Fic: The Kept Man (3/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (3/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1546 this part; [3993 overall]
Rating: oh, let's just make it a brown cortina now, shall we?
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Borrowed some dialogue from 1.05 in this part. (Random note: Caught part of 'Casualty' last night and Denise Williams killed Stephen Warren, by accident. Maybe they were at the same hospital coma!Sam was....? Crazy spin-off anyone? Sorry. I'll stop with the crack bunnies now.)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
The slap stung.
“You do as I tell you, boy!”
The second hurt but not as much. Warren didn’t want to bruise his pretty face after all. “Everything I’ve done for you and you whinge about performing one, little errand for me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warren.” Keep his head low, avert his eyes. Be a good, little rent boy. He knew the routine by now.
“Or do you want me to get rid of you, hm?”
“No, sir.” Ride it out. It would be over soon.
“Do you want to lose my protection, Samuel?”
“No, sir.” He hated it when Warren called him ‘Samuel.’ He couldn’t remember ever being called anything but Sam.
“Do you want them to find out what you are?”
“No, sir.” Or Sammy.
“I didn’t think so,” Warren stroked his cheek. He winced but pretended it was because his cheek was still sore. “All you have to do is what I ask of you. Is that so hard?”
“No, sir.” It was an easy life.
“Good. Then take this package to this address and get your tight, perky arse back here as soon as possible.” Warren ran his hands down Sam’s sides until he was longingly stroking Sam’s backside.
“Yes, sir.” It was an easy lie.
“Good boy,” Warren whispered in his ear, still stroking him. Warren hadn’t fucked him in awhile. “Now get going.” Tonight would change that.
“Yes, sir.” Sam didn’t think he ever liked to do things the easy way.
*
“Colin Clay, number eight, Heathfield Road.”
“I think it was a heart attack,” Ray sniffed into his hanky.
Gene flipped the wallet shut. “Then it must have exploded out his arse. There’s blood all down his back.”
Ray theatrically sniffled again.
“What’s up with you?”
“Got a cold.”
“So what d’you think it was, Guv?” Chris stared down at the body, the sight of blood turning him a little green.
“Could be a stabbing but I couldn’t find a hole. Best let the coroner sort this one.”
“DCI Hunt, sir?” A young plod came running over with a scarf in his hands. “Found this sir.”
Gene took it and looked it over. “United. Well, whoever did it, at least he had a good motive,” he sighed and handed the evidence over to Chris.
“Shall I let his old lady know she can join the singles club?” Ray sniffed again. Gene was ready to smack the snot right out of him.
“Break it to her gently, Raymondo. Even if he was United scum.” He tossed the victim’s wallet to Chris. “Make sure all this gets back to the station, Skelton. Stay with the body til they take it the morgue.”
“Yes, Guv.”
Gene stomped away, lighting a cigarette as he let the details from this new case swirl about in his head. Since Reynolds had transferred, Gene had found driving alone helped to clear his mind, organize information. It was also god-awful boring. He had just pulled out the keys to the Cortina when he heard a scuffle down the nearby alley.
“Is my work never done?” He rolled his eyes and ran towards the sound of the fight, as he was always prone to do. Two toughs were beating on some skinny lad but even with two larger men trying to pound on him, the boy was holding his own. Two against one simply wasn’t fair odds, though, and as the lad went down, Gene decided to intervene.
“Oi! What’s all this then?” Gene brought himself up to full height, puffed out his chest, and let his reputation proceed him. The attackers ran off. Gene sauntered over to the slightly bloody man, already recognizing him. “You’re far from home, aren’t yeh?” He held out a hand but Sam refused to take it as he pulled himself to his feet.
“I’m not a prisoner. I can go where I like.” He brushed the dirt off his trousers and Gene noticed the cut on his forehead.
“Like hospital?”
“What?” Sam looked at him strangely, then raised his hand to his forehead, feeling the cut. “Ow.” He drew back his hand. “Shit.”
“Not good to damage the merchandise, is it? Hope your insured,” Gene shook another fag from his pack and offered one to Sam, who declined the offer.
“Those things’ll kill you,” he sighed, catching his breath as he leaned against the closest brick wall.
“You’re worse than my missus.”
“But I bet I’m a better shag,” Sam quickly looked down. His pale cheeks made it easy to see him blushing. “Sorry, officer. I didn’t mean to imply...”
“Don’t worry. I already expect it from your kind,” Gene shrugged and expected a shrug in return. Instead Sam’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly filled with a burning hatred.
“My kind? And what do you know about my kind, Mr. Hunt? What do you know about me?” Sam stalked towards him. Gene made sure to give him his space. “And who the hell are you? Some DCI in 1973? A year so backwards you’d think cats would start howling at the moon and dogs would drink milk for dinner!”
“And what year would you like it to be, Tyler?”
“Two--” Sam started without thinking, then cut himself off, confusion replacing the anger that had so quickly filled him up. “How the hell should I know?” He sniped and turned away. Blood was beginning to trickle down his face.
“You should get to hospital. Get that stitched up.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“Warren’ll take care of me.” He was staring at his feet again.
“Going to rely on him for everything then?”
“He looks after me.”
“For a few blow-jobs a day and a quick fuck whenever he feels like it, no doubt.” Gene scoffed.
“It’s better than being on my own. And you should talk about fucks, DCI Hunt. From what I’ve seen, Warren’s doing you over more than me.”
Gene snapped and slammed Tyler hard against the wall, watching with little care as the lad’s head bounced back off the bricks. “Don’t you dare think you can speak to me like that, you little piece of shite.”
“And what are you going to do about it, Mr. Hunt? I’m one of Warren’s. You can’t touch me. Especially me,” he sneered.
“You think you’re so special, do yeh, ‘cause he lets you into his bed? Think again, Sammy-boy. I’ve known that French-bending poof a lot longer than you. I’ve seen all the boys he’s had and I know what he does to ‘em in the end, when they get too old. Too used up.”
Sam struggled in the grasp but Gene held him tight.
“Soon as he gets tired of yeh, he’ll chuck you away, like all the other rubbish. You’re older than you look Tyler and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” Gene relaxed his grip just enough so that Sam could throw him off.
“Warren,” he jabbed a finger into Gene’s chest. “Cares about me.” Gene could see it in his eyes that Sam really didn’t believe that but the dog had to defend its master.
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, lad. In a few months I’ll be seein’ yeh down on Canal Street, selling yourself for pennies, just like all the others.”
Sam stared him right in the eye. “And what would a fine, upstanding officer like yourself be doing on Canal Street at that time of night, Gene?” Sam purposely knocked into Hunt’s shoulder as he walked out of the alley and back to his keeper.
It wasn’t until the adrenaline wore off that Gene realized he was hard. “Shit,” he muttered and finally returned to his Cortina in order to sort out the problem.
*
“I’m sorry.”
“There, there. It’s not your fault,” Warren gently dabbed away the blood on his face as Sam held a cloth tight against the wound. “You did get it delivered, though, didn’t you?” Sam nodded. “Good boy. Very good.” Sam said nothing else. “What’s going on in there?” Warren brushed his fingers through Sam’s short hair.
“Sam, what’s going on in there?”
He shut his eyes, unsure if he was trying to block out the memory or force it to return.
“Samuel?” Warren took him by the chin and lifted his head.
“I’ll make it up to you. Let me make it up to you.” Sam dropped the cloth and leaned forward, covering Warren’s mouth with his own and kissing him as passionately as he could, even if he felt nothing. He let his hands wander downwards, undoing Warren’s belt and trousers before his own. Sam never broke the kiss as he laid himself down on his back, pulling Warren on top of him.
Warren slid down Sam’s trousers, pulling them all the way off as he pulled the tube of lube from the left pocket, where Sam was always supposed to keep it. Sam instinctively lifted his legs, just as he was taught, and after careful preparation...
“Not good to damage the merchandise, is it?”
...he lay there and let his owner fuck him into the floor. Because he had to. He couldn’t lose Warren. He couldn’t lose his protection. Not now. Not after...
“Oh, God. What did I do?”
Sam gasped and came to the sound of a heart monitor.
_______
Part 4
Author: dak
Word Count: 1546 this part; [3993 overall]
Rating: oh, let's just make it a brown cortina now, shall we?
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04,1.05
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Borrowed some dialogue from 1.05 in this part. (Random note: Caught part of 'Casualty' last night and Denise Williams killed Stephen Warren, by accident. Maybe they were at the same hospital coma!Sam was....? Crazy spin-off anyone? Sorry. I'll stop with the crack bunnies now.)
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
The slap stung.
“You do as I tell you, boy!”
The second hurt but not as much. Warren didn’t want to bruise his pretty face after all. “Everything I’ve done for you and you whinge about performing one, little errand for me?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Warren.” Keep his head low, avert his eyes. Be a good, little rent boy. He knew the routine by now.
“Or do you want me to get rid of you, hm?”
“No, sir.” Ride it out. It would be over soon.
“Do you want to lose my protection, Samuel?”
“No, sir.” He hated it when Warren called him ‘Samuel.’ He couldn’t remember ever being called anything but Sam.
“Do you want them to find out what you are?”
“No, sir.” Or Sammy.
“I didn’t think so,” Warren stroked his cheek. He winced but pretended it was because his cheek was still sore. “All you have to do is what I ask of you. Is that so hard?”
“No, sir.” It was an easy life.
“Good. Then take this package to this address and get your tight, perky arse back here as soon as possible.” Warren ran his hands down Sam’s sides until he was longingly stroking Sam’s backside.
“Yes, sir.” It was an easy lie.
“Good boy,” Warren whispered in his ear, still stroking him. Warren hadn’t fucked him in awhile. “Now get going.” Tonight would change that.
“Yes, sir.” Sam didn’t think he ever liked to do things the easy way.
*
“Colin Clay, number eight, Heathfield Road.”
“I think it was a heart attack,” Ray sniffed into his hanky.
Gene flipped the wallet shut. “Then it must have exploded out his arse. There’s blood all down his back.”
Ray theatrically sniffled again.
“What’s up with you?”
“Got a cold.”
“So what d’you think it was, Guv?” Chris stared down at the body, the sight of blood turning him a little green.
“Could be a stabbing but I couldn’t find a hole. Best let the coroner sort this one.”
“DCI Hunt, sir?” A young plod came running over with a scarf in his hands. “Found this sir.”
Gene took it and looked it over. “United. Well, whoever did it, at least he had a good motive,” he sighed and handed the evidence over to Chris.
“Shall I let his old lady know she can join the singles club?” Ray sniffed again. Gene was ready to smack the snot right out of him.
“Break it to her gently, Raymondo. Even if he was United scum.” He tossed the victim’s wallet to Chris. “Make sure all this gets back to the station, Skelton. Stay with the body til they take it the morgue.”
“Yes, Guv.”
Gene stomped away, lighting a cigarette as he let the details from this new case swirl about in his head. Since Reynolds had transferred, Gene had found driving alone helped to clear his mind, organize information. It was also god-awful boring. He had just pulled out the keys to the Cortina when he heard a scuffle down the nearby alley.
“Is my work never done?” He rolled his eyes and ran towards the sound of the fight, as he was always prone to do. Two toughs were beating on some skinny lad but even with two larger men trying to pound on him, the boy was holding his own. Two against one simply wasn’t fair odds, though, and as the lad went down, Gene decided to intervene.
“Oi! What’s all this then?” Gene brought himself up to full height, puffed out his chest, and let his reputation proceed him. The attackers ran off. Gene sauntered over to the slightly bloody man, already recognizing him. “You’re far from home, aren’t yeh?” He held out a hand but Sam refused to take it as he pulled himself to his feet.
“I’m not a prisoner. I can go where I like.” He brushed the dirt off his trousers and Gene noticed the cut on his forehead.
“Like hospital?”
“What?” Sam looked at him strangely, then raised his hand to his forehead, feeling the cut. “Ow.” He drew back his hand. “Shit.”
“Not good to damage the merchandise, is it? Hope your insured,” Gene shook another fag from his pack and offered one to Sam, who declined the offer.
“Those things’ll kill you,” he sighed, catching his breath as he leaned against the closest brick wall.
“You’re worse than my missus.”
“But I bet I’m a better shag,” Sam quickly looked down. His pale cheeks made it easy to see him blushing. “Sorry, officer. I didn’t mean to imply...”
“Don’t worry. I already expect it from your kind,” Gene shrugged and expected a shrug in return. Instead Sam’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly filled with a burning hatred.
“My kind? And what do you know about my kind, Mr. Hunt? What do you know about me?” Sam stalked towards him. Gene made sure to give him his space. “And who the hell are you? Some DCI in 1973? A year so backwards you’d think cats would start howling at the moon and dogs would drink milk for dinner!”
“And what year would you like it to be, Tyler?”
“Two--” Sam started without thinking, then cut himself off, confusion replacing the anger that had so quickly filled him up. “How the hell should I know?” He sniped and turned away. Blood was beginning to trickle down his face.
“You should get to hospital. Get that stitched up.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“Warren’ll take care of me.” He was staring at his feet again.
“Going to rely on him for everything then?”
“He looks after me.”
“For a few blow-jobs a day and a quick fuck whenever he feels like it, no doubt.” Gene scoffed.
“It’s better than being on my own. And you should talk about fucks, DCI Hunt. From what I’ve seen, Warren’s doing you over more than me.”
Gene snapped and slammed Tyler hard against the wall, watching with little care as the lad’s head bounced back off the bricks. “Don’t you dare think you can speak to me like that, you little piece of shite.”
“And what are you going to do about it, Mr. Hunt? I’m one of Warren’s. You can’t touch me. Especially me,” he sneered.
“You think you’re so special, do yeh, ‘cause he lets you into his bed? Think again, Sammy-boy. I’ve known that French-bending poof a lot longer than you. I’ve seen all the boys he’s had and I know what he does to ‘em in the end, when they get too old. Too used up.”
Sam struggled in the grasp but Gene held him tight.
“Soon as he gets tired of yeh, he’ll chuck you away, like all the other rubbish. You’re older than you look Tyler and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” Gene relaxed his grip just enough so that Sam could throw him off.
“Warren,” he jabbed a finger into Gene’s chest. “Cares about me.” Gene could see it in his eyes that Sam really didn’t believe that but the dog had to defend its master.
“Keep tellin’ yourself that, lad. In a few months I’ll be seein’ yeh down on Canal Street, selling yourself for pennies, just like all the others.”
Sam stared him right in the eye. “And what would a fine, upstanding officer like yourself be doing on Canal Street at that time of night, Gene?” Sam purposely knocked into Hunt’s shoulder as he walked out of the alley and back to his keeper.
It wasn’t until the adrenaline wore off that Gene realized he was hard. “Shit,” he muttered and finally returned to his Cortina in order to sort out the problem.
*
“I’m sorry.”
“There, there. It’s not your fault,” Warren gently dabbed away the blood on his face as Sam held a cloth tight against the wound. “You did get it delivered, though, didn’t you?” Sam nodded. “Good boy. Very good.” Sam said nothing else. “What’s going on in there?” Warren brushed his fingers through Sam’s short hair.
“Sam, what’s going on in there?”
He shut his eyes, unsure if he was trying to block out the memory or force it to return.
“Samuel?” Warren took him by the chin and lifted his head.
“I’ll make it up to you. Let me make it up to you.” Sam dropped the cloth and leaned forward, covering Warren’s mouth with his own and kissing him as passionately as he could, even if he felt nothing. He let his hands wander downwards, undoing Warren’s belt and trousers before his own. Sam never broke the kiss as he laid himself down on his back, pulling Warren on top of him.
Warren slid down Sam’s trousers, pulling them all the way off as he pulled the tube of lube from the left pocket, where Sam was always supposed to keep it. Sam instinctively lifted his legs, just as he was taught, and after careful preparation...
“Not good to damage the merchandise, is it?”
...he lay there and let his owner fuck him into the floor. Because he had to. He couldn’t lose Warren. He couldn’t lose his protection. Not now. Not after...
“Oh, God. What did I do?”
Sam gasped and came to the sound of a heart monitor.
_______
Part 4