Exposed (Part One)
Title: Exposed, Part One of Eight
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17+, for seksiness)
Pairing: Gene/oc, Gene/Sam
Warnings: AU, naturally, and maybe specific spoilers mentioned in passing. Nonetheless, let’s just wing it and say “post-2.08” for the hell of it.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 25,000 (in eight parts; part one, 4,000)
Summary: Sequel to Undercover. An execution-style murder case threatens to rip apart Gene’s career; meanwhile, Sam is having trouble adjusting to his ‘lifestyle choice’ (and no one is surprised, least of all Gene).
NOTES: Stop! Just stop! For the love of ghod, give me a break! You people are insatiable! Anyway…This story is much longer than its prequel, and whoa I really threw a lot of shagging in there (please file complaints with the appropriate department). Although I have to say, if you like angsty!Sam, you will like this.
On accuracy: I do not know at what time of day or what day of the week Dr. Who was shown in 1974-ish Manchester, and really, I don’t care, so we are all going to hold hands and go “la la la” and pretend that it was shown at the time I say it was. I am writer. Hear me rawr.
Notes on Part One: The longest part of the series; if you make it through this, the rest of it won’t be any easier, but will make a lot more sense. :)
Background:
Undercover (and yes, you need to read that first, because some characters and references will not make sense in context otherwise. Look, the damn story is long enough without my having to dump another 5k words into exposition, ‘kay?)
Exposed, Part One
The afterglow lasted for a while. Sam was dazed 24-7, unsure of the territory he was in, now, as Gene’s lover. No, he corrected himself: he was Gene’s boyfriend. Just like it was a normal thing, as if it was always meant to be this way, as if Gene was exactly the person Sam always dreamed of sharing his life with, and soon they would appear on the cover of “OUT Magazine” as couple of the year.
None of which was true, of course. Sam still did not consider himself gay - or, as he tried to explain to Gene, he did not ‘self-identify’ as homosexual, to which Gene said what the fuck does it matter what you call yourself if you are screwing a man? Sam was careful not to point out that they were not screwing. Not yet. Gene was fully expecting them too at some point, and sometimes gave Sam very lurid descriptions of exactly how he imagined it was going to happen which unnerved Sam, who had never in his life tried anal sex and did not think there was anything particularly sexy about it, particularly on the receiving end which Gene assumed was Sam’s future role. The only sexy part was Gene’s very prosaic turn of phrase in describing the act, which he often did while wanking Sam off in bed.
In fact, the first time Sam even touched Gene’s cock was in the shower, not in bed, and over a week after their first erstwhile ‘night’ together. They stumbled back from the Railway Arms as they so often did and when they got to the flat, Gene sprawled in the chair and Sam stood in the middle of the room, realizing he spent half the day in the Cortina and the other half running at full speed through the streets chasing their quarry, finally wasting the evening drinking in the smoke-filled and overly-heated pub. He felt dirty, he knew he was rank, and he simply could not take it anymore.
“Shower.”
“Not movin’.”
“No, no: me. I’m takin’ a shower.”
“Go.” Gene waved him off and tipped his head back and looked immediately asleep.
Sam stood under the water with his eyes closed. He heard the bathroom door open and Gene relieving himself, after which he stood there, messing around. Sam did not open his eyes, not really caring about what Gene was doing because the hot water felt marvelous. His eyes snapped open when the shower door slid to the side and Gene stepped in. Sam moved back in shock as Gene rinsed off, because he was still not very used to sharing his personal space with a naked Gene. Gene looked at him and smiled, a sly, mischievous grin with heated, blazing eyes, and moved towards Sam, who pressed into the tiles in confusion. Gene stopped and brought his arms up, and rested his hands against the wall just above Sam’s shoulders, keeping his body at arm’s length from Sam, and splaying his legs as if he were using his strength to hold the wall up. They looked at each other and Sam suspected he was supposed to do something, but he had no idea what. Finally Gene sighed.
“Get me off, Sam.”
“Oh! Right.” Sam reached out and grabbed for Gene’s penis, and Gene hissed.
“Yer not milkin’ a damn cow…”
“Sorry…I’m sorry…I’m still new at this, okay?”
“Not like you never wanked off before. I think you’ll manage.” Gene looked at him, his expression tight and severe. Sam could not stand that, he wanted Gene to be comfortable and even pleased, so he leaned forward and kissed him as he started moving his hand up and down Gene’s shaft. That seemed to do the trick as Gene visibly relaxed around him and his cock became ram rod stiff in Sam’s hand. Still, Sam was self conscious and clumsy and he just did not know what the rules were. He figured he could play with the ball sack but he did not know and really did not want to find out how protective Gene was of his ass, or any other sensitive body parts. He could not treat Gene the way he did the women he had seduced; Gene would not appreciate it or even, probably, get it. Gene was too much of a man to take well to romantic seduction, which after all was Sam’s signature style, and without that script Sam was lost, emotionally as well as physically, and he spent most of his time just trying not to think about it. Like now.
Gene did not change position as Sam worked him up. He was far enough back to take in all of Sam’s body and to look down and see Sam’s hand on his cock, massaging it, and he enjoyed both views. His breathing sped up and Sam saw the muscles in his arms clinching and releasing and clinching again as Gene pressed into the wall. Gene was not a fashion model but his physicality was overwhelming and as he huffed, his skin flushed and Sam thought, of all bizarre ideas, that he was beautiful. Sam wanted to melt him with kisses but he could not bring himself to even try, for fear of one of Gene’s stinging, barbed rebukes, so instead leaned forward and began pumping Gene’s cock and put one hand on Gene’s shoulder, carefully avoiding petting or touching his chest. He did not want to do something wrong, and it seemed the better part of valor was to just not do anything at all. He focused on Gene’s cock, but that was weird enough, because aside from his own cock, he never held that part of another man’s anatomy in his grown life. It did not feel natural but Sam kept at it, focusing on Gene’s reactions and noises until Gene bunched up, his abdominal wall quivering, and Sam felt his cock swell and change shape in his hand. Gene was staring at him, saying nothing and not even blinking as Sam finally stroked him hard enough to bring him over the edge and Gene roared, stepping forward and slamming into Sam. He brought his arms around Sam as he shuddered, rolling into a groan, holding Sam so tightly that Sam could not remove his hand from Gene’s throbbing penis or even breathe deeply. After a moment Gene relaxed his grip and tilted his head down to kiss Sam, who was comfortable with that territory and kissed back as hard as he could.
Gene considered this foreplay. Sam figured that out as they kissed and Gene’s hands roamed over him. He hunched up and pushed his hands down the front of Sam’s body, chest to knees, and Sam gasped at the sensation of being intimately manhandled in a way no woman ever would. Gene wrapped his hands around Sam’s ass cheeks and pulled him in, rolling his hips, trapping Sam’s erection between them, skin on skin, and Sam’s arms flew up to wrap around Gene. Sam briefly considered what Gene expected, if Gene wanted him to come now or if he was working Sam up for something more later, which bothered him, and his mind drifted in the possibilities and consequences.
“Jesus, Sam, this ain’t gonna work.” Gene pushed off, breathing hard, moving to let the water run over him. Sam stalled. “I can hear yer damn brain runnin’ like a jet engine in here.” Gene frowned, looking down at him. Sam realized that this was stupid, two grown men standing naked in the shower and arguing about sex.
“I’m sorry. I just…”
“The only time you let yerself relax is when yer wankin’ yourself off. So go on.” Gene waved a hand at him dismissively and went to get out of the shower. Sam knew he should grab him, pull him back, but he did not do it when he should have and by the time he understood that, Gene was wrapped in a towel and leaving the bathroom. Sam ignored his hard-on and beat his head against the tile, angry with himself.
He got out and chased Gene, who was holding his trousers, preparing to get dressed. His motions were slow and studied, and Sam realized when he touched Gene that the man was holding something in.
“Gene, come on; come to bed. I’ll…make it up to you. Okay?”
Gene looked at him, his expression blank. “How?”
“Oh. Uh…well…I could…” Sam squinted, trying to think creatively, and missed his cue. Gene stepped forward and hit him in the gut and Sam dropped to his knees, as much from shock as pain. Gene pulled one arm behind him and locked it there, getting down on one knee behind Sam, who was waiting for the kidney punch or the rape. Neither idea was appealing and he sucked in air, steeling himself.
Gene reached around with his free arm and grabbed Sam’s cock in a crushing, hot hold, squeezing blood into it. Sam cried out in pain and arousal, his body bucking back against Gene in rebellion. Sam instinctively leaned forward, stretching his other arm out to try and brace himself on the ground, and pushing his knees apart, wider, for balance. Gene twisted his trapped arm as he began pumping Sam’s cock and Sam’s vision blurred. Gene shuffled in closer, his legs in between Sam’s, and nearly sitting on his heels to keep his position wrapped low on top of Sam. Their hips were aligned and Sam felt Gene’s erection, which was pressed down and actually poking into Sam’s ball sack and the sensation was so intense that Sam groaned again. Gene picked up the pace of his hand in response.
“God damnit go off, Sam, just fuckin’ feel my dick on you and me jackin’ you off. I’ve got my hot filthy hand on your cock and I’m going to keep pumping you until you blow cum all over yourself, see it dripping down your chin…yeah, boy, you dirty minded tight-arse slut, you’re coming for me and god damnit you’re going to cry like a girl when you come, going to lick yourself clean with your dirty tongue…oh jesus, yes, like that, like that, Sam, cry for me…” Gene kept twisting his arm as he fisted Sam’s cock and Sam was delirious, beyond anything he had ever felt before, flying on a sensation that was surreal and magnificent, words failing him completely as he whined and cried just the way Gene wanted him to. He felt his orgasm pounce on him from nowhere and he was not ready for it, and he yelled out, unabashed over who might hear or what he was saying.
“FUCK! Gene! Oh god yes yes yes…for you…for you…” Sam sobbed, curling down, feeling his cum shooting out of him to land he did not care where. His body shuddered and suddenly he was on the floor, on his side, Gene holding him in a bear hug and shaking.
“Thank you, love…” Gene gasped, gently rubbing the arm he had twisted mercilessly. “…you damn annoying twat…” Gene buried his face into Sam’s neck and sucked on his skin with abandon, and Sam let him, uncaring, physically demolished, and scared out of his mind. He hated losing control and he did not want to believe that Gene was turned on by watching him collapse like that, abandoned to passion and lust. He did not want to be Gene’s wind up toy, but as he lay there he understood that he did not really know what he wanted to be at all.
Gene’s hard on was back and pressing into Sam, the shaft running along his butt crack with heat and intensity. Sam knew Gene wanted him, and he had seen Gene fucking before and he knew what it would be like and he simply did not want that. But then Gene rolled away, onto his back, and lay still, one arm wrapped around Sam. “Not going to take what you won’t give, Sam.”
Sam rolled over into Gene’s hold, wondering when the man became psychic. “I’m sorry.”
“You always are.”
From that point, hand jobs were their preferred sexual intercourse, and Sam got used to Gene’s cock in his hands and adored his own cock in Gene’s hands, and it felt safe and equal and controllable. Gene particularly loved doing it in the Cortina, which Sam wished he could have bet money on because he knew the man had a fetish for that wretched car anyway. But the Cortina was not ‘safe’ in any sense and after a particularly heated front-seat session on a stake out under a lamp post Sam decided that Gene was a secret adrenaline junkie. Sam encouraged it; he did not know Gene’s turn-ons and the more he could keep Gene focused on the rush and not the mechanics, the more Sam could avoid facing up to the fact that he was, at some point, going to have to put out. He was fatalistic about the eventuality of it, but he was determined to be a good lover to Gene to make up for current limitations. He read Gene like a book and followed every lead closely and never stepped beyond the boundaries of what they had done before, letting Gene take the risks of pushing the borders of their physical relationship.
After the first month, their love making became comfortable, and Gene stopped pushing Sam into anything. Relieved, Sam worked hard to hit Gene’s buttons, kissing him in the ways that always garnered a reaction and focusing on the areas of his skin that seemed to arouse him the most. Gene loved watching Sam a lot and once Sam figured that out, he did his best to present, but he felt silly sometimes, and he balked at masturbating like a peep show performer. Sam preferred comfortable to exciting, and he figured as long as they were both still getting off, then he was doing his job.
The worst part, for Sam, was being in the closet. He hated it. He did not understand the necessity of it, and he did not value the social order of 1974 enough to bend to its will. He could accept his ‘lifestyle choice’ (which earned him another heavy snort from Gene), as far as that went, but he did not accept the limitations that came with it.
“Sam, if you don’t tone it down, we’ll just have to spray paint ‘FAG’ on the side of the car.” Gene growled as they rode the elevator down from CID to the lobby. A body was found in an alley and plods were guarding it, waiting for Gene to get there. Ray and Chris were already out, following up leads on another case, and would meet them at the scene.
“What?” Sam stared at him.
“Do not, I repeat, DO NOT touch my face in this building again.” Gene snarled.
“You had sherbet on you.” Sam shrugged, confused and nonplussed, and Gene glared at him.
“You keep acting like my wife, and people might get the crazy idea that we are balls deep shagging like the bloody nancy queers we are. Don’t know why I might think that, but I do. So keep your roaming ‘ands to yourself!” Gene stomped out as the doors opened and Sam trailed after him, his hands held out in his usual posture of amazed annoyance.
They arrived at the scene in Gene’s typical record time and everything went to hell. Sam stood over the body in shock, horrified, although the crime itself was not that messy. One gunshot to the skull, probably a .22, nothing massive, just simply and efficiently lethal. The victim was killed and died where he fell, and Sam could think of at least five reasons why this upstanding lawyer would be in a dirty alley on the wrong side of town, although none of those reasons ended with him getting shot dead.
Gene directed the scene as always and did not even twitch when they first saw the body. Nothing, not any sign of recognition, and Sam hated him for it.
“Sam.” Gene stood next to him and Sam looked up, and he knew he did not look happy. “We got to let the photog get in.” Gene moved him back. They were standing separated from others, then, and Sam turned on him.
“Can’t even pretend you care?”
“Sam, not here.”
“He was your friend!” Sam hissed. Gene frowned at him and leaned in, whispering back.
“No. We’re going to find out Terry was just a bloke who threw notorious parties and scared his neighbors. In fact I’m sure we are going to discover that he was one of those disgusting fudge packers who brought young boys over to his house to grope in the dark, and the world will be a better place for someone offing the perverted likes of ‘im.” Gene stared at him malevolently. “Even worse, Sammy Boy, we’re going to discover he was a brief.” Gene walked off, leaving Sam to seethe alone.
Of course all of Gene’s less-than-prescient predictions came true, through no active work on Gene’s part. Gene treated the body like a complete stranger and let Ray track down the particulars from Terry’s ID, still in his wallet along with a hefty amount of cash. When it came time to go to Terry’s house and interview neighbors, Gene led the charge, and Sam thought he was mad. As they drove over, Sam tapped his foot loudly until Gene grunted.
“The neighbors will recognize you,” Sam said defensively.
“Us.”
“No, I only went once.”
“Think I went every bloody Sunday? S’not church, Sam. And if they think they recognize me, I will calmly explain that they are starkers and threaten to kick the cat. If that don’t work, you can play the tart an’ make all them lonely housewives cream. They’ll agree to anything we tell ‘em with you battin’ your pretty eyelashes at ‘em.”
Sam stared. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that this is a murder investigation?”
“Why you think we’re goin’?” Gene asked seriously.
The parties definitely were notorious, but for some reason no one ever remembered recognizing anyone who went. Sam believed them; they probably shuttered the windows and hid the children in the basement whenever Terry held a party, because apparently most people knew in an oblique and improvable way the ‘nature’ of his ‘proclivities.’ The last party was the weekend prior, and nothing special happened, which was neighborhood code for ‘we did not call the police.’ Nothing was out of order in the house either, and from what they could piece together, Terry simply never got home from work the day before.
As they rode back to the station, Sam chewed on his thumb.
“Out with it, Dorothy.”
“Nice. I thought you might say something affectionate like, ‘what’s wrong, sweet heart?’ and then I’d ‘ave to jump out the car and kill myself.”
Gene glared at him out of the corner of his eyes and Sam snorted and returned to chewing on his thumb.
“What’s wrong, sweet heart?” The tone dripped malice, and Gene’s grip on the steering wheel was crushing.
Sam decided the best tactic was to keep to the topic on his mind. “There was a party last Saturday. You know ‘bout that?”
“Yep.” Gene kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Didn’ want to go?” Sam’s narrowed his eyes.
“Nope.”
“Didn’ think I might want to?”
“As you so carefully point out, you ain’t queer, and I would not want to ruffle your delicate sensibilities by exposing you to a house full of arse fucking perverts.”
“…I’m willing to try, Gene.” Sam sighed heavily.
“Are you? Can’t tell, you never let me get past your balls.”
“No! Not that! I mean I’m willing to try to be a part of your life! The parties…whatever it is closeted homophobic queer men do in fucking 1974.” Sam growled and folded his arms.
“They fuck.”
Sam kicked the floorboard. “Why are we talking about sex? Isn’t this about a murder investigation?”
“No, this is about your being an uptight, Hyde-y pants prick tease!” Gene finally yelled.
“I’m trying, Gene! I’m not gay and you know that! I don’t…” Sam stalled, not sure what he was trying to say.
“You don’t want to be. Welcome to the club, boy. NO ONE volunteers for this mission!” Gene hit the steering wheel so hard the car swerved and Sam nearly jumped out of his seat. Gene never said anything about his life like this, and Sam just assumed that his acceptance of his sexuality was a given, that Gene did not question it or second guess it. He forced himself to remain quiet while Gene collected himself, pulling over to park on the side of the street. He turned to Sam and pointed at him, a picture of coiled rage, and Sam pressed himself backwards into his seat. “Too much of a man, Sam?”
“WHAT has that got to do with anything?” Sam pointed back, a futile mimicry, but somehow all that felt appropriate.
“Tonight. I’m making a fag out of you tonight.” Gene turned quickly back around and threw the car into gear.
“Don’ threaten me.”
“That’s no threat, Sam, that’s a promise.”
“So you’re goin’ to rape me? That it, then? Don’ matter how much I care about you or how many times I get you off; I just don’t let you ream me up the arse so I’m not really gay? Or just not gay enough for Gene Hunt, Flaming Queer of Manchester!”
The car stopped so hard Sam was flung against the dash, even with his seatbelt on.
“Get out.”
Sam tore the restraint off and spilled out of the car, slamming the door behind him as Gene drove off. He walked to the station, which took nearly an hour. When he got there Ray briefed him the status of the case, along with a few cracks about poofs and bum-bandits that Chris thought were hysterical. Sam ignored Gene, who was in his office, doing something other than drinking.
“What ‘appened, Sam?” Annie came over and sat on the edge of the desk.
Sam rolled his head and rubbed his eyes. “Guv and I got in a disagreement. He threw me out the car and I ‘ad to walk back.”
Annie smiled sadly. “He came in here furious, throwing things around. We knew it was about you.”
“What you mean?” Sam squinted.
“Jus’…you ‘ave a way of getting to him. Sam, sometimes…sometimes you jus’ got to let him have his way, yeah? Because he needs that.”
Sam leaned back and folded his arms, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile. “This your advice, woman to woman style?”
Annie laughed and it was warm and alluring, and Sam gazed at her, spellbound. She was beautiful and she was kind and by god, she was female, and he wanted that.
“What are you doing for dinner, Annie?”
She stopped and looked uncomfortable. “Sam…I don’ think…well, maybe it jus’ wasn’t meant to work out for us. I…don’ mind dinner, you know, I’d like to, I jus’ don’t want you to think it’s a date or anything.” She said quietly.
“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself and behave in a professional and disinterested way.” He smiled, knowing that he would win her if he tried. Maybe not tonight, but he almost had her once, and he could get that back if he really wanted to. She smiled at him and the deal was sealed.
Sam went through the rest of the day pleased with himself and ignoring Gene. He had to ignore him, because he simply could not handle him at this point, and he certainly did not want to be handled by him.
“Time.” Gene loomed over his desk.
“For what, Guv?” Sam did not look up.
“Pub. Let’s go.” His voice was neutral and Sam knew this was his way of being conciliatory. Sam kept his head down but looked up with his eyes.
“Got plans.”
Gene tilted his head. They were not alone, and there was no way the matter could be pursued, and Gene knew it. He nodded and walked off.
>-------------
Cont. in Part Two
Author: mikes_grrl
Rating: Brown Cortina (NC-17+, for seksiness)
Pairing: Gene/oc, Gene/Sam
Warnings: AU, naturally, and maybe specific spoilers mentioned in passing. Nonetheless, let’s just wing it and say “post-2.08” for the hell of it.
Disclaimer: All owned by Kudos, kudos to them. I’m just having fun.
Word Count: 25,000 (in eight parts; part one, 4,000)
Summary: Sequel to Undercover. An execution-style murder case threatens to rip apart Gene’s career; meanwhile, Sam is having trouble adjusting to his ‘lifestyle choice’ (and no one is surprised, least of all Gene).
NOTES: Stop! Just stop! For the love of ghod, give me a break! You people are insatiable! Anyway…This story is much longer than its prequel, and whoa I really threw a lot of shagging in there (please file complaints with the appropriate department). Although I have to say, if you like angsty!Sam, you will like this.
On accuracy: I do not know at what time of day or what day of the week Dr. Who was shown in 1974-ish Manchester, and really, I don’t care, so we are all going to hold hands and go “la la la” and pretend that it was shown at the time I say it was. I am writer. Hear me rawr.
Notes on Part One: The longest part of the series; if you make it through this, the rest of it won’t be any easier, but will make a lot more sense. :)
Background:
Undercover (and yes, you need to read that first, because some characters and references will not make sense in context otherwise. Look, the damn story is long enough without my having to dump another 5k words into exposition, ‘kay?)
Exposed, Part One
The afterglow lasted for a while. Sam was dazed 24-7, unsure of the territory he was in, now, as Gene’s lover. No, he corrected himself: he was Gene’s boyfriend. Just like it was a normal thing, as if it was always meant to be this way, as if Gene was exactly the person Sam always dreamed of sharing his life with, and soon they would appear on the cover of “OUT Magazine” as couple of the year.
None of which was true, of course. Sam still did not consider himself gay - or, as he tried to explain to Gene, he did not ‘self-identify’ as homosexual, to which Gene said what the fuck does it matter what you call yourself if you are screwing a man? Sam was careful not to point out that they were not screwing. Not yet. Gene was fully expecting them too at some point, and sometimes gave Sam very lurid descriptions of exactly how he imagined it was going to happen which unnerved Sam, who had never in his life tried anal sex and did not think there was anything particularly sexy about it, particularly on the receiving end which Gene assumed was Sam’s future role. The only sexy part was Gene’s very prosaic turn of phrase in describing the act, which he often did while wanking Sam off in bed.
In fact, the first time Sam even touched Gene’s cock was in the shower, not in bed, and over a week after their first erstwhile ‘night’ together. They stumbled back from the Railway Arms as they so often did and when they got to the flat, Gene sprawled in the chair and Sam stood in the middle of the room, realizing he spent half the day in the Cortina and the other half running at full speed through the streets chasing their quarry, finally wasting the evening drinking in the smoke-filled and overly-heated pub. He felt dirty, he knew he was rank, and he simply could not take it anymore.
“Shower.”
“Not movin’.”
“No, no: me. I’m takin’ a shower.”
“Go.” Gene waved him off and tipped his head back and looked immediately asleep.
Sam stood under the water with his eyes closed. He heard the bathroom door open and Gene relieving himself, after which he stood there, messing around. Sam did not open his eyes, not really caring about what Gene was doing because the hot water felt marvelous. His eyes snapped open when the shower door slid to the side and Gene stepped in. Sam moved back in shock as Gene rinsed off, because he was still not very used to sharing his personal space with a naked Gene. Gene looked at him and smiled, a sly, mischievous grin with heated, blazing eyes, and moved towards Sam, who pressed into the tiles in confusion. Gene stopped and brought his arms up, and rested his hands against the wall just above Sam’s shoulders, keeping his body at arm’s length from Sam, and splaying his legs as if he were using his strength to hold the wall up. They looked at each other and Sam suspected he was supposed to do something, but he had no idea what. Finally Gene sighed.
“Get me off, Sam.”
“Oh! Right.” Sam reached out and grabbed for Gene’s penis, and Gene hissed.
“Yer not milkin’ a damn cow…”
“Sorry…I’m sorry…I’m still new at this, okay?”
“Not like you never wanked off before. I think you’ll manage.” Gene looked at him, his expression tight and severe. Sam could not stand that, he wanted Gene to be comfortable and even pleased, so he leaned forward and kissed him as he started moving his hand up and down Gene’s shaft. That seemed to do the trick as Gene visibly relaxed around him and his cock became ram rod stiff in Sam’s hand. Still, Sam was self conscious and clumsy and he just did not know what the rules were. He figured he could play with the ball sack but he did not know and really did not want to find out how protective Gene was of his ass, or any other sensitive body parts. He could not treat Gene the way he did the women he had seduced; Gene would not appreciate it or even, probably, get it. Gene was too much of a man to take well to romantic seduction, which after all was Sam’s signature style, and without that script Sam was lost, emotionally as well as physically, and he spent most of his time just trying not to think about it. Like now.
Gene did not change position as Sam worked him up. He was far enough back to take in all of Sam’s body and to look down and see Sam’s hand on his cock, massaging it, and he enjoyed both views. His breathing sped up and Sam saw the muscles in his arms clinching and releasing and clinching again as Gene pressed into the wall. Gene was not a fashion model but his physicality was overwhelming and as he huffed, his skin flushed and Sam thought, of all bizarre ideas, that he was beautiful. Sam wanted to melt him with kisses but he could not bring himself to even try, for fear of one of Gene’s stinging, barbed rebukes, so instead leaned forward and began pumping Gene’s cock and put one hand on Gene’s shoulder, carefully avoiding petting or touching his chest. He did not want to do something wrong, and it seemed the better part of valor was to just not do anything at all. He focused on Gene’s cock, but that was weird enough, because aside from his own cock, he never held that part of another man’s anatomy in his grown life. It did not feel natural but Sam kept at it, focusing on Gene’s reactions and noises until Gene bunched up, his abdominal wall quivering, and Sam felt his cock swell and change shape in his hand. Gene was staring at him, saying nothing and not even blinking as Sam finally stroked him hard enough to bring him over the edge and Gene roared, stepping forward and slamming into Sam. He brought his arms around Sam as he shuddered, rolling into a groan, holding Sam so tightly that Sam could not remove his hand from Gene’s throbbing penis or even breathe deeply. After a moment Gene relaxed his grip and tilted his head down to kiss Sam, who was comfortable with that territory and kissed back as hard as he could.
Gene considered this foreplay. Sam figured that out as they kissed and Gene’s hands roamed over him. He hunched up and pushed his hands down the front of Sam’s body, chest to knees, and Sam gasped at the sensation of being intimately manhandled in a way no woman ever would. Gene wrapped his hands around Sam’s ass cheeks and pulled him in, rolling his hips, trapping Sam’s erection between them, skin on skin, and Sam’s arms flew up to wrap around Gene. Sam briefly considered what Gene expected, if Gene wanted him to come now or if he was working Sam up for something more later, which bothered him, and his mind drifted in the possibilities and consequences.
“Jesus, Sam, this ain’t gonna work.” Gene pushed off, breathing hard, moving to let the water run over him. Sam stalled. “I can hear yer damn brain runnin’ like a jet engine in here.” Gene frowned, looking down at him. Sam realized that this was stupid, two grown men standing naked in the shower and arguing about sex.
“I’m sorry. I just…”
“The only time you let yerself relax is when yer wankin’ yourself off. So go on.” Gene waved a hand at him dismissively and went to get out of the shower. Sam knew he should grab him, pull him back, but he did not do it when he should have and by the time he understood that, Gene was wrapped in a towel and leaving the bathroom. Sam ignored his hard-on and beat his head against the tile, angry with himself.
He got out and chased Gene, who was holding his trousers, preparing to get dressed. His motions were slow and studied, and Sam realized when he touched Gene that the man was holding something in.
“Gene, come on; come to bed. I’ll…make it up to you. Okay?”
Gene looked at him, his expression blank. “How?”
“Oh. Uh…well…I could…” Sam squinted, trying to think creatively, and missed his cue. Gene stepped forward and hit him in the gut and Sam dropped to his knees, as much from shock as pain. Gene pulled one arm behind him and locked it there, getting down on one knee behind Sam, who was waiting for the kidney punch or the rape. Neither idea was appealing and he sucked in air, steeling himself.
Gene reached around with his free arm and grabbed Sam’s cock in a crushing, hot hold, squeezing blood into it. Sam cried out in pain and arousal, his body bucking back against Gene in rebellion. Sam instinctively leaned forward, stretching his other arm out to try and brace himself on the ground, and pushing his knees apart, wider, for balance. Gene twisted his trapped arm as he began pumping Sam’s cock and Sam’s vision blurred. Gene shuffled in closer, his legs in between Sam’s, and nearly sitting on his heels to keep his position wrapped low on top of Sam. Their hips were aligned and Sam felt Gene’s erection, which was pressed down and actually poking into Sam’s ball sack and the sensation was so intense that Sam groaned again. Gene picked up the pace of his hand in response.
“God damnit go off, Sam, just fuckin’ feel my dick on you and me jackin’ you off. I’ve got my hot filthy hand on your cock and I’m going to keep pumping you until you blow cum all over yourself, see it dripping down your chin…yeah, boy, you dirty minded tight-arse slut, you’re coming for me and god damnit you’re going to cry like a girl when you come, going to lick yourself clean with your dirty tongue…oh jesus, yes, like that, like that, Sam, cry for me…” Gene kept twisting his arm as he fisted Sam’s cock and Sam was delirious, beyond anything he had ever felt before, flying on a sensation that was surreal and magnificent, words failing him completely as he whined and cried just the way Gene wanted him to. He felt his orgasm pounce on him from nowhere and he was not ready for it, and he yelled out, unabashed over who might hear or what he was saying.
“FUCK! Gene! Oh god yes yes yes…for you…for you…” Sam sobbed, curling down, feeling his cum shooting out of him to land he did not care where. His body shuddered and suddenly he was on the floor, on his side, Gene holding him in a bear hug and shaking.
“Thank you, love…” Gene gasped, gently rubbing the arm he had twisted mercilessly. “…you damn annoying twat…” Gene buried his face into Sam’s neck and sucked on his skin with abandon, and Sam let him, uncaring, physically demolished, and scared out of his mind. He hated losing control and he did not want to believe that Gene was turned on by watching him collapse like that, abandoned to passion and lust. He did not want to be Gene’s wind up toy, but as he lay there he understood that he did not really know what he wanted to be at all.
Gene’s hard on was back and pressing into Sam, the shaft running along his butt crack with heat and intensity. Sam knew Gene wanted him, and he had seen Gene fucking before and he knew what it would be like and he simply did not want that. But then Gene rolled away, onto his back, and lay still, one arm wrapped around Sam. “Not going to take what you won’t give, Sam.”
Sam rolled over into Gene’s hold, wondering when the man became psychic. “I’m sorry.”
“You always are.”
From that point, hand jobs were their preferred sexual intercourse, and Sam got used to Gene’s cock in his hands and adored his own cock in Gene’s hands, and it felt safe and equal and controllable. Gene particularly loved doing it in the Cortina, which Sam wished he could have bet money on because he knew the man had a fetish for that wretched car anyway. But the Cortina was not ‘safe’ in any sense and after a particularly heated front-seat session on a stake out under a lamp post Sam decided that Gene was a secret adrenaline junkie. Sam encouraged it; he did not know Gene’s turn-ons and the more he could keep Gene focused on the rush and not the mechanics, the more Sam could avoid facing up to the fact that he was, at some point, going to have to put out. He was fatalistic about the eventuality of it, but he was determined to be a good lover to Gene to make up for current limitations. He read Gene like a book and followed every lead closely and never stepped beyond the boundaries of what they had done before, letting Gene take the risks of pushing the borders of their physical relationship.
After the first month, their love making became comfortable, and Gene stopped pushing Sam into anything. Relieved, Sam worked hard to hit Gene’s buttons, kissing him in the ways that always garnered a reaction and focusing on the areas of his skin that seemed to arouse him the most. Gene loved watching Sam a lot and once Sam figured that out, he did his best to present, but he felt silly sometimes, and he balked at masturbating like a peep show performer. Sam preferred comfortable to exciting, and he figured as long as they were both still getting off, then he was doing his job.
The worst part, for Sam, was being in the closet. He hated it. He did not understand the necessity of it, and he did not value the social order of 1974 enough to bend to its will. He could accept his ‘lifestyle choice’ (which earned him another heavy snort from Gene), as far as that went, but he did not accept the limitations that came with it.
“Sam, if you don’t tone it down, we’ll just have to spray paint ‘FAG’ on the side of the car.” Gene growled as they rode the elevator down from CID to the lobby. A body was found in an alley and plods were guarding it, waiting for Gene to get there. Ray and Chris were already out, following up leads on another case, and would meet them at the scene.
“What?” Sam stared at him.
“Do not, I repeat, DO NOT touch my face in this building again.” Gene snarled.
“You had sherbet on you.” Sam shrugged, confused and nonplussed, and Gene glared at him.
“You keep acting like my wife, and people might get the crazy idea that we are balls deep shagging like the bloody nancy queers we are. Don’t know why I might think that, but I do. So keep your roaming ‘ands to yourself!” Gene stomped out as the doors opened and Sam trailed after him, his hands held out in his usual posture of amazed annoyance.
They arrived at the scene in Gene’s typical record time and everything went to hell. Sam stood over the body in shock, horrified, although the crime itself was not that messy. One gunshot to the skull, probably a .22, nothing massive, just simply and efficiently lethal. The victim was killed and died where he fell, and Sam could think of at least five reasons why this upstanding lawyer would be in a dirty alley on the wrong side of town, although none of those reasons ended with him getting shot dead.
Gene directed the scene as always and did not even twitch when they first saw the body. Nothing, not any sign of recognition, and Sam hated him for it.
“Sam.” Gene stood next to him and Sam looked up, and he knew he did not look happy. “We got to let the photog get in.” Gene moved him back. They were standing separated from others, then, and Sam turned on him.
“Can’t even pretend you care?”
“Sam, not here.”
“He was your friend!” Sam hissed. Gene frowned at him and leaned in, whispering back.
“No. We’re going to find out Terry was just a bloke who threw notorious parties and scared his neighbors. In fact I’m sure we are going to discover that he was one of those disgusting fudge packers who brought young boys over to his house to grope in the dark, and the world will be a better place for someone offing the perverted likes of ‘im.” Gene stared at him malevolently. “Even worse, Sammy Boy, we’re going to discover he was a brief.” Gene walked off, leaving Sam to seethe alone.
Of course all of Gene’s less-than-prescient predictions came true, through no active work on Gene’s part. Gene treated the body like a complete stranger and let Ray track down the particulars from Terry’s ID, still in his wallet along with a hefty amount of cash. When it came time to go to Terry’s house and interview neighbors, Gene led the charge, and Sam thought he was mad. As they drove over, Sam tapped his foot loudly until Gene grunted.
“The neighbors will recognize you,” Sam said defensively.
“Us.”
“No, I only went once.”
“Think I went every bloody Sunday? S’not church, Sam. And if they think they recognize me, I will calmly explain that they are starkers and threaten to kick the cat. If that don’t work, you can play the tart an’ make all them lonely housewives cream. They’ll agree to anything we tell ‘em with you battin’ your pretty eyelashes at ‘em.”
Sam stared. “I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that this is a murder investigation?”
“Why you think we’re goin’?” Gene asked seriously.
The parties definitely were notorious, but for some reason no one ever remembered recognizing anyone who went. Sam believed them; they probably shuttered the windows and hid the children in the basement whenever Terry held a party, because apparently most people knew in an oblique and improvable way the ‘nature’ of his ‘proclivities.’ The last party was the weekend prior, and nothing special happened, which was neighborhood code for ‘we did not call the police.’ Nothing was out of order in the house either, and from what they could piece together, Terry simply never got home from work the day before.
As they rode back to the station, Sam chewed on his thumb.
“Out with it, Dorothy.”
“Nice. I thought you might say something affectionate like, ‘what’s wrong, sweet heart?’ and then I’d ‘ave to jump out the car and kill myself.”
Gene glared at him out of the corner of his eyes and Sam snorted and returned to chewing on his thumb.
“What’s wrong, sweet heart?” The tone dripped malice, and Gene’s grip on the steering wheel was crushing.
Sam decided the best tactic was to keep to the topic on his mind. “There was a party last Saturday. You know ‘bout that?”
“Yep.” Gene kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Didn’ want to go?” Sam’s narrowed his eyes.
“Nope.”
“Didn’ think I might want to?”
“As you so carefully point out, you ain’t queer, and I would not want to ruffle your delicate sensibilities by exposing you to a house full of arse fucking perverts.”
“…I’m willing to try, Gene.” Sam sighed heavily.
“Are you? Can’t tell, you never let me get past your balls.”
“No! Not that! I mean I’m willing to try to be a part of your life! The parties…whatever it is closeted homophobic queer men do in fucking 1974.” Sam growled and folded his arms.
“They fuck.”
Sam kicked the floorboard. “Why are we talking about sex? Isn’t this about a murder investigation?”
“No, this is about your being an uptight, Hyde-y pants prick tease!” Gene finally yelled.
“I’m trying, Gene! I’m not gay and you know that! I don’t…” Sam stalled, not sure what he was trying to say.
“You don’t want to be. Welcome to the club, boy. NO ONE volunteers for this mission!” Gene hit the steering wheel so hard the car swerved and Sam nearly jumped out of his seat. Gene never said anything about his life like this, and Sam just assumed that his acceptance of his sexuality was a given, that Gene did not question it or second guess it. He forced himself to remain quiet while Gene collected himself, pulling over to park on the side of the street. He turned to Sam and pointed at him, a picture of coiled rage, and Sam pressed himself backwards into his seat. “Too much of a man, Sam?”
“WHAT has that got to do with anything?” Sam pointed back, a futile mimicry, but somehow all that felt appropriate.
“Tonight. I’m making a fag out of you tonight.” Gene turned quickly back around and threw the car into gear.
“Don’ threaten me.”
“That’s no threat, Sam, that’s a promise.”
“So you’re goin’ to rape me? That it, then? Don’ matter how much I care about you or how many times I get you off; I just don’t let you ream me up the arse so I’m not really gay? Or just not gay enough for Gene Hunt, Flaming Queer of Manchester!”
The car stopped so hard Sam was flung against the dash, even with his seatbelt on.
“Get out.”
Sam tore the restraint off and spilled out of the car, slamming the door behind him as Gene drove off. He walked to the station, which took nearly an hour. When he got there Ray briefed him the status of the case, along with a few cracks about poofs and bum-bandits that Chris thought were hysterical. Sam ignored Gene, who was in his office, doing something other than drinking.
“What ‘appened, Sam?” Annie came over and sat on the edge of the desk.
Sam rolled his head and rubbed his eyes. “Guv and I got in a disagreement. He threw me out the car and I ‘ad to walk back.”
Annie smiled sadly. “He came in here furious, throwing things around. We knew it was about you.”
“What you mean?” Sam squinted.
“Jus’…you ‘ave a way of getting to him. Sam, sometimes…sometimes you jus’ got to let him have his way, yeah? Because he needs that.”
Sam leaned back and folded his arms, his mouth twitching as he tried not to smile. “This your advice, woman to woman style?”
Annie laughed and it was warm and alluring, and Sam gazed at her, spellbound. She was beautiful and she was kind and by god, she was female, and he wanted that.
“What are you doing for dinner, Annie?”
She stopped and looked uncomfortable. “Sam…I don’ think…well, maybe it jus’ wasn’t meant to work out for us. I…don’ mind dinner, you know, I’d like to, I jus’ don’t want you to think it’s a date or anything.” She said quietly.
“I’ll try to keep my hands to myself and behave in a professional and disinterested way.” He smiled, knowing that he would win her if he tried. Maybe not tonight, but he almost had her once, and he could get that back if he really wanted to. She smiled at him and the deal was sealed.
Sam went through the rest of the day pleased with himself and ignoring Gene. He had to ignore him, because he simply could not handle him at this point, and he certainly did not want to be handled by him.
“Time.” Gene loomed over his desk.
“For what, Guv?” Sam did not look up.
“Pub. Let’s go.” His voice was neutral and Sam knew this was his way of being conciliatory. Sam kept his head down but looked up with his eyes.
“Got plans.”
Gene tilted his head. They were not alone, and there was no way the matter could be pursued, and Gene knew it. He nodded and walked off.
>-------------
Cont. in Part Two