1. It's Just Filing

Forced labor…was it really illegal in 1973? Change a few numbers around, and it was 1793, and surely that meant something. It had to, or he was going to cry, which he had enough of with Test Card Girl torturing him. He debated the merits of torturing her for a change while he surveyed the Collator’s Den: the disaster, the unmitigated horror, of a filing room gone bad.

The irony was, in 2006, forced labor was completely legal. It was called “work” and it was part of the dues everyone paid for stepping up the ladder of success. In turn you could ‘encourage’ your ‘team’ to ‘contribute’ weekends and late nights and skip their kids’ recitals in order to get a job done. In 1973, asking a member of CID to even miss a beer at the pub was enough to get him tarred and feathered.

He needed the Peters file, and he needed it three hours ago, which was one hour before the beer bell rang. He had yelled at Gene about it, who shrugged and smoked and glared at him and said that it was sorry day when Sam Tyler couldn’t get a plonk to play hide the glue stick in the Collator’s Den. Sam replied that he was saving his sticky sexual encounters for the Cortina, which nearly got him decked, and definitely got him uninvited to the pub.

Ironically, someone in the distant past thought that organizing the file room was a good idea. There was a yellowed, peeling piece of paper glued or taped or shellacked to the wall, with the words “Filing Last Updated” and lines underneath for signatures and dates. The four signatures on the list were all the same illegible scrawl, and were all dated from 1967. Sam was gazing at that paper in a combination of rage, horror, and dismay when he heard movement behind him.

“Boss?”

“Chris.” He nodded tersely, ignoring the hair flopping down the side of the boy’s face as he stood in the doorway. There had been a time when…dreams, probably, something he ate or drank because God knows he was drinking more than his weight in whisky every month. Sam had woken up one morning after a stake out with flower petals in his pockets and very sore anatomy and he had wondered, but been unable to ask, because that was much too crazy even for him. It was a funny dream, though, with flowers and smells and sex and Chris, who was now looking both sheepish and defiant like a kid hoping to get picked for the football team. Sam smiled, and it seemed to set Chris off balance.

“You readin’ something important, there?” Chris pointed at the paper.

“No. Humorous, maybe, but not important. The very idea that anyone could organize this mess is hysterical.”

“You got Uncle Henry to blame for that.” Chris nodded, hands in his pockets, looking pleased at being able to tell Sam something he did not know, even if it did not make sense.

Sam cocked his head, thinking that one of them missed part of the conversation.

“You know, the mess. Because.” He waved one hand at the files and shrugged. Sam stared at him.

“Because of what?”

“You know,” Chris said knowingly, raising his eyebrows for mysterious effect and looking more like the villain from Perils of Pauline, without the mustache. Sam felt particularly persecuted, and sighed.

“No, Chris, I don’t know. Who is your Uncle Henry?”

“He’s…er, like me.”

“A div?” Sam snapped, and raised his hands in the face of Chris’ hurt expression. It was like kicking a puppy, sometimes. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m a bit frustrated here. I need that Peters file.”

“Just one file, then? I thought you wanted to…you know…”

Sam tried to think of a way to finish that statement that did not end with “kill Gene” but just shook his head instead. “No, Chris, I don’t know.”

“Straighten it up. Thought you wanted it all organized, like.” Chris looked hopeful.

“I do.” Sam floundered, wondering which one of them was drunk. “This filing room is as well organized as a pig sty, and I just…”

Chris pushed his back up against the door jam and looked angry. “Weren’t no pig! Was a sheep! An’ it’s all…it didn’t happen! Lies! He weren’t no Dicky Fingers.”

Sam closed his eyes and shook his head but Chris moved on to pointless chattering anyway.

“He cursed their paperwork, so they’d never find his file, but he over did it, like, and…”

Sam pursed his lips and looked over at him, and Chris stopped.

“Sorry.”

“Gene send you?” Sam could not think of any other reason Chris would show up talking gibberish, unless it was on a bet,and he let Chris know how happy he was about that idea with a glare.

Chris just looked confused. “No. Seemed you were pretty wound up, Boss. You didn’t show at the pub so I knew you was here, and…” He trailed off uncomfortably.

Sam just nodded again, exhausted and thinking that he might be better off raiding Gene’s whisky stash than fighting this 70s malaise that was eating at his bones.

“Uncle Henry.” Chris said, continuing something Sam forgot they were talking about. “Got caught with that sheep. Cursed the…”

Sam looked at the mismatched eyes with apprehension, more certain than ever that Ray put him up to this. “Are we back to the story that you’re a witch?”

“Oh…uh, yeah, Boss.” Chris studied him closely, but Sam laughed at him.

“Look, you’re a witch, yeah? Sure. Okay. Get me the file. Wave your wand or whatever and find me the Peters file.” Sam smirked, knowing he got Chris in the corner, and waiting for Ray to charge in and threaten to beat him up.

Instead, Chris frowned, then squinted, then frowned again. “Boss, I ain’t got a wand. Those are expensive and they got to be registered and…”

“Chris…”

“Right. Peters.” Chris looked chagrinned and rubbed his hands together. Sam rolled his eyes, wondering how much money Ray put on this, and if he was out in the hallway listening in. With Gene. Would be a perfect ending to a perfectly dreadful life.

Chris pointed at the table. “I want it there.”

“Fine then, put it there.”

“Right.”

“Good.” Sam folded his arms and stared at Chris, listening for noises outside the door.

“Table, Boss.”

“Right.” Sam spun until he was facing the table, and waited. And waited. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Chris twisting and twitching like he did when he was trying to dance. Finally Sam just closed his eyes. And waited.

“No good, Boss. Uncle Harry, he got…”

“Right. So, since the magic thing isn’t working, why don’t we try the eyeball thing?” Sam pointed at the tumbled up shelves.

“Oh, oooohhhhh, no, we don’t want to do that, eyeballs are squishy.” Chris’ face scrunched up in distaste. “They taste horrible. ‘Specially squirrel eyes.” He shuddered.

“That…that’s disgusting.” Sam could not keep the appalled expression off his face, trying not to imagine anything to do with eyeballs.

“You’re tellin’ ME. Aunt Minerva, she pops ‘em like candy. Gives me the willies. But then she’s a cat, yeah? Guess she likes squirrels.”

Sam stood with his mouth open, trying to think of a reply, and failing. Chris shoved his hands in his pockets and started looking at the shelves, blithely innocent to Sam’s reaction, and still looking a bit embarrassed. Sam watched him for a moment, trying to clear his mind, and instead the lurid fantasies he had about the boy resurfaced, full of flowers and sex. He shook his head to clear it again, then stood still, trying to figure out what was going on. Chris was not here on a bet, but Sam could hardly credit him with being there to help him with the filing. It would be easy to turn Chris out, forget about everything – witchcraft in particular, his attraction to Chris a close second to that – but something was stopping him.

“I’ll…just…go…” Chris shrugged as he realized that Sam had stopped talking to him. He backed up awkwardly, then stumbled as he reached for the door.

“What would it take to break the curse?” Sam spilled out, surprising himself because he could have sworn he did not want to encourage this nonsense.

Chris flushed, but stopped in his tracks. “Uh…a counter spell; you can’t break a curse, that’s just old wives tales.”

“Fine. Then get me a counter spell for this mess.” Sam folded his arms and tried to give Chris an expression that might translate as “prove it or lose it.”

Chris blinked and went back to flushing bright red. “Oh, Boss, uh…”

“What?”

“Well, that’s…a curse like that, it’s mighty strong. You know.”

“No, I don’t know.”

Chris looked very uncomfortable as he continued blushing. “It’s, uh, well Gran says it’s very, uh, elemental.” He said it like a dirty word. “Uncle Henry, he was a right perv, yeah? And powerful spells, they got lots of sex in ‘em.”

Sam squinted, then laughed. “You’re joking.”

Chris shook his head, dead serious about it. Sam stopped laughing, and finally the last piece slid into place.

“Bloody hell. You came back here to offer to fix the collator’s den in exchange for sex?” He pointed, and Chris looked panic stricken.

“No.” Chris whispered and looked away.

“So this witchcraft farce…that’s what you use to get some, yeah?” Sam said, stepping into Chris’ personal space. The boy’s breathing hitched and Sam could practically hear his heart rate double. “Thinking a little ‘spell’ to fix things up?” Sam kept his arms folded as he pushed into Chris. He was not much taller, and Chris was in fact bulkier, but Sam knew he had attitude on his side.

“Not just…not just the files, Boss…Sam.”

“You think I’m easy like that, do you? Got your magic to trick me along?”

“No! No! I swear, Boss, I swear, I just…”

“You just what, Chris?” Sam had walked him backwards into the door, his arms still folded firmly over his chest.

“Just…want to help.” Chris whispered. They stood frozen there for a moment, and Sam gentled his posture, tipping his head to one side to study the boy. Chris gave him a couple of subtle glances before he finally leaned forward, putting his lips on Sam’s in a chaste way. Sam let him, but then shoved off hard enough to push Chris into the shelves behind him. They tottered dangerously, and Chris looked at them, then back at Sam with a peculiar smile that softened his features and made him look even younger. “I can help.”

“With sex magic,” Sam said, smiling despite himself. Chris nodded and leaned forward again, tipping his balance off and almost falling into Sam’s arms. Sam braced him and held him back.

“You don’t need magic, Chris,” Sam said quietly, and pulled him in, dropping his arms to rest his hands on Chris’ hips. Shuffling restlessly, Chris brought his arms up over Sam’s shoulders and hung on as if he expected to fall down. The kiss was familiar, and Sam tilted his head more to press firmly into Chris’ mouth, darting his tongue out. Their tongues met and Sam realized the taste was familiar, the smell, the feel Chris’ body under his hands. He stepped back abruptly. “The car.”

Chris’ eyes were glazed and dilated, and he was panting, but he nodded. “Thought you’d remember that much, although the flowers do tend to make people forget…things.”

Sam put his hands on Chris’ chest, testing the sense memory, and it was there – it was all there, a memory, not a fantasy or dream: Chris, under him, inside him, coming…Sam groaned and pulled Chris in again, whispering into his ear. “Umm hmmm…right, some kind of ‘forgetting’ charm? Obliviate?”

Chris’ face paled. “How did…you can’t…that’s…”

“It’s a book, Chris.” Sam was not up to explaining the Harry Potter phenomenon, much less to be questioned as to why he knew most of the first four books by heart, and certainly not while he was trying to seduce the boy. Again. Not the first time, but the second time, because they had been here before.

Chris shook his head, still unnerved, so Sam took his ear lobe into his mouth and sucked on it. Chris gasped and shuddered, and that was the momentum Sam needed to get them to the floor. He was going to do this, take Chris right there in the damn collator’s den, because he deserved some action and Chris was more than willing and the whole of homophobic 1973 could go to hell and take the unorganized mess of files with it. He curled up over Chris as they flattened down on the ground, running his tongue over the folded skin of Chris’ ear. He opened his mouth and pushed his tongue into the sensitive opening, tasting the salt and sweat and oily slick, tongue fucking Chris’ ear while he held his head still with both hands. Chris had started moaning before they were down, and he kept at it nonstop, barely pausing for breath, his hips bouncing between the floor and Sam’s body.

“I want to fuck you, Chris, are you going to let…”

“YES!” Chris gasped bounced his hips some more. Sam smiled and kissed him again, a long and deep kiss full of promise. Chris’ hands roamed over him randomly as Sam pressed down on him, feeling the heavy length of Chris’ erection against his hip. Sam started shoving down rhythmically with his body and his tongue, fucking his mouth and holding his head still with both hands. He felt Chris’ body twitching with the need to breathe and he pulled off to sit on his heels and start undressing them. Chris watched him with dark, excited eyes, the mismatched colors of them almost gone with the dilation. Sam pulled his shirt out of his trousers and unbuckled himself, pulling out his own cock and stroking it softly and slowly, waiting for Chris’ reaction. Chris whined and closed his eyes, panting as he put his head back down on the floor.

“It’s okay, Chris, I’ll take care of you. Just breathe.” Sam left off himself and ran his hands over Chris’ chest, pushing aside his jacket and pulling his shirt out so he could put feel Chris’ bare skin under it. Chris mumbled something and Sam nodded encouragingly, moving his hands to Chris’ belt and trousers. He worked at it carefully, as Chris’ large cock made it a delicate operation, and when he finally succeeded in freeing Chris up, the boy let out a long, almost pained moan. Smiling, Sam leaned down and licked the tip of it, giving up all hope of a blow job right there – Chris was too much for him, far too long and too wide, so Sam instead licked his hand and massaged Chris’ cock with firm strokes, sucking only on the tip. He managed to get Chris’ trousers and pants off him completely, despite Chris’ constant squirming. Chris was past incoherent, gasping and pleading. His hand flopped around and Sam stopped to watch it as Chris found his jacket pocket and pulled out a small tube.

“Slll…sllllick….” Chris whined, almost throwing it at Sam.

Sam just grinned as he opened it up and warmed a bit up on his fingers, spreading his knees to force Chris’ thighs apart. He stopped cold, hearing a noise, and looked over his shoulder, expecting the worst – if anyone caught them at a moment like this, both their careers would be over.

“What?” Chris asked, kicking his legs.

Sam turned his head to take in the whole room, stunned. “The…the files…”

Catching his breath, Chris looked around. “Yeah. Workin’ pretty good.” He smiled guilelessly when Sam gazed down on him. Around them, paperwork and files drifted through the air as if on strings, moving from one shelf to another. Piles were resorting themselves, and whole files were shuffling around each other. It was as if an invisible staff of librarians was patiently re-organizing the whole place while Sam got ready to sexually penetrate one of his junior detectives on the floor.

“Working?”

“The spell.”

“The filing-by-sex spell?” Sam asked disbelievingly, holding his slicked up fingers in the air like a proctologist.

“Yeah. Isn’t that…” Chris frown, and Sam felt him trying to pull his legs back together. “Isn’t that what you wanted, Boss?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, dropped his hand to behind Chris’ ball sack and leaned forward. “No.”

“No?” Chris squeaked as Sam massaged his fingers over Chris’ tight hole.

“No. I just wanted to fuck you.”

Chris’ eyebrows flew up. “Really?”

Sam felt his own grin down to his toes. “Yeah.” He pushed a finger in, softly but firmly, and Chris arched backwards wordlessly. As he worked Chris open, Sam kept glancing up to watch the paperwork correcting itself. It was kind of a rush, to know that what they were doing was actually contributing to the filing. Almost laughing, he pulled his fingers out. Chris grunted unhappily and grabbed at Sam’s arms.

“S’okay, Chris. I’m right…here…” Sam looked down to line himself up and began pushing in, holding his breath to keep his own orgasm back. They both still had their shirts on, and Chris was even in his coat jacket, and being half-dressed was more of a turn on for Sam than being naked. He thrust hard to get the head of his cock in, a little ruthlessly, and Chris bucked under him. “Shhh…shhhh…” Sam reached up with his clean hand and stroked Chris’ cheek, calming him down. Chris gulped in air as he relaxed, and Sam pushed in further. He pumped his hips gently, moving forward with every thrust, until finally he felt himself entirely inside Chris. He stopped and shifted, placing both hands down next to Chris. “Stroke yourself. Let me watch you. Chris, God, yes, you are so perfect, oh, fuck yeah…” Sam’s breath left him as he watched Chris begin tugging his own cock. It was not a one-handed job, and Chris closed his eyes, bucked up onto Sam’s cock, and grabbed himself with both hands, throttling it. Sam shoved forward and began pounding in, forgetting Chris’ inexperience, but it was not something Chris seemed bothered by. He groaned, planting his feet on the ground and holding his hips up for Sam, his hands flying over his cock while Sam fucked him with everything he had.

Sam had done this before, of course, and it was just sex, and he was expecting the rush of heat through his blood and the rising tide of his orgasm along his spine, but something buzzed in his brain that was different. He looked down on Chris who was staring back at him, wide eyed, and the buzzing shifted and settled and Sam felt like he was in tune with something outside of himself. He felt Chris within the vibration, felt Chris’ climax welling up between them, and he heard papers shuffling around, suddenly loud.

“Oh…oh…OH!” Chris was yelping again. Sam remembered what happened last time and looked up to see the reading table hovering several inches off the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, do it, Chris. Come for me. Come ON!” Sam returned to Chris’ eyes and snapped his hips harder, shoving Chris over the edge with a yell. Sam’s orgasm pulsed through him into Chris, and Chris groaned loudly, lifting up his legs as he twitched and shook and came into his hands. Sam groaned himself as he lowered down to his elbows, pressing gratefully down onto Chris’ vibrating body. The buzzing had stopped when they came, and Sam missed it, which he thought was strange. He rested his forehead on Chris’ shoulder as the boy gasped for air.

“I…I think it worked, Boss.”

“It did for me.”

“No, I mean…” Chris nodded with his head, both hands still clinched around his softening cock. Sam looked up to a fully ordered room, files neatly shelved all around them.

“That was the counter-spell?”

“Sorta.”

“Sort of?” Sam looked down and Chris blushed, shifting uncomfortably as Sam’s cock slid out of him.

“Well, every spell’s got a cost, you know.

“A what?”

“Cost.” Chris jerked his chin down, and blushed. Sam looked between them.

“Fuck.”

“Didn’t hurt, did it?”

“Chris, my dick is twice as big now.”

“Well yeah, you know, to take out everything Uncle Henry did, kind of had to go somewhere. And I figured I’m, uh, well…”

Sam just nodded, staring at his huge cock, and Chris giggled.

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