Fic: Looking Back, How Did I Exist?, for debl_ns
Title: Looking Back, How Did I Exist?
Author: lozenger8
Recipient: debl_ns
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 1,180 words.
Prompt: Sam/Gene, 'frosty'
Notes/Warnings: The title is from 'Two Less Lonely People in the World' and I have no regrets. Not a one. Except for how this is a day late. I'm sorry.
Summary: Sam's cold. Gene's not.
Sam is so cold he’s fairly sure his nipples are going to freeze and fall off. Gene will mock him for being titless as well as lacking in balls, and that’ll be that, the little credibility he has will be shot. He tucks his hands into his armpits and covers up his poor, maligned chest at the same time. He’s still chilled to the core.
Gene’s not looking nearly as uncomfortable. If anything, there’s a rosy flush to his cheeks. Copious amounts of scotch will do that to a man, Sam supposes. That and a gigantic camel hair coat, designed purely to make Sam covetous.
“Stay still, Tyler, you’re liable to burst a blood vessel,” Gene says, not particularly kindly. Admonishing is more the word for it.
“Can’t. They’ve all turned to ice,” Sam replies, starting to jump up and down in frosty frustration.
“Anyone would think you’re incapable of withstanding a little weather.”
“I’ll have you know I’m great with a little weather. Some sunshine, a light shower, a flowing breeze. I’m golden. It’s a lot of weather that I’ve difficulty with. Gale-force winds, battering hail, and temperatures so cold they put icicles on the end of your nose, that’s what I find troublesome.”
“You’re the one who says we need to do more surveillance.”
“No, I say more surveillance needs to be done. I think you should delegate, Gene. Order it of your underlings. I don’t understand why it always has to be us out here in the bluster and storm.”
“You are one of my underlings. And do you really want to tempt fate with a report from Chris and Ray? They didn’t recognise me last week ‘cause I had on a purple tie!”
“It was a very uncharacteristic purple tie.”
“It was a present from my mum, as you well know. Now, shut your gob, before I shut it for you. I mean, I ask you, what’s the point of being a copper if you aren’t prepared to do the hard yards.”
“If you’d warned me I needed preparation…” Sam mutters.
“What do I have to do to get you to be quiet for a change?”
“Gimme your coat,” Sam ventures, knowing it wouldn’t happen in a million years. Complaining simply to be heard. Annoying Gene for the fun of it.
Gene purses his lips for a moment, shrugs off one sleeve of his coat and goes to stand behind Sam. Sam’s confused for ten whole seconds while Gene fits that sleeve on his arm, and his shivering transforms into trembling when Gene wraps his free arm around his waist. He’s encased in the coat and Gene’s embrace and it feels too good to be true.
“What’re you doing?” he croaks out.
“Giving you a cuddle. Why do you have to ruin everything with your squawking?”
Sam doesn’t have an answer for that. His heart’s beating wildly in his chest and he’s gone from chilly to red hot in about twenty seconds.
“Do you do this with all your underlings?” he asks, and he hates himself, but he almost sounds breathy. Gene’s hand is resting against his belly, just above his belt, and it’s throwing him for a loop. He can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.
“Only the obnoxiously girly ones. Which, before you start protesting, does not include Cartwright. Or Phyllis.”
“I should hope not. So it’s me and Ray when he sees a spider.”
“Hate to break it to you, but even Ray has more dignity than you with a cool wind blowing up your knickers.”
Sam can’t help smiling at that. It feels like a confession -- wrapped up in an insult, because it’s Gene, and that’s how he shows affection.
“I like this side of you,” Sam admits, quietly.
“My toasty warm front against your nippy backside? Why am I not surprised?”
“No,” Sam corrects. “The caring side of you.”
“Ah, better revel in it, then, because it’s a rare sight.”
Once upon a time, Sam might have believed him, but he’s a cop who puts a lot of stock in evidence, and he’s seen enough now to know it isn’t true. He doesn’t reveal it for the lie it is, though, just settles back against the solid warmth of Gene, realising he’s startlingly comfortable with the way they’re touching. The way Gene’s taken a possessive hold of him, how he’s pressed them tight.
Sam allows companionable silence to descend upon them for a while, getting back to the task of keeping a look out for their targets. Gene brushes his thumb up and down against his shirt buttons every now and then, a steadying gesture, something that feels like the friendship between them - a combination of hard and soft, rough and smooth.
Sometimes, Sam doesn’t know how he ever lived without it. How he ever lived without the constant push and pull, the challenge and understanding Gene gives him day to day.
“We should cuddle more often,” Sam says, eventually. Not to break the silence, but because he’s curious what the reaction will be. Denial? Confirmation?
“Say the dozens of annoying words, Sammy-boy, and I’ll write us an itinerary.”
“Number one, banter. Number two, snuggle-wuggle. That kind of thing?”
Gene snorts, the sound reverberating through both their bodies. When he speaks, he sounds fond. “You’ve a lip on you.”
“Mmm. You could have it on you, if you like? As a thank you. For the heat.”
“Is that all? Simple gratitude?”
“There’s nothing simple about appreciation. But it could be something else too.”
Gene tightens his hold a small amount, brushes his lips against Sam’s jaw. “Go on.”
“It could be a gesture of goodwill,” Sam says. “A form of sharing. A way to make you happy.”
“Teased and tortured, more like,” Gene counters, but he still sounds charmed. Playful.
“That too,” Sam says, and even he can hear the smile in his voice.
It takes a moment to extricate himself from Gene’s coat and his hold, but he does, and spins in place, despite Gene’s protests. He bites back a comment about who’s squawking now. It would be counter-productive.
He braces himself against Gene’s chest and gazes at his lips. They’re interesting lips. Very pink at the moment, and glistening. Sam wants to learn the shape of them, the feel of them against his own. “This is your last moment to tell me you’d rather not.”
“Seems like a silly thing to say when I rather would.”
Sam kisses Gene, softly, intently. He puts all of his affection and consternation into the kiss, pushing into it and deepening it when he feels it’s time. He brushes his fingers up Gene’s neck and into his hair, arches until their fronts are touching. He thinks about how he never expected this, but how it exceeds expectations anyway. Meanwhile, Gene opens up for him. Gene rests his hands on his hips and pulls him closer. He makes a low, hungry sound that says more than anything they’ve said in the past hour.
And Sam’s warmed to the core.
Author: lozenger8
Recipient: debl_ns
Rating: White Cortina
Word Count: 1,180 words.
Prompt: Sam/Gene, 'frosty'
Notes/Warnings: The title is from 'Two Less Lonely People in the World' and I have no regrets. Not a one. Except for how this is a day late. I'm sorry.
Summary: Sam's cold. Gene's not.
Sam is so cold he’s fairly sure his nipples are going to freeze and fall off. Gene will mock him for being titless as well as lacking in balls, and that’ll be that, the little credibility he has will be shot. He tucks his hands into his armpits and covers up his poor, maligned chest at the same time. He’s still chilled to the core.
Gene’s not looking nearly as uncomfortable. If anything, there’s a rosy flush to his cheeks. Copious amounts of scotch will do that to a man, Sam supposes. That and a gigantic camel hair coat, designed purely to make Sam covetous.
“Stay still, Tyler, you’re liable to burst a blood vessel,” Gene says, not particularly kindly. Admonishing is more the word for it.
“Can’t. They’ve all turned to ice,” Sam replies, starting to jump up and down in frosty frustration.
“Anyone would think you’re incapable of withstanding a little weather.”
“I’ll have you know I’m great with a little weather. Some sunshine, a light shower, a flowing breeze. I’m golden. It’s a lot of weather that I’ve difficulty with. Gale-force winds, battering hail, and temperatures so cold they put icicles on the end of your nose, that’s what I find troublesome.”
“You’re the one who says we need to do more surveillance.”
“No, I say more surveillance needs to be done. I think you should delegate, Gene. Order it of your underlings. I don’t understand why it always has to be us out here in the bluster and storm.”
“You are one of my underlings. And do you really want to tempt fate with a report from Chris and Ray? They didn’t recognise me last week ‘cause I had on a purple tie!”
“It was a very uncharacteristic purple tie.”
“It was a present from my mum, as you well know. Now, shut your gob, before I shut it for you. I mean, I ask you, what’s the point of being a copper if you aren’t prepared to do the hard yards.”
“If you’d warned me I needed preparation…” Sam mutters.
“What do I have to do to get you to be quiet for a change?”
“Gimme your coat,” Sam ventures, knowing it wouldn’t happen in a million years. Complaining simply to be heard. Annoying Gene for the fun of it.
Gene purses his lips for a moment, shrugs off one sleeve of his coat and goes to stand behind Sam. Sam’s confused for ten whole seconds while Gene fits that sleeve on his arm, and his shivering transforms into trembling when Gene wraps his free arm around his waist. He’s encased in the coat and Gene’s embrace and it feels too good to be true.
“What’re you doing?” he croaks out.
“Giving you a cuddle. Why do you have to ruin everything with your squawking?”
Sam doesn’t have an answer for that. His heart’s beating wildly in his chest and he’s gone from chilly to red hot in about twenty seconds.
“Do you do this with all your underlings?” he asks, and he hates himself, but he almost sounds breathy. Gene’s hand is resting against his belly, just above his belt, and it’s throwing him for a loop. He can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.
“Only the obnoxiously girly ones. Which, before you start protesting, does not include Cartwright. Or Phyllis.”
“I should hope not. So it’s me and Ray when he sees a spider.”
“Hate to break it to you, but even Ray has more dignity than you with a cool wind blowing up your knickers.”
Sam can’t help smiling at that. It feels like a confession -- wrapped up in an insult, because it’s Gene, and that’s how he shows affection.
“I like this side of you,” Sam admits, quietly.
“My toasty warm front against your nippy backside? Why am I not surprised?”
“No,” Sam corrects. “The caring side of you.”
“Ah, better revel in it, then, because it’s a rare sight.”
Once upon a time, Sam might have believed him, but he’s a cop who puts a lot of stock in evidence, and he’s seen enough now to know it isn’t true. He doesn’t reveal it for the lie it is, though, just settles back against the solid warmth of Gene, realising he’s startlingly comfortable with the way they’re touching. The way Gene’s taken a possessive hold of him, how he’s pressed them tight.
Sam allows companionable silence to descend upon them for a while, getting back to the task of keeping a look out for their targets. Gene brushes his thumb up and down against his shirt buttons every now and then, a steadying gesture, something that feels like the friendship between them - a combination of hard and soft, rough and smooth.
Sometimes, Sam doesn’t know how he ever lived without it. How he ever lived without the constant push and pull, the challenge and understanding Gene gives him day to day.
“We should cuddle more often,” Sam says, eventually. Not to break the silence, but because he’s curious what the reaction will be. Denial? Confirmation?
“Say the dozens of annoying words, Sammy-boy, and I’ll write us an itinerary.”
“Number one, banter. Number two, snuggle-wuggle. That kind of thing?”
Gene snorts, the sound reverberating through both their bodies. When he speaks, he sounds fond. “You’ve a lip on you.”
“Mmm. You could have it on you, if you like? As a thank you. For the heat.”
“Is that all? Simple gratitude?”
“There’s nothing simple about appreciation. But it could be something else too.”
Gene tightens his hold a small amount, brushes his lips against Sam’s jaw. “Go on.”
“It could be a gesture of goodwill,” Sam says. “A form of sharing. A way to make you happy.”
“Teased and tortured, more like,” Gene counters, but he still sounds charmed. Playful.
“That too,” Sam says, and even he can hear the smile in his voice.
It takes a moment to extricate himself from Gene’s coat and his hold, but he does, and spins in place, despite Gene’s protests. He bites back a comment about who’s squawking now. It would be counter-productive.
He braces himself against Gene’s chest and gazes at his lips. They’re interesting lips. Very pink at the moment, and glistening. Sam wants to learn the shape of them, the feel of them against his own. “This is your last moment to tell me you’d rather not.”
“Seems like a silly thing to say when I rather would.”
Sam kisses Gene, softly, intently. He puts all of his affection and consternation into the kiss, pushing into it and deepening it when he feels it’s time. He brushes his fingers up Gene’s neck and into his hair, arches until their fronts are touching. He thinks about how he never expected this, but how it exceeds expectations anyway. Meanwhile, Gene opens up for him. Gene rests his hands on his hips and pulls him closer. He makes a low, hungry sound that says more than anything they’ve said in the past hour.
And Sam’s warmed to the core.