Fic: Return to Sender, brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: Return to Sender
Author: dak
Word Count: 2808
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: graphic sexual situations, angst
Pairing: Sam/Gene
A/N: Threats were given, puppies held hostage, and I was thoroughly warned that I needed to fix my toys instead of always leaving them broken and crying in the corner. So, fine. I caved under the virtual peer pressure. Here is the sequel to Damaged Goods, which was my half of a challenge between myself and
culf. Her happy half can be found here. (
culfhad made me promise that I was going to fix the boys before I was allowed to even post 'Damaged Goods' so you can thank/blame her at will.)
Gene had cocked up. Well, actually he hadn’t because he couldn’t which was the problem, but he had certainly made a mess of things with Sam, which again, he actually hadn’t because he couldn’t, which was the problem. Basically, he had screwed up whatever it was they’d been doing by not being able to screw up. And in. And hard.
Also by telling the boy that he had been nothing more than “a decent shag,” not even a good shag, which Sam was, Sam most certainly was. As the picky pain was fond of saying, usually when referring to cases, there was ample evidence to support that theory.
Which was why he’d done what he’d done, wasn’t it? Sam was a man and men had needs and if Gene couldn’t fill that hole...role. If Gene couldn’t fill that role, why should he force Sam to stick around? Maybe he could have put it more delicately but Gene Hunt did not do delicate, as Sam should have already noticed first hand. Right hand, actually.
So he’d pulled out, of the relationship, before Sammy could get hurt, because if he hadn’t, the devoted div would have stayed. He’d never leave unless forced, even if his own needs were forever left by the wayside. Sam would hide away his hurt, his want. He would become withdrawn and sullen and still would never leave Gene. A martyr of impotence.
Gene Hunt simply wouldn’t have that. His problem was his own and he’d deal with it on his own, like the strong, possibly stubborn, man he was. No need to involve Tyler in all of that. Boy had enough problems, being a poofter and a nutter to boot.
While the poofter bit was kept neatly under wraps, except during those moments when Gene used to have his cock firmly pounding against his DI’s prostate or a rough hand wrapped tightly around Sam’s todger and Sammy would smile for the first time in forever and his eyes would glaze over and he’d give his Guv complete control and would shout or moan “Gene,” in a voice filled with such need it would send Gene over the edge at the same moment and Sam would come and collapse against him, sweating and shuddering and utterly satiated...
So, while the poofter bit was mostly kept neatly under wraps, the nutter bit was getting harder to ignore. Sam had always been a little off, everyone knew that, but lately he’d been spending quite a bit of time listening to staticky radios, talking into disconnected phone lines, and had been caught, on more then one occasion, yelling to himself in the bogs.
Gene refused to admit it had anything to do with him. After all, he’d done Tyler a favor, cutting him loose. There wasn’t much he could do anyhow and why should he? Sam was still doing his job effectively, adequately. It didn’t bother him that just “adequate” used to never be good enough for DI Tyler. He barely noticed how Sam’s handwriting was getting sloppier or how the bags under his eyes were starting to resemble miniature black holes. It had nothing to do with him but even if it did, Tyler needed to buck up and stop moping. Stupid nonce was acting like no one had ever broken up with him before. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe Sam had always been the one to do the breaking. Either way, the cracks were starting to show.
Gene couldn’t worry about that now though. He was still trying to heal, himself. What’s a man supposed to do when he’s told he’ll no longer be able to take part in three of his five favorite past times? Well, he’d have to adjust that list now, even though as enjoyable as a game of poker with the boys was, it was no substitute for a game of poke ‘im in a crummy flat with one boy in particular. As much as he loved drinking, it didn’t quite carry the same level of intoxication as did the sight of Sam on his knees, swallowing down something that wasn’t exactly a single malt.
The docs had said there may be a chance, if he was patient and gave it some time, but patience was a virtue Gene Hunt had done well enough without for a considerably long time now and he didn’t feel like taking it up again any time soon. It had been two months since he was released from hospital. The stitches were gone, the bruises were healed. Only his arm was waiting to be freed, enclosed tight in its own plaster prison.
Gene did think two months was enough of a wait and decided he could try again at any moment but whenever his hand was close, he pulled it back. It might be better if he held off, just another day or so, until he was certain he was ready. He was already waiting, he didn’t need Sam to wait, too.
*
It was after the third day in a row Tyler had called in sick when Gene decided maybe he should go and see what was going on with the little tosser. As his DCI, of course. It was part of his job description to make sure his officers didn’t off it in or out of the line of duty.
So it was that DCI Hunt stood outside the slipshod shit-hole that was DI Tyler’s flat, banging on the door with his plaster cast arm until the door was finally wrenched open by a pale, drawn slip of a man that was supposedly meant to resemble Sam Tyler.
“You look like shite,” Gene remarked, successfully keeping his surprise from corrupting his voice.
Sam simply stared at him with cold, tired eyes and slammed the door in his face. Hunt would have none of that so he sighed, shook his head, and threw his body at the door, expecting more force than what was actually present, and fell the floor inside Tyler’s flat as the door easily opened on the other side.
“You did that on purpose, you twat,” Gene grumbled as he picked himself up off the floor and glared at Tyler, who still had his hand on the door handle.
“Obviously,” Sam stated clinically and shut the door again, then loped over to his kitchenette where he had apparently been making tea before he’d been interrupted. “I called in,” he remarked, clearly annoyed over being distracted from his PG Tips.
“Third day. Thought I better make sure you weren’t dead.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Sam sneered and stirred his tea.
This was going to be more of a challenge than Gene expected, except what was going to be more of a challenge? He’d simply stopped by to make sure Tyler wasn’t dead, which he wasn’t, so that was that and he should leave now. Gene sat down in the armchair.
“What is it then?”
Sam walked all the way over to his shoddy table by the window and sat down, eyes staring at the open book on the tabletop. “Not your concern.”
“It is when it’s taken my DI away from me when this city’s been so full of crime you’d think they’d just put revolving doors in the gaol cells and we’ve got every plod and detective workin’ double shifts just tryin’ to keep up!”
Well, it wasn’t that extreme but he always had to over-emphasize to get Tyler’s attention. Sam sipped his tea.
“Gonorrhea.” Sam sipped his tea again. Gene stopped breathing for a minute.
“What? From...” Gene hadn’t felt sick, well until now. He and Tyler hadn’t even touched each other in over two months. Sam already knew what he was thinking.
“No. Not from you.”
“Then who?” Gene felt his hackles rising. It shouldn’t matter. He’d cut Tyler loose for exactly this purpose. So, good on the lad for moving on. Gene just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
“Probably the rent boy I’ve been shacking up with for the last month.” Sam sipped his tea.
Gene’s voice went very quiet. “That’s not funny, Sam.”
“The truth rarely is.” Sam sipped his tea. Were his hands shaking? The cup certainly was.
“Sam, tell me--”
“I had some extra cash lying around. Plenty of disposal income since I don’t bother buying anything for this place and have plenty of clothes and whatnot. Saw him on Canal Street when I was taking a shortcut home from the pub one night. Figured, why the hell not. Coppers get favors from prostitutes all the time this day and age. Why should I be any different.”
Gene had closed his eyes. It was the only way he could contain his rage. He was mentally willing Sam to stop but the tart was on a roll now.
“He’s a pretty, little thing, Gene. You’d probably like him. Legal age, of course, but young, very young. Maybe twenty-one? Twenty-two? And so obedient. See, he does anything I ask him to. Only because he’s getting paid, but still, it makes for a nice change. Want to hear about it?”
He could hear Sam’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.
“Well, first, I make him strip for me. Slowly, very slowly, while I sit back and watch. When he’s completely bare, I force him onto his knees in front of me and he reaches his hands up and, after asking permission, slides down the zip on my trousers.”
There was a hand on Gene’s own trousers, undoing the zip. He hadn’t heard Sam walk over. Damn but the bastard was quiet when he wanted to be. Gene kept his eyes closed.
“Then reaches his soft hands inside and pulls out my cock and places it in his mouth, just how I like it.” There was a hand encasing Gene’s own penis. He didn’t know how it got there. “Do you remember how I like it, Gene?” Sam whispered in his ear.
Gene wanted to say yes but he didn’t want to speak and so the sound he made was closer to a quiet ‘guh’ which was cut off as soon as Sam’s hand started stroking him gently.
“He sucks slowly at first, letting me fill up inside his mouth. He hollows his cheeks, scrapes me with his teeth, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make it hurt. You know I like it when it hurts, don’t I, Gene? I was always your dirty, little boy wasn’t I? Isn’t that what you called me when I’d be down on my knees, sucking you off? Your dirty, little Sammy?”
Gene could only groan as Sam hissed into his ear and moved his hand gradually faster.
“Sometimes I come in his mouth, making him swallow it, of course, but most times I rip him away before he can finish because I’m not done yet, Gene. There’s something else I need. So I shove him to the floor and he stays there like a good rent boy.”
The way Sam said it, the way he could roll the words ‘rent boy’ off his tongue with such calculated seduction, it sent shivers down Gene’s spine.
“He’s on his hands and knees now, Gene, and I pull down my trousers, the tight, red ones that could never disguise the erection I got when I watched you slip on your driving gloves. I slide them off with my pants and then I get to do to him what you’d rarely let me do to you.”
Sam’s hand was so sweaty, fisting him with a furious determination. All Gene could do was sit there and wait. Wait until Sam released him. If Sam could release him.
“I get to fuck him, Guv. I get to shove my cock up his arse and lose myself in that slick, tight hole and feel his body shiver as I hit that right spot time after time after time.”
Sam pumped his hand in time with his words, the thrusts of his words mimicking the thrust of his hands.
“He cries out, coming all over his stomach, all over the carpet in the filthy hotel room with the flimsy walls that can’t hide our shouts and moans. But I can’t stop, not yet. And I move deeper and harder and faster until I can forget he’s just a whore. Until I can pretend it’s you I’m fucking. Pretend it’s you on your knees, wanting it, taking it, as I slam into you. Pretend it’s you begging for it. Begging for me. Begging for your Sammy to finish so you can have your turn. So you can take me and throw me against the wall and hold me there until you’ve fucked me so hard I can’t even remember my own name. Don’t you want that, Gene? Don’t you want to fuck your little slut DI anymore? Don’t you, Gene?”
He thought he blacked out. He must have because when he did open his eyes Sam was standing above him wiping his sticky hand on a flannel. Wait. His sticky hand. Gene looked down at his stained trousers. At his stained trousers and the sticky chair cushion and back at Sam who was still wiping his dirty hand and wearing a decidedly evil grin.
It was the most beautiful thing Gene had ever seen, until he remembered how it all started.
“I told myself I could get you to do it,” he smirked.
“For once, Tyler, I admire your persistence,” he sighed, out of breath and still in shock. He managed to stand up anyway and punched Sam in the face.
In his weakened state, Tyler crumpled to the ground without attempting retaliation. Before he could even ask, Gene told him.
“That’s for stickin’ your dick up some diseased tart’s loose, little backside you selfish prick.”
Sam sat up, rubbing his already bruising jaw. “I was joking,” he rolled his eyes.
“Pardon?” Gene prepared to hit him again.
“I was winding you up, Guv,” Sam tiredly explained, managing to fix himself into a sitting position, still on the floor. “Needed something that would set you off. You tend to be the jealous type so I dreamt up some imaginary rent boy and it worked.”
“So you don’t resemble leftover dog shite cos you’ve got the clap?”
“I resemble leftover dog shite because I have the flu. Went to the doctor’s two days ago.”
“Just the flu?”
“And exhaustion stemming from insomnia and malnutrition. According to my GP.” Sam’s cheeky grin disappeared, replaced with that lost, faraway look that chilled Gene to his very core. Usually this would be when he would tell Sam to get his rest, feel better. He’ll catch up with him later.
Instead, Gene was unable to say any of those things. He couldn’t even take his eyes off the young Inspector and sat down on the floor next to him. “All because of me,” he stated with certainty.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Guv,” Sam snorted.
“Because of what then?”
Sam stayed silent for a long moment before collapsing his head in his hands. “Because of everything.”
“I certainly didn’t help, though.”
“No. No you didn’t,” Sam laughed into his hands and Gene found it amazing how much laughter can sound like crying and how hard one has to listen in order to hear that tiny shift between moods. He knew the exact moment when Sam’s laughs turned to sobs and for the first time in months grabbed him and held him tight, letting the tears stain his shirt.
“I did it for you. If I were goin’ to be...I din’t want you...”
“Nobel,” Sam sniffed, “but you could have discussed it with me first.”
“Yeah. I could have.” Gene pulled him closer, rubbing his hand over his back in soothing circles. “More than a decent shag, by the way.”
“Cheers Guv,” Sam pulled back slightly, wiping his wet eyes on his sleeve. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all girly there. I just...I haven’t slept in awhile. In a long while and...”
Gene placed his hand on Sam’s forehead. “Bit of a fever, too.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
“Let’s get you into bed, then.” He gently hoisted Sam upwards and helped him crawl under the duvet.
“Gene,” Sam whispered as his pillows were adjusted for him, “this, it isn’t fixed yet. We...”
“I know,” Gene pulled up the covers as Sam’s eyelids drifted shut. “But I’m better now, Sammy. We can wait ‘til you are, too.”
Gene sat back in the armchair and watched while Sam slept, making sure Sam slept, and decided, yes, they did have a lot they would need to discuss. Like how many times Gene would need to bottom for Sam in order for his DI to act out this sudden rent boy fantasy that had now taken up permament residence in his mind.
Author: dak
Word Count: 2808
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: graphic sexual situations, angst
Pairing: Sam/Gene
A/N: Threats were given, puppies held hostage, and I was thoroughly warned that I needed to fix my toys instead of always leaving them broken and crying in the corner. So, fine. I caved under the virtual peer pressure. Here is the sequel to Damaged Goods, which was my half of a challenge between myself and
culf. Her happy half can be found here. (
culfhad made me promise that I was going to fix the boys before I was allowed to even post 'Damaged Goods' so you can thank/blame her at will.)
Gene had cocked up. Well, actually he hadn’t because he couldn’t which was the problem, but he had certainly made a mess of things with Sam, which again, he actually hadn’t because he couldn’t, which was the problem. Basically, he had screwed up whatever it was they’d been doing by not being able to screw up. And in. And hard.
Also by telling the boy that he had been nothing more than “a decent shag,” not even a good shag, which Sam was, Sam most certainly was. As the picky pain was fond of saying, usually when referring to cases, there was ample evidence to support that theory.
Which was why he’d done what he’d done, wasn’t it? Sam was a man and men had needs and if Gene couldn’t fill that hole...role. If Gene couldn’t fill that role, why should he force Sam to stick around? Maybe he could have put it more delicately but Gene Hunt did not do delicate, as Sam should have already noticed first hand. Right hand, actually.
So he’d pulled out, of the relationship, before Sammy could get hurt, because if he hadn’t, the devoted div would have stayed. He’d never leave unless forced, even if his own needs were forever left by the wayside. Sam would hide away his hurt, his want. He would become withdrawn and sullen and still would never leave Gene. A martyr of impotence.
Gene Hunt simply wouldn’t have that. His problem was his own and he’d deal with it on his own, like the strong, possibly stubborn, man he was. No need to involve Tyler in all of that. Boy had enough problems, being a poofter and a nutter to boot.
While the poofter bit was kept neatly under wraps, except during those moments when Gene used to have his cock firmly pounding against his DI’s prostate or a rough hand wrapped tightly around Sam’s todger and Sammy would smile for the first time in forever and his eyes would glaze over and he’d give his Guv complete control and would shout or moan “Gene,” in a voice filled with such need it would send Gene over the edge at the same moment and Sam would come and collapse against him, sweating and shuddering and utterly satiated...
So, while the poofter bit was mostly kept neatly under wraps, the nutter bit was getting harder to ignore. Sam had always been a little off, everyone knew that, but lately he’d been spending quite a bit of time listening to staticky radios, talking into disconnected phone lines, and had been caught, on more then one occasion, yelling to himself in the bogs.
Gene refused to admit it had anything to do with him. After all, he’d done Tyler a favor, cutting him loose. There wasn’t much he could do anyhow and why should he? Sam was still doing his job effectively, adequately. It didn’t bother him that just “adequate” used to never be good enough for DI Tyler. He barely noticed how Sam’s handwriting was getting sloppier or how the bags under his eyes were starting to resemble miniature black holes. It had nothing to do with him but even if it did, Tyler needed to buck up and stop moping. Stupid nonce was acting like no one had ever broken up with him before. Maybe they hadn’t. Maybe Sam had always been the one to do the breaking. Either way, the cracks were starting to show.
Gene couldn’t worry about that now though. He was still trying to heal, himself. What’s a man supposed to do when he’s told he’ll no longer be able to take part in three of his five favorite past times? Well, he’d have to adjust that list now, even though as enjoyable as a game of poker with the boys was, it was no substitute for a game of poke ‘im in a crummy flat with one boy in particular. As much as he loved drinking, it didn’t quite carry the same level of intoxication as did the sight of Sam on his knees, swallowing down something that wasn’t exactly a single malt.
The docs had said there may be a chance, if he was patient and gave it some time, but patience was a virtue Gene Hunt had done well enough without for a considerably long time now and he didn’t feel like taking it up again any time soon. It had been two months since he was released from hospital. The stitches were gone, the bruises were healed. Only his arm was waiting to be freed, enclosed tight in its own plaster prison.
Gene did think two months was enough of a wait and decided he could try again at any moment but whenever his hand was close, he pulled it back. It might be better if he held off, just another day or so, until he was certain he was ready. He was already waiting, he didn’t need Sam to wait, too.
*
It was after the third day in a row Tyler had called in sick when Gene decided maybe he should go and see what was going on with the little tosser. As his DCI, of course. It was part of his job description to make sure his officers didn’t off it in or out of the line of duty.
So it was that DCI Hunt stood outside the slipshod shit-hole that was DI Tyler’s flat, banging on the door with his plaster cast arm until the door was finally wrenched open by a pale, drawn slip of a man that was supposedly meant to resemble Sam Tyler.
“You look like shite,” Gene remarked, successfully keeping his surprise from corrupting his voice.
Sam simply stared at him with cold, tired eyes and slammed the door in his face. Hunt would have none of that so he sighed, shook his head, and threw his body at the door, expecting more force than what was actually present, and fell the floor inside Tyler’s flat as the door easily opened on the other side.
“You did that on purpose, you twat,” Gene grumbled as he picked himself up off the floor and glared at Tyler, who still had his hand on the door handle.
“Obviously,” Sam stated clinically and shut the door again, then loped over to his kitchenette where he had apparently been making tea before he’d been interrupted. “I called in,” he remarked, clearly annoyed over being distracted from his PG Tips.
“Third day. Thought I better make sure you weren’t dead.”
“How thoughtful of you,” Sam sneered and stirred his tea.
This was going to be more of a challenge than Gene expected, except what was going to be more of a challenge? He’d simply stopped by to make sure Tyler wasn’t dead, which he wasn’t, so that was that and he should leave now. Gene sat down in the armchair.
“What is it then?”
Sam walked all the way over to his shoddy table by the window and sat down, eyes staring at the open book on the tabletop. “Not your concern.”
“It is when it’s taken my DI away from me when this city’s been so full of crime you’d think they’d just put revolving doors in the gaol cells and we’ve got every plod and detective workin’ double shifts just tryin’ to keep up!”
Well, it wasn’t that extreme but he always had to over-emphasize to get Tyler’s attention. Sam sipped his tea.
“Gonorrhea.” Sam sipped his tea again. Gene stopped breathing for a minute.
“What? From...” Gene hadn’t felt sick, well until now. He and Tyler hadn’t even touched each other in over two months. Sam already knew what he was thinking.
“No. Not from you.”
“Then who?” Gene felt his hackles rising. It shouldn’t matter. He’d cut Tyler loose for exactly this purpose. So, good on the lad for moving on. Gene just hadn’t expected it to be so soon.
“Probably the rent boy I’ve been shacking up with for the last month.” Sam sipped his tea.
Gene’s voice went very quiet. “That’s not funny, Sam.”
“The truth rarely is.” Sam sipped his tea. Were his hands shaking? The cup certainly was.
“Sam, tell me--”
“I had some extra cash lying around. Plenty of disposal income since I don’t bother buying anything for this place and have plenty of clothes and whatnot. Saw him on Canal Street when I was taking a shortcut home from the pub one night. Figured, why the hell not. Coppers get favors from prostitutes all the time this day and age. Why should I be any different.”
Gene had closed his eyes. It was the only way he could contain his rage. He was mentally willing Sam to stop but the tart was on a roll now.
“He’s a pretty, little thing, Gene. You’d probably like him. Legal age, of course, but young, very young. Maybe twenty-one? Twenty-two? And so obedient. See, he does anything I ask him to. Only because he’s getting paid, but still, it makes for a nice change. Want to hear about it?”
He could hear Sam’s chair scrape against the floor as he stood up.
“Well, first, I make him strip for me. Slowly, very slowly, while I sit back and watch. When he’s completely bare, I force him onto his knees in front of me and he reaches his hands up and, after asking permission, slides down the zip on my trousers.”
There was a hand on Gene’s own trousers, undoing the zip. He hadn’t heard Sam walk over. Damn but the bastard was quiet when he wanted to be. Gene kept his eyes closed.
“Then reaches his soft hands inside and pulls out my cock and places it in his mouth, just how I like it.” There was a hand encasing Gene’s own penis. He didn’t know how it got there. “Do you remember how I like it, Gene?” Sam whispered in his ear.
Gene wanted to say yes but he didn’t want to speak and so the sound he made was closer to a quiet ‘guh’ which was cut off as soon as Sam’s hand started stroking him gently.
“He sucks slowly at first, letting me fill up inside his mouth. He hollows his cheeks, scrapes me with his teeth, not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to make it hurt. You know I like it when it hurts, don’t I, Gene? I was always your dirty, little boy wasn’t I? Isn’t that what you called me when I’d be down on my knees, sucking you off? Your dirty, little Sammy?”
Gene could only groan as Sam hissed into his ear and moved his hand gradually faster.
“Sometimes I come in his mouth, making him swallow it, of course, but most times I rip him away before he can finish because I’m not done yet, Gene. There’s something else I need. So I shove him to the floor and he stays there like a good rent boy.”
The way Sam said it, the way he could roll the words ‘rent boy’ off his tongue with such calculated seduction, it sent shivers down Gene’s spine.
“He’s on his hands and knees now, Gene, and I pull down my trousers, the tight, red ones that could never disguise the erection I got when I watched you slip on your driving gloves. I slide them off with my pants and then I get to do to him what you’d rarely let me do to you.”
Sam’s hand was so sweaty, fisting him with a furious determination. All Gene could do was sit there and wait. Wait until Sam released him. If Sam could release him.
“I get to fuck him, Guv. I get to shove my cock up his arse and lose myself in that slick, tight hole and feel his body shiver as I hit that right spot time after time after time.”
Sam pumped his hand in time with his words, the thrusts of his words mimicking the thrust of his hands.
“He cries out, coming all over his stomach, all over the carpet in the filthy hotel room with the flimsy walls that can’t hide our shouts and moans. But I can’t stop, not yet. And I move deeper and harder and faster until I can forget he’s just a whore. Until I can pretend it’s you I’m fucking. Pretend it’s you on your knees, wanting it, taking it, as I slam into you. Pretend it’s you begging for it. Begging for me. Begging for your Sammy to finish so you can have your turn. So you can take me and throw me against the wall and hold me there until you’ve fucked me so hard I can’t even remember my own name. Don’t you want that, Gene? Don’t you want to fuck your little slut DI anymore? Don’t you, Gene?”
He thought he blacked out. He must have because when he did open his eyes Sam was standing above him wiping his sticky hand on a flannel. Wait. His sticky hand. Gene looked down at his stained trousers. At his stained trousers and the sticky chair cushion and back at Sam who was still wiping his dirty hand and wearing a decidedly evil grin.
It was the most beautiful thing Gene had ever seen, until he remembered how it all started.
“I told myself I could get you to do it,” he smirked.
“For once, Tyler, I admire your persistence,” he sighed, out of breath and still in shock. He managed to stand up anyway and punched Sam in the face.
In his weakened state, Tyler crumpled to the ground without attempting retaliation. Before he could even ask, Gene told him.
“That’s for stickin’ your dick up some diseased tart’s loose, little backside you selfish prick.”
Sam sat up, rubbing his already bruising jaw. “I was joking,” he rolled his eyes.
“Pardon?” Gene prepared to hit him again.
“I was winding you up, Guv,” Sam tiredly explained, managing to fix himself into a sitting position, still on the floor. “Needed something that would set you off. You tend to be the jealous type so I dreamt up some imaginary rent boy and it worked.”
“So you don’t resemble leftover dog shite cos you’ve got the clap?”
“I resemble leftover dog shite because I have the flu. Went to the doctor’s two days ago.”
“Just the flu?”
“And exhaustion stemming from insomnia and malnutrition. According to my GP.” Sam’s cheeky grin disappeared, replaced with that lost, faraway look that chilled Gene to his very core. Usually this would be when he would tell Sam to get his rest, feel better. He’ll catch up with him later.
Instead, Gene was unable to say any of those things. He couldn’t even take his eyes off the young Inspector and sat down on the floor next to him. “All because of me,” he stated with certainty.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Guv,” Sam snorted.
“Because of what then?”
Sam stayed silent for a long moment before collapsing his head in his hands. “Because of everything.”
“I certainly didn’t help, though.”
“No. No you didn’t,” Sam laughed into his hands and Gene found it amazing how much laughter can sound like crying and how hard one has to listen in order to hear that tiny shift between moods. He knew the exact moment when Sam’s laughs turned to sobs and for the first time in months grabbed him and held him tight, letting the tears stain his shirt.
“I did it for you. If I were goin’ to be...I din’t want you...”
“Nobel,” Sam sniffed, “but you could have discussed it with me first.”
“Yeah. I could have.” Gene pulled him closer, rubbing his hand over his back in soothing circles. “More than a decent shag, by the way.”
“Cheers Guv,” Sam pulled back slightly, wiping his wet eyes on his sleeve. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all girly there. I just...I haven’t slept in awhile. In a long while and...”
Gene placed his hand on Sam’s forehead. “Bit of a fever, too.”
“Yeah. That, too.”
“Let’s get you into bed, then.” He gently hoisted Sam upwards and helped him crawl under the duvet.
“Gene,” Sam whispered as his pillows were adjusted for him, “this, it isn’t fixed yet. We...”
“I know,” Gene pulled up the covers as Sam’s eyelids drifted shut. “But I’m better now, Sammy. We can wait ‘til you are, too.”
Gene sat back in the armchair and watched while Sam slept, making sure Sam slept, and decided, yes, they did have a lot they would need to discuss. Like how many times Gene would need to bottom for Sam in order for his DI to act out this sudden rent boy fantasy that had now taken up permament residence in his mind.