several, wiping his hand and blowing his nose.
“Who?” Gene wracked his brain in search of the name, and drew a blank. Sam shook his head.
“Look, do you have a number for a GP around here? Who do you and your wife normally see?”
“I told you, I’m not calling a ruddy doctor over a little sniffle, and I need to get back to CID. Lots of work to…” Gene stopped and started coughing again, and Sam pulled several tissues from the box and held them under Gene’s mouth as he coughed, patting him on the back with his other hand.
“It’s not a sniffle. It’s flu. And most of CID, who were out with it, resting and not letting themselves degrade to near bloody death, are back, doing the work, and doing it well. They’re your department, after all.” Sam crumpled the damp tissues up and placed them on the nightstand with the other pile of used tissues, then slid up along the bed so that he was sitting directly next to Gene and started to massage the his shoulders again.
“Exactly. My department. And I should be with them,” Gene snapped, then closed his eyes as Sam’s kneading of his sore muscles continued. “Keep it up, fairy boy,” he muttered as he leaned into Sam’s hands.
“You’re not going to do any good in the state you’re in,” Gene sneered as Sam said this, “You’re NOT.” Sam continued to massage, moving his hands down further along Gene’s back. “And you’ve run yourself into the ground with this, Gov. You’ve got a fever, and that cough’s bad,” he added, working the heels of his hands into the flesh beneath Gene’s shoulders. “At your age, and with the way you smoke, you could have bronchitis - which is NOT a form of the bloody clap - or pneumonia, or…”
“Oh, piss off, Gladys. I’m fine. It’s just a little cold. And I bloody well know what bronchitis is, and I do not have it,” Gene’s breath shortened as he grew louder, and he wheezed, leaning back against Sam’s hands and the pillows. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Sam, “You’ll call and make sure they’re managing? Make sure they’re okay without me until tomorrow?” Sam nodded, then moved back, settling Gene back onto the pillows. “Tell them I’ll be back first thing tomorrow, and anyone not in line is getting a beating,” he muttered. “Did you just call me old?”
“Just shut up and rest, Gov,” Sam said, and he smiled slightly as Gene’s eyelids fell. He moved to put away the dishes, storing the soup in the fridge, and then went back to the bathroom, eventually finding a small flannel and wetting it in the sink. He went back into the bedroom and pressed it to Gene’s cheek, then his forehead, frowning. He left the compress in place, then went back to the bathroom, checking the cabinet again and pulling out a thermometer. He went back to Gene, and shook him again.
“What is it now?” Gene asked drowsily, and Sam held out the thermometer.
“I’ll make you a deal. If your temperature’s under 39 degrees, no doctor. If it’s over 39, then you tell me who your GP is and we call him. Okay?”
“What the hell are you talking, Tyler? 39?” Gene and Sam stared at each other confusedly, and Sam looked back at the thermometer, which, much to his chagrin, was not only glass, but labeled strictly in Fahrenheit scale.
“Bloody hell…” Sam muttered, and then held the thermometer out again. “Just open your mouth. If it’s too high, we call your doctor. Or I just call Chris and Ray and they help me drag your arse down to hospital.”
“I’m fine. Don’t need no bloody doctor,” Gene mumbled, starting to fall asleep again. Sam shook him and received a withering look for his trouble.
“Just open your damned mouth, you bastard, or I’ll find somewhere else to stick it,” he said, and stuck the thermometer under his tongue. Gene glared over it icily. Sam gave him a little look of triumph, then stopped to wonder how long you were supposed to leave a glass thermometer in… He’d always just waited for the beep… He paused for a while, then withdrew it, holding it up to the light and trying desperately to read it. Eventually he found the line of mercury, which was positioned at 103. He racked his brain to try and figure out exactly what that was in Celsius scale, knowing that it was far too high, but not sure of exactly how high it was. Eventually he gave up and shook his head.
“Fine. No doctor. But if it goes any higher, we’re calling. I WILL call the station and get help dragging you in to see one, if need be. Understood?”
“Told you it wasn’t bad, you prat,” Gene muttered and fell asleep again, and Sam rolled his eyes as he left to wash the thermometer and return it to its place. He then called the station, making sure that Ray hadn’t managed to burn the place down, and then took the laundry from the washer, eventually seeing a line running from the back door of the house to the fence at the back of the garden. He hung the wash out, hoping that none of the neighbors noticed him there, and then went back to check on Gene. He swapped out the compress, rewetting it in the sink, and left the other man sleeping. He pondered exploring the house, and exactly how bad of a beating he’d be in for if he did, and then noticed the wedding photo that the box of tissues had been next to.
Gene was much younger, thinner, his hair cut short in a military style crew cut. The woman in the picture was beautiful, tall and slim, with curly brown hair falling around her shoulders. Sam looked around the room, making sure that Gene was still asleep, then carefully pulled the back off of the frame and looked at the back of the photo. July of 1951. He placed the photo back, then saw that Gene’s coat was still lying on the floor. He moved to retrieve it, and then went downstairs to find the coat closet. It was behind the door, in the usual place, and he hung Gene’s coat there, pausing to sniff it, the scent of nicotine, liquor, and Old Spice filling his nostrils. Somehow, he felt himself start to harden again, and he quickly moved away from the coat closet, returning only to hang his leather jacket next to the camel coat. A thought was niggling at the back of his head, and he just couldn’t shake it… Gene was 43, he knew that much, so he would have been… 21 when he was married. She was probably even younger, likely still in her late teens.
Sam went back up to the bedroom and sat next to Gene, letting one of his hands rest on Gene’s thigh. 43 in 1973. Born in 1930, then. Bloody hell… Gene would be 76 in his time. And with the way that Gene lived… Was Gene even still alive? Had he lived to see Major elected? Or Blair? Sam swallowed hard as he realized this, somehow wanting Gene to be alive in 2006. He stood and moved to change the cloth again, and this time, he found himself slowly stroking Gene’s hair away from his face. Gene turned slightly in his sleep and leaned into Sam’s touch, and Sam cupped his cheek for a moment. “You’d better still be alive, you bastard. And I don’t even want to know why I care about that,” Sam mumbled. He stood and headed to the bathroom, and stared into the mirror as he wet the cloth. He was 39 years younger than Gene. He leaned his head low, then stared at his reflection again, not sure where the thought had come from. Somehow, he’d never considered it before. 39 years…
Sam spent the next week at Gene’s house, leaving only to check that the station hadn’t fallen to pieces, that no major cases had popped up, and to run to his place for clothes or to the market for food. Gene, like Annie, slept for the most part. Sam spent the nights in a guest bedroom that he’d found behind one of the closed doors, noting that the second closed door held what looked like a sewing room, and realizing that most women Gene’s wife’s age did do a lot of their own sewing, or at least a lot of their own mending. He moved to rouse Gene for bathroom trips, food, drink, and tablets, generally receiving nothing more than a few grunts or rude words when he did so.
On the morning of the sixth day, Sam woke, washed, and dressed, then found Gene lying soaked in sweat and still asleep, his skin finally cool to the touch. Sam smiled, then realized that the bedclothes would need changing. He found a linen closet in the sewing room, and what appeared to be two spare sets of sheets: one for the master bedroom, one for the guest bedroom. He pulled out the set for the master bed, then moved into the bedroom. He set the linens down on the nightstand, then headed to the kitchen, where he hastily ate one of the yoghurt cups he’d purchased, and then set about making porridge. He went back upstairs with a bowl of it and a cup of tea and set about waking Gene.
“Gov. Gene.” He shook Gene’s shoulder, and smiled when Gene sat fully upright on his own, a dazed look on his face.
“What the bloody… Tyler, what’re you doing here?” Gene looked thoroughly confused, and then realization dawned on him. “Hell. How long’s it been?”
“A week, Gov. Here, I made you breakfast,” Sam held out the bowl, relief washing through him as Gene wolfed it down quickly, practically licking the bowl.
“No chance of bacon and eggs, then?” Gene inquired, and Sam smiled.
“You’re out. I can run down and buy some, then get a fry up going later on. I can nab some mushrooms and tomatoes, too, and sausage, do you up a full English breakfast, if you like,” Sam offered, and Gene looked confusedly up at him.
“Well, aren’t you just the happy homemaker. So Fanny Craddock you’ve practically got a fanny of your own. And I’m bloody holding you to that offer, genius,” Gene grunted as he drank down the tea.
“All right. Come on, we need to clean you up, and then I need to change the bed,” Sam said, and he pulled back the covers and pulled Gene to his feet.
“Leave off, Tinkerbell. I can get to the bath on my own,” Gene snapped as he pushed Sam away, and then stumbled, catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Bloody hell…”
Sam moved forward and grabbed Gene’s arm, receiving a glare, but not a shove. “You’ve been ill for a while, Gov. Need to take a day or two to get your strength back, you know,” Sam said as he helped Gene into the bathroom and started to draw the bath. He stood and noticed that Gene was staring at him, and he realized exactly what Gene was thinking of.
“We… You… How…” Sam shook his head.
“It just happened, Gov. And I won’t apologize for it. And I won’t tell anyone. And it wasn’t wrong. And that’s all I’m saying.”
“I’m not a fairy,” Gene muttered, and Sam shrugged.
“Whatever. Fine. Just get in,” Sam gestured towards the tub, and moved to leave. Gene grabbed him by the wrist, and then stared into his eyes for a moment, a strange look on his face.
“Stay.”
Sam stood still for a moment, shocked and silent, and then smiled. “All right.” He moved to take off his own shirt, socks and shoes, and to stop the taps, and then went back to Gene, who was leaning against the wall, eyeing him warily.
“And your trousers?” Gene asked, and Sam smiled again, stripping down naked and standing in front of Gene, a questioning look on his face. “And no one will know?” Gene said, shakily. He drew himself upright, then started to take off the top of his pajamas. “And no one will know, or I’ll tear out your scrotum and shove them up your happy little arse, then bend you round so you can fish them out with your teeth.” Somehow, the threat made Sam smile, and he moved forward to help Gene take off his pajama bottoms, the third and last of the pairs that Sam had found in the drawer, leaving them crumpled on the floor.
Sam moved in first and wrapped his arms around Gene, kissing his throat, and felt Gene’s erection begin to form against his belly in response. He felt his own cock start to harden, pressed against Gene’s thigh, and then the two of them headed over to the bath. Gene climbed over the side and sat, heavily, then scooted forward, making a small space behind him. Sam climbed in, his legs going to either side of Gene, the water rising up and slopping onto the floor with the mass of the two of them in the tub.
Gene coughed, lightly and dryly, and then settled back against Sam’s chest as Sam started to lather up the bar of soap and to run suds-covered hands over his chest and belly, his hands lightly brushing against Gene’s growing erection. He then moved to wash Gene’s back, massaging soap suds and warm water into the other man’s flesh, and Gene murmured and turned his head around, nuzzling Sam’s neck, reaching his own hands down and behind him and feeling Sam’s hardened cock beneath him. Sam leaned down and kissed Gene’s neck, his tongue running against the thick tendons and ending at the crook of Gene’s jaw, where he started to kiss. Gene moaned in pleasure and twisted around, sloshing more water onto the floor and letting his mouth explore Sam’s shoulders.
The two of them slowly slopped through the water, the soap drifting down to the floor of the bath, forgotten, as their mouths began to move across one another’s throats, chests, necks and jaws, and then they locked in a deep kiss. Sam felt Gene’s tongue moving over his, the kiss hardening and becoming more forceful, and then they stood, clambering out of the bath and towards the bedroom, hands and tongues still groping over one another. Sam felt Gene’s hands gripping his buttocks, moving around his thighs and lightly grasping his cock, and Sam returned the favor as they fell onto the bed.
“Wait…” Sam muttered, and practically leapt off of the bed, running down the stairs and into the kitchen, searching the cupboards for anything that could serve as a lube. He eventually settled on grabbing a loaf of butter from the fridge, then raced back up the stairs, letting the butter flop onto the nightstand and falling back into Gene’s arms.
Gene flipped Sam around, laying on top of him, kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, hard, as Sam’s hands reached back and around, grasping at Gene’s cock, stroking it with hard, rapid movements, his own body starting to pulse and grind rhythmically beneath Gene’s body. Gene reached out and grabbed a handful of the butter, wiping it against his cock and Sam’s arse, then reached around and grabbed Sam’s own penis as he plunged his deeply into Sam.
Sam gasped as Gene thrust into him, as Gene’s hands started to stroke his cock, and the two of them started to pulse, rapidly, thrusting against each other in perfect unison, their movements becoming more and more steady and quick. Both men moaned with pleasure, and Sam craned his neck around to kiss Gene, their tongues overlapping as the pulse and pound of their sex continued to rock the bed against its frame. Their mouths broke and Sam straightened his neck as he felt himself start to come, and he heard Gene gasping, his own erection starting to spill forcefully into Sam, and they each let out a pleasureful yelp as they came, once again in perfect unison.
Gene’s body slackened against Sam, his breath coming in slowing gasps, and Sam smiled widely as he let himself relax under Gene. “Bloody marvelous,” Sam murmured as Gene twisted off of him, lying next to him on the bed, and Sam drew Gene’s head and shoulders on top of him, letting the other man rest his head against his chest. Gene coughed lightly again, then moaned in pleasure.
“Damned bloody marvelous…” Gene muttered, and Sam started to run his fingers through Gene’s hair, his other arm massaging Gene’s side and back. They laid still for several minutes, both grinning in the afterglow of sex, and then Gene eased himself into a sitting position, and Sam drew his legs around Gene, kissing his necks, hands still running through the silken smoothness of his hair. Gene coughed again, closing his eyes. “Need a fag.”
Sam shook his head, then brought his leg back and started to move off of the bed. “You stay here. I’ll go and get them for you, although they’re the bloody last thing you need.”
“Says you,” Gene mumbled as he let himself lie back against the pillows.
Sam jaunted quickly down the stairs and retrieved the packet of Marlboros and lighter from Gene’s coat pocket, then took the stairs two at a time, pausing to dump the cufflinks out of the ashtray on top of Gene’s bureau. He returned to the bed and slid behind Gene again, piling the pillows behind him and then leaning back, letting Gene’s weight settle against his chest as he lit a cigarette.
Gene inhaled, then started upright in a short cough, before easing back down against Sam.
“Told you.” Sam muttered as he brushed Gene’s hair away from his face and wrapped his arms around the other man.
“Sod off. I’ve been ill,” Gene muttered as he took another drag. They sat in silence for a moment, Gene finishing his cigarette and then lighting another, receiving a tut from Sam in response. Sam gently massaged Gene’s shoulders again as he smoked, and then took the ashtray and cigarettes from him, setting them on the nightstand.
“Come on,” Sam said, and he led Gene back into the bathroom, where they both washed off the remains of their encounter. “Your pajamas all need washing, and I need to change the bed,” Sam said as he started to pull on his clothes, becoming acutely aware of Gene watching him. “What?”
“You’re bloody gorgeous, you tart,” Gene smiled, and Sam smiled back at him, and then led him back into the bedroom. Gene moved to the closet, where he retrieved an old, dark bathrobe, wrapping himself up in it. Sam started to strip the bed, and Gene leaned against the wall, lighting another cigarette.
“Making up for lost fags?” Sam asked with an admonishing grin, and then he gathered Gene’s pajamas and the bed clothes in a pile on the floor. He took the clean linens from Mrs. Hunt’s nightstand, pausing to look for a second at the wedding photo, and then turning it face down as he started to make the bed.
“Hospital corners and all, eh, little maid?” Gene asked as Sam finished, and then he stubbed out his cigarette and sat down heavily. “Tired…”
“Like you said, you’ve been ill. Lie back down, and I’ll start the wash and get cracking on your breakfast.” Gene obliged, sliding back under the covers, and when Sam had turned again after picking up the laundry, he was fast asleep. Sam smiled as he set about the wash, and then looked about the house, making sure that nothing was out of place. He grimaced as he remembered the butter, then ran back upstairs and found it on the nightstand. He threw it in the kitchen bin, then went to grab his jacket.
Sam bought the items he needed at the nearest market he could find, then set about making Gene’s breakfast and a pot of tea and clearing up. He had noticed serving trays in one of the kitchen cupboards, and he set up the breakfast and headed back up the stairs, placing the tray on the nightstand and gently shaking Gene’s shoulder. Gene murmured slightly, then sat up, and Sam placed the tray on his lap.
“Not joining me, then?” Gene asked as he began to eat rapidly.
“With the amount of grease in that? Not bloody likely,” Sam said, standing. “Besides, I’ve got to hang the wash.”
“Bloody poofter,” Gene quipped around a mouthful of egg, and Sam shook his head in response as he headed back down the stairs.
They spent the weekend together, Sam cleaning and waiting on Gene, Gene sleeping or growling at Sam, annoyed at his fretting, and between it all they played a good dozen games of ‘hunt the nuts’ and ‘hide the pole.’ On Monday, the two of them piled into the Cortina, Sam’s spare clothing in a small satchel that he’d found in his bedsit when he was retrieving them, which they stowed in the boot.
Phyllis gave a large grin from behind the desk as the two of them entered the station, and they climbed the stairs and entered the doors to CID. The entire station was back to work, including all of CID, and a large banner labeled, “Welcome Back” was hung up over the desks. All of the department started clapping as Gene and Sam entered, and Gene’s expression grew stormy.
“What the bloody hell is this?” Gene shouted, pointing at the banners, and the clapping ceased. “You lot had better have gotten everything done properly while I was gone, or I’m going to be beating some arses, hard!” Gene screamed at them, and grins broke out around the station. Ray chuckled, and Chris was beaming.
“Good to have you back, Gov,” they said in unison, and Annie laughed.
“Oh, sod off, the lot of you,” Gene shouted as he headed towards his office. He paused before entering, stating, “And if you’re really that glad to see me, you’ll be spotting all the rounds at the Railway Arms this evening, children, because I’ve nine nights of drinking to catch up on tonight!” A cheer rose up out of the crowd, and Gene screamed, “Get to work!” before heading into his office.
Sam sat down at his desk, a wide, stupid grin splitting his features, before he started to ruffle through the paperwork waiting for him. Annie strode over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “He’s all better, then,” she said with a smile, and Sam grinned back up at his best friend.
“Definitely,” Sam said, and Annie then disappeared, returning a few moments later with a cup of tea. Sam grinned up at her, and she returned to her desk.
Sam slowly turned over dozens of forms, realizing that nearly all of the department and left him their paper work, each with a little note on top reading, ‘Boss,’ ‘Please fix it, Boss,’ or even ‘Not bloody English language, this.’ He chuckled, then winced slightly at the tickle at the back of his throat. He swallowed a mouthful of tea against it, and then felt an itch at the back of his nose. Sam raised his head and quickly buried his face in the crook of his arm, sneezing several times, before he heard a crackle on the radio that was blasting Atomic Rooster out at them, “his temperature’s elevated - page Doctor Matthews.”
“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered, and sighed.
FIN. No more from me, but anyone who wants to can pick it up from there.