Fic: Attraction and Repulsion
See previous post for details.
Sam opened the door fully dressed. He didn’t seem as surprised to see Ray standing there as Ray had expected him to. It was certainly a surprise to Ray. Stepping back, Sam watched Ray expectantly.
“D’you want a drink?” Sam asked, gesturing the already open scotch bottle upon his table. Ray deliberated the offer, feeling out of his depth as he walked into Sam’s small flat.
“Yeah, cheers,” Ray said, accepting the glass that Sam put in his hand. Ray drunk it in one gulp as Sam watched amusedly.
“Another?” Sam asked with a quirk of his lips. Ray declined by a shake of his head. Sam smiled, taking the glass from Ray’s hands, his fingers brushing over Ray’s as he did so. Probably just accidentally, Ray thought as Sam put the glass down beside the bottle, it didn’t mean anything.
“I suppose, technically, it is ‘tomorrow’, today,” Sam continued as he noted the time was past midnight, coming over to stand in close proximity to Ray. “And I did say I’d ‘see you tomorrow’,” Sam said softly, stepping even closer. Not that accidental then, Ray realised, swallowing audibly.
Ray didn’t make a response, not entirely sure why he was standing in Tyler’s flat instead of begging Wilma to return, anyway. Or why his male boss, who had initially been impervious to his original advance, was now shamelessly coming onto him. Not that Ray had given Sam a chance to react that first time; he had fled, after all.
Ray still made no discernible reaction when Sam slid an arm round his waist and began to draw his mouth over Ray’s throat. Gently at first, nuzzling Ray’s neck in a manner that bordered on the affectionate, before he bit down hard on Ray’s shoulder, teeth bruising the skin despite the layer of cotton between both. Biting down once more, he managed to elicit a gasp from Ray though the man still stood there, arms hanging limply.
A warm hand pushed back Ray’s collar and Sam resumed his biting on Ray’s now exposed skin, sucking hard as he drew his teeth across the sensitive skin. Hands assiduously unbuttoning Ray’s shirt, as Sam pulled at his shirt, ripping off a button in the process. Sam ignored the protesting noise Ray made in response and pushed the shirt off of Ray’s shoulders.
“Wait,” Ray said, tensing up. “Can’t do this; it’s sick,” he said now forcibly struggling against Sam.
Sam pulled back, his eyes questioning. “Does it feel sick?” he asked, slender fingers stroking circles across Ray’s chest.
“No,” Ray admitted after a brief hesitation, unconsciously leaning into Sam’s welcoming touches.
“We don’t need to,” Sam said seriously. “If you really don’t want…But, you came over here-”
“I know I did,” Ray said, cutting him off. “S’just…” he trailed off, unable to voice his reservations about finally accepting whatever it was that he felt towards Sam.
“Shhh, s’okay,” soothed Sam into Ray’s ear, caressing Ray’s bare arms and lightly kissing his neck. “I’ll look after you,” he said huskily, “just relax.”
Ray did so, finding himself now relishing the continual contact. Sharp nails scraped across his chest, digging in as Sam gripped Ray tightly much like Wilma had done, Sam’s hot mouth still attached to Ray’s neck seeking out the sensitive spots. Hissing as Sam scraped across one of nipples, Ray arched his neck backwards giving Sam better access to the crook of his neck where Sam was placing quick and desperate nipping kisses.
Bringing his hands down, Ray pushed his thumbs into the gap between Sam’s trousers and Sam’s smooth skin. A surprised intake of breath from Sam caused Ray to push his hands in further but the trousers were far too tight for him to do so properly.
“Belt,” gasped Sam, grazing his teeth over Ray’s lips as he moved his mouth from one shoulder to the other. Ray obliged and fumbled blindly with the belt, unable to see it as Sam’s body was obstructing his view, eventually pulling it out and dropping it at their feet where it was soon joined by Sam’s jeans. Mirroring Ray’s actions, Sam soon swiftly removed Ray’s belt too and pushed him over to the bed.
Collapsing on top of Ray, who was upright, Sam straddled his thighs as he had done earlier, his fingers tracing invisible patterns down Ray’s back before reaching the waistband of Ray’s trousers and tugging them down. Kicking off his shoes, Ray began to undo Sam’s shirt and, for a very brief second, was confused to not see a pair of breasts before him.
Intoxicated by lust, his bafflement didn’t last long as Sam’s lips reattached themselves to Ray’s nipple, which hardened at the warm moistness of Sam’s mouth. Palm cupping Ray’s erection, Sam slid one thumb along the base of Ray’s cock.
“Fuck, Tyler,” Ray couldn’t stop himself from saying breathlessly. Sam’s eyes glinted in the half-light.
“Certainly,” he acquiesced.
Making a double handed fist, Sam bought both their engorged cocks together as he thrust his hips forward. Sam’s palm was sweaty and damp from pre-come as he moved it in delicious rhythm with his hips, extracting obscene guttural gasps from Ray who clutched at Sam’s buttocks and waist, forcing them closer together.
Biting his lip to stop himself from screaming out, Ray bucked into Sam’s hand, feeling the other man’s lips brush lightly over his as he did so. Panting, Sam placed his forehead against Ray’s; their breath mingling together as Sam brought them ever nearer to climax. Ray could feel his muscles quivering as the friction became overwhelming; the constant rubbing between his and Sam’s cocks bringing him closer to an intense conclusion; the spots of bright light were already dancing before his vision and he could feel a tightening in his genitals.
And it would’ve been incomparably fantastic, if Ray hadn’t called out Wilma’s name by mistake.
***
Something was amiss. Gene Hunt could sense it, and when it came to his senses they were rarely wrong, despite what Tyler claimed to the contrary. But Tyler just enjoyed being a contradictory bastard.
Watching from the relative sanctity and privacy of his office, Gene noticed the shift in dynamics; Ray was smoking quietly alone and Sam wasn’t even in the room. Both of these facts alone were not very suspicious but the way Sam and Ray had purposefully avoided each other that morning, well… It was tense, to describe it moderately. Gene’s intuition told him the problem may revolve around what he’d stumbled across in the locker room. Despite his efforts to pretend he was reading far too much into it he recognised the signs. However, there was only one certain way of discovering what exactly was happening and that was to, essentially, ask the parties involved. Or beat it out of them; whichever was more likely to get Gene the results.
He opened his door.
“Carling,” he shouted. Ray looked up startled. “Where’s Tyler?”
“Why the ‘ell should I know where the poof is, Guv?” Ray said, inhaling on his cigarette deeply. His brow furrowed. “Can go wherever he likes. I’m not ‘is keeper,” Ray practically snarled.
Gene narrowed his eyes. The tone of Ray’s voice was enough to tell Gene all he needed to know.
“Fine,” he said, briskly making his way to the exit, “I’ll go dig ‘im out meself.”
Gene didn’t have to look very far to find Sam. Whenever Tyler went missing he could usually be found either in the toilets or the in the collator’s den; this time he was in the latter. Sorting through a large pile of files, Sam didn’t even register Gene entering the room. Even though Gene had opened the door with a purposefully loud crash. Either Tyler was too absorbed in his paperwork to notice or he was selectively deaf.
“What’re you doin’ in ‘ere?” demanded Gene, coming to a halt by Sam’s side.
Sam slammed a file down with unnecessary force, sending a smothering cloud of dust billowing upwards. “Searching,” Sam replied ambiguously, waving the dust away from his face and wrinkling his nose as he did so.
Gene snorted, causing more dust to unsettle and land like confetti in his hair. “I can see that, smart arse.” He rolled his eyes but the gesture was futile as Sam wasn’t even looking at him. “I meant what exactly are you doin’ alone in this room searching for some pointless file when you should be out there tryin’ to find Milburn?”
Sam pursed his lips. “I am trying to find Milburn,” he said through gritted teeth. “There’s bound to be a file with some useful information on him somewhere amongst this excuse for a collator’s den, though mediaeval database is more appropriate to describe it. And I wouldn’t have to find him if someone had come up with a better plan.”
There wasn’t time for Sam to let out a surprised gasp before Gene had him slammed, face first, into the shelf, the files crashing on the floor, the paper scattering around their feet.
“I thought I told you,” Gene growled, “not to blame me for your stupid mistake.”
“Yeah,” Sam said bitterly, his voice muffled by the files he was pressed against. “And I’ve made a lot of those recently, haven’t I? Just one bloody mistake after another.”
Gene stepped a little, easing the pressure he was enforcing on Sam’s arm. “What’re you talking about?”
Sam shrugged him off. “Nothing,” he said, kneeling down to pick up the paperwork.
Lips pursed, Gene regarded Sam curiously. Then in one swift movement he hauled Sam up by his shirt collar, despite the ripping noise as he did so, and pinned Sam back against the shelves; facing him this time.
“If this is about Ray...” Gene said, watching Sam closely.
The brief look of panic that flitted across Sam’s features confirmed Gene’s earlier suspicions.
“What? No!” Sam protested. “Why would you think-?”
“Shut up,” Gene said, shaking Sam by the shoulders. “Don’t bother making up some bollocks excuse because you’re more transparent than the bloody windows on my Cortina. And I can assure you I keep them spotless,” Gene thundered, hoisting Sam up slightly on his toes, so he was forced to keep his balance by leaning further against the shelves.
“Guv,” started Sam.
“I said shut up, Tyler,” bellowed Gene. “Now, I want you to sort it out. Whatever the hell the ‘it’ is. I don’t wanna know what screwed up relationships you embark on with anyone else, as long as it doesn’t upset the balance of this team. Understood?”
Sam gulped back the acidic taste of phlegm and bile that was building up in the back of his throat. Gene fucking knew. “Understood, Guv,” he said submissively.
Gene’s expression relaxed but his grip didn’t.
“Good,” he said with a firm nod.
“Are you planning on letting me down, Guv?” Sam asked staring at the ground, which looked further away than it usually did.
Disconcertingly, Gene said nothing.
“Guv…?”
“Why Ray?” Gene said suddenly, sounding aporetic.
“I-uh-dunno, Guv,” said Sam, perturbed by the question. “Because… he was there? And…” Sam ran his tongue along his gums, thinking. Truthfully, he hadn’t analysed last night’s behaviour; he’d felt too ashamed. He tried to shrug but his arms were trapped to his sides by Gene’s hefty bulk.
“And what?” Gene demanded. “You’re a desperate little whore who’ll shag anyone who gives you the bloody time of day, including Ray. Why don’t you just pick up some skirt from one of those clubs or Cartwright as she’s pretty eager to get all over you if you’re that randy, which you must have been to even contemplate doin’- that with Ray,” Gene spat out. “Or don’t they ‘ave enough bits for you? That it?”
“Where the hell has this come from?” Sam exclaimed, his cheeks tingling as the blood rushed to them, whether out of humiliation, anger or a mixture of both; even Sam wasn’t entirely sure. “Guv, look, it happened once and that was once too many. It was a mistake, my mistake, and I don’t wanna be reminded of it,” Sam said, quieter now, looking away.
“A mistake?”
“That’s what I said,” Sam snapped venomously. “You gonna let go of me? I remember being told I should be urgently searching for Milburn.”
Gene’s hands dropped down but Gene himself didn’t move backwards.
Pushing away from the shelves that had imprinted their shape upon his back, Sam went to walk around Gene but was pushed back for the third.
“For Christ sake, Guv,” Sam blasphemised. “Will you drop it?”
The intensity of Gene’s gaze had the potential to burn through steel. “Was Ray your first?” he asked in a strangely subdued tone unlike any Sam had heard him use before.
Sam shook his head, confounded. “This conversation is over,” he said. “I’m not talking about-”
“Was he?” Gene repeated. “I need to know.”
“Why?” Sam asked, throwing his arms wide, bewildered by Gene’s persistence to keep the topic going.
“Was he?”
Opening his mouth, Sam faltered.
Gene’s voice was insistent. “Sam?”
Staring up at Gene, Sam answered: “No.”
It seemed to be the reply that Gene had been waiting for; in one push Sam was against the shelving again. Only this time he wasn’t pinned there by force but rather by Gene’s possessive kisses, his tongue swirling around Sam’s mouth. Gratefully, Sam leaned into the touch and taste of Gene, relieved he didn’t have to work his way around unwelcome facial hair and incredibly thankful that Gene didn’t shy away from his rather bold exploring fumbles.
***
At Gene’s request, Sam cornered Ray later that afternoon. Sam had been grinning almost constantly since he’d left the collator’s den; Gene had been a demulcent to his injured ego. But as soon as he saw Ray all his earlier feelings flooded back, almost overwhelming him to the point of wanting to run from the room, but he stood there facing Ray; it was like a western stand-off. It would’ve been funny but, considering the reasons for it, the thought didn’t bring Sam any comic relief.
“It’s not right,” Sam said angrily, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I should hate you,” he spat out resentfully.
Ray remained completely silent.
Sam snorted and gave a despairing look at Ray. “I should hate you,” he said vehemently, but the tone was forced, it was as if Sam was trying to convince himself to feel something he didn’t. “And for once Ray Carling refuses to make a retort. The world really has flipped upside down and inside out.” Sam laughed at his own words but the laugh lacked humour.
“What do you want me to say?” Ray muttered, half-hoping Sam wouldn’t hear him. “Sorry?”
“What use is an apology?” Sam asked sourly.
Ray turned to look at Sam. “Look, I don’t ‘ave to apologise, it weren’t entirely my fault,” he said sharply. “But I ‘ave. And I’m sorry.”
Sam sighed. “Well, for what it’s worth-”
“That’d be nothing.” Ray intermitted.
“For what it’s worth,” Sam reiterated deliberately slowly. “I’m sorry too.”
“That it?” Ray asked.
Though Sam had been hoping for something a little more impressive, he gave Ray a curt nod of his head just as Chris entered the room.
“We’ve ‘ad a call in from one of the Guv’s snouts, boss,” he said, bouncing on his heels with nervous anticipation. “Turns out Milburn and ‘is gang are gonna try their luck at that Browne’s pawnbrokers.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Let’s make sure their luck runs out.” Damn, Sam thought as they made their way to the station’s car park, spending time with the Guv and his vast array of puns was damaging Sam’s ability to formulate scintillating responses.
***
“No!” Sam shouted, his arms outstretched and reaching towards Peter who now held a gun to the head of the wizened pawnbroker, who Sam could only assume was the shop’s namesake Mr Browne. The hostage squirmed in Milburn’s grip, frightened dull blue eyes silently pleading with Sam to help him.
As was usual, Gene and Ray hadn’t listened to Sam’s attempts at explaining the plan he had hastily formulated in the Cortina on the drive over, instead they had gone for their usual approach; vociferously bursting through the door with their upheld guns. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked to their advantage.
Now, the masked Milburn held the septuagenarian shopkeeper in his grasp whilst his two friends, wearing similar balaclavas, pointed their guns wildly between Gene, Ray, Chris and Sam whilst simultaneously emptying the shop of all the valuables.
“Stop it, you,” Milburn snarled at the struggling hostage, smashing the butt of his gun across the shopkeeper’s gaunt face. The man let out a strangled gasp as blood began to pool down his cheek.
Sam stepped forward, hearing the exasperated huffing coming from Gene’s direction as he did so. “Just give it up, Peter,” Sam said, holding his hand out for gun. “Look, mate, we know it’s you. If you give it up now you won’t go down for murder, but there’s no way you can get away from this one.”
“Look, mate,” sneered Milburn. “I got away from you last time, din’t I? You fink you’re gonna catch us?” He guffawed bawdily, the two other criminals joining in with his derisive laughter. “Yeh’re all talk.”
“Whilst my DI ‘ere may well be,” agreed Gene. “I can assure you I’m a man of action. And you are going down for the rest of your worthless, scummy waste of an existence.”
“Right, Mr Hunt,” spoke up one of the other masked men, boldly coming closer to Gene. “I remember you sayin’ somethin’ along those very lines to me, once. Oh,” he said, feigning surprise, “and look who’s still loose terrorising your city?”
With the sudden speed Gene had used earlier to pin down Sam, he swung his fist into the bragging face of the masked man, knocking the gun from the man’s grip. He stumbled backwards into his friend, clutching his nose, as Gene bowled back into him.
Taking the sudden disorder as their cues to leap into action, Ray and Chris pounced upon one of the masked men and wrestled him to the ground as Gene kicked the other to the floor. Milburn, alarmed by the sudden attack on his friends, stepped away from the hostage and began waving the gun around at the bodies writhing along the floor, each trying to gain the upper hand over another. As Milburn was distracted, Sam snuck forwards and dragged the injured shopkeeper out of harms way.
Resting the stunned man by the door, Sam heard the pleasant clicking of handcuffs and turned to see the two men now kneeling on the floor, hands behind the backs, their masks having been removed to reveal their red faces, one of the faces was redder than the other due to the copious oozing of blood from his broken nose.
Sam looked around for Milburn, not knowing where the man was until the cool metal barrel of Milburn’s gun was pressed against the back of his head.
“Drop the gun,” Sam said, eyes all turning towards him as he spoke. Six eyes alarmed, four goading.
“I’m not comin’ quietly, as they say, copper,” Milburn threatened, walking around Sam, pointing the gun steadily at Sam’s temple as he did so.
Gene made a lurching movement forward but Milburn’s words stopped him.
“Move and his brains’ll adorn that wall,” Milburn hissed darkly.
“Peter, they’re witnesses,” Sam said, weighing his words especially carefully as his life depeded on how Milburn interpreted them. “If you shoot…it’s life. You can’t get out of it.”
“Maybe,” Milburn said indifferently, his voice cool. “But it’s life already, all added up, right? Bin on a bit of a crime spree, y’see. Might as well get in some revenge before you lot bring us down.”
“You don’t want to do that, Peter,” Sam said calmly, refusing to let his bubbling panic show.
“No, I really do,” Milburn said as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Gene and Ray both jumped forward.
Sam was pushed out of the pathway of the bullet.
The shot echoed.
And Ray fell.
***
“People are talking, you know,” Sam said, still standing because the chair looked far too uncomfortable. “About why you, of all people, took a bullet for me.”
Ray adjusted his position on his hospital bed, rubbing his bandaged shoulder as sat up though the pillows were almost engulfing his head. “Let ‘em,” he said, unruffled.
“Really?” Sam frowned. “Unlike you, isn’t it?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.
Ray smirked. “Don’t worry, when the ‘ospital release me I’ll get ‘em for whatever rumours they’ve been spreadin’.” He made a punching gesture with his uninjured arm to clarify his meaning, not that his statement had held much ambiguity.
“Violence, Sergeant?” Sam asked with a raise of his eyebrows.
“You know me, boss,” Ray replied. “Not gonna sit back quietly.”
Sam looked at Ray, cocking his head slightly. “Back to boss then, is it?” he inquired.
“Back to Sergeant, is it?” Ray retorted, glowering back at Sam.
“Fair point,” Sam accepted.
“Yeah,” Ray said, rubbing his bristly chin. “I’ve made a few in me time.”
They sat there in an amicable silence, until Sam finally spoke the words he’d been meaning to utter since he’d arrived at Ray’s bedside.
“Thanks, Ray,” he said softly.
“Don’t say that.” Ray said sharply, looking away from the window opposite his bed that he’d been staring through to look directly at Sam.
“Why not?” Sam asked, furrowing his brow.
“Tha’s ‘ow this whole mess started in the first place. ‘Cause you apologised,” Ray explained. “Best to get things back to normal,” he said, nodding wisely.
“Mess?” asked Sam.
Ray gestured to the blood-stained padding on his right shoulder where the bullet had ripped through the muscle sinew and flesh. “What would you call it?” he questioned acerbically.
“A bullet wound,” Sam replied with a wry smile.
“Bastard,” Ray said, but it lacked the acidity of his normal insults.
“You said we should get things back to normal,” Sam said in his defence, pretending to sound hurt.
“Yet, yeh still ‘ere,” Ray answered with a grimace.
Sam laughed and Ray grinned back.
“Chris is outside, y’know, if you’re sick really of me. And, erm,” Sam hesitated before saying the next part, unsure of its reception, “Wilma phoned.”
Ray blinked. “She did?” he asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” Sam smiled, fighting back the bitter feelings that Wilma’s name caused. “She said she’s gonna come over and visit. Okay, well, I’ll send Chris in then. If he hasn’t already fallen through to the level below with all that pacing he’s been doing,” Sam said, heading towards the closed doorway.
“Cheers,” Ray said but, when Sam turned to wave a goodbye, Ray had turned his gaze to the ceiling.
Sam opened the door. “See you back at work, Sergeant,” he called over his shoulder as Chris, looking solicitous, rushed over to replace Sam as Ray’s bedside companion.
“See yeh back at work, boss,” Ray’s voice carried out through the doorway.
***
“Tyler!” Came the loud bellow from further along the road. Sam paused to look over his shoulder as the Cortina came to a screeching halt beside him. “’Ow ‘is ‘e?” Gene asked, from out of his window.
“Why don’t you go and see for yourself?” Sam queried, walking over to lean casually against the Cortina.
“I did,” Gene sniffed. “But Raymondo was asleep at the time so I figured ‘e wouldn’t notice if I slipped out for a bit of air.”
Sam smiled. “Bit of air? Is that what we’re calling a trip to the pub now?”
“Shut yeh trap,” Gene snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. “I deserved those pints after all the shit you two’ve put me through. So,” Gene continued, “’e’s all right then?”
“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “Everything’s back to normal, Guv. Everything’s sorted.”
“Not quite everything, Gladys,” Gene said with a lick of his lips. “There’s still the small matter of that drink you owe me for havin’ rounded up the vermin.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, indignant, pushing back the desire to tell Gene the arrests weren’t solely down to Gene alone. “You’ve just come back from the pub!” he said instead.
Grinning, Gene gestured his head towards the passenger seat, theatrically rolling his eyes. “Your detective skills are infallible, Tyler. Besides, I wasn’t thinking of the pub; you’ve got a bottle of single malt in that hideous hole you call home, if I recall correctly? Fancy adjourning to your place, Sammy-boy?” Gene’s tone was suggestive, evoking delightful images of the collator’s den in Sam’s mind.
Grinning back, Sam climbed into the passenger seat.
It wasn’t quite back to normal, Sam mused as Gene sped off in the direction of Sam’s flat.
But it was definitely better.
Sam opened the door fully dressed. He didn’t seem as surprised to see Ray standing there as Ray had expected him to. It was certainly a surprise to Ray. Stepping back, Sam watched Ray expectantly.
“D’you want a drink?” Sam asked, gesturing the already open scotch bottle upon his table. Ray deliberated the offer, feeling out of his depth as he walked into Sam’s small flat.
“Yeah, cheers,” Ray said, accepting the glass that Sam put in his hand. Ray drunk it in one gulp as Sam watched amusedly.
“Another?” Sam asked with a quirk of his lips. Ray declined by a shake of his head. Sam smiled, taking the glass from Ray’s hands, his fingers brushing over Ray’s as he did so. Probably just accidentally, Ray thought as Sam put the glass down beside the bottle, it didn’t mean anything.
“I suppose, technically, it is ‘tomorrow’, today,” Sam continued as he noted the time was past midnight, coming over to stand in close proximity to Ray. “And I did say I’d ‘see you tomorrow’,” Sam said softly, stepping even closer. Not that accidental then, Ray realised, swallowing audibly.
Ray didn’t make a response, not entirely sure why he was standing in Tyler’s flat instead of begging Wilma to return, anyway. Or why his male boss, who had initially been impervious to his original advance, was now shamelessly coming onto him. Not that Ray had given Sam a chance to react that first time; he had fled, after all.
Ray still made no discernible reaction when Sam slid an arm round his waist and began to draw his mouth over Ray’s throat. Gently at first, nuzzling Ray’s neck in a manner that bordered on the affectionate, before he bit down hard on Ray’s shoulder, teeth bruising the skin despite the layer of cotton between both. Biting down once more, he managed to elicit a gasp from Ray though the man still stood there, arms hanging limply.
A warm hand pushed back Ray’s collar and Sam resumed his biting on Ray’s now exposed skin, sucking hard as he drew his teeth across the sensitive skin. Hands assiduously unbuttoning Ray’s shirt, as Sam pulled at his shirt, ripping off a button in the process. Sam ignored the protesting noise Ray made in response and pushed the shirt off of Ray’s shoulders.
“Wait,” Ray said, tensing up. “Can’t do this; it’s sick,” he said now forcibly struggling against Sam.
Sam pulled back, his eyes questioning. “Does it feel sick?” he asked, slender fingers stroking circles across Ray’s chest.
“No,” Ray admitted after a brief hesitation, unconsciously leaning into Sam’s welcoming touches.
“We don’t need to,” Sam said seriously. “If you really don’t want…But, you came over here-”
“I know I did,” Ray said, cutting him off. “S’just…” he trailed off, unable to voice his reservations about finally accepting whatever it was that he felt towards Sam.
“Shhh, s’okay,” soothed Sam into Ray’s ear, caressing Ray’s bare arms and lightly kissing his neck. “I’ll look after you,” he said huskily, “just relax.”
Ray did so, finding himself now relishing the continual contact. Sharp nails scraped across his chest, digging in as Sam gripped Ray tightly much like Wilma had done, Sam’s hot mouth still attached to Ray’s neck seeking out the sensitive spots. Hissing as Sam scraped across one of nipples, Ray arched his neck backwards giving Sam better access to the crook of his neck where Sam was placing quick and desperate nipping kisses.
Bringing his hands down, Ray pushed his thumbs into the gap between Sam’s trousers and Sam’s smooth skin. A surprised intake of breath from Sam caused Ray to push his hands in further but the trousers were far too tight for him to do so properly.
“Belt,” gasped Sam, grazing his teeth over Ray’s lips as he moved his mouth from one shoulder to the other. Ray obliged and fumbled blindly with the belt, unable to see it as Sam’s body was obstructing his view, eventually pulling it out and dropping it at their feet where it was soon joined by Sam’s jeans. Mirroring Ray’s actions, Sam soon swiftly removed Ray’s belt too and pushed him over to the bed.
Collapsing on top of Ray, who was upright, Sam straddled his thighs as he had done earlier, his fingers tracing invisible patterns down Ray’s back before reaching the waistband of Ray’s trousers and tugging them down. Kicking off his shoes, Ray began to undo Sam’s shirt and, for a very brief second, was confused to not see a pair of breasts before him.
Intoxicated by lust, his bafflement didn’t last long as Sam’s lips reattached themselves to Ray’s nipple, which hardened at the warm moistness of Sam’s mouth. Palm cupping Ray’s erection, Sam slid one thumb along the base of Ray’s cock.
“Fuck, Tyler,” Ray couldn’t stop himself from saying breathlessly. Sam’s eyes glinted in the half-light.
“Certainly,” he acquiesced.
Making a double handed fist, Sam bought both their engorged cocks together as he thrust his hips forward. Sam’s palm was sweaty and damp from pre-come as he moved it in delicious rhythm with his hips, extracting obscene guttural gasps from Ray who clutched at Sam’s buttocks and waist, forcing them closer together.
Biting his lip to stop himself from screaming out, Ray bucked into Sam’s hand, feeling the other man’s lips brush lightly over his as he did so. Panting, Sam placed his forehead against Ray’s; their breath mingling together as Sam brought them ever nearer to climax. Ray could feel his muscles quivering as the friction became overwhelming; the constant rubbing between his and Sam’s cocks bringing him closer to an intense conclusion; the spots of bright light were already dancing before his vision and he could feel a tightening in his genitals.
And it would’ve been incomparably fantastic, if Ray hadn’t called out Wilma’s name by mistake.
***
Something was amiss. Gene Hunt could sense it, and when it came to his senses they were rarely wrong, despite what Tyler claimed to the contrary. But Tyler just enjoyed being a contradictory bastard.
Watching from the relative sanctity and privacy of his office, Gene noticed the shift in dynamics; Ray was smoking quietly alone and Sam wasn’t even in the room. Both of these facts alone were not very suspicious but the way Sam and Ray had purposefully avoided each other that morning, well… It was tense, to describe it moderately. Gene’s intuition told him the problem may revolve around what he’d stumbled across in the locker room. Despite his efforts to pretend he was reading far too much into it he recognised the signs. However, there was only one certain way of discovering what exactly was happening and that was to, essentially, ask the parties involved. Or beat it out of them; whichever was more likely to get Gene the results.
He opened his door.
“Carling,” he shouted. Ray looked up startled. “Where’s Tyler?”
“Why the ‘ell should I know where the poof is, Guv?” Ray said, inhaling on his cigarette deeply. His brow furrowed. “Can go wherever he likes. I’m not ‘is keeper,” Ray practically snarled.
Gene narrowed his eyes. The tone of Ray’s voice was enough to tell Gene all he needed to know.
“Fine,” he said, briskly making his way to the exit, “I’ll go dig ‘im out meself.”
Gene didn’t have to look very far to find Sam. Whenever Tyler went missing he could usually be found either in the toilets or the in the collator’s den; this time he was in the latter. Sorting through a large pile of files, Sam didn’t even register Gene entering the room. Even though Gene had opened the door with a purposefully loud crash. Either Tyler was too absorbed in his paperwork to notice or he was selectively deaf.
“What’re you doin’ in ‘ere?” demanded Gene, coming to a halt by Sam’s side.
Sam slammed a file down with unnecessary force, sending a smothering cloud of dust billowing upwards. “Searching,” Sam replied ambiguously, waving the dust away from his face and wrinkling his nose as he did so.
Gene snorted, causing more dust to unsettle and land like confetti in his hair. “I can see that, smart arse.” He rolled his eyes but the gesture was futile as Sam wasn’t even looking at him. “I meant what exactly are you doin’ alone in this room searching for some pointless file when you should be out there tryin’ to find Milburn?”
Sam pursed his lips. “I am trying to find Milburn,” he said through gritted teeth. “There’s bound to be a file with some useful information on him somewhere amongst this excuse for a collator’s den, though mediaeval database is more appropriate to describe it. And I wouldn’t have to find him if someone had come up with a better plan.”
There wasn’t time for Sam to let out a surprised gasp before Gene had him slammed, face first, into the shelf, the files crashing on the floor, the paper scattering around their feet.
“I thought I told you,” Gene growled, “not to blame me for your stupid mistake.”
“Yeah,” Sam said bitterly, his voice muffled by the files he was pressed against. “And I’ve made a lot of those recently, haven’t I? Just one bloody mistake after another.”
Gene stepped a little, easing the pressure he was enforcing on Sam’s arm. “What’re you talking about?”
Sam shrugged him off. “Nothing,” he said, kneeling down to pick up the paperwork.
Lips pursed, Gene regarded Sam curiously. Then in one swift movement he hauled Sam up by his shirt collar, despite the ripping noise as he did so, and pinned Sam back against the shelves; facing him this time.
“If this is about Ray...” Gene said, watching Sam closely.
The brief look of panic that flitted across Sam’s features confirmed Gene’s earlier suspicions.
“What? No!” Sam protested. “Why would you think-?”
“Shut up,” Gene said, shaking Sam by the shoulders. “Don’t bother making up some bollocks excuse because you’re more transparent than the bloody windows on my Cortina. And I can assure you I keep them spotless,” Gene thundered, hoisting Sam up slightly on his toes, so he was forced to keep his balance by leaning further against the shelves.
“Guv,” started Sam.
“I said shut up, Tyler,” bellowed Gene. “Now, I want you to sort it out. Whatever the hell the ‘it’ is. I don’t wanna know what screwed up relationships you embark on with anyone else, as long as it doesn’t upset the balance of this team. Understood?”
Sam gulped back the acidic taste of phlegm and bile that was building up in the back of his throat. Gene fucking knew. “Understood, Guv,” he said submissively.
Gene’s expression relaxed but his grip didn’t.
“Good,” he said with a firm nod.
“Are you planning on letting me down, Guv?” Sam asked staring at the ground, which looked further away than it usually did.
Disconcertingly, Gene said nothing.
“Guv…?”
“Why Ray?” Gene said suddenly, sounding aporetic.
“I-uh-dunno, Guv,” said Sam, perturbed by the question. “Because… he was there? And…” Sam ran his tongue along his gums, thinking. Truthfully, he hadn’t analysed last night’s behaviour; he’d felt too ashamed. He tried to shrug but his arms were trapped to his sides by Gene’s hefty bulk.
“And what?” Gene demanded. “You’re a desperate little whore who’ll shag anyone who gives you the bloody time of day, including Ray. Why don’t you just pick up some skirt from one of those clubs or Cartwright as she’s pretty eager to get all over you if you’re that randy, which you must have been to even contemplate doin’- that with Ray,” Gene spat out. “Or don’t they ‘ave enough bits for you? That it?”
“Where the hell has this come from?” Sam exclaimed, his cheeks tingling as the blood rushed to them, whether out of humiliation, anger or a mixture of both; even Sam wasn’t entirely sure. “Guv, look, it happened once and that was once too many. It was a mistake, my mistake, and I don’t wanna be reminded of it,” Sam said, quieter now, looking away.
“A mistake?”
“That’s what I said,” Sam snapped venomously. “You gonna let go of me? I remember being told I should be urgently searching for Milburn.”
Gene’s hands dropped down but Gene himself didn’t move backwards.
Pushing away from the shelves that had imprinted their shape upon his back, Sam went to walk around Gene but was pushed back for the third.
“For Christ sake, Guv,” Sam blasphemised. “Will you drop it?”
The intensity of Gene’s gaze had the potential to burn through steel. “Was Ray your first?” he asked in a strangely subdued tone unlike any Sam had heard him use before.
Sam shook his head, confounded. “This conversation is over,” he said. “I’m not talking about-”
“Was he?” Gene repeated. “I need to know.”
“Why?” Sam asked, throwing his arms wide, bewildered by Gene’s persistence to keep the topic going.
“Was he?”
Opening his mouth, Sam faltered.
Gene’s voice was insistent. “Sam?”
Staring up at Gene, Sam answered: “No.”
It seemed to be the reply that Gene had been waiting for; in one push Sam was against the shelving again. Only this time he wasn’t pinned there by force but rather by Gene’s possessive kisses, his tongue swirling around Sam’s mouth. Gratefully, Sam leaned into the touch and taste of Gene, relieved he didn’t have to work his way around unwelcome facial hair and incredibly thankful that Gene didn’t shy away from his rather bold exploring fumbles.
***
At Gene’s request, Sam cornered Ray later that afternoon. Sam had been grinning almost constantly since he’d left the collator’s den; Gene had been a demulcent to his injured ego. But as soon as he saw Ray all his earlier feelings flooded back, almost overwhelming him to the point of wanting to run from the room, but he stood there facing Ray; it was like a western stand-off. It would’ve been funny but, considering the reasons for it, the thought didn’t bring Sam any comic relief.
“It’s not right,” Sam said angrily, clenching and unclenching his fist. “I should hate you,” he spat out resentfully.
Ray remained completely silent.
Sam snorted and gave a despairing look at Ray. “I should hate you,” he said vehemently, but the tone was forced, it was as if Sam was trying to convince himself to feel something he didn’t. “And for once Ray Carling refuses to make a retort. The world really has flipped upside down and inside out.” Sam laughed at his own words but the laugh lacked humour.
“What do you want me to say?” Ray muttered, half-hoping Sam wouldn’t hear him. “Sorry?”
“What use is an apology?” Sam asked sourly.
Ray turned to look at Sam. “Look, I don’t ‘ave to apologise, it weren’t entirely my fault,” he said sharply. “But I ‘ave. And I’m sorry.”
Sam sighed. “Well, for what it’s worth-”
“That’d be nothing.” Ray intermitted.
“For what it’s worth,” Sam reiterated deliberately slowly. “I’m sorry too.”
“That it?” Ray asked.
Though Sam had been hoping for something a little more impressive, he gave Ray a curt nod of his head just as Chris entered the room.
“We’ve ‘ad a call in from one of the Guv’s snouts, boss,” he said, bouncing on his heels with nervous anticipation. “Turns out Milburn and ‘is gang are gonna try their luck at that Browne’s pawnbrokers.”
“Okay,” Sam said. “Let’s make sure their luck runs out.” Damn, Sam thought as they made their way to the station’s car park, spending time with the Guv and his vast array of puns was damaging Sam’s ability to formulate scintillating responses.
***
“No!” Sam shouted, his arms outstretched and reaching towards Peter who now held a gun to the head of the wizened pawnbroker, who Sam could only assume was the shop’s namesake Mr Browne. The hostage squirmed in Milburn’s grip, frightened dull blue eyes silently pleading with Sam to help him.
As was usual, Gene and Ray hadn’t listened to Sam’s attempts at explaining the plan he had hastily formulated in the Cortina on the drive over, instead they had gone for their usual approach; vociferously bursting through the door with their upheld guns. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked to their advantage.
Now, the masked Milburn held the septuagenarian shopkeeper in his grasp whilst his two friends, wearing similar balaclavas, pointed their guns wildly between Gene, Ray, Chris and Sam whilst simultaneously emptying the shop of all the valuables.
“Stop it, you,” Milburn snarled at the struggling hostage, smashing the butt of his gun across the shopkeeper’s gaunt face. The man let out a strangled gasp as blood began to pool down his cheek.
Sam stepped forward, hearing the exasperated huffing coming from Gene’s direction as he did so. “Just give it up, Peter,” Sam said, holding his hand out for gun. “Look, mate, we know it’s you. If you give it up now you won’t go down for murder, but there’s no way you can get away from this one.”
“Look, mate,” sneered Milburn. “I got away from you last time, din’t I? You fink you’re gonna catch us?” He guffawed bawdily, the two other criminals joining in with his derisive laughter. “Yeh’re all talk.”
“Whilst my DI ‘ere may well be,” agreed Gene. “I can assure you I’m a man of action. And you are going down for the rest of your worthless, scummy waste of an existence.”
“Right, Mr Hunt,” spoke up one of the other masked men, boldly coming closer to Gene. “I remember you sayin’ somethin’ along those very lines to me, once. Oh,” he said, feigning surprise, “and look who’s still loose terrorising your city?”
With the sudden speed Gene had used earlier to pin down Sam, he swung his fist into the bragging face of the masked man, knocking the gun from the man’s grip. He stumbled backwards into his friend, clutching his nose, as Gene bowled back into him.
Taking the sudden disorder as their cues to leap into action, Ray and Chris pounced upon one of the masked men and wrestled him to the ground as Gene kicked the other to the floor. Milburn, alarmed by the sudden attack on his friends, stepped away from the hostage and began waving the gun around at the bodies writhing along the floor, each trying to gain the upper hand over another. As Milburn was distracted, Sam snuck forwards and dragged the injured shopkeeper out of harms way.
Resting the stunned man by the door, Sam heard the pleasant clicking of handcuffs and turned to see the two men now kneeling on the floor, hands behind the backs, their masks having been removed to reveal their red faces, one of the faces was redder than the other due to the copious oozing of blood from his broken nose.
Sam looked around for Milburn, not knowing where the man was until the cool metal barrel of Milburn’s gun was pressed against the back of his head.
“Drop the gun,” Sam said, eyes all turning towards him as he spoke. Six eyes alarmed, four goading.
“I’m not comin’ quietly, as they say, copper,” Milburn threatened, walking around Sam, pointing the gun steadily at Sam’s temple as he did so.
Gene made a lurching movement forward but Milburn’s words stopped him.
“Move and his brains’ll adorn that wall,” Milburn hissed darkly.
“Peter, they’re witnesses,” Sam said, weighing his words especially carefully as his life depeded on how Milburn interpreted them. “If you shoot…it’s life. You can’t get out of it.”
“Maybe,” Milburn said indifferently, his voice cool. “But it’s life already, all added up, right? Bin on a bit of a crime spree, y’see. Might as well get in some revenge before you lot bring us down.”
“You don’t want to do that, Peter,” Sam said calmly, refusing to let his bubbling panic show.
“No, I really do,” Milburn said as his finger tightened on the trigger.
Gene and Ray both jumped forward.
Sam was pushed out of the pathway of the bullet.
The shot echoed.
And Ray fell.
***
“People are talking, you know,” Sam said, still standing because the chair looked far too uncomfortable. “About why you, of all people, took a bullet for me.”
Ray adjusted his position on his hospital bed, rubbing his bandaged shoulder as sat up though the pillows were almost engulfing his head. “Let ‘em,” he said, unruffled.
“Really?” Sam frowned. “Unlike you, isn’t it?” he couldn’t stop himself from saying.
Ray smirked. “Don’t worry, when the ‘ospital release me I’ll get ‘em for whatever rumours they’ve been spreadin’.” He made a punching gesture with his uninjured arm to clarify his meaning, not that his statement had held much ambiguity.
“Violence, Sergeant?” Sam asked with a raise of his eyebrows.
“You know me, boss,” Ray replied. “Not gonna sit back quietly.”
Sam looked at Ray, cocking his head slightly. “Back to boss then, is it?” he inquired.
“Back to Sergeant, is it?” Ray retorted, glowering back at Sam.
“Fair point,” Sam accepted.
“Yeah,” Ray said, rubbing his bristly chin. “I’ve made a few in me time.”
They sat there in an amicable silence, until Sam finally spoke the words he’d been meaning to utter since he’d arrived at Ray’s bedside.
“Thanks, Ray,” he said softly.
“Don’t say that.” Ray said sharply, looking away from the window opposite his bed that he’d been staring through to look directly at Sam.
“Why not?” Sam asked, furrowing his brow.
“Tha’s ‘ow this whole mess started in the first place. ‘Cause you apologised,” Ray explained. “Best to get things back to normal,” he said, nodding wisely.
“Mess?” asked Sam.
Ray gestured to the blood-stained padding on his right shoulder where the bullet had ripped through the muscle sinew and flesh. “What would you call it?” he questioned acerbically.
“A bullet wound,” Sam replied with a wry smile.
“Bastard,” Ray said, but it lacked the acidity of his normal insults.
“You said we should get things back to normal,” Sam said in his defence, pretending to sound hurt.
“Yet, yeh still ‘ere,” Ray answered with a grimace.
Sam laughed and Ray grinned back.
“Chris is outside, y’know, if you’re sick really of me. And, erm,” Sam hesitated before saying the next part, unsure of its reception, “Wilma phoned.”
Ray blinked. “She did?” he asked anxiously.
“Yeah,” Sam smiled, fighting back the bitter feelings that Wilma’s name caused. “She said she’s gonna come over and visit. Okay, well, I’ll send Chris in then. If he hasn’t already fallen through to the level below with all that pacing he’s been doing,” Sam said, heading towards the closed doorway.
“Cheers,” Ray said but, when Sam turned to wave a goodbye, Ray had turned his gaze to the ceiling.
Sam opened the door. “See you back at work, Sergeant,” he called over his shoulder as Chris, looking solicitous, rushed over to replace Sam as Ray’s bedside companion.
“See yeh back at work, boss,” Ray’s voice carried out through the doorway.
***
“Tyler!” Came the loud bellow from further along the road. Sam paused to look over his shoulder as the Cortina came to a screeching halt beside him. “’Ow ‘is ‘e?” Gene asked, from out of his window.
“Why don’t you go and see for yourself?” Sam queried, walking over to lean casually against the Cortina.
“I did,” Gene sniffed. “But Raymondo was asleep at the time so I figured ‘e wouldn’t notice if I slipped out for a bit of air.”
Sam smiled. “Bit of air? Is that what we’re calling a trip to the pub now?”
“Shut yeh trap,” Gene snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Sam. “I deserved those pints after all the shit you two’ve put me through. So,” Gene continued, “’e’s all right then?”
“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “Everything’s back to normal, Guv. Everything’s sorted.”
“Not quite everything, Gladys,” Gene said with a lick of his lips. “There’s still the small matter of that drink you owe me for havin’ rounded up the vermin.”
Sam raised his eyebrows, indignant, pushing back the desire to tell Gene the arrests weren’t solely down to Gene alone. “You’ve just come back from the pub!” he said instead.
Grinning, Gene gestured his head towards the passenger seat, theatrically rolling his eyes. “Your detective skills are infallible, Tyler. Besides, I wasn’t thinking of the pub; you’ve got a bottle of single malt in that hideous hole you call home, if I recall correctly? Fancy adjourning to your place, Sammy-boy?” Gene’s tone was suggestive, evoking delightful images of the collator’s den in Sam’s mind.
Grinning back, Sam climbed into the passenger seat.
It wasn’t quite back to normal, Sam mused as Gene sped off in the direction of Sam’s flat.
But it was definitely better.