Fic: Untitled (1/2)
The outbreak had started in uniform, cutting down dozens of plods and plonks and putting a serious damper on the station’s ability to function normally, droves of officers calling at a time. Phyllis had been one of the first to go missing, coming back in four days later, still recuperating and finding her paperwork in a complete shambles. Detectives in RCS, narcotics, and all of the other branches had followed, and, at the height of the epidemic, nearly a third of the station had been missing. CID had been one of the last groups to be affected.
Sam had come in that Monday to find Chris, Ray, Annie, and a handful of the other detectives sneezing and hacking into hankerchiefs and tissues. Ray and Chris had gone home early that day, both looking suitably miserable, as Gene dashed about the station, shouting orders at his remaining crew, declaring that CID would take over the overflow of cases from the other divisions and spreading his department, and himself, remarkably thin. “None of mine going to be knocked down by a little sniffle, that’s for bloody damned sure!” The next day, Sam had found Annie asleep at her desk, her coat still wrapped tightly around her.
“I’m okay. We’ve got a lot to do, Gov has me and DC Chester on a cocaine dealer in Corning Street, case we’ve taken from the drug squad,” Annie had stated between coughs as Sam helped her up.
“No way.” Sam had levered her to her feet and allowed her to lean heavily against him, then called out, “Gov, Annie’s ill, I’m taking her home.” Gene had been too busy darting between his other remaining officers’ desks to pay him any mind. The two of them had gone back to Annie’s place, which was remarkably like Sam’s, albeit much more brightly lit and well decorated, with a full bed and a proudly displayed psychology diploma on the wall. He’d run down to the nearest market for paracetemol, lucozade, and the ingredients for chicken soup, and then spent the next few days dozing through nights on her sofa and watching her during the days, phoning them both in. Annie had slept most of the time, waking only when Sam roused her for food, drink, or tablets, during which she leaned drowsily on his shoulder, a small smile on her face as she continually embraced him, and on Thursday morning her fever had broken.
By Friday, Sam and Annie were both heading into the station early, and they were met outside by both Chris and Ray. Sam noted that the three other detectives were still coughing mildly, but all seemed to be back in form, and they walked up the steps together. “Gov’s gonna have our hides for being out with this workload,” Chris had muttered, but Sam had shushed him, citing their need for rest and the fact that they were keeping the contagion down by staying away from the healthy officers.
The four of them were met by Phyllis, fully recovered and obviously overstressed, and she grabbed Sam by the arm. “You’ve got to get him to go home, Boss. He’s been going for three days straight, jumping from case to case, he hasn’t slept in all that time, I don’t think.” Sam’s eyes widened as he noted the lack of quips and jibes from her, and then he’d ascended the stairs to CID with his fellow detectives.
Most of CID seemed to be back in action, thankfully, dashing about the office and looking over notes on various drug busts, crime sprees, and blags. “Bought ruddy time you lot showed your sorry arses in here!” Came a loud shout as Gene saw them, his voice rough and scratchy. The bellow was followed by a loud, wet coughing fit into his fist, and Sam’s eyes widened again as he took in the sight of his DCI. Gene’s hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, his piercing green eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, looking out angrily at them from dark, bruise-colored circles in an otherwise paper-white face. “Cartwright, powder your nose and get with Browning from the drug squad - Chester finished that cocaine deal out, but he’s joined the bloody missing in action now an’ all - I want your pretty little arse in gear on a new dealer at Riding Street. Ray, Chris, we’ve got a new one from RCS, and it had better be solved by the end of the day - shipment of untraceables coming into the docks. Let’s show that smug bastard Litton who’re the real police here, shall we? Files already on your desk, sergeant, ‘cause you’d be facing one hell of a hiding if you hadn’t shown your face today! Tyler, my office now!”
Gene paused on the way to his office as another coughing fit over took him, coming deeply and thickly from within his chest. He bent slightly with the force of it, and then thrust himself up and kicked a desk, angrily, as he stormed into his office at a fast clip. Sam followed him, concern clouding his face as he scurried to make it to the door directly behind Gene. Gene brusquely grabbed his coat off of the rack by the door and pulled it on, then started to rummage through the incredible mass of papers on his desk. “Right, Sam, we’ve got another one that RCS let go of a few days ago; Litton’s on me to give a lot of ‘em back, now those pansies have stopped taking their leave - ballet must’ve been in town - and I’m gonna show him that we can do all our work, and theirs, and still have enough time to pop out for a pint at the end of it all.” Gene’s voice was crackling as he said it, and he gave an uncomfortable grunt as he reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and lit one up.
“You’re giving the case back to Litton, and I’m taking you home.” Sam stated it flatly, trying not to incur Gene’s wrath by making it an order, and failing.
“I’m what? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the DCI here, and I’ll go home when I ruddy well please. And unless you’ve got a bath full of Diana Rigg in fudge sauce waiting for me there, I’m not budging unless it’s to bring down another bastard.” Gene took a long drag on his cigarette and was rewarded with another coughing jag, this one forcing him to back into a filing cabinet to support himself.
“You’ve got flu, Gov, and I’m taking you home before you kill yourself. How long have you been here?” Sam’s voice was still forceful as he moved to take the cigarette from Gene and stub it out in the bottom of a teacup, none of Gene’s plethora of ashtrays in sight.
“I’m fine, you silly girl, and I… I…” Gene ripped a sodden hankerchief out of his jacket pocket and sneezed three times in succession, loud, wet sounds causing Sam to wrinkle his nose in disgust. He pointed at the filthy hanky.
“That’s disgusting, Gene, and it’s not hygienic at all. You should be using paper tissues and throwing them out. Now come on, you’re ill, and we’re…” Gene blew his nose on the hanky and stuffed it back into his pocket, drawing another look of disgust from Sam, then cut his DI off.
“I’m not going anywhere, except to Highman Road - another RCS case - a tip off on some Russian gangster trying to nose in on the city, and I won’t have some daft Siberian husky shaking its poxy coat all over my city and letting its crime ridden, communist, piano-playing fleas scamper about! And hell if I’m giving this one back to that bastard Litton, I,” Gene was forced to stop as the coughs overtook him again, bending him double and forcing him to put his hands out on the desk, papers and an empty liquor glass flying to the floor with a flap and shatter. Sam rushed forward and grabbed Gene’s arm, feeling the heat radiating off of the larger man as his whole body was racked by the deep coughs. He quickly helped his hacking DCI to sit down in the chair behind the desk, and was rewarded with a shove to the chest and a strangled, “Get off me!”
Sam’s patience finally hit a wall, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “There’s no way you’re taking on a new case now, especially not one that doesn’t even fall within our department’s jurisdiction. You’ve got flu, Gov, and you’re going to go home, even if I have to knock you over the head and have half the department help me to drag your bloody great carcass out to the car park! If I recall correctly, I owe you a ride in a boot, anyway!”
Gene glowered angrily up at him, the coughs subsiding slowly, and then sneezed several times into his open palm, rubbing it dry on the leg of his trousers. Sam felt his stomach turn at that and grimaced down at Gene, stone-faced and angry. Gene pulled his coat around him, a shudder running through him, and then sneered at Sam, “Think you can take me, do you? Knock me out right here?”
“Now? Of course!” Sam’s eyes flashed angrily. Gene was silent for a moment, and Sam noticed that he was shivering.
“So you admit that you couldn’t normally win a fair fight against me?” A beaten, dejected look crossed Gene’s face as he let his eyes drop to the mountain of jumbled papers and debris on his desk.
“So you admit that you’re ill?” Sam countered, suddenly upset with himself for not jumping on the chance to get Gene to leave, and hoping that he hadn’t invited more shouts.
There was a long pause, followed by a very quiet, “Might have a bit of a cold.” Gene turned, his face stormy once again, and set the challenge for Sam. “But you admit I’d beat you soundly, any other day?”
Sam fought against the urge to argue, and sighed. “Yes. If that’s what it takes to get you to let me take you home. Yes. You only bloody outweigh me by at least six stone.” He stopped himself before adding, ‘you bastard.’
Gene sniffled several times, and then reached for his cigarettes again. “Litton’s going to be dancing for joy like the bloody trained poodle he is when he gets this one back,” Gene muttered as he lit a cigarette, pulling his hand away as Sam tried to reach for the fag again.
“That’s shite for your health normally, and it’ll only do you harm now,” Sam growled as Gene took a shallow drag.
“Makes me throat feel better,” Gene muttered quietly as he inhaled again, and Sam let it slide, trading the admission for the right to smoke.
Sam reached out for Gene’s arm and was slapped away again, and Gene stood on his own, grinding the cigarette out into the same teacup that Sam had used earlier. He gave Sam a look that clearly stated he was an inch away from wringing the DI’s neck, and then reached into his pocket for his keys. Sam held out his hand.
“Not bloody likely, Doris,” Gene grunted, and then headed for the door. “Arse in gear, quick like, before I change my soddin’ mind. Going home for a sniffle… What type of bastard fairy am I, then?” Sam rolled his eyes at the petulant, whinging tone of Gene’s voice, and then followed him out the door. The two of them crossed to the main door to CID, and Gene stopped for a moment to growl, “Going home to discuss those new bloody damned annoying ‘Form C-11-B’ things with Tyler, and have a kip. Back in a few hours at most, ladies. And woman.”
Gene slowly exited, and Sam followed, pausing slightly to nod at Annie, who was looking worriedly after the Gov. He then made his way through the door, and followed Gene down the stairs and to the main entrance of the station.
Gene paused by Phyllis’ desk to bark, “You might be too numb to notice after riding your fella AND his guide dog harder than a rodeo horse, but the rest of us can all notice it’s bloody damned freezing in here! Adjust the thermostat before I get back!” Sam shook his head at Phyllis, hoping that she’d take it as a signal to not say anything back, and she nodded at him as he followed Gene down to the Cortina.
Gene climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming the door closed behind him, and Sam got into the car next to him. Gene slipped on his driving gloves, then started the engine, throwing the heat on full force and shivering before he set his feet down, hard, on the gas and clutch pedals and threw the car into gear. They sped out of the car park, neither saying anything as they barreled down the roads to Gene’s house. At one point, another coughing fit overcame Gene, and the car swerved dangerously back and forth on the road as he doubled over the steering wheel, Sam’s eyes going wide again as they nearly rammed into a wall. The car eventually stopped outside of a block of houses, and Gene cut the engine, withdrawing the keys.
“We ought to call a doctor, Gov. You could’ve developed bronchitis,” Sam said, worriedly, as Gene leaned back in his seat, a thick, ropey sound following his breaths. Gene turned to glare at him.
“I’ve not slept with anyone in months, you arsehole, and I’d not have some dirty prozzy to give me that - whatever you just said - so shut you gob before I rip out your scrote and ram ‘em down your throat.” Sam rolled his eyes and exited the car, standing at the curb and waiting for Gene to stumble out and begin leading him towards the door.
“Your wife at home, then?” Sam asked, hoping that whatever saint of a woman could possibly put up with Gene normally would be capable of dealing with him in his current state.
Gene shook his head as he fumbled with his keys, then thrust the door open and led Sam inside. “Rang the station a few days back to say she was going to see her mum for a few weeks. Always does that when she’s upset with me, never bleedin’ tells me what it’s about, silly bitch.” Sam sighed as he realized that he’d have to stay with Gene, then, just to make sure that the other man didn’t actually need professional medical help.
Sam shut the door behind him, then followed Gene up the flight of stairs, noticing that the other man was out of breath from the effort of climbing just a few steps. He noticed a large, completely tiled bathroom to the right, complete with old-fashioned claw-foot tub, two closed doors to the left, and a door into a spacious bedroom in front of them. Gene was making a beeline for the bed, which was covered in a thick, white spread with red poppies on it, matching the pattern of the yellowing wallpaper. Gene sat down, heavily, on the edge of the bed, then yanked his hanky out again, sneezing three great, wet sneezes into it before throwing it on the right side nightstand. Sam looked away, trying not to say something about how disgusting he found it, and then watched as Gene laid down on the bed, still fully clothed.
“You’re not going to sleep like that,” Sam stated, grabbing at Gene’s shoulder and pulling him back into a sitting position. He moved his hand to Gene’s face, reaching for the other man’s forehead, and his hand was roughly batted away. He reached again, and this time, Gene didn’t fight him, allowing him to rest the back of his hand against his cheek. “You’re burning up.”
“There’s eggs in the fridge, then, Dorothy,” Gene responded, then gave a little laugh that set off another coughing fit. Sam started to rub Gene’s back, surprised at the lack of resistance, and continued to do so until the fit had passed.
Sam started to pull the coat off of Gene, but he pulled away from him, muttering, “Don’t. ‘M cold.” Sam shook his head and continued to strip the coat off of Gene, letting it fall to the floor, and then reached down to pull off the other man’s shoes.
“You have pajamas around here anywhere?” Sam asked as Gene glared at him.
“I can undress meself, you bleedin’ jessie.” Gene snapped at Sam, but didn’t resist as Sam started to pull off his suit jacket, then undid the knot on his tie. Sam removed those articles of clothing, then piled them on the floor, along with the coat. “Jams are in the top drawer of my dresser, it’s the one without the mirror,” Gene wheezed as he said it, and Sam backed away slightly, not wanting to be hacked on. He stood and walked over to one of the two dressers in the room; one was waist high, with six sets of drawers in two columns, a large mirror, and several perfume bottles and jewelry boxes on it. The other was tall, with six drawers in a single column, an ashtray filled with cufflinks and a bottle of Old Spice on top of it. He opened the top drawer of the tall dresser and noticed that there were three pairs of pajamas neatly folded on one side, and a row of folded white underpants on the other. The pajamas all had garish paisley and stripe patterns. He pulled out the top pair of pajamas and shut the drawer, moving back to the bed.
Gene’s head and eyelids were starting to droop as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and Sam set the pajamas down on the edge of the bed and moved to help Gene unbutton his shirt. The scent of days of sweat, booze, and cigarettes wafted up at him, and an idea struck him. “You stink, Gov,” he said as he backed away, and then headed for the door, “I’m going to draw you a bath. Finish undressing, and I’ll be right back.”
“Better make it a warm one, you ponce,” Gene grunted as he rubbed his hands along his arms, shivers starting to make their way down his spine again.
Sam crossed the small hallway to the bathroom, then walked inside, taking off his leather jacket as he did so. He rested the jacket over the sink, then headed to the tub. He started the taps, trying to find a temperature that was warm enough to be comforting but still cool enough to lower the other man’s temperature. Once he was satisfied that he’d found the right combination of hot and cold, he placed the stopper in the drain and headed back to the bedroom, finding Gene where he had left him, looking miserable. He moved to peel off the other man’s shirt, again noting the lack of argument and the heat moving in waves off of the other man. He then bent to undo Gene’s belt buckle, and Gene stopped him, placing his hands over Sam’s.
“What you doing?” Gene muttered, and Sam moved Gene’s hands away.
“You’re having a bath. It’ll make you feel better.” He continued to undo the belt, casting it aside with the other clothes on the floor. He then moved to pull Gene’s trousers off, and was stopped again. “Gov. We need to undress you and get you into the bath. Come on,” he continued to pull the trousers away, and then bent to pull off Gene’s socks. When he rose, Gene was shivering again, a mix of anger and dejection on his face.
“I don’t need your help,” Gene grunted defiantly, and then wheezed again, trying to push Sam away. Sam shook his head and moved to place an arm on each side of Gene’s chest, raising him to his feet. Sam slung one of Gene’s arms over his shoulders, then moved him across to the bathroom, where the tub was nearly full. He steadied Gene against the wall between the sink and the tub, and then moved to turn the taps off, and noticed that Gene was looking away from him, the same look on his face. “I’m not a fairy,” Gene muttered, and Sam noticed a half-formed erection under his pants.
Sam wasn’t sure what to say, and instead concentrated on the job at hand, moving to take Gene closer to the tub, and leaning him against it as he reached for the waistband of Gene’s pants. Gene looked at him with an expression of shock, and Sam shook his head. “It’s not like I haven’t got on, Gov,” he said, and then slowly slipped them down and to the ground. He helped Gene into the bath, noticing that Gene, like most men his age, Sam realized, wasn’t circumcised, and was quite large, even only half erect.
Gene settled down onto the bottom of the bath, the water rising up and sloshing Sam’s chest, and Sam helped him to rest against the back of the tub. Sam looked down, then peeled off his own shirt, casting it aside. As more water slipped over the side, he removed his shoes and socks as well, casting them aside to lie near his shirt. Sam noticed his own erection slowly beginning to form as he looked over Gene’s body, then forced himself to concentrate on the job at hand again. He found a bar of soap and started to lather Gene’s chest, neck, and underarms, turning when he heard the other man moan softly. Gene’s eyes were closed and he was starting to slide downwards, and Sam moved to get him back into a sitting position.
“Just need you to stay awake for a few more minutes, Gov,” Sam said, and Gene winced as Sam helped him upright. “You sore?” He asked, remembering Annie’s complaints of aching while she was ill. He rinsed the soap off of Gene’s front, then slid around to the back of the bath and began to massage Gene’s shoulders and neck, letting the soap fall into the bath. He carefully kneaded the pale flesh over the tight muscles of Gene’s back, and heard the other man moan again. “Gov?”
“Feels nice…” Gene whispered, and Sam took that as a sign to continue, noticing that his own erection had now completely filled out, and that he was straining against his pants and trousers. He shifted slightly, and then continued, feeling the feathery ends of Gene’s hair brushing against his hands as he slowly worked the tension out of his neck and shoulders. “Tell anyone and I rip… Something… Kill…” Gene twisted slightly, and Sam noticed that his erection had also completed itself beneath the soapy water. He finished the massage, and then moved his hand against Gene’s cheek, relieved that the heat seemed to have lessened slightly. He slowly drew his fingers along Gene’s neck, then moved so that his head was next to Gene’s, the rattling sound of his breathing, now coming more frequently, sounding in Sam’s ear.
“Time to get out,” Sam whispered into his ear, and they slowly rose, his bare arms under Gene’s, who complied by stumbling out of the bath, nearly tripping to the floor, and Sam caught him, the other man’s full weight upon him for a moment. “Come on,” Sam said softly, pulling Gene’s arm around his bare shoulders, feeling their bare chests collide. He led Gene over to the towel rack near the door and began drying him off, then paused in alarm as the Gene started hacking again, his entire body racked by the force of the coughs. Sam caught him as he started to keel over, and then straightened them both into a standing position, wrapping both of his arms around Gene’s torso and holding him until the fit had passed. “To the bed now,” Sam said, and they made their way across the hall and into the bedroom.
Sam completely forgot about the pajamas as he sat Gene down on the edge of the bed, then pulled back the covers on one side. “Come on,” Sam said, and he helped Gene to stumble on the turned down portion of the bed, then pulled the covers over him, tucking him in tightly. He started to walk away, then felt Gene’s hand clamp around his wrist.
“Stay,” Gene commanded, his voice firm despite the illness and lethargy that were threatening to overtake him. Sam looked around the room, not sure of what to do, and then slowly took off his own trousers and pants. He walked around to the other side of the bed, and crawled in next to Gene, reaching one arm up and over Gene’s head on the pillow and pressing his chest against Gene’s back, reaching his other arm around and under Gene’s arm, pulling Gene closer to him and lightly massaging Gene’s chest. Gene moaned again, and Sam suddenly realized why he had done so before.
Sam reached his left arm, the arm over their heads, down slightly, and started to run his fingers through the silky soft strands of Gene’s hair. He reached his right arm down, fingers finding coarse, curly hair, and then moved to take Gene’s cock lightly in his hand. He continued to run his left hand through Gene’s hair, gently, as he started to stroke the other man’s penis, feeling the hardened flesh in his hand jerk slightly in response to the touch. He tightened his grip a bit, starting to stroke Gene’s cock with a soft, rhythmic pattern, and he heard Gene moan, louder this time. He eased back slightly, afraid that the moaning would induce another coughing fit.
“Don’t stop,” Gene whispered, and Sam felt his own organ twitch and jerk slightly as he pressed himself tightly against Gene, the hardened flesh of his penis caught against the soft skin of Gene’s lower back, just at the start of the curve of his buttocks. He gripped Gene again with his hand, feeling the smooth skin under his palm, and continued to stroke, his movements coming more quickly and forcefully as he felt his own cock responding to the pressure placed on it. He felt his own breath start to come more quickly, and then let his entire body move in sync with his hand, the two men rocking together on the bed. Gene moaned with pleasure and then gasped slightly as he came, his seed spilling out and over Sam’s hand, and Sam felt himself come at the same time, a soft scream of joy exiting his lips as he arched his back, his belly pressing into Gene’s back. He let his hand move away from Gene’s penis and then became acutely aware of the splattered cum on Gene’s back; he realized that he would need to clean it up, soon, and that he would need to clean the sheets before Gene’s wife returned.
Sam started to pull away, and Gene’s hand clamped around his wrist again. “Just until I’m asleep,” Gene’s voice was breathless, and Sam supposed that he’d be asleep within a few minutes. He moved against Gene again, feeling the other man’s flesh smooth against his, and nuzzled his face into Gene’s neck. He let his arms wrap around Gene, his left arm curving downwards, pressed against the pillow, and reaching towards Gene’s shoulder; his right arm strayed upwards, and he slowly started to massage Gene’s chest with his hand, trying not to rub too much of the spilt semen onto his chest.
“All right,” he said, not sure of what else to say, and still not sure of what, exactly, had happened. He kissed Gene’s neck, and then his jaw, and Gene murmured unintelligibly in response. He continued to do so, light, soft kisses falling along Gene’s face, neck, and shoulder and light, soft circles being massaged into the other man’s chest. Gene took less than a minute to fall asleep, and Sam stilled, listening to his labored breaths, concern filling him.
Sam slowly slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake Gene, and then went into the bathroom to wash his hand. He wet the edge of the towel, which was still lying on the floor, and then went back to the bathroom, lifting the covers and wiping the cum away from Gene’s chest, back, and thighs. Gene stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. Sam threw the towel into the pile of clothing on the floor, wondering where Mrs. Hunt did her washing, and deciding to leave that for later. He picked up the pajamas, which had fallen to the floor at the foot of the bed, and carefully slid them over Gene’s body, then straightened Gene out so that he was lying on his back, relieved that the other man remained asleep throughout the entire process. Once he was finished, he pulled the covers back up to Gene’s shoulders, then headed back to the bathroom.
Sam hung his shirt over the door to the bathroom to dry, then washed himself off and put the rest of his clothes and his shoes back on. He opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink and found a packet of Anadin, which he pulled out, then picked up his jacket. He paused to place the tablets and the jacket on top of Gene’s bureau, made sure that Gene was still sleeping, and then went down the stairs. In the kitchen he found all that he would need to make chicken soup, and started cooking. Once the soup was simmering on the stove, he started to explore the rest of the house, and found a washing machine. He clambered back up the stairs, collected all of the clothes except for Gene’s coat from the bathroom floor, and bundled them up. He paused before picking up the hanky from Gene’s nightstand, grimacing as he did so, and threw it into the bundle, then went back downstairs and started the wash. He then took the soup off of the stove and ladled some into a bowl, found a spoon and a glass, and then went back upstairs. He set the bowl of soup and the spoon on Gene’s nightstand, then filled the glass with water in the bathroom sink and went back to the bedroom, retrieving the Anadin and sitting down next to Gene.