Fic: Paterfamilias, by severinne, Brown Cortina
Title: Paterfamilias
Author: severinne
Rating: Brown Cortina
Warning: Explicit Sam/Gene smutty-smut-smut. Drunk!Jealous!Gene, so there’s a bit of violence, a bit of kink, and quite a lot of dirty talk. Set immediately after 1.08.
Word Count: 3900 *facepalm*
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned Life on Mars.
Summary: Gene misinterprets Sam’s daddy issues in the most inappropriate way possible. Written for candesgirl, who took a bunny I wasn’t going to dare write and fed it carrots and bribes until we ended up with a rather filthy case of smut-swapsies on our hands, henceforward dubbed ‘Operation Della’ for esoteric reasons. I still maintain this is entirely her fault ;)
The main entry to Sam’s building didn’t have a working lock, hadn’t done from the day Annie first drove him to this squalid dump, which made things easier when Sam wandered back late but early from the pub, a scant hour past sunset. He leaned into the door with the full weight of such a long day and shrugged his way into the darkened corridor, wrinkling his nose at the damp, rotted smell that seemed permanently bonded to the stairwell, the now-familiar stench of home.
At least, it was likely to be home from now on. If making his father stay was the key to waking up, he had failed. He’d had his choice, an impossible one that spared his childhood from the shadow of unforgivable crimes and gave him the grace of growing up as he had already done, without the truth of his manipulative, porn-peddling bastard of a father.
In short, it gave him nothing.
Sam was careful not to touch the railing as he mounted the steps leading towards his first floor flat. He was still plenty sober enough to make the ascent in the dark without its help, hadn’t wanted to stay in the pub any longer, everyone else drinking and laughing as though the world hadn’t in fact slammed itself shut. Gene in particular had been downing pints and chasers eighteen to the dozen, deadly in his determination, far too fast for Sam to keep up, leaving him dry and in the dust.
Maybe that was it, Sam thought bitterly, shuffling along the short stretch of corridor towards his flat. Maybe now Gene would leave him behind as well, that last comfort gone and -
And the angle of his door was wrong. Even in the dark, he could see its slight turn upon the hinges, the shadowed crevice exposing the shallow depths of his flat, already penetrated.
Holding his breath, Sam pushed at the door with his fingertips, peering cautiously inward, smothering a deluded thought before it had the chance to be born. Vic Tyler had no way of knowing where he lived, and even less reason to seek him out now. And once the smell of stale smoke, scotch and Brut hit him in the face, he knew exactly what to expect once he slipped inside.
‘What’re you doing ‘ere?’
‘You left the pub. Too early.’ Though he couldn’t see Gene’s face in the unlit room, his body a rough outline in his only armchair, Sam could hear the evidence of heavy drinking in the gruff statement, consonants hard with excess intent. ‘Need to talk.’
‘But I left first…’ Sam looked away to push the door somewhat closed, remembering in fine detail that last glance back, of Gene slumped over the bar surrounded by the mounting forces of his emptied pint glasses. ‘How…’
‘Drove, didn’t I?’ Gene uncrossed his long legs, crossed them the other way around, slouched deeper into the chair with a carelessness that made its cheap wooden frame creak. ‘An’ you call yourself a detective.’
Sam opened his mouth, his disapproval of Gene driving in this state already on his tongue before he choked it down. Bloody pointless anyway. ‘Good for you,’ he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it across his cot. ‘Talk away, then, don’t mind me.’ Deciding he was entirely too sober to deal with this intrusion, Sam made way for the kitchen and the bottle of Teacher’s he had stowed in the cupboard.
‘He’s not in there, y’know.’
‘You what?’
‘Vic Tyler.’ Gene pronounced each syllable with cold deliberation, his easy tone obliterated by drink and anger. ‘Already checked the loo, in case he was hiding. He’s not in there.’
‘I know.’ Regret dragged across his heart, slowing the efforts of his hands to retrieve the bottle and a glass from the cupboard.
‘Don’t think he’s coming back either.’
He poured a drink, into the glass, down his throat. Once more with feeling.
‘Bastard wouldn’t bloody dare, I expect.’
Tried again without. Hide those bad feelings away, Sam.
‘I’d kill him if he did.’
The hard edge of Gene’s voice was getting louder, no, closer, and Sam could hear it now, the heavy tread of Gene’s feet crossing the small space of the bedsit. Squaring his shoulders, Sam turned around. Movement was tricky all of a sudden. ‘What the flamin’ ‘ell are you - ‘
The snarling demand died on his lips. The mist of scotch weaving around his limbs congealed and turned to ice.
He gripped the kitchen counter at his back, still wobbly at the knees in spite of a rapidly killed buzz, and wondered if this is what Gene had felt, back in the woods.
Seeing Gene properly for the first time since the start of this uneven conversation, Sam could recognize the effects of too much whisky in his stance, in the unrestrained flashing of his eyes. Yet even pissed, Gene had remarkable control, the gun in his hand held steady and sure, the muzzle lightly touching the hollow of his throat without the slightest tremor.
‘Not nice, is it, Sam?’ The barrel traveled slowly up his neck to his jaw, almost caressing in time to Gene’s languid speech. ‘Not nice when someone you trust points a gun at you…’
‘Gene…’
‘But do you trust me? Do you?’
Quietly horrified, Sam broke Gene’s hardened gaze and lost himself in the green of his shirt instead. Maybe this was the way home, propelled by a bullet from body to body, from this time to that. Maybe this is what his father was meant to have done, and Sam had been so stupid to take the bullets from the gun, but he’d rather it be Gene if this was how it had to be done.
‘I never would, Sam.’ Cold steel whispered across his flesh once more, then vanished altogether. ‘Do you understand? I never could.’
Sam flinched at the dull thump of Gene’s gun dropping to the threadbare carpet before realizing it did not, in fact, fire accidentally from such a careless fall. Resisting the urge to move the weapon safely out of reach, Sam looked instead to Gene, trying to catch his wavering gaze. Gene’s eyes seemed to have followed his gun to the floor and remained fixated there, caught in a study of the stained tiles while he spoke.
‘I know I’ve no right making demands, not when I can’t leave the missus for you. Even if sometimes I - ‘ Gene cut himself off with a furious shake of the head. ‘But so help me God, if I find out you’ve been spreading your legs for the likes of that scum, I swear I’ll - ‘
‘What the ‘ell are you implying?’ Sam snapped harshly. He suspected he knew the answer, the lurching of his stomach already reacting far ahead of his brain.
‘From the moment we arrested Vic Tyler, you became as useless as a blind spastic in watchmaker’s shop. Not like you at all, Sam, and I can only think of one reason why you would choose him over me.’ Gene sneered, eyes burning hard. ‘You’d’ve done anything that piece of shit wanted, and I’ll bet he’s got the film to prove it. Probably sold it around town for the punters to watch, nice home movies of his favourite boy, flat on his back, taking all the cock he can throw at you -‘
‘Jesus Christ, Gene!’ And now the nausea was in full gear, overwhelming Sam with a wrongness he couldn’t begin to fathom. ‘How could you - my god, it’s nothing like that, I -‘
‘Don’t you bloody well start lying to me an’ all,’ Gene growled, jabbing two fingers accusingly in Sam’s face. ‘Like I didn’t see you sniffing that bastard’s coat like the filthy pervert you are.’
Sam winced, could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t fair, he had checked up the stairs first to make sure Gene wouldn’t see but once the scent of his dad’s aftershave seeped into his memory, he had been lost. ‘It’s not like that,’ he spat, even as he struggled for an explanation less disastrous than either Gene’s outlandish theory or, worse, the truth. As usual, he settled for fighting back. ‘And what the ‘ell do you care anyway? It’s not like you minded the idea of me having a go at his wife, did you?’ he snarled bitterly, still enraged at Gene’s lewd jokes about his mother, for Christ’s sake.
‘Come off it, Sam.’ Gene shook his head derisively. ‘You wouldn’t even know where to stick it in a bird, you’re that bloody queer. Only time I’ve seen you properly ‘appy is when I’m giving you the ol’ once-over meself.’ A cloud passed over his face, his mood shifting once again before Sam could respond to this brief, familiar levity. ‘Used to think it were me that made it good for you, but I guess even some weedy villain’s todger will do the job. Might like it even better, giving it up to murdering scum, someone nasty enough to give you a good slap with your tickle, that it?’
Sam twitched hard and looked away. He did not want to have that conversation right now, not like this. ‘I don’t…’ He bit his lip, uncertain how to continue.
‘You what, Sam?’ Gene was standing too close now, his voice now softly cloying in spite of its gravelly edge. ‘Miss your daddy, do you?’
A sensation like ice sliding down his spine shocked Sam out of his defensive, angry mind. Dumbstruck, he stared back into Gene’s face, not quite sure what he expected to find there - an epiphany, or maybe just confusion - but unprepared for the fierce arousal he found burning beneath Gene’s sudden calm. ‘What… what makes you think…’
‘Heard exactly what you called him in that hotel room,’ and Gene was almost whispering now, the rumbling hush of a confessional Father tainted by the lingering edge of too much whisky, by the intimacy of a calloused thumb scraping Sam’s lower lip. ‘Is that how you like it, Sam? D’you need someone to be your daddy?’
Involuntarily, Sam shuddered even as a stab of longing quaked through his body. Not quite like that, not this skewed thing that Sam would never have expected to emerge from Gene’s mind, drunk or otherwise, but there was need, oh god but he needed something other than the nothing he had now, the same absence that all his mistakes and madness did nothing to fill and Freud would no doubt have a field day with this one but in the wider scheme of things it was a mere drop in the overflowing river of this sleeping, backward life.
Which was why Sam narrowed his eyes and spoke his words slowly, the better to relish the rough texture of Gene’s thumb against his mouth. ‘And is that why you’re here?’ He kept his tone soft, unassuming in spite of the occasional tease of his tongue against the coarse whorls of Gene’s fingerprint. ‘Hoping I’m gonna crawl into your lap and be a good boy for you?’
‘Nothing good about a boy like you, Sammy.’ Gene’s eyes flashed dangerously, watching his thumb drag at Sam’s lower lip, prising his mouth open. ‘Been a right difficult bastard from day one, too much of a smart-arsed gobshite for your own good…’
‘Then do something about it.’
Gene dove in without finesse, his mouth crashing into Sam’s with all the sweetness of a train wreck. Their teeth knocked painfully, Sam tasting a faint trace of blood beneath the burn of whisky and cigarette smoke on Gene’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He stumbled beneath Gene’s attack - there really was no other word for it - and instinctively grabbed at Gene’s shoulders, his hair, anything to stay upright only to find his wrists caught and twisted to the small of his back, the heavy press of Gene’s restraining hand pushing him forward, pushing his hips flush against the unmistakable heat of Gene’s erection. Groaning deep in the back of his throat, Sam arched closer still, Gene’s grip on his wrists not quite secure enough to stop him from fighting back if he chose but holding hard enough to set Sam’s blood pounding straight to his cock. Gene’s other hand was pawing heavily between them, working at Sam’s shirt buttons with a mounting impatience that quickly gave way to an angry growl and the sound of polyester ripping. The sharp tug at Sam’s shirt broke their fierce kiss, and for a silence charged by harsh panting, both men froze - Sam staring at Gene with a dawning rush of danger, Gene examining the torn cloth beneath his fist with a detached sort of shock.
‘You’re ruining my shirt.’ Sam stated the fact quietly, perhaps a touch breathlessly.
Gene’s eyes snapped upward at his words, burning dark and bright. Without breaking Sam’s gaze, he gave the cheap polyester another brutal yank, the unnaturally loud tearing sound ending on a dull snap as the shirt came apart in his hands. Sam moaned appreciatively, then cried out in shocked arousal as Gene surged forward, teeth sinking into his exposed shoulder before Sam found himself being roughly turned around and steered towards his bed, reckless hands still fighting with the remains of his shirt. ‘Off… get these…’
‘Yeah, god, just…’ Sam impatiently shoved Gene aside, just long enough to get undressed, and found himself captured again, Gene grabbing his right arm bruisingly hard and pulling him tight into the bulk of Gene’s larger body. His other hand caught Sam by the throat and tilted his hearing within range of Gene’s lowered mouth, his heavy grip light enough for breathing but Sam quickly found himself forgetting about air altogether once Gene started whispering into his ear, all slurring sibilance wrapped around hot and damp breath.
‘Don’t you bloody dare try pushing me away.’ Gene’s voice had gone so deep that it vibrated straight through Sam’s body. ‘You don’t know what’s good for you, don’t know enough to stay out of trouble… s’why I’m gonna take good care of you, Sammy-boy…’ And Gene released his arm, dragging his hand over Sam’s body and palming at his erection where its throbbing length pressed at the confines of his trousers. ‘Take care of that an’ all, dirty little boy… you’re gonna be my lovely, filthy boy, aren’t you, gonna let me give that gorgeous body of yours exactly what it needs…’
‘Oh, god, yes… yes…’ Sam’s skin was alive with anticipation, his clothing suddenly feeling too tight, too much, and he groaned with relief as Gene worked at his belt with savage determination.
‘You’re gonna crawl into your cheap little bed for me, aren’t you… so strung-out you’ll be humping the bedsprings like a whore, begging your daddy to fuck you…’
Sam choked on an incoherent cry of lust, all lingering propriety lost in a surge of need that joined him with Gene’s urgent efforts to remove the rest of his clothing as quickly as possible. They moved in an erratic sort of sync, Sam flowing instinctively with Gene’s recklessness, fumbling back just enough to divest Gene of his coat and suit jacket before he found himself shoved hard in the chest, hitting the creaking bed in a tangle of naked limbs. Sam shifted further up the narrow mattress, felt the unmistakable texture of leather rubbing his back, and arched upward, reaching clumsily beneath himself to extricate his jacket, only to be flattened against it by Gene’s heavy hand planted on his stomach.
‘It stays,’ he growled, leaning in close and pushing his hand along a deadly straight path up Sam’s sternum, over his neck, and to his face, which he shoved hard to the side, forcing Sam’s nose into the folds of his jacket’s crumpled sleeve. ‘We’re doing this right here, so every time you wear that coat you’re gonna get a hard-on from the smell of leather, thinking of me, remembering who you belong to…’
‘Fuck.’ Sam stared up at Gene from the corner of his eye, past the fingers gouging his face, and simply breathed the dark, somewhat wild aroma of leather through his nose and mouth, imprinting its taste upon the overwhelming vision of Gene towering over him, seething and wild-eyed and magnificent. He refused to break his tenuous eye contact even when two slick fingers entered him, even when the sudden penetration made his hips buck off the mattress. Watching Gene watching him, his lust still dangerously sharpened by alcohol, Sam was grateful he had remembered lube at all.
The blunt pressure filling him grew more intense with a rough turn of Gene’s hand, and Sam was certain a third - oh, god, a fourth - finger had joined the first two and he finally had to close his eyes as they glanced off his prostate, sending hard tremors along his limbs, making his hands claw desperately into Gene’s shirt. ‘Oh, god…’
‘Geroff, yeh greedy tart.’ Gene released his grip on Sam’s jaw and batted him away with a lazy sweep of his arm. With a cruel, parting twist, Gene’s fingers withdrew from his arse and gave it a hard slap before he straightened upright, studying Sam intently as he unfastened his trousers, pushing them past his hips.
‘Hands above your head, boy.’
Sam slowly stretched his arms upward, crossing his hands at the wrists and trying not to stare too obviously at Gene’s tie.
‘There’s my good pet.’
His breath caught in his throat, his eyes dropping to Gene’s hand fisting his own cock, feeling his own unbearable erection throb needfully.
‘Christ… you look so good like this… ’
A low moan finally broke past Sam’s parted lips. Without thought, his thighs fell wider apart, moved by Gene’s gaze rather than his touch, hips canting upward in a demanding rhythm. Gene followed his wordless command, hitching Sam’s right leg up towards his chest and leaning down, the slick head of his cock glancing over Sam’s stretched entrance. Sam writhed beneath Gene’s weight, trying to impale himself, and growled in frustration when Gene held him firmly by the hips, the hot length of him still resting heavily against Sam’s flesh.
‘Not yet, my little slut,’ Gene rumbled, voice dark and hushed. ‘Think y’know what I need to hear from you first…’
‘Please…’
‘Please, what?’
And even here and now Sam felt dirty and wrong saying it, and he turned his head aside and hid his face in the folds of leather around him, partially muffling his response. ‘Please… daddy…’
Gene pushed into him, making Sam shout hoarsely, a small part in pain but largely in lust at the fullness of Gene inside him, covering him, tangling one of his hands with Sam’s clenching fingers and smearing open-mouthed kisses down the exposed side of his throat. The raw physicality of Gene bearing possessively down upon him was intense, like being claimed in some primitive way except that all those reality shows on animal attacks always cautioned staying still, playing dead when all Sam wanted to do was move, arching in counterpoint to Gene’s thrusts, wrapping his legs around Gene’s torso, still clad in his increasingly sweat-stained shirt, drinking in the sound of his heavy breath in concert with the rattle of the bed frame, the softer creak of leather shifting and sticking to his skin.
‘Oh… oh, so good, being such a good boy…’ The press of Gene’s mouth to his ear amplified the whisky-drenched hush of his voice, drowning all other sound to Sam’s blown senses. ‘Knew you’d learn… knew you were mine…’
‘Yes… yes, Gene, yours…’
‘Mine.’ Gene emphasized the point with an especially accurate hit to Sam’s prostate, making him whimper despite himself. ‘That’s right, Sammy-boy… no piece of shit scum gonna get his hands on you… you’re staying right here, where you belong…’
‘Oh, god, yes…’ And staying no longer felt like the world closing in, but more like freedom of the most incredible kind. ‘Yes… don’t stop…’
‘Could keep you like this forever…’
‘Yes…’
‘Tastin’ an’ touchin’ you all the time…’
‘Please…’
‘Makin’ you come, an’ I’d lick you clean an’ do it again…’
‘Oh, god, please…’
‘D’you need to come, Sammy-boy?’ Gene dropped his voice to a whisper, painfully soft compared to the increasing brutal force of his thrusts. ‘Shh, it’s alright… my dirty little boy, you can tell daddy if you need to…’
Sam cried out brokenly, his orgasm already taking him over, clenching him tight to Gene’s body while his cock pulsed hot and wet against Gene’s belly, staining Gene’s shirt and the drag of damp fabric on his overstimulated cock drew out his mindless bliss almost beyond bearing, a litany of ‘daddy, please, yes, daddy…’ tumbling off his lips and he felt Gene come deep inside him, shaking and panting hard into Sam’s ear, emptying himself with a low, wrenching sob.
They gasped for breath together, Gene panting hot into the side of his neck as Sam struggled for air beneath the dead weight of Gene’s suddenly relaxed body. Cautiously, he slipped his hands free and stroked over Gene’s back, nudging his shoulders. ‘Gene.’
‘Mine…’ Lips pressed lazily to his throat, and Sam closed his eyes, mouth quirking despite his more pressing concerns.
‘Yours,’ he reassured softly. He meant it.
‘Tha’s why I gotta look after yeh…’ Gene was slurring into his skin now, his body shifting languidly over Sam. ‘My beautiful boy… ne’er take care o’ yerself, always… bastards, end up pointin’ their guns at yeh… scares the shit out o’ me…’
Sam went still, staring at his cracked and peeling ceiling.
‘Won’ let ‘em ‘urt yeh, jus’ can’…’ Gene was pushing at the mattress with greater determination now, his cock slipping wetly from Sam’s arse as he struggled. ‘S’not that yeh can’ look out fer yerself, yeh jus’ won’t, will yeh… strong, but stupid.’
Gene hovered above him now, braced on one arm, gazing down at Sam with hooded eyes and a soporific smile. ‘Stupid, careless boy.’ His fingers brushed at Sam’s cheek. ‘Love yeh anyway.’
He leaned in, planted a light kiss on the tip of Sam’s nose, then rolled to the side and fell off the bed.
Startled, Sam shot upright and scrambled to lean over the edge of his cot. ‘Gene -‘ He stalled, staring incredulously at Gene’s prone form sprawled on the ugly carpet, chest rising and falling visibly, eyes peaceably closed. ‘Gene?’
A low snore was his only reply.
Sam watched him in quiet disbelief for a long moment. Brushing the back of his hand across his cheek, he shifted his legs over the side of the bed, gathering up his coat as he moved. He bowed his head into the leather, inhaling deeply, and smiled as he carefully set it aside and stripped the blankets from his bed.
He eased the pillow beneath Gene’s head before slipping into the bathroom, stopping to fetch a damp flannel before returning to Gene’s side. The other man was clearly out cold for the night, barely grumbling in his sleep as Sam gently removed his rumpled clothing, cleaning him with careful touches. Though he lovingly unbuttoned the green shirt, there was no way to remove it completely without shifting the bulk of Gene’s body, so Sam left it, with no small twinge of pleasure, as he curled into Gene’s side and drew the blankets over the both of them.
‘Goes both ways, Gene.’
Sam remained watchful and awake through the night, his arm possessive over Gene’s chest.
Author: severinne
Rating: Brown Cortina
Warning: Explicit Sam/Gene smutty-smut-smut. Drunk!Jealous!Gene, so there’s a bit of violence, a bit of kink, and quite a lot of dirty talk. Set immediately after 1.08.
Word Count: 3900 *facepalm*
Disclaimer: I only wish I owned Life on Mars.
Summary: Gene misinterprets Sam’s daddy issues in the most inappropriate way possible. Written for candesgirl, who took a bunny I wasn’t going to dare write and fed it carrots and bribes until we ended up with a rather filthy case of smut-swapsies on our hands, henceforward dubbed ‘Operation Della’ for esoteric reasons. I still maintain this is entirely her fault ;)
The main entry to Sam’s building didn’t have a working lock, hadn’t done from the day Annie first drove him to this squalid dump, which made things easier when Sam wandered back late but early from the pub, a scant hour past sunset. He leaned into the door with the full weight of such a long day and shrugged his way into the darkened corridor, wrinkling his nose at the damp, rotted smell that seemed permanently bonded to the stairwell, the now-familiar stench of home.
At least, it was likely to be home from now on. If making his father stay was the key to waking up, he had failed. He’d had his choice, an impossible one that spared his childhood from the shadow of unforgivable crimes and gave him the grace of growing up as he had already done, without the truth of his manipulative, porn-peddling bastard of a father.
In short, it gave him nothing.
Sam was careful not to touch the railing as he mounted the steps leading towards his first floor flat. He was still plenty sober enough to make the ascent in the dark without its help, hadn’t wanted to stay in the pub any longer, everyone else drinking and laughing as though the world hadn’t in fact slammed itself shut. Gene in particular had been downing pints and chasers eighteen to the dozen, deadly in his determination, far too fast for Sam to keep up, leaving him dry and in the dust.
Maybe that was it, Sam thought bitterly, shuffling along the short stretch of corridor towards his flat. Maybe now Gene would leave him behind as well, that last comfort gone and -
And the angle of his door was wrong. Even in the dark, he could see its slight turn upon the hinges, the shadowed crevice exposing the shallow depths of his flat, already penetrated.
Holding his breath, Sam pushed at the door with his fingertips, peering cautiously inward, smothering a deluded thought before it had the chance to be born. Vic Tyler had no way of knowing where he lived, and even less reason to seek him out now. And once the smell of stale smoke, scotch and Brut hit him in the face, he knew exactly what to expect once he slipped inside.
‘What’re you doing ‘ere?’
‘You left the pub. Too early.’ Though he couldn’t see Gene’s face in the unlit room, his body a rough outline in his only armchair, Sam could hear the evidence of heavy drinking in the gruff statement, consonants hard with excess intent. ‘Need to talk.’
‘But I left first…’ Sam looked away to push the door somewhat closed, remembering in fine detail that last glance back, of Gene slumped over the bar surrounded by the mounting forces of his emptied pint glasses. ‘How…’
‘Drove, didn’t I?’ Gene uncrossed his long legs, crossed them the other way around, slouched deeper into the chair with a carelessness that made its cheap wooden frame creak. ‘An’ you call yourself a detective.’
Sam opened his mouth, his disapproval of Gene driving in this state already on his tongue before he choked it down. Bloody pointless anyway. ‘Good for you,’ he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it across his cot. ‘Talk away, then, don’t mind me.’ Deciding he was entirely too sober to deal with this intrusion, Sam made way for the kitchen and the bottle of Teacher’s he had stowed in the cupboard.
‘He’s not in there, y’know.’
‘You what?’
‘Vic Tyler.’ Gene pronounced each syllable with cold deliberation, his easy tone obliterated by drink and anger. ‘Already checked the loo, in case he was hiding. He’s not in there.’
‘I know.’ Regret dragged across his heart, slowing the efforts of his hands to retrieve the bottle and a glass from the cupboard.
‘Don’t think he’s coming back either.’
He poured a drink, into the glass, down his throat. Once more with feeling.
‘Bastard wouldn’t bloody dare, I expect.’
Tried again without. Hide those bad feelings away, Sam.
‘I’d kill him if he did.’
The hard edge of Gene’s voice was getting louder, no, closer, and Sam could hear it now, the heavy tread of Gene’s feet crossing the small space of the bedsit. Squaring his shoulders, Sam turned around. Movement was tricky all of a sudden. ‘What the flamin’ ‘ell are you - ‘
The snarling demand died on his lips. The mist of scotch weaving around his limbs congealed and turned to ice.
He gripped the kitchen counter at his back, still wobbly at the knees in spite of a rapidly killed buzz, and wondered if this is what Gene had felt, back in the woods.
Seeing Gene properly for the first time since the start of this uneven conversation, Sam could recognize the effects of too much whisky in his stance, in the unrestrained flashing of his eyes. Yet even pissed, Gene had remarkable control, the gun in his hand held steady and sure, the muzzle lightly touching the hollow of his throat without the slightest tremor.
‘Not nice, is it, Sam?’ The barrel traveled slowly up his neck to his jaw, almost caressing in time to Gene’s languid speech. ‘Not nice when someone you trust points a gun at you…’
‘Gene…’
‘But do you trust me? Do you?’
Quietly horrified, Sam broke Gene’s hardened gaze and lost himself in the green of his shirt instead. Maybe this was the way home, propelled by a bullet from body to body, from this time to that. Maybe this is what his father was meant to have done, and Sam had been so stupid to take the bullets from the gun, but he’d rather it be Gene if this was how it had to be done.
‘I never would, Sam.’ Cold steel whispered across his flesh once more, then vanished altogether. ‘Do you understand? I never could.’
Sam flinched at the dull thump of Gene’s gun dropping to the threadbare carpet before realizing it did not, in fact, fire accidentally from such a careless fall. Resisting the urge to move the weapon safely out of reach, Sam looked instead to Gene, trying to catch his wavering gaze. Gene’s eyes seemed to have followed his gun to the floor and remained fixated there, caught in a study of the stained tiles while he spoke.
‘I know I’ve no right making demands, not when I can’t leave the missus for you. Even if sometimes I - ‘ Gene cut himself off with a furious shake of the head. ‘But so help me God, if I find out you’ve been spreading your legs for the likes of that scum, I swear I’ll - ‘
‘What the ‘ell are you implying?’ Sam snapped harshly. He suspected he knew the answer, the lurching of his stomach already reacting far ahead of his brain.
‘From the moment we arrested Vic Tyler, you became as useless as a blind spastic in watchmaker’s shop. Not like you at all, Sam, and I can only think of one reason why you would choose him over me.’ Gene sneered, eyes burning hard. ‘You’d’ve done anything that piece of shit wanted, and I’ll bet he’s got the film to prove it. Probably sold it around town for the punters to watch, nice home movies of his favourite boy, flat on his back, taking all the cock he can throw at you -‘
‘Jesus Christ, Gene!’ And now the nausea was in full gear, overwhelming Sam with a wrongness he couldn’t begin to fathom. ‘How could you - my god, it’s nothing like that, I -‘
‘Don’t you bloody well start lying to me an’ all,’ Gene growled, jabbing two fingers accusingly in Sam’s face. ‘Like I didn’t see you sniffing that bastard’s coat like the filthy pervert you are.’
Sam winced, could feel the heat creeping into his face. This wasn’t fair, he had checked up the stairs first to make sure Gene wouldn’t see but once the scent of his dad’s aftershave seeped into his memory, he had been lost. ‘It’s not like that,’ he spat, even as he struggled for an explanation less disastrous than either Gene’s outlandish theory or, worse, the truth. As usual, he settled for fighting back. ‘And what the ‘ell do you care anyway? It’s not like you minded the idea of me having a go at his wife, did you?’ he snarled bitterly, still enraged at Gene’s lewd jokes about his mother, for Christ’s sake.
‘Come off it, Sam.’ Gene shook his head derisively. ‘You wouldn’t even know where to stick it in a bird, you’re that bloody queer. Only time I’ve seen you properly ‘appy is when I’m giving you the ol’ once-over meself.’ A cloud passed over his face, his mood shifting once again before Sam could respond to this brief, familiar levity. ‘Used to think it were me that made it good for you, but I guess even some weedy villain’s todger will do the job. Might like it even better, giving it up to murdering scum, someone nasty enough to give you a good slap with your tickle, that it?’
Sam twitched hard and looked away. He did not want to have that conversation right now, not like this. ‘I don’t…’ He bit his lip, uncertain how to continue.
‘You what, Sam?’ Gene was standing too close now, his voice now softly cloying in spite of its gravelly edge. ‘Miss your daddy, do you?’
A sensation like ice sliding down his spine shocked Sam out of his defensive, angry mind. Dumbstruck, he stared back into Gene’s face, not quite sure what he expected to find there - an epiphany, or maybe just confusion - but unprepared for the fierce arousal he found burning beneath Gene’s sudden calm. ‘What… what makes you think…’
‘Heard exactly what you called him in that hotel room,’ and Gene was almost whispering now, the rumbling hush of a confessional Father tainted by the lingering edge of too much whisky, by the intimacy of a calloused thumb scraping Sam’s lower lip. ‘Is that how you like it, Sam? D’you need someone to be your daddy?’
Involuntarily, Sam shuddered even as a stab of longing quaked through his body. Not quite like that, not this skewed thing that Sam would never have expected to emerge from Gene’s mind, drunk or otherwise, but there was need, oh god but he needed something other than the nothing he had now, the same absence that all his mistakes and madness did nothing to fill and Freud would no doubt have a field day with this one but in the wider scheme of things it was a mere drop in the overflowing river of this sleeping, backward life.
Which was why Sam narrowed his eyes and spoke his words slowly, the better to relish the rough texture of Gene’s thumb against his mouth. ‘And is that why you’re here?’ He kept his tone soft, unassuming in spite of the occasional tease of his tongue against the coarse whorls of Gene’s fingerprint. ‘Hoping I’m gonna crawl into your lap and be a good boy for you?’
‘Nothing good about a boy like you, Sammy.’ Gene’s eyes flashed dangerously, watching his thumb drag at Sam’s lower lip, prising his mouth open. ‘Been a right difficult bastard from day one, too much of a smart-arsed gobshite for your own good…’
‘Then do something about it.’
Gene dove in without finesse, his mouth crashing into Sam’s with all the sweetness of a train wreck. Their teeth knocked painfully, Sam tasting a faint trace of blood beneath the burn of whisky and cigarette smoke on Gene’s tongue forcing its way into his mouth. He stumbled beneath Gene’s attack - there really was no other word for it - and instinctively grabbed at Gene’s shoulders, his hair, anything to stay upright only to find his wrists caught and twisted to the small of his back, the heavy press of Gene’s restraining hand pushing him forward, pushing his hips flush against the unmistakable heat of Gene’s erection. Groaning deep in the back of his throat, Sam arched closer still, Gene’s grip on his wrists not quite secure enough to stop him from fighting back if he chose but holding hard enough to set Sam’s blood pounding straight to his cock. Gene’s other hand was pawing heavily between them, working at Sam’s shirt buttons with a mounting impatience that quickly gave way to an angry growl and the sound of polyester ripping. The sharp tug at Sam’s shirt broke their fierce kiss, and for a silence charged by harsh panting, both men froze - Sam staring at Gene with a dawning rush of danger, Gene examining the torn cloth beneath his fist with a detached sort of shock.
‘You’re ruining my shirt.’ Sam stated the fact quietly, perhaps a touch breathlessly.
Gene’s eyes snapped upward at his words, burning dark and bright. Without breaking Sam’s gaze, he gave the cheap polyester another brutal yank, the unnaturally loud tearing sound ending on a dull snap as the shirt came apart in his hands. Sam moaned appreciatively, then cried out in shocked arousal as Gene surged forward, teeth sinking into his exposed shoulder before Sam found himself being roughly turned around and steered towards his bed, reckless hands still fighting with the remains of his shirt. ‘Off… get these…’
‘Yeah, god, just…’ Sam impatiently shoved Gene aside, just long enough to get undressed, and found himself captured again, Gene grabbing his right arm bruisingly hard and pulling him tight into the bulk of Gene’s larger body. His other hand caught Sam by the throat and tilted his hearing within range of Gene’s lowered mouth, his heavy grip light enough for breathing but Sam quickly found himself forgetting about air altogether once Gene started whispering into his ear, all slurring sibilance wrapped around hot and damp breath.
‘Don’t you bloody dare try pushing me away.’ Gene’s voice had gone so deep that it vibrated straight through Sam’s body. ‘You don’t know what’s good for you, don’t know enough to stay out of trouble… s’why I’m gonna take good care of you, Sammy-boy…’ And Gene released his arm, dragging his hand over Sam’s body and palming at his erection where its throbbing length pressed at the confines of his trousers. ‘Take care of that an’ all, dirty little boy… you’re gonna be my lovely, filthy boy, aren’t you, gonna let me give that gorgeous body of yours exactly what it needs…’
‘Oh, god, yes… yes…’ Sam’s skin was alive with anticipation, his clothing suddenly feeling too tight, too much, and he groaned with relief as Gene worked at his belt with savage determination.
‘You’re gonna crawl into your cheap little bed for me, aren’t you… so strung-out you’ll be humping the bedsprings like a whore, begging your daddy to fuck you…’
Sam choked on an incoherent cry of lust, all lingering propriety lost in a surge of need that joined him with Gene’s urgent efforts to remove the rest of his clothing as quickly as possible. They moved in an erratic sort of sync, Sam flowing instinctively with Gene’s recklessness, fumbling back just enough to divest Gene of his coat and suit jacket before he found himself shoved hard in the chest, hitting the creaking bed in a tangle of naked limbs. Sam shifted further up the narrow mattress, felt the unmistakable texture of leather rubbing his back, and arched upward, reaching clumsily beneath himself to extricate his jacket, only to be flattened against it by Gene’s heavy hand planted on his stomach.
‘It stays,’ he growled, leaning in close and pushing his hand along a deadly straight path up Sam’s sternum, over his neck, and to his face, which he shoved hard to the side, forcing Sam’s nose into the folds of his jacket’s crumpled sleeve. ‘We’re doing this right here, so every time you wear that coat you’re gonna get a hard-on from the smell of leather, thinking of me, remembering who you belong to…’
‘Fuck.’ Sam stared up at Gene from the corner of his eye, past the fingers gouging his face, and simply breathed the dark, somewhat wild aroma of leather through his nose and mouth, imprinting its taste upon the overwhelming vision of Gene towering over him, seething and wild-eyed and magnificent. He refused to break his tenuous eye contact even when two slick fingers entered him, even when the sudden penetration made his hips buck off the mattress. Watching Gene watching him, his lust still dangerously sharpened by alcohol, Sam was grateful he had remembered lube at all.
The blunt pressure filling him grew more intense with a rough turn of Gene’s hand, and Sam was certain a third - oh, god, a fourth - finger had joined the first two and he finally had to close his eyes as they glanced off his prostate, sending hard tremors along his limbs, making his hands claw desperately into Gene’s shirt. ‘Oh, god…’
‘Geroff, yeh greedy tart.’ Gene released his grip on Sam’s jaw and batted him away with a lazy sweep of his arm. With a cruel, parting twist, Gene’s fingers withdrew from his arse and gave it a hard slap before he straightened upright, studying Sam intently as he unfastened his trousers, pushing them past his hips.
‘Hands above your head, boy.’
Sam slowly stretched his arms upward, crossing his hands at the wrists and trying not to stare too obviously at Gene’s tie.
‘There’s my good pet.’
His breath caught in his throat, his eyes dropping to Gene’s hand fisting his own cock, feeling his own unbearable erection throb needfully.
‘Christ… you look so good like this… ’
A low moan finally broke past Sam’s parted lips. Without thought, his thighs fell wider apart, moved by Gene’s gaze rather than his touch, hips canting upward in a demanding rhythm. Gene followed his wordless command, hitching Sam’s right leg up towards his chest and leaning down, the slick head of his cock glancing over Sam’s stretched entrance. Sam writhed beneath Gene’s weight, trying to impale himself, and growled in frustration when Gene held him firmly by the hips, the hot length of him still resting heavily against Sam’s flesh.
‘Not yet, my little slut,’ Gene rumbled, voice dark and hushed. ‘Think y’know what I need to hear from you first…’
‘Please…’
‘Please, what?’
And even here and now Sam felt dirty and wrong saying it, and he turned his head aside and hid his face in the folds of leather around him, partially muffling his response. ‘Please… daddy…’
Gene pushed into him, making Sam shout hoarsely, a small part in pain but largely in lust at the fullness of Gene inside him, covering him, tangling one of his hands with Sam’s clenching fingers and smearing open-mouthed kisses down the exposed side of his throat. The raw physicality of Gene bearing possessively down upon him was intense, like being claimed in some primitive way except that all those reality shows on animal attacks always cautioned staying still, playing dead when all Sam wanted to do was move, arching in counterpoint to Gene’s thrusts, wrapping his legs around Gene’s torso, still clad in his increasingly sweat-stained shirt, drinking in the sound of his heavy breath in concert with the rattle of the bed frame, the softer creak of leather shifting and sticking to his skin.
‘Oh… oh, so good, being such a good boy…’ The press of Gene’s mouth to his ear amplified the whisky-drenched hush of his voice, drowning all other sound to Sam’s blown senses. ‘Knew you’d learn… knew you were mine…’
‘Yes… yes, Gene, yours…’
‘Mine.’ Gene emphasized the point with an especially accurate hit to Sam’s prostate, making him whimper despite himself. ‘That’s right, Sammy-boy… no piece of shit scum gonna get his hands on you… you’re staying right here, where you belong…’
‘Oh, god, yes…’ And staying no longer felt like the world closing in, but more like freedom of the most incredible kind. ‘Yes… don’t stop…’
‘Could keep you like this forever…’
‘Yes…’
‘Tastin’ an’ touchin’ you all the time…’
‘Please…’
‘Makin’ you come, an’ I’d lick you clean an’ do it again…’
‘Oh, god, please…’
‘D’you need to come, Sammy-boy?’ Gene dropped his voice to a whisper, painfully soft compared to the increasing brutal force of his thrusts. ‘Shh, it’s alright… my dirty little boy, you can tell daddy if you need to…’
Sam cried out brokenly, his orgasm already taking him over, clenching him tight to Gene’s body while his cock pulsed hot and wet against Gene’s belly, staining Gene’s shirt and the drag of damp fabric on his overstimulated cock drew out his mindless bliss almost beyond bearing, a litany of ‘daddy, please, yes, daddy…’ tumbling off his lips and he felt Gene come deep inside him, shaking and panting hard into Sam’s ear, emptying himself with a low, wrenching sob.
They gasped for breath together, Gene panting hot into the side of his neck as Sam struggled for air beneath the dead weight of Gene’s suddenly relaxed body. Cautiously, he slipped his hands free and stroked over Gene’s back, nudging his shoulders. ‘Gene.’
‘Mine…’ Lips pressed lazily to his throat, and Sam closed his eyes, mouth quirking despite his more pressing concerns.
‘Yours,’ he reassured softly. He meant it.
‘Tha’s why I gotta look after yeh…’ Gene was slurring into his skin now, his body shifting languidly over Sam. ‘My beautiful boy… ne’er take care o’ yerself, always… bastards, end up pointin’ their guns at yeh… scares the shit out o’ me…’
Sam went still, staring at his cracked and peeling ceiling.
‘Won’ let ‘em ‘urt yeh, jus’ can’…’ Gene was pushing at the mattress with greater determination now, his cock slipping wetly from Sam’s arse as he struggled. ‘S’not that yeh can’ look out fer yerself, yeh jus’ won’t, will yeh… strong, but stupid.’
Gene hovered above him now, braced on one arm, gazing down at Sam with hooded eyes and a soporific smile. ‘Stupid, careless boy.’ His fingers brushed at Sam’s cheek. ‘Love yeh anyway.’
He leaned in, planted a light kiss on the tip of Sam’s nose, then rolled to the side and fell off the bed.
Startled, Sam shot upright and scrambled to lean over the edge of his cot. ‘Gene -‘ He stalled, staring incredulously at Gene’s prone form sprawled on the ugly carpet, chest rising and falling visibly, eyes peaceably closed. ‘Gene?’
A low snore was his only reply.
Sam watched him in quiet disbelief for a long moment. Brushing the back of his hand across his cheek, he shifted his legs over the side of the bed, gathering up his coat as he moved. He bowed his head into the leather, inhaling deeply, and smiled as he carefully set it aside and stripped the blankets from his bed.
He eased the pillow beneath Gene’s head before slipping into the bathroom, stopping to fetch a damp flannel before returning to Gene’s side. The other man was clearly out cold for the night, barely grumbling in his sleep as Sam gently removed his rumpled clothing, cleaning him with careful touches. Though he lovingly unbuttoned the green shirt, there was no way to remove it completely without shifting the bulk of Gene’s body, so Sam left it, with no small twinge of pleasure, as he curled into Gene’s side and drew the blankets over the both of them.
‘Goes both ways, Gene.’
Sam remained watchful and awake through the night, his arm possessive over Gene’s chest.