1. Deal Breaker

Sam loved Gene, but it was all wrong. Sam needed him, but not in the right ways. Sam was not gay, and Gene was.

It was certainly not the turnout he expected for 1974, but it cast a new light on Gene’s male bonding needs. Sam, for all his pride about his understanding of human nature and psychology and his own knowledge of gay culture (gleaned from his college years but still somewhat relevant) never suspected a thing. Gene was a man’s man and it would have surprised Sam less to find out John Wayne was a cross dresser.

But they stood there, that day, standing by the canal on a lonely stretch under a cloudy sky, and Gene told him. Not in so many words, and not in any ‘gay boy nancy ponce’ way, but his meaning was clear. Sam could not understand at first, and when he did, felt punched in the gut. Gene was not coming on to him -- was making it clear that he was not coming on to him -- because he knew that Sam “didn’t float that way.” Sam nodded.

“Sure, Gene. I know.”

But he did not know, until he saw Gene looking at him. Then he knew Gene wanted him, and was testing him, and that Sam passed the test because Gene knew Sam wasn’t, and wouldn’t, but he had to know for sure before giving up. That was the only time Sam ever saw Gene give up on anything, and it was heartbreaking. He reached out to put a hand on Gene’s shoulder but stopped at the look. Gene wanted no pity, and needed no overtures, so Sam withdrew the hand and looked back out towards the canal.

“Christ, Guv, I’m sorry.”

“Nowt be sorry about, Sammy boy. Some things never change.”

Sam had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, and they stood for a while longer before Gene turned and walked off without saying anything. Sam followed, because that is what he always did.

The days and nights flowed by and Sam tried to ignore his knowledge of Gene, tried to pretend that undercurrent was not there, because to acknowledge it would destroy everything. Sam did not want Gene, not physically or romantically, and to even accept Gene’s desires as a part of their friendship was to invite catastrophe into both their lives. Gene agreed, tacitly, and backed off on invading Sam’s personal space – not so much that anyone other than Sam would know, but he did. In turn, Sam stepped off his public affections for Annie, thinking it simple consideration of Gene’s feelings not to rub into his face something he could not have. Annie was not so understanding, especially since she did not know why and Sam could not tell her, but she adjusted, eventually.

After a few months Sam calmed down about it. He could treat the meeting by the canal like a dream sequence – he was certainly used to that – and get on with life. Every once in a while he saw Gene looking at him with something more flashing in his eyes, but Sam never acknowledged those moments. Best to just run them over and keep going.

And life was good, anyway. He felt amazingly happy in the bowels of the smoke-ridden, cholesterol-loving, hard drinking 70s and while he continued to hate the color orange, everything looked bright and beautiful to him. But change is the only constant and 1977 was not good to Sam. Career wise, it was not horrible, although he was starting to chafe at the stagnation of his position in CID, and Annie broke up with him because she moved to Blackpool pursuing a promotion. They stayed friends but it was rough on him, and lonely. His new flat was nice, roomy, and empty. He spent a lot of time at the pub, because the only constant in his life, perhaps the only thing he really needed, was Gene.

When he realized that, he got confused and did a mental check, but no, he still was not gay. He pursued the idea, for his own benefit of nothing else, imagining Gene’s hands running over his skin and Gene kissing…it never got past that. It was not repugnant, quite, but it was Gene and it just felt weird and wrong. Sam was open minded and yes, he once snogged a third year in university because they were both drunk and young and figuring things out. Sam figured out he did not like kissing someone with stubble, end of story.

He tried to accept his need for the friendship as simply that, up to the day that Gene started talking about transferring to London. Ray was thrilled and talked about doing it too, because there was a hell of a lot of good looking pussy in London. Chris joined in and soon it was a little clique of Manchester men jonesing for London, and Sam was stark raving insane with the fear of losing Gene. Sam could always follow to London and Chris suggested it numerous times, but Gene did not. They both knew his best chance for promotion (back) to DCI was to put in for Gene’s position. It was almost a sure thing and Sam would be a fool not to, and Gene was enough of a bastard to take that into account.

That was when Sam finally started returning to that distant, misty discussion by the canal. Gene wanted him, and probably still did, and maybe London was part of Gene’s way of dealing with the non-reciprocated affection. Sam was not convinced that Gene was solely running away from him, but he thought that part of Gene’s reasons might include him. And Sam saw with startling clarity how to turn that tide.

The idea was insane, though, and Sam knew it. He was not gay and forcing himself on Gene – who knew he was not gay, after all – was a recipe for serious pain. Sam also understood that even if he jumped Gene’s bones, it would go to hell in a hand basket if Sam got himself into an intimate situation then panicked and ran. Far, far worse a scenario than just letting sleeping dogs (Gene) lie.

He spent weeks thinking about it, and thinking about Gene, and never once got a hard on. He forced himself into the back allies of his mind, remembering every kink he ever once fancied, and tried to apply them to the fantasy of Gene. Sometimes he felt something, sometimes he did not, and he was back at square one: Desperate.

This was all good internal dialogue, but in the outside world where he actually interacted with Gene, life was deteriorating. He was mad at Gene about his London plans and Gene was on edge himself, and they were clashing more than they had when Sam first walked into CID. There were fights, and bruises, and misunderstandings, and long drunken arguments at the Railroad Arms. Sam was at the point of starting arguments there just to keep Gene from going home. Not that Gene had much to go home to, as his marriage disintegrated in 1975 and Gene was coasting on who knew what, certainly not Sam, who kept a sharp eye out trying to discover if Gene was involved with anyone seriously. Not that he cared…he just wanted to know. But nothing and no one ever appeared on Gene’s horizon and while Sam did not seriously believe Gene could be celibate for any length of time greater than, say, 24 hours, he also never discovered how he could not be.

Sam was at the point of giving up the fantasy trips and his career, because he was now left with no choice but to follow to London and remain a DI for the rest of his unnatural life if he wanted to keep Gene. Then he found himself in Gene’s lap, kissing him, and it was actually quite brilliant. Not that Gene remembered.

Head trauma was Sam’s signature, he thought that day with some chagrin, watching Gene being carted off in the ambulance. Sam wanted nothing more than to jump in and ride with him, but he was now in charge with an unconscious DCI on the way to the hospital. He barked orders, miserably unhappy and worried, trying to tie down the crime scene and keep Ray from killing their suspect. The whole bust had gone wrong and Gene paid the price with a brick thrown square at him by a desperately stupid criminal, who was now paying the price of Ray. Sam kept a lid on tempers and got everything sorted and was walking into the police department building when Phyllis yelled out that the Guv was okay, suffering a concussion, and trying to fight his way out of the hospital. Cursing, Sam turned and bolted out the doors.

Gene was not quite so okay, in actuality. He was suffering memory loss and did not remember the entire morning at all and therefore did not understand why he was strapped to the hospital bed, other than because Sam paid off the staff and was a mad bastard who would suffer endlessly at Gene’s hands once he got himself free. Sam stood by the window with his arms crossed, glaring at Gene, thinking that if there was ever a time for him to concoct a Gene-bondage fetish, now would it. Instead he just glared as Gene ranted until finally Gene’s head hurt too much even for him and he shut up.

“You got a concussion, Guv. We were on a bust and the soddin’ crim clipped you with a brick.”

“You got him?”

“Ray nicked him, and then tried to remove his liver with his hands.”

“Good man.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re here for a while, Guv. You got memory loss and a concussion.”

“Going back to the office.” Gene struggled, but he was covered in sweat and even Sam could tell that he did not have his usual strength back.

“No, you’re not. Can’t you take a bleedin’ hint? You’re strapped to the bed.”

“And don’t act like this isn’t your greatest fantasy, you bloody fairy. Make like a good boy and untie me.”

“Calling me names is not the best way to ensure my cooperation, Guv.”

“I’ll ensure your bloody funeral if you don’t untie me!”

“You’re right, this is one of my greatest dreams come true.” Sam grinned and sat down, propping his feet up on the end of the bed. “Ah!” He jumped up and went to the locker in the corner, where the nurses stashed all of Gene’s belongings. Sure enough, his flasks were still in his jacket, and Sam pulled one out.

“Now you’re thinkin’, Sammy boy…’ey!” Gene struggled again as Sam leisurely sat back down, opened the flask, and took a swig.

“Damn, Guv, good stuff. Thanks.” He tucked the flask into his own jacket pocket and patted it. He was definitely ensuring his own funeral, but enjoying every second of it.

“Sam…I’m goin’ to ring your delicate little neck into next week…” Gene growled, and then stopped, grimacing, and looked at Sam in confusion. “We arguing?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so, Guv.” Sam leaned forward, studying him.

Gene looked around, more confused, and almost – almost – scared. “What the ‘ell is this? Where am I?”

Sam ran out and dragged a nurse in, who ran out and dragged a doctor in, who asked Gene a lot of questions and got a lot of wrong answers. Sam stared at him with his hand over his mouth, horrified, which was approximately the same look that Gene was wearing. He was confused, beyond confused, mixing his days up and his years up and Sam’s stomach dropped when Gene asked the doctor to phone his DCI, Harry Woolf, to tell him he was in the hospital.

“He should be alright, but…head injuries are always a delicate thing.” The doctor stated carefully, talking to Sam out in the hallway. Sam nodded, thinking mostly ‘you’re telling me’ and wondering what the long term effects were.

“Quite frankly I don’t expect serious long term effects, but he will be somewhat…confused…for a few days, if I’m right. Our job is simply to keep him awake and to stop him from lapsing into a coma. We get him through the next twenty four hours, and he should be completely fine within a week.”

Easier said than done. Sam chugged the horrendous coffee and the nurses had to prod him awake at some point but for the next eighteen hours Sam and the nurses kept Gene awake, despite Gene’s deep, confused displeasure about it. He would curse, argue, nearly black out from the pain, then curse and argue again about something else completely different. Sometimes he recognized Sam and sometimes he did not. The nurses finally untied him late at night, or actually early in the morning, and Sam helped him walk to the bathroom, which was not easy on either of them, but Gene would not let a nurse in the room for it. He was himself, or at least he was the Gene that Sam knew, and that helped considerably.

Gene listed against the wall, trying to fall asleep even as he peed, and instinctively Sam reached out and grabbed his penis so the spray would not end up all over the walls and Sam. Gene’s eyes snapped open and Sam froze, thinking that he was poorly dressed for his funeral.

“Nice boy, then?” Gene said and lurched into him, pressing him against the wall. “Good boy.” He reached up and ran a hand over Sam’s face, and Sam realized that Gene, his Gene, was long gone. “Oh yeah, you are…nasty littl’ boy, yeah?” Gene smiled and kissed him on the neck, sucking hard, and Sam realized that the penis in his hand was getting very, very firm. He let go and pressed himself backwards. Gene pulled back and glared at him. “You a tease, then? Don’t know what y’want? Not nice, nasty littl’ boy…” Gene reached and grabbed Sam’s crotch, penis and balls all in one hand through his jeans, and squeezed. Sam squealed and bent forward, into Gene, who was suddenly very sure on his feet. He pulled as he sat down on the toilet and Sam tripped into his lap. Gene started massaging him through the jeans and he knew what he was doing and it was impossible to keep an erection down, despite desperate imaginings of horrible murder scenes on Sam’s part.

“That’s it…come on, let me hear you, y’fuckin’ tart…” Gene breathed heavily and Sam gasped, turned on and knowing this was all very, very bad.

“Gene, let go…please…” Sam tried pushing off but Gene grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down and for the first time, Sam really tasted Gene and his mind went blank. It was something in the flavor that did it and Sam was not certain if he was imagining it or not and he certainly was not willing to take it anywhere but it was lust, pure and simple. He put one hand on a wall to steady him as he leaned into the kiss, exploring, desiring more of that tangy and salty flavor, and then remembering with a shock that he was sitting on Gene’s lap in a hospital loo. He jumped up and slapped Gene, hard, sending him into the wall and sliding off the toilet onto his hands and knees.

Sam stood still, looking at him carefully.

“Bloody ‘ell, Sam, you dropped me!” Gene looked up and Sam let out a huge sigh.

“Sorry, Guv, just tripped. Here.” The rest of the night was much less adventurous, and when they finally let him check Gene out the next day, it was for all intents and purposes back to business as usual.

But Sam had gotten a taste, and it was all he needed in order to know what he had to do next.

A few weeks later, when all signs of head trauma were gone and things were on an even keel, Sam managed to cut Gene out from the herd and isolate him at the corner table near the front of the pub. He jumped to refill their drinks, or specifically, Gene’s drinks, and with a sly wink at Nelson paid for the double shots that he poured into Gene’s beers. It was damnably sneaky and suspicious but Gene loved it when someone else was buying and did not argue, at least not with that. When he was pissed, Sam walked him out as he did so often before and insisted that Gene was coming home with him, just as he so often did.

He steered Gene to the bed instead of his usual spot in the lounger, and then fixed him a few more drinks, thinking that he, Sam Tyler, missed his calling as sexual molester. But it was this, or give up completely, and it was not Gene that Sam doubted, it was himself. He had to know.

Gene finally passed out, but that did not mean anything. He had seen Gene roll up from a drunken coma to lead his team halfway across town chasing a burglar, among other times. Sam slapped him lightly, but nothing: Gene did not twitch. He leaned over and whispered “stabbing” in his ear, but still nothing.

Then he thought he was clearly insane to be doing this at all. He would be as good as dead if Gene woke up before he was done. No, scratch that: definitely dead. But he had to know, he had to see what it felt like, and while part of him suspected he was looking forward to this too much, another part of him thought it was one step short of date rape.

Reasoning that he would not actually be touching Gene, not really much at all, he decided it was now or never. He took off his shoes and socks and stripped off his shirts and started to undo his pants and then stopped. He was getting naked, for Gene, and it was probably, certainly, something Gene had wanted for years, but it was not a situation Sam ever even thought about until now. He checked but he was not getting a hard-on with the idea, and wondered why, if he really was not gay or attracted to Gene, why the hell he was getting undressed.

For Gene. For them. If he could keep Gene by being his lover, it would be worth it. Sex is sex and if he could find a way to enjoy it, or part of it, or at least put up with it, then Gene would stay. Sam was convinced that the trick would be the orgasm: if he could come for Gene, then he could do this all the way. It was not as if he never allowed a woman to use a strap-on with him, so hell, what was the difference? But it would be down to him and Gene together, and if Sam could not make it over that bar, then the whole idea was a wash and he would be waving Gene, and everything Gene was to him, goodbye.

He stepped out of his pants and went back to the bed where Gene was stretched out. It was not that Gene was not handsome, Sam reflected as he sat down. He had the rugged good looks of a movie star, really, and Sam – always the smallest man in the class, always the one called ‘fairy’ even in grammar school (oh the irony) – admired the sheer mass of Gene. Never sexually before, but he tried now. Something stirred as he imagined Gene fucking…well, just fucking, not anyone or anything in particular, just the idea of Gene on top and his hips moving and his large, solid body slamming in sex and finally, Sam’s penis started to stiffen up. He began running his fingers over his cock as he sat there, staring at Gene, one small part of his brain utterly terrified of the larger man waking up now. He reached out and slapped him again, harder, but again, no response.

His fingers dipped and stroked delicately over his erection in a familiar way, slowly working the blood up, lightly teasing his nerves. He was aroused now, and he felt the familiar hitch in his blood pressure. Yes yes yes, this was the direction he needed to go. He crawled up and straddled Gene, crouching over him on all fours, careful that no part of him was touching Gene other than his knees, which rested against Gene’s hips. Gene stirred and snorted and threw one arm out that nearly smacked Sam in the chest, but otherwise remained unconscious. Settling himself in, Sam put his weight on his legs and one arm and began stroking himself again. He closed his eyes instinctively but forced them open again, because none of this would count if he was imaging Annie or any woman and not looking directly at Gene. He lowered his head and sucked in breath as he wrapped his hand around his cock, done with the teasing and knowing he really did not have a lot of time because, at best, Gene was unpredictable. He fisted himself hard once, gasped, and eased up on the pressure.

Asleep, Gene was soft and gentle looking, which was no help whatsoever. He looked at the face of the man under him, and imagined how he looked when he tossed Sam up against a wall and damn, that was some kind of erotic idea and Sam’s hand moved faster. He bored holes into Gene’s skull staring at him, thinking his name over and over, and remembering how it felt for Gene to walk into his personal space, push him into a cabinet, or grab him by his lapels. Sam started gasping and his hips started rolling and he knew what was happening, that he was getting himself off on Gene, over Gene, and for Gene. He tried for soft and furious rather than fast and hard, to keep down the vibrations, but soon he did not really care so much and he hunched up, curling his back, desperate to push his face against Gene’s chest, just to taste him. God, he just wanted to taste him right then, to touch him, to just fucking put his tongue down Gene’s throat and taste him again like he did at the hospital. He thought then of going down on Gene to taste him, to taste all of him, and while the idea of having a cock in his mouth did not inspire him much, the thought of having Gene in him did. Leaning forward and down, he put his face next to Gene’s, their lips nearly touching, and he could smell the whiskey and the cigarettes and Gene himself, and it was almost like tasting him. Sam licked his lips, his body twitching as he stared at Gene’s lips, wanting that taste on his tongue, and then it started and he finally pushed over, his strokes hard and long, rubbing up over the head well lubricated with pre-cum. He came strangling himself, trying not to yell out, staring at Gene and whispering his name.

Gene never moved.

He caught his cum in his hand before it fell on Gene, and pulled himself up to rest on his knees, shaking. He did it, and now he knew.

He got up slowly, holding his spent cock, and made his way to the bathroom for a shower. He needed to get out and clear up his clothes, which in his haste and worry he left pretty much strewn about the place. But for now he stood in the hot water, letting it run over him, realizing he had crossed a major sexual line for himself, and not certain if he was happy about it. To keep Gene, yes of course; he reminded himself that any price was worth that.

His eyes snapped open. Any price. The words hung, catching him, and he rolled so that his back was flush with the tile and he stared out in shock. There was only one reason to make a sacrifice like this, to change who you are into something strange and unrecognizable, and that was…

He loved Gene.

He quickly shut off the water and grabbed a towel, wrapped it around himself and tore out of the bathroom. He stood in the main room and stared at the man on the bed who was the man he loved, and he could barely breathe. It did not feel the same as it did for Annie or Maya or anyone else, but in fact it felt even more intense, a deeper feeling than desire or lust, and Sam was lost. He thought he was compromising himself for this, but instead he had thrown himself into it and now he was at sea in emotions he simply did not expect to be there.

Gene sat up, rubbing his face, still drunk, but awake, and god only knows what finally stirred him after all that. Sam could not say anything, he just kept staring.

“What’r you starin’ at?” Gene grumbled, holding himself up on his hands. Then he looked around and saw the clothes on the floor, and realized that Sam was, essentially, naked. “We got plans?” He asked, confused, then frowned. “Bloody ‘ell, Sam, you got a bird hiding under the bed?”

Sam shook his head and Gene kept frowning. “You puke on y’self?”

Sam shook his head again.

“Well Christ aren’t you ‘elpful.” Gene started rolling to one side, to get off the bed, and Sam snapped the towel off of his waist. Gene froze. “Sam. Yer naked as a jaybird.”

Sam nodded, then started laughing so hard he could not move. Gene glared at him, some kind of sobriety sinking back into his brain, and he gave Sam a critical once over.

“You flyin’ high? Got you some good pills for a party?” He snapped, and Sam stopped laughing but could not stop smiling. He simply did not know what to say, and part of him was scared that Gene would hit him for all of this. Good chance, actually, that he would, but there was nothing for that now.

He walked over to the bed and Gene actually tried to move away from him, but he really was still pissed and only ended up falling down onto his elbows. Sam smiled and sat down, and started undoing the button’s on Gene’s shirt. Gene watched his hands.

“…Sam…” It was not a whisper, or plea, more like a warning. He looked up but Sam only focused on what he was doing, and Gene was not stopping him. He opened the shirt and used it to pull Gene back up to a sitting position. Gene let him peel off his shirts, and when they were on the floor with Sam’s clothes, Sam leaned in and kissed his chest. It was weird, but he knew the taste would do something, and he was right as he ran his tongue over the salty, sweaty skin.

“Bloody ‘ell, Tyler, you’re pissed!” Gene looked at him in horror.

“No, no I’m not.”

“Don’ play with me, Sam, not after all this time. I thought we had an understanding.” He spoke slowly, and gently raised up a hand to push Sam back. “You’re pissed out drunk and you need to back off.”

“No, damnit, don’t you dare. Not when I’ve gone this far for you.”

“What the bloody hell you on about?”

Sam looked down at the mattress for a second, then decided to throw it all into the wind. The wind was Gene, really, and his choices now would determine Sam’s fate more than Sam ever could, and it was giving up control completely to a man he did not even know he was in love with three hours ago but it was the only thing Sam could do, now.

“Don’t go to London, Gene. Stay here. For me.” Sam moved up into Gene’s lap, straddling him for the second time that night, but this time wrapping his arms around his shoulders.

Gene’s mouth dropped open in utter shock, and in that moment, and certainly without planning it, Sam bent down and kissed him. He tasted exactly like he remembered, exactly, only better, and hotter, and his mind went blank before he realized that Gene was kissing him back. Gene’s arms rose up and clutched him, and he felt Gene’s heartbeat start racing. Sam pulled back and expected to say something but Gene attacked his chest with his mouth, and it was not surprising because Gene was not the kind to mince words when an action statement would do. If nothing else, he really did know how to use his mouth.

If Gene had second thoughts, he did not share them with Sam just then. He rolled Sam over onto his back and pressed down on him, and it was awkward for Sam, who was in love but still not terribly turned on by all this. He kept returning to Gene’s mouth for the taste, and made himself run his hands over Gene’s body until he felt something like arousal. Then Gene stopped.

“Y’not into this, Sam. This isn’t you.”

“No, no it isn’t.” Sam agreed, and Gene sat back.

“Then what the hell are you doing?”

“You, I hope.” Sam laughed nervously.

Gene shook his head, then looked at Sam with the kindest expression Sam had ever seen on him. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me alone.” Sam grabbed Gene’s arm and he felt as desperate as he sounded. If Gene walked out on him now, what did he have left? Nothing.

Gene did not answer, instead looked around, anywhere but at Sam.

“I know you want me! Come on!” Sam tugged at him, getting angry and panicky.

“Not like this.” Gene moved away, and Sam tackled him, rolling them both back down all the way on the bed. “Damnit…” Gene pushed up, and sheer mass got him leverage.

“No! Okay, okay, we don’t have to do anything! Just…stay. Please, Gene, for gods sake…stay.” Sam felt his hands shaking, and he thought that he sounded pathetic, but then, he was feeling pathetic. Pathetic, and alone.

Gene stopped and looked at him, then nodded tersely, falling back down on the bed next to Sam, but not touching him. Sam rolled onto his back and looked askance over at Gene.

“You’re staying?”

“Bleedin’ observant, you are.” Gene said, sounding very displeased. Sam smiled.

“Too much to ask to get under the sheets? I’m cold.”

Gene grumbled but they both got up in tandem and then tucked back under the sheets. Gene stayed apart, not touching him, lying on his back with this arms crossed.

“Good night, Gene.”

“Mmmph.”

---

The night dragged but eventually Sam fell asleep, long after Gene fell into wracking snores and grunts and stole all the covers. When Sam woke up, though, he was suffocating. He felt skin everywhere and his brain finally clicked on the fact that Gene was on top of him, holding him down, and kissing his neck. He gasped. Gene moved from his neck to his mouth, sinking into him, pushing his tongue into Sam and running it around teeth and gums and Sam’s tongue. Sam tried to think and got so far as to realize that Gene was naked now, had at some point stripped off his pants and was now rubbing a hard erection against Sam’s thigh. Gene was straddling one leg, holding himself up a bit but not much, and grinding his hips. Sam felt him groaning, and it was a like a large cat purring, more vibration than sound. Gene’s hands were locked on Sam’s upper arms, so Sam just raised up his own hands to rest against Gene’s waist. It was not until Sam started kissing back that he realized he had a hard-on, a raging hard-on, which he had probably been sporting long before he woke up.

Gene pulled back. “We on, then?”

“Yes, that’s what I was trying to tell you last mmmphh.”

Gene swallowed his words with his mouth, then moved so that he was between Sam’s legs. Sam froze.

“Never done this.” Gene said it, a statement not a question.

“No, no, god no…not with a man. No.”

“Not with a man?” Gene pulled himself up. “I knew you was a perv, sweetheart, but…”

“Oh please do not call me sweetheart. Dorothy or something.” Sam wrinkled his nose.

Gene laughed then looked at him again. “I thought you weren’t a fairy, Sam.” He said it mockingly, but kindly, and Sam cringed. He did not want Gene to be nice about this.

“I’m not, okay?”

Gene raked him with his eyes. “Couldn’t tell.”

“Shit, Gene, I’m doing this for you.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong. Gene rolled off him. “No, no, I didn’t mean…I want you, I really do.” He sat up after Gene, who had moved to the edge of the bed.

“Bleedin’ romantic, Tyler,” Gene said caustically.

Sam fell back, defeated, uncertain of what he was supposed to do. He could not lie about this, but he could not lose Gene either.

“I love you.” Sam rubbed the back of his head.

“What does that mean?” Gene snapped, his back still to him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“What the hell do you think it means? It means I’m ripping myself apart thinking of you going to London, of being here, alone. That I’m terrified of getting up every day and not seeing you. That something will happen to you and I won’t be there when it does.”

Gene kept looking away, silently.

“I’m naked for a reason, you know. I got you drunk, and brought you home. You’re not a cheap date, by the way.” Sam laughed, but it felt hollow.

Gene bent over and rubbed his face.

“I don’t know how you feel about me, Gene, but I’m throwing this out because I’ve nothing left. I’ll take you if you’ll have me…I’ve never needed anyone as much as I need you.”

Gene still did not respond, and Sam laid down, his hands over his face, trying not very successfully not to cry. He had put himself, everything about himself, on the line, and Gene was not saying anything. Feeling stupid and humiliated, he laid there, trying to take deep, steady, breaths, thinking that jumping off a roof was easier than this.

“You really think that if we fuck, now, I’ll stay?”

Sam looked at him. “I don’t know.”

“Stay? For you?” Gene snorted, and Sam rolled over on his side and pulled the blankets up over him. Cocooned, safe, and alone. Let Gene leave, leave him alone, leave him forever, and Sam would get up at dawn and his life would be over.

He felt Gene leave the bed, and Sam curled tighter into himself. He was acting the coward but he had pushed himself so hard to get this point, only to have Gene turn him away, that he did not care about pride or honor or appearances. He was ashamed and angry at himself for being so desperate, and now being all alone sounded like a wonderful idea.

Gene went to the bathroom and took a shower. It was incongruous, but practical, and Sam tried to block the noises out from his consciousness. He tried to block everything out, his emotions and his thoughts, and put his hands over his ears. He curled until his knees where nearly touching his forehead and he was entirely fetal, and felt fetal like a creature that did not really exist anywhere but inside. He was not crying because there was nothing to cry for, just himself, alone, with nothing. His mind hummed in the nothing.

Gene threw off the sheets and crawled onto the bed.

“One ‘ell of a ringer to throw at a man, Sammy.” He sat down next to where Sam was holding himself.

“Jus’ go.”

“Now y’makin’ up my mind for me?”

“Go.”

“No. Stayin’.”

“Don’ need you, Gene. Don’ want you, you know that. An’ y’not stayin’ even if I did.”

“Now y’puttin’ words in me mouth. Know everythin’, do you?”

“God, Gene, leave me alone.”

“You want that, then?” He felt Gene shift.

Sam was quiet for a long time, torn now about everything. Except Gene. No, he never wanted Gene to leave.

“No, god no.” Sam said it and pulled his head down again, to curl up and return to the nothing where he could just pretend that he was never this stupid, or small, or unwanted.

“Four years, now, Sam.”

“I know.”

“Never changed y’mind before now. Always got a bird on y’arm.”

“Her name is Annie, Guv.”

“Detective Sergeant Cartwright, I think you mentioned.”

“She deserved that promotion.”

“She left. You do this to her? Threaten her?”

Sam unfurled and rolled over, sitting up. “How am I threatening you, Gene? Just: how?” He spread his arms, feeling anger, and at least feeling something.

Gene glared at him, the power of which was not diminished at all even as Sam realized he was still naked, sitting on the bed with his legs out and his feet crossed and not self consciousness about it in the slightest.

“It’s blackmail, Sam, and you bloody well know it.”

“No! No, it’s not! I just…need you!”

“And you’ll put out like a prozzie if I promise to stay. But if I don’t, if I say I’m goin’ to London and damn your arse, then you lock your knees and close up like a clam. Tell me that’s not the deal.”

Sam opened his mouth, but that was the deal, that was his plan, and now it sounded cheap. Gene looked at him and nodded, curtly, and got up.

“Gene…I never…I just wanted…” Sam crawled after him. Gene stopped, his pants in his hands, and looked at him with disdain. It was more painful than rejection, more painful than the thought of Gene going to London.

“Never thought you’d sell yourself this cheap, Sam.” Gene said and returned to getting dressed. Sam fell backwards and said the only thing that made sense.

“Let me visit you. In London. Please.”

“If you make DCI, and let me tell you it won’t be through my good graces, then you’ll be plenty busy.”

“Fuck me.”

Gene stopped and looked at him. Sam felt himself blush as he said it and he felt angry and desperate and ashamed but even so, he felt alive with Gene in the room, and if Gene was never going to give him anything that he wanted then he had a right to ask for this.

“No nothin’, Gene, no deals. No promises. Fuck me and leave me and never look back if that’s what you want, if that’s your deal. Do it!” Sam roared, furious, stepping off the bed just to move somewhere.

“You don’t want it, Sam.” Gene said it with finality, but Sam was past caring.

“No! No I sure as hell don’t! But I want you!”

“Christ you never make a damn bit o’sense.” Gene dropped his clothes and pushed Sam onto the bed, piling on top of him, and slamming into a hard-edge, bitter tasting kiss. They tangled together for a moment as arms were placed around bodies, but the mouth sucking never stopped and Sam thought he was getting dizzy from lack of oxygen. He was aroused, though, he felt it and knew it, and he knew why: Gene’s taste, the salt of his tongue, brought it out for him and he lunged after it. He really did not think he cared what Gene was going to do to him as long as he could keep that taste.

“Going to fuck you, Tyler, just like you asked,” Gene pulled up, barely separating their lips, and looking at him. “No deals. No bargains. Just me cock up your arse and by god you’ll beg for more…”

Sam’s heart dropped in fear but he nodded and reached out for Gene’s mouth again, hoping to lose himself in the taste long enough to get this over with. He was aroused and that was enough to keep him in the moment, but he did not really expect to enjoy anal sex with a man nearly twice his weight and three times as strong – mostly he wanted to live through it without permanent damage.

Gene kept his mouth working on Sam’s lips and jaw and neck and damn he was good at that, and Sam allowed himself to close his eyes this time. He did not immediately jump to thoughts of women, but instead focused on the sensations on his skin, Gene licking and sucking and biting. He had a hell of bite. Sam roused himself to respond, to do something, and began running his hands over Gene’s shoulders and arms, because it was something he loved when Annie did it to him.

Gene lifted them both up and back and set himself between Sam’s legs again. Back to square one, Sam thought critically, forcing himself not to freeze up this time. He felt Gene’s hands running down his torso to his hips and Sam held his breath, not sure what he was waiting for, but Gene just kept his hands moving down to his thighs. He rubbed and pressed and finally his hands snaked back to grab Sam’s ass and Gene groaned.

“Jesus yer ass, Tyler, that fine…tight…arse…” Gene fell on him, squeezing and massaging hard, rolling his own hips and pressing his head into the mattress above Sam’s shoulder. Sam wrapped his arms around his chest and pulled, holding Gene to him as he rode into some kind of repressed passion. Their cocks were aligned, rubbing silkenly against each other, and Sam rolled his head back in pleasure. It was all odd and peculiar but it was hot and Gene wanted him desperately, and that if nothing else turned Sam on. Just to be wanted by someone that much opened him to the sensuality drowning Gene. Almost instinctively he pulled his legs apart further as Gene ground down on him, his weight cutting off his breath because both Gene’s hands were still wrapped up in feeling Sam’s ass cheeks and nothing was supporting the upper body weight of Gene other than Sam himself. He started gasping, practically croaking, and finally Gene pulled up to rest on his elbows. Sam thought his ass cheeks would be bruised for weeks from the assault.

They looked at each other and Sam saw something new in Gene, some kind of mad passion that was always below the surface but now was raw and real and intense, staring back at him. Sam ran his hands delicately over Gene’s chest and realized that Gene was panting, lightly, but panting nonetheless. Then he was action, moving fast, situating himself on his knees with Sam’s legs spread wide and hiked up to his own hips.

“Y’got any lube, Sam?” Gene stopped and asked with a totally neutral tone of voice and it was so bizarre that Sam stared at him blankly. “Need to slick the todger, boy. You got anything?”

Sam nodded and pointed at the basket beside the bed. Frowning, Gene leaned over and went through it, throwing his coveted issue of Interview Magazine halfway across the room.

“Hey, careful,” Sam pointed at the flying object.

“Save that talk for screwin’.” Gene grunted, finding the lube and settling back.

“Now who’s bleedin’ romantic?” Sam glowered and Gene froze, staring at him. He frowned and sat back further, putting the lube down. Sam stared back in confusion, wondering what Gene could take offense at now, but instead Gene leaned down and at the second when Sam understood what was going to happen, Gene ran his lips all the way down his cock, swallowing him in a hot wetness that was utterly unnatural and unimaginably erotic.

“Fuck! Gene! Oh…god…fuck!” Sam cried out in surprise as Gene sucked on him, running Sam’s cock in and out of this mouth, and looking up at him with critical, hungry eyes. Sam locked on those eyes and shaped his mouth to say “Oh” but no sound came out, his breath swept away by the image of Gene going down him. Sam fell back down and thrust his hips, never wanting to give this feeling up. “Ohhh fuck!” He yelled out as he felt the cold slick sensation of the lube against this anus, Gene’s fingers probing gently as his mouth kept working on Sam, and Sam was torn between wanting to come and wanting to crawl out of the bed in terror.

Gene took the reaction as an invitation, and crawled back up, his fingers still barely moving in and out of Sam’s entrance. When he was back to where he started, he grabbed Sam’s cock with one hand and pushed his fingers in hard with this other, and Sam bucked and roiled in sensory overload. Gene withdrew his fingers and Sam’s attention snapped back to him.

“Ready, Sammy? I’m gonna ride you blind.” Gene said gleefully, like a boy with toy, and Sam held his breath as he felt Gene’s fingers guiding the tip of his cock into him. Gene looked up.

“Breathe, Sam.”

Sam nodded and started breathing as if he was in a Lamaze class, deeply and consciously and slowly and bracing himself. Gene shook his head and looked down, moving into Sam.

He had done this before, but mostly back in his other life that maybe was a fever dream after all, with small framed girlfriends and smaller-framed dildos. Gene’s cock was substantial, certainly thicker than Sam in girth, and Sam screwed his eyes shut in anticipation of the pain.

“Don’t flatter me, it’s not an iron poker,” Gene cussed, holding off.

“Just fucking do it, Gene.”

Gene did, slowly, moving and sliding against Sam’s skin. The head of his cock finally popped in with the pressure of Gene’s weight and Sam’s entire body clutched. He went back to breathing, just trying to breathe, as he felt the pressure increase and Gene slowly, very slowly, pushed into him.

He looked up to see Gene bent over, watching his own penetration of Sam, fascinated. It turned him on, it was a rush for him, and Sam could tell that from the way he moved, the panting noises of his breath, and the fact that he had shut up. Sam, on the other hand, was in monstrous pain and short of crying, his erection long since history and his body wracked with cramps. He whimpered, trying to hide it all, not wanting to disappoint Gene or stop him or make him think that Sam could not take it. He could, he would, if that was the last conscious thought of his life, which at the moment he considered very likely.

“You…are so damn tight, oh yeah!” Gene finally broke and gasped, thrusting forward and sinking all the way in, shoving into Sam with everything he had. Sam saw stars and wanted to throw up. He did not have time as Gene stopped being nice, pulling out and shoving in all the way and hard, breathing heavily through his nose as he threw his head back, cussing and cursing and declaring Sam’s ass the hottest tight hole he’d ever broken. If this was flattery, Sam was unimpressed, trying desperately to hold on to the bed and not split in half.

“Damnit, calm down you nervous bunny.”

Sam opened his eyes and saw Gene smiling down at him, a broad evil grin that did not match the word ‘bunny’ at all. Gene reached down from Sam’s canted hips and began stroking his wilted penis, and it did feel good, much better than the whole vomiting idea.

“Feel good? Yeah? Like my cock deep in yer arse? Feel that? Come on, Sam…” Gene’s voice crooned as he moved his hand over Sam’s cock and his hips into Sam’s ass and it did feel good, even through the pain, as his adrenaline started pumping in his blood and he realized that, yes, Gene Hunt was fucking him, hard, and it was undeniably sexy. He’d never have imagined that, or this, but Gene was sweating and fucking and nearly delirious with his passion and Sam felt his body shudder.

“Gene…Gene….I don’t….oh god yes just like that…” Sam sucked in breath, knowing in a clinical way that Gene was assaulting his prostate and fisting his cock which logically meant that the simple physiology of the situation was going to get him off but he was beyond caring about semantics. Sam knew he was coming, and he wanted to come with Gene in him, and he wanted Gene to come in him, and he could not place the moment when he decided he wanted that but he would kill for it, now. “Fuck me, just fuck me so fucking hard…” He ground his teeth as he spoke, feeling a strange, testosterone-driven lust that he rarely tapped in his life before and knowing it was for Gene. He reached down and grabbed what he could of Gene’s legs under him and pulled, pressing them closer together. Gene did not stop and was not rattled by the reaction, just kept going in a steady rhythm until Sam knew it was done for himself, and he yelled out, gasping Gene’s name over and over. His eyesight went white and his mind was blissfully blank, utterly obliterated by Gene and it was heaven.

His awareness registered a change in Gene, who leaned forward and placed his fists down on either side of Sam, who only had time to realize that things were not going to be easy before Gene began pounding into him, bruising bone and ripping skin. There was blood and worse now, Sam knew it, even if he was so high he could not feel the pain. Gene slammed into Sam, sweat dripping off his chin and his hair and his arms, holding himself up as he pressed on until Sam knew it was finally over, as Gene’s body flew into a rage of uncontrolled thrusts. Gene actually whined and then growled out a low, rumbling roar as he came, stopping hard, pushing into Sam with his full body. Sam could feel Gene’s cock throbbing inside of him, could feel the stinging liquid of his cum filling him, and with shaking hands he reached up and grabbed Gene, pulling him down into a kiss. He could survive this with that taste, and he dug for it in Gene’s mouth as Gene, nearly unconscious, fell slowly and majestically on top of him.

They woke up later, filthy and sticky, and Gene laughed at Sam’s distinct displeasure with the aftermath.

“Yer a damn girl. Stop fidgeting.”

“I’m lying in blood.” Sam rolled over and looked at the sheets. Suddenly worried, Gene leaned over him.

“That you are…but it’s dried. Old. Can you stand?” Gene got up and started hauling Sam after him.

“Wait wait wait…” Sam could not stand and fell to his knees, looking up at Gene who was surprised. “Fuck that hurt.” Sam hissed, thinking that his knees were previously the only parts that were not in pain, and now they hurt like hell. “Wait!”

Gene picked him up and carried him like a bride over the threshold of the bathroom, cursing. He dumped Sam less romantically in the tub and turned on the water.

“Cold! Cold!” Sam yelled, pulling up his legs.

“Shut it, you great ponce.”

“Oh this is the time to hurl the homophobic slurs!”

Gene got a handful of water and flicked it at his face. Sam grimaced and tried to look stern, but felt that the effect was hampered by his obviously vulnerable and damaged condition, naked in a bathtub. Gene sat on the edge of the toilet, adjusting the water until it was near scalding, then plugged the tub and let it fill, and that was when Sam realized that Gene was genuinely scared.

“I’m okay. Minor damage. Oooo, hot water…” He was distracted from his mission to soothe Gene’s mind by the water rising up, which felt incredibly wonderful. He closed his eyes and leaned back and when the tub was full, he heard Gene turn the water off. He looked up and saw Gene trailing a hand through the water, not looking at him, lost in thought. “Gene, I’ll be fine. I expected…some damage.”

“Planned it all out, did ya?” Gene said quietly.

“Yes, clearly everything went according to my master plan….but I did expect damage one way or another. At least this doesn’t require my jaw getting wired, eh?” He smiled. Gene grinned evilly. “Not for that, ‘ell, you’ve got a dirty mind.” Sam shook his head and leaned back again, trying to assess the signals of pain that were starting to surge through his head.

Gene sat up and slapped one hand on his knee. “So.”

“What? I’m in pain, Gene.”

“I know.” Gene stopped there, and Sam felt bad. He looked at Gene, who was staring at him. “You get what you wanted?”

“What? What I wanted?” Sam frowned.

“Me.” Gene got up and rubbed his head as if he were a kid. “Clean up.” Gene turned and stood over the toilet, relieving himself with unabashed bliss, and Sam tried not to get splattered.

When Sam tottered out of the bathroom, Gene went in to clean himself up, and Sam took in the tally. The sheets were beyond ruined, and he barely had the stamina to rip them off the bed before falling down into it. He would be lucky to walk much at all for the entire day, or week, he thought glumly, and then surprised himself by wondering how long it would be before he was healed up enough to take Gene again. He studied the thought carefully: did he want that? And the answer was simple: Gene. Yes, he wanted that. He laid on the bed and considered his clever master plan, which fell apart a long time ago, but he did not regret it the way he assumed he would, before; it meant that he had no hold on Gene, not in any way, and it broke his heart but no, he did not regret anything. It still was just barely a sexual attraction, despite the outstanding and earth shattering sex, but he needed Gene and he did love him, even if he could not make him stay. He would simply take Gene in any way he could.

“Thinkin’ too much again.” Gene said when he walked back in and saw Sam.

“Yes.” Sam said, waiting for Gene to start getting dressed to leave. He expect that. They had no deal, and there was no reason for Gene to stay or even pretend to care. Instead Gene opened the refrigerator. Then he closed it.

“Get dressed, we’re goin’ for breakfast.”

“Lunch.”

“It’s breakfast if I say so. Get dressed.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I am NOT moving from this position.”

Gene studied him for a second. “Bad for ya. Get up.” He grabbed Sam’s arms and pulled, and suddenly Sam was standing, held in his embrace, the last place he expected to be, even now. “Don’t get used to it, Dorothy,” Gene said and kissed him. It was not so strange anymore, it was almost normal, or at least it was Gene. Sam wrapped his arms around him for support, and the kiss went on for a while before Gene broke it. “I’m goin’ to London, Sam.”

“I know.” Sam leaned his head against Gene’s chest, and he heard Gene’s breath hitch, Sam’s only clue in all of this that maybe, just maybe...

“Would you?”

“What?”

“Come to London. If I asked. Not sayin’ I am.”

“I can’t turn down this promotion. You know that.”

“Not sayin’ you should.”

“To visit?”

“Sounds good.”

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