No additional warnings for this scene.
Crime never took a dive. The rates always went up and even if their salaries did not, the police were expected to be front and center to fight the bad guys and keep the streets safe. Gene Hunt did not approve of change, so he was displeased with the rising crime rate, the rising budget costs, and the expansion of his well-oiled and experienced team. The only thing staying static was his paycheck, and that did not help his mood. He thought they should take the new DC’s salary and spread it out among the people already here and doing their jobs, instead of wasting the money on breaking in new blood.
It was procedure and tradition for the DI to deal with new members of the team. Rank definitely had its privileges, which Gene intended to milk like a cow. He figured he would meet the new kid, put the fear of God – aka DCI Gene Hunt – into him and let Tyler rake the boy over the coals of procedure and paperwork. Thinking of it that way, it was almost pleasurable, as if he, in all his magnanimous generosity, was giving Tyler a new toy to play with. DC Ryan Miller was just made detective, just now getting out of his plod uniform, and probably would be a lot of fun for Tyler to bully around with all of his new fangled forensics bullshit.
Because, in the end, Hunt liked making Sam happy. He did not admit it to himself often, but it was true, and he was admitting it to himself a lot more often now that Cartwright had moved on from Tyler to dating the well-placed son of a councilman (good contact, that, and Hunt intended to encourage both of them at it) and his own divorce papers were threading through court. He was not sure what or who Tyler was doing in his spare time, and he simply did not want to know, either. That might involve something too much like jealousy and that was too damn a nancy poofy thought to even humor.
Back to the point, DC Miller might even prove to be a spot of fun for Chris, who was a poor div and really needed someone to bully. So Hunt might even admit that in some small ways he was looking forward to DC Miller stumbling into CID. New blood for Chris to pick on, fresh meat for Sam – Tyler – to bang around, and some poor innocent heart for Cartwright to make mincemeat of. Hunt sat at his desk, thinking about the certain delights of his future, sipping his morning tea, and looking forward to the pub that night. He might even get Sam – Tyler – pissed just to see him smile again. Not that he did that for any reason but Sam’s – Tyler’s – own sake. Poor man just acted lonely, and never smiled unless forced too. Gene almost considered “make Tyler smile” part of his job description these days.
He heard the commotion outside and knew the new boy arrived. He set his feet on the floor as he heard genial introductions being made by Sam – Tyler – to everyone else, and some soft murmuring from Miller – too soft, god forbid not another Chris. Sam – no, damnit, Tyler – knocked on his door and Gene gave a gruff answer, and they walked in.
Gene could not speak, could not move, could not think.
Jesus fucking bloody hell, Ryan Miller was goddamn gorgeous, and Gene thought CID just took on the illegitimate Manchester-bred son of Cary Grant. That, really, Gene could handle.
What stopped him cold was Sam grinning like the Cheshire Cat.
He was the type of kid who gave straight men hard-ons. Muscled, athletic, strong-jawed and tall, he possessed deep, dark eyes that simply flared against his smooth, lightly tanned skin. His hair was curly but cut almost short, full and glossy and just barely styled. Miller was a men’s-suit model for a different era, made for tuxes and three-piece pinstripes and military uniforms. His teeth were straight and pristine and Sam almost needed sunglasses just to look at him. He was a year younger than Chris, but the differences between them were generational. Miller walked in with confidence and daring, winking at Annie before he even met her and then treating her like a lady when they were introduced. Sam saw Ray trying to wring his hand off but it was a draw, if anything, and most of the other men in CID did everything short of cower before the testosterone-driven radiance of the boy. Sam could not help but think that with two more inches, a hard-knocks youth, and some blond hair that this would be a replay of Gene’s first day on the job. Miller was a force to be reckoned with and he was, flat out, goddamn gorgeous. Sam was not oblivious, after all.
Sam prayed and begged whatever insane deity ruled his life to make sure the boy was straight. Or, if not, then…well, that might so be bad after all…no, damnit, that would be very bad. Sam forced his thoughts out, stopping short of crouching down to re-arrange his dick in his pants. The only thing that worked to destroy his hard-on, though, was the sadistic pleasure he took in introducing Miller to Gene Hunt. The cocky kid would not know what hit him, if not right away, then certainly very damn soon.
Miller played it to perfection. He humbly introduced himself to his visibly stunned DCI, slouching down just an inch or two in a very conscious subservience, making himself just a tiny bit smaller and using a far younger tone of voice – tricks, Sam realized, that Miller had not thought worthy using on Sam. The alpha male in Sam growled at that, knowing that this was Miller’s first volley in the game: playing down to DCI Hunt, but playing equal with his DI. The kid was throwing everything into the politics before he even knew the players, and that fact alone put Sam one up on the board. He smiled in smug satisfaction, grinning, looking forward to giving Gene the real lowdown on this one.
Sam was used to much more well finessed games than this, from a time when brute strength and manly demeanor did not count for a whole lot and cunning, cleverness, and sophisticated machinations counted for everything. Sam was not worried, he was mostly amused, because the kid was going to tear himself in half playing against both him and Gene, who each required entirely different sets of rules. If Miller was as smart as he presented, he was going to crumble within six months. Sam intended to make sure of it.
As he turned to lead Miller back out, Sam went to give Gene a knowing grin, even going so far as considering the idea of a mischievous wink, to let him know they were going to crack this one together. That is, until he saw Gene’s expression change from the stony reserve he wore through most of the introduction to a look Sam never saw before on the man, and he stalled, staring back as Gene quickly glanced down at his desk, coughing. Gene Hunt – the Gene Hunt, HIS Gene Hunt – was scared?
No, Sam mused as he walked out without turning around. No, Gene was not scared, he was….jealous. Sam carefully watched Miller’s butt in front of him, and wondered who exactly Gene was jealous of.
Sam did not go to the pub that night. Gene waited. Miller showed up for exactly two drinks then made a gentlemanly, well-timed exit, and it was possible to hear every woman in the place sigh with longing as he left. Every man was both annoyed and in awe, and for once Gene actually felt pushed aside. He dealt with this a few times in his life, but never by someone so young, and never by someone he actually felt threatened by.
Gene hid that. No one knew that Gene was rattled, and aside from Sam, who saw his brief moment of doubt, no one would. The boy was beautiful and a wet dream come true for anyone with a pulse but he WAS young, and inexperienced, and playing all too hard, too fast. He had charm but lacked finesse, and when he was thirty we was going to be one hell of a challenge if he did not get his nose broken before then, but right now he was not much more than a cub to be kicked around. Gene was not the least bit threatened by what minimal threat the young wolf might pose to him on the job, because there was no competition there: young, dumb, and full of cum. It was the last part of that equation that rattled him.
Sam looked radiant when he was around the boy, just fucking glowed. Gene watched, the whole day, as Sam showed Miller around and set him up at a desk and joked with Annie about him. When Sam and Miller were talking, they were engaged, looking directly at each other, as Miller turned lazily back and forth in his chair and Sam perched on the nearly empty desk. There was something going on there that Gene could just barely read, vibrations more than anything, and while Miller did not strike any cords that made Gene think he was a poof, he knew better than to take such matters at face value. His own life, for example.
Gene knew what he was and he was not particularly bothered by it. He liked anything that was on offer, and while he was married, that was his wife (at least at first). Now, though, it was an open playing field, and he had not even made a bloody play before the game was called. He cursed his damn luck and his unwillingness to push the matter with Sam, but for all that he called Sam a nancy fairy poofer, Gene never once saw Sam do anything, anything at all, to confirm that description – and Gene spent a lot of time looking. Now the proof of it was 5’10” of solid muscle, charm, and youthful pliability, and Gene boiled. The looks Sam gave that kid were just this side of pornographic.
It bothered Gene to the point of insanity that Sam was not at the pub, and Miller left early in the night. Could be something they pre-arranged. Or not. No way of knowing, short of dropping in at Sam’s flat later, and while crashing in Sam’s chair (and spending half the night watching Sam sleep) was so common now for Gene as to almost be habit, he could not go that night. If he found them together…well, it would be a waste of life, mostly his own, to be sent up to gaol for a double homicide.
Sam got off thinking about it. He flirted mercilessly with Miller, and picked up a guarded response, and played it. Miller was not his type, but he was movie-star beautiful, and it was easy to get into a suggestive rapport with him. The kid was obviously thinking that being a tease was a good way to win Sam to his cause, or maybe he even thought that he could hold the attraction over Sam as clout. He did not have a clue as to how out of his league he was, being a closeted straight-laced bisexual in a oppressively homophobic era up against a self-confident, experience bisexual from a world of open sexual and gender exploration and fluidity. Sam knew he could have that ass on a plate if he wanted, but he did not, and saw the flirting for the politically motivated scam it was. Nothing about Miller aroused him; what got him off was the barely-registered surveillance by Gene, who was watching closely, his eyes green by default, but also now by inclination.
It was not much of a secret to Sam that Gene was interested. The man was not exactly subtle, and if he was a player and kept it in the closet, he was still not very good at stopping his roving eyes. Sam knew that Gene spent half the night staring at him when he stayed over on the chair, and he knew that sometimes Gene ‘woke up slowly’ so he could catch Sam walking out of the shower in a towel. Sam knew all of this, and even felt the nascent erections that Gene sported during their on-the-job tussles. Sam knew for a fact that the right man could get Gene very, very interested, but what he did not know was how willing Gene was to go there. A dangerous line for a man like Hunt, and Sam never pushed the matter less out of concern for himself than a genuine worry for Gene’s psychological well-being.
So he laid in bed and stroked himself, lying on his back and dreaming of Gene, hoping and praying that the person Gene was worried about was Sam, and not the pretty new boy. It could work that way, it might have been love at first sight when Miller walked through the door, and Gene might be angry at Sam for being close to someone Gene wanted, for simply being in the way. It might be that. Sam growled as he fisted his cock, pumping his hips against his arm, furious and turned on, begging that fate turn things his way and the man Gene spent all day watching was him, and not the stunningly handsome and youthful kid next to him. He twisted his hand over his cock angrily, thumbing the head, and whined as he came, throwing his head back and pushing into Gene in his mind.
Gene went home pissed to his empty flat, the dreadful little place he rented when the missus tossed him onto the street after one too many drunken, vicious fights over nothing. He shrugged off his coat and barely made it to the bed, shedding clothes, furious about his life and his damn dick, which stood up half way home as Gene contemplated walking to Sam’s place instead, and then started imagining what might be going on there. Sam fucking…Sam getting sucked off…Sam with that firm, young body pressed against him and cum everywhere…yes, Gene was hard as rock and hating life. He crawled onto the bed and crouched on his hands and knees, jerking off hard, but he was angry and drunk so it took fucking forever. He thought he was going to have blisters if he ever did come but at the last moment before he gave in to blue-balling for the night, he imagined Sam on him, his orgasm contorting that beautiful face with a heated passion and Gene roared head first into the mattress as he climaxed, damning the sheets and pretty much everything.
He panted as he recovered, curled up and still clutching his cock, thinking that this was just Miller’s first day, and if things kept going like this, Gene would not have much of a dick left by the end of the week.
It was a busy week and Sam was careful to give Miller room. He wanted to see how the kid ran through the motions, how he interacted with the team, what kind of work he did unsupervised, and it was not until the end of the week that Sam realized he made his first serious error. Miller had everyone wrapped around him, and if the typos were any hint, Chris was even doing some of his typing for him.
On Miller’s fourth day in CID, Sam decided to remap his tactics. He was going to sit on the kid, give him something to work against. This was not a popularity contest and Sam needed to show Miller that what was valued here was work, not charm. He would ride him if he had to…figuratively, of course. He saw Gene watching, and Sam was finally at the point of accepting the fact that Gene was simply mesmerized by Miller. He did not even treat him with the same iron fist he used on everyone else. Not that Gene’s temperance was obvious, but Sam saw it when Gene did not yell or push at Miller as he would with anyone else on the team, including Annie. Miller was getting special treatment, and Sam suspected he knew why. It killed him, but this was work, and Sam decided that if Gene was going to trade him out for Miller before there was even anything to trade, then he was just going to get over it and do his job.
Miller kept flirting with him, and it was easy to flirt back, and as much as Sam tried to play ‘hard ass boss,’ it was difficult in face of that much raw charisma. The third week started and Sam understood then that by himself, breaking Miller was going to be damn near impossible to do. Chris was now doing almost all of Miller’s typing, no matter how much Sam told him not to; Annie was Miller’s personal assistant, despite her seniority; and the other men in CID – including Ray – treated Miller like a favorite nephew. When Sam tried to slam down on the kid, everyone hated Sam and rebelled against his authority, and Gene was nowhere to be found. By the end of the third week, it was obvious that Sam was odd man out, because everyone in CID including, especially, Gene adored Miller and refused to let him lift a finger. It was tradition for the DI on a team to break in new blood, and Sam expected Gene to milk that privilege like a cow, but he was not expecting Gene to fall head over heels in fucking love and hide behind a closed office door.
When Sam realized that, he gave up. He kept on Miller and worked with him and went through the motions of training, but he knew it was all in vain. He stopped caring after that, not hating Miller but not liking him much either, and just let him have his way. Miller was never going to be part of the team, was probably never going to be even a good cop, because he all he had to do was sit back and let everyone do everything for him and ride the wave to success. Miller was his own force of nature, and Sam was fighting a losing battle without Gene’s authority and power of personality to back him up with the team.
Miller might even get to ride Gene on the way up the ladder to superintendent, and that more than anything shut Sam down. He could barely look at Gene. CID was breaking apart and Sam’s heart was breaking and Sam could not fight both battles at once. He stopped going to the Railway Arms, he stopped spending time with Gene in his office, and he tried to keep his focus on the job. He decided it was time to debate transferring out. Gene was treating him like shit anyway, probably jealous of the time he got with Miller, and the sooner Sam could get out of Gene’s way…it hurt to even think of that, but Sam forced himself. He was good at facing unpleasant choices, and this was one of the worst.
He kept flirting with Miller because it felt like that was the only time Gene even noticed that he was alive anymore.
Sam never let up. By the second week, Sam did everything short of sit on the kid’s lap and Gene tried not to imagine that in too much detail. Not that Gene did not understand why, because even he felt himself treating the pretty, agreeable boy with something like generosity. It was hard not to, in fact, because in just the same way you went out of your way to open doors and buy the drinks for a pretty girl, you just wanted to make sure Miller got the sweet end of the lollipop. Gene yelled and pushed but stopped short of dressing him down, deciding it would not do much good anyway. The kid was on it, he knew his job, and even if he did not, Sam was catching the run off. What else Sam might be holding in those long, thin fingers, Gene tried not to think about.
But something was off kilter with his team now, and Gene did not like it. This was CID, not a popularity contest, and Gene honestly did not care if his team liked him or Miller better, but he did not approve of how much they coddled the kid. He saw Chris typing up Miller’s reports; he saw Cartwright bringing Miller tea whenever he mentioned he was thirsty; he saw Ray laughing at jokes that were not funny; and Sam…anyway, it was becoming a problem. Soon Miller would not even have to work, he could just sit at his desk while everyone worked around him. Gene disapproved of lazy men, and while Miller did not act lazy, he could get that way quickly at this rate. And Sam…it was not as if Gene was going that lightly on Miller, but he was finding it difficult to be genuinely tough on him, so instead he started getting tough on Sam, because after all, Sam was the DI here and was supposed to keep shit like this from annoying his DCI.
That plan only worked so far, though, because the cozier Sam and Miller got, the less Sam appeared in Gene’s life. He was not showing up at the pub and he was obviously avoiding his office except for the briefest of appearances and spent most of his time looking so damn professional that Gene wondered if Sam’s heart was replaced with a cold, metallic battery. Then Gene would catch Sam and Miller flirting and he knew where that heart went, and it killed him inside. He stared when he caught them at it, because it seemed like it was the only time he ever saw Sam smile anymore.
Miller entirely fucked up. He was theoretically assisting Annie doing door-to-door interviews concerning a recent spate of muggings, but he told her he was hungry and tired and had a blister so she said she was fine on her own, he could just head on. Then she was mugged, and while she put up a hell of fight and broke the mugger’s arm, it should not have happened to begin with. They were working together and what Miller did was irresponsible. Sam let him know this in the waiting room of the hospital where Annie was getting stitches and the suspect was having his arm set. Sam spoke in hushed, furious words, glaring at him, stopping short of threatening to hang him out the widow by his balls. He was going to leave that particular threat for Gene to use.
Gene walked in and first began yelling at anyone in white, demanding to know Annie’s condition and ignoring Sam as he pushed hospital staff around. Miller stood against the wall, at least looking ashamed, and Sam decided that with a good dressing down by Gene followed by some serious nit-picky supervision by himself, the kid might actually learn something from this.
When Gene was placated by three different doctors that Annie was mostly bruised and scraped but otherwise unharmed, Sam explained exactly what happened and braced himself for the onslaught.
“Not smart.” Gene said, standing toe to toe with Miller, who looked up at him meekly. Gene was frowning and oozing displeasure and Miller was suitably impressed, but Sam was appalled. This was Gene going soft, letting the boy get off easy, when he deserved to be threatened with demotion at the very least.
“Yer part of a team, Miller. Act like it, ‘fore you do sommat neither one of us will be happy about.” Gene snarled and it was imposing, but then he turned and walked out.
Sam dithered, wanting to throw both men out the window to hang by their balls, but by the time he recovered his senses Miller was smiling at him, embarrassed.
“Guess I fucked up, yeah?”
“Oh, you have NO idea.” Sam snarled and Miller stepped back in surprise. Sam shot him a final look before running out after Gene. He caught up to him and they walked silently out to the Cortina.
“What?” Gene snapped, leaning against the car and pulling out a cigarette. Sam stared at him, almost beyond words. Gene was so enthralled with Miller that there was almost no argument to it, and Sam really did not know what to say, other than the obvious.
“You let him off easy.”
“He’s a kid.” Gene refused to look at him.
Sam drew back and crossed his arms. “Are you so FUCKING BLIND that you can’t see what’s going on?” He yelled and Gene looked at him in surprise. “NO! You’re not blind! You jus’ don’t look much anymore, do you? DO YOU? The whole damn building could fall down and you’d…”
Gene stepped forward and hit him in the gut. It was a very light punch and barely winded Sam, but it was effective, and Sam clutched himself. Gene leaned over him.
“Not so much as what you’d let him do you to you, yeah? You goddamn hypocrite, takin’ it up the arse and playin’ like you give a fuck about anyone but yerself. You prance around that boy like his harem girl and I’m sure he’s worth it, princess, but that don’ give you the right to tell me how to run my team. It was runnin’ jus’ fine until you started spreadin’ your legs for that tart so DON’T tell me what I don’t see! I see it! But you’re in the fuckin’ way.” Gene pushed and Sam fell down in shock, staring up at Gene in confusion and worry. Gene’s accusation did not quite make sense but nothing was making sense, other than the raging anger Gene was pouring into him.
Sam realized that Gene wanted Miller so badly he was willing to destroy CID to get him, because somehow, he thought Sam was barring the way. Sam continued to sit on the ground as Gene drove off, knowing that he had to get out of Gene’s path or the whole of CID might come apart. Sam decided to put in for a transfer as soon as a position opened up.
Gene intended to ream the little fuck a new arse hole as soon as he saw him. When he walked in to the waiting room, though, Sam was standing there smug as a bug and the kid was looking downright mortified and Gene felt superfluous. Miller was a bad influence in CID, perhaps not purposefully but the effect was the same, and he was under Sam’s wing so Gene could not take the matter in hand as long as those two were at it. He gave Miller a tepid shake down and left him to Sam, who might do something with him, but certainly did not need Gene to do it, and Gene did not want to be around those two love birds more than he absolutely had to be.
Sam’s attack by the car was a surprise, and at first Gene thought he was getting on him for yelling at the kid at all. But no, Sam was mad because he let him off easy. There was no way Gene could win this; certainly no way he could win Sam back from that perfect piece of ass, and no way Gene could right everything going wrong with his team as long as those two were in a clutch. His deputy had turned on him and even if Sam thought Miller needed a bruising, Gene was not his lap-dog enforcer there to keep Sam’s own boy in line. No.
Gene almost wished he could put in for a transfer. He sat at a stop sign for five minutes with that thought in his head, until someone honked behind him, because Gene realized for the first time in his life that he could put in for a transfer, or a new job, or anything he wanted. His marriage was officially over, Sam did not need nor want him and was already training his own replacement DI, and the Met in London was always, always begging for new blood.
Gene drove well below the speed limit all the way back to headquarters, and then sat in his car for another thirty minutes in the parking lot, smoking.
Transfer. Start over. And get over Sam.
The place was a wreck. Not that it was not a junked up time-warp heap of paperwork, carbon copies, and ash trays on any normal day, but now CID was lead-heavy with political machinations and distrust and unhappiness. Sam shut out Miller but no one cared what Sam did, because it was all too far out of whack now.
Sam sat staring at the paper in his hands as the place emptied out for the day, and wondered how differently it would have all gone if he had just once let Gene know, somehow, that he was not interested in Miller. That Gene could take whatever he wanted, even if that was not Sam, as long as they worked together for the sake of the team. Maybe if he had flirted less, or maybe if just once in the past year-plus before Miller ever showed up he had grabbed Gene’s ass or something to lay a claim, maybe…all second guessing, though, and Sam hating nothing more than second guessing himself.
When the office was empty, Sam got up and placed his transfer request on Gene’s desk, then left to go back to his flat and drink himself into oblivion. Tomorrow was going to be hell and he did not want to show up for it sober.
Gene sat staring at the transfer request. It was insane, no, Sam was insane, but he knew that. As he glared malevolently at the piece of paper, Gene tried to wrap his mind around the reason for this, which certainly was not spelled out clearly in the request itself. Sam had Miller and was a sure shot to own CID the minute Gene was gone, so what the hell was this?
What Gene tried not to think about was the way his gut was twisting at the thought of Sam leaving. Leaving him, although it was impossible for Sam to leave behind something that never was. He shoved that aside and looked up out the windows to the bullpen.
The place was a wreck. It looked the same, but the interactions between everyone were stilted and out of step. People worshipped Miller but did not like him, Sam was ignoring everybody, Ray was feeling left out, Chris the poor div was more confused than usual, and even Annie was wound up and glancing over at Gene’s office every five seconds. And the DCI was…? MIA. He backed out of leading his team the minute Miller showed up, and he knew it. The team was wrecked and Gene let it happen because Sam wanted someone else. Stupid. This was Gene at his most stupid, he knew it, and he cringed at the self awareness. Sam probably wanted out because he was tired of trying to clean up after Gene, and no doubt the clever little bastard intended to take Miller with him somehow. That was beside the point, in any case. All of that crap was beside the point, because there was more at stake than either man’s pride, and if they did not come to an accord soon, CID was going to self-destruct under the weight of Gene’s own childish jealousy and the new guy’s corrupting charm.
Gene was going to refuse the transfer. He was going to corner Sam about this mess. He was going to straighten out CID, fixing Miller with a dog collar if need be. Then he, Gene Hunt, was going to bow the hell out and leave Manchester for good.
Gene’s only comment to Sam for the entire day was “No.” He sat at his desk and tore the transfer request up into about one thousands pieces and scattered them around the floor to be walked on. Gene humoring his inner drama queen, Sam sighed to himself, but did not make any visible reaction to Gene other than nod curtly and walk out of the office. He did not understand why Gene was being childish about this, much less why Gene would refuse the transfer. He did not want Sam around, but he was not going to allow him to leave, so Sam was left with putting up with this crap or just resigning. He could not imagine Gene being that petty, but the more he thought about it, the more despondent he became, because this was a classic lose-lose scenario. Not that Sam expected a win by this time anyway.
As the day ended, Gene stopped by his desk.
“Goin’ to the pub?”
Sam stared at him in amazement, wondering if Gene’s impudence knew no bounds. “Like ‘ell. I’m goin’ home. I know where I’m not wanted, even if you don’t.” Sam was not certain that made sense but it felt right so he crossed his arms and glared at Gene as if he was the DCI in room, and Gene just a plod to be scraped off his shoe. Gene glared back and nodded and walked off. Sam continued to sit, glaring at the empty space left behind.
Gene stood by the door for a good five minutes before he knocked. He heard Sam puttering about, making tea by the sound of it. He knew that Miller was not there; something about what happened to Annie cooled the heels of those two, and while it did not exactly inspire hope it at least put Gene’s mind at ease standing outside the door. Sam was probably teaching the boy a lesson, using that pout and that ice-box exterior to shut him out for a while. Sam – Tyler – was very, very good at shutting people out.
He stood with his forehead against the door frame, listening, wondering about Miller, and trying to figure out how to handle what he needed to do. He finally came to the conclusion that the best way to approach that particular subject matter was to avoid it. If Sam – Tyler – wanted to screw Miller blind then that was his business, and not Gene’s, and the only thing that mattered was how he and Sam – Tyler – could save whole situation with the rest of the team. No point in blaming Tyler for thinking with his dick, when it was not too far off from what Gene did himself. The very thought brought up the image of Sam spread out in front of him, Gene’s cock sliding over that clean, pale skin…
He debated leaving and facing this in the morning with a strong hangover to help dull everything to a limp dick, unconvinced of his own ability to stick to the topic that brought him to Tyler’s flat to begin with. Finally he persuaded himself that as long as they kept to the subject matter of CID, of the team, Gene could pull this off without breaking up the furniture or Tyler. Gene was here to save CID and set deeds to rights, and as he focused on that, he straightened up and squared his shoulders and knocked.
When the knock on the door to his flat arrived about an hour later, Sam was not surprised. Gene scoped him out for a reason, and it was pretty obvious in retrospect. Sam opened the door and then turned to walk to the other side of the room, out of arms reach as Gene closed the door behind him.
“Time we talked.” Gene stood in front of the door, leaning against it, and in fact Gene was the door. Sam was not escaping unless he bailed through a window. He turned slowly to look at Gene, figuring this was it, the ‘Matter of Miller’ was going to be resolved here and now. Sam did not look forward to it but it needed to be done, or he was never going to be out of Gene’s crosshairs – he just hoped to get out of those crosshairs with minimal blood loss. He folded his arms and faced Gene, because he was not going to play it meek or guilty when Gene was the one thinking with his dick for the past month.
“Our boy’s tricky. He’s angling for your job an’ he’s playing Chris an’ Annie. The whole team is screwed up and I don’ like it.”
Surprised, Sam’s arms dropped. “Uh…yeah.” That was the sum total of his intelligent response. At Gene’s look of displeasure, Sam rallied, following his lead and glad to steer clear of murkier waters. “I think he’s actually shooting for your job. I’m just a steppin’ stone.”
Gene nodded. “Ambitious. Admire that, but he’s workin’ it too hard, like he’s got something to prove.” Gene peeled off the door and shrugged his jacket onto his chair, as if this was a normal night from the pub and they were talking shop like they always did.
Surprised and relieved to be having this conversation at last, Sam followed his lead and went to pour them both a drink. “All boys do. I did.”
“Not ‘im. He’s got it all in spades: looks, smarts, background. Maybe not money, but not poor either. All he ‘as to do is show up and he’ll be superintendent by forty.”
Sam handed Gene his drink then stopped in the middle of the room, thinking. That was it, that was exactly the problem, and he kicked himself for not realizing it sooner.
“Posin’ for a picture?” Gene sneered and Sam shook himself.
“That’s it. He’s used to everything being handed to him, he’s used to people falling down in front him and being treated like a prince…”
“Yeah, rough life, poor sod. Should buy ‘im a sympathy card.” Gene did not try to hide his bitterness, and Sam gave him a studious look. Jealous, alright, but of more than just looks or another man.
“Y’don’t get it. Someone like that…they don’ know if they are worth anything. They never ‘ave to prove it, they feel like…an actor, or a charlatan. They live in fear that someone will see behind the mask and realize they are all looks and no substance.”
“I’m sure you got a point here,” Gene said, not sounding like he was sure of that fact at all, tilting his head with a critical expression.
“He gets other people to do his work for ‘im so no one sees that he can’t do it himself. He skips out of the hard work because he doesn’t want to reveal himself as a fake. He’s playin’….he’s working the politics tryin’ to stay ahead of the game before he gets ‘discovered.’ He’s not lazy…he’s scared.”
“That point yer getting’ at, would it be somewhere in the room?”
Sam clucked in impatience. “We’re not bein’ hard enough on him. We need to shut him out. Completely.”
“Love to. Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Gene smiled wickedly and raised his glass, and Sam faltered, realizing that Gene meant it. Which made no sense, not if Gene really wanted the boy, and Sam forced himself back to the subject as his mind – and other body parts – began to reel out of control on useless speculations.
“Not like that. I mean, we got to make him crawl…”
“…bet you’d love that…”
Sam stared at Gene. It was said in nearly a whisper into Gene’s glass, his eyes looking off to the side, and Gene was close to squirming. Sam suspected who, exactly, Gene was jealous of, and he made up his mind, right then, and damn the consequences.
“No, not my type. Never touched him. I’m just waiting on you.” He slammed his drink and then walked over to the sink area, turning his back on Gene, his bravado cracking almost as soon at it surfaced. He heard Gene stand up and walk over, and Sam closed his eyes, bracing for the kidney punch or the head slap but instead he felt Gene pushing into his back, a solid wall of Gene behind him. He breathed out, keeping his eyes closed, hoping it was a spell he did not have the power to break, and then felt Gene’s lips on his neck. He was not sucking or biting or even kissing all that much, just pressing his lips, wetting skin down and moving his mouth over Sam’s neck, as if tasting something sweet. Gene wrapped his arms around him, one arm fully, pulling him closer, while the other roamed over his chest in seductive, leisurely strokes.
“Could fuck you up against the counter here…bring you off while I ride you, squeezing your cock dry…” Gene spoke in a breathless, heavy whisper as his body pushed against him with a small hint of rhythm. “…feeling how hot and tight yer arse is, strangling my dick, you clawin’ your way up the fuckin’ walls…”
Sam groaned, just outright groaned and pressed backwards, his hands pushing against the countertop. He felt Gene’s erection against him and he could barely breath for the pressure of his own hard-on inside of his pants.
“…you thought about fuckin’ me, Tyler? Thought about shoving your cock into me? Pounding me down into the mattress? You dream of that, you filthy bugger? I ‘ave…fuckin’ cum all over the bed thinkin’ of you stickin’ your hot dick deep inside, reaming me arse until you explode…” Gene’s roaming hand dropped below Sam’s waist and plowed into his erection, and Sam started bucking. His hips were thrusting backwards into Gene, who let out his own groan at the sensation.
“God….oh fuck, Gene, I’m gonna come…”
“Do it, do it, come for me, shake it out…let me see what I’m in for, what I’m goin’ to get when I ream you up the arse and into the floor…” Gene was panting, rubbing Sam off through his pants and pumping his own hips now as Sam started to come undone against him. Sam tried to curl forward but Gene’s other arm held him tight around his chest and his vision went black from lack of air. Just then, in that moment, Sam’s world shattered in Gene’s grasp and he came, throwing himself backwards, up and into Gene, yelling out his name. As he gasped for air, his mind puzzling what just happened, Gene walked backwards, dragging Sam with him until Gene sat on the edge of the cot, out of breath, with Sam on his lap.
Sam laughed and Gene froze, his hands on Sam’s chest, his face pressed into his back, but before Sam asked what was wrong Gene pulled him to the side, pushing him face up on the cot. Sam tucked his legs in so he was lying down with Gene sitting next to him, staring at him.
“What?” Sam smiled at the slightly confused look on Gene’s face.
“All this time?” Gene rubbed one hand over Sam’s shoulder and along his neck. Sam reached up and ran his fingers down Gene’s chest, then back up to start unbuttoning his shirt.
“Yeah.”
“Thought you an’ Miller were on.”
“Thought you wanted me out of the way.”
“Stupid git.”
“Yeah, you are,” Sam said, smiling even brighter as he worked at the shirt. He stopped at the stunned expression on Gene’s face.
Gene fell on top of him and kissed him, passionately grasping at Sam with his mouth. Taken of guard, Sam stalled for a moment, then wrapped Gene into him and kissed back until they were both gasping. Gene stopped and laid his face next to Sam’s.
“Gene?”
“Shut it, Tyler, I’m basking in the moment.”
Sam sputtered, trying not to laugh. Gene sat back up and took off his shirt, looking naughty and aroused, then stood up to take off his pants. Sam followed suit, stripping off his clothes, glad to be free of the dirty underwear.
As Gene finished undressing and sat back down, he gave Sam a critical look. “You done it, Tyler?”
“Giving or receiving?”
Gene shrugged.
“Yeah. You?”
Gene nodded, and ran a hand down Sam’s thigh. “Not since before the wife.”
“Really?”
“Surprise you, that a man can keep to his wedding vows?” Gene’s eyes narrowed. Sam realized this was some sort of test, and saying ‘yes, shocked I am to know that you don’t fuck around’ was the wrong response. He debated the meaning, even though from the look on Gene’s face it was pretty clear.
“So that’s how it is, then?”
“Yeah. Take it or leave it.” Gene set his hands on his knees and looked at the wall, fatalistic, and Sam tried not to laugh at him again.
“Hunh. Well, got no other plans…”
Gene pulled him onto his side and slapped him on his ass. “Cheeky bugger.”
A united front walked into CID the next day, and Gene leaned against Ray’s desk in tacit approval while Sam raked Miller over the coals for ineptitude, irresponsibility, and laziness. Chris’ head nearly snapped off his neck looking between Gene, Sam, and Miller in shock. In fact the shock waves reverberated off the walls as Sam wrapped up his harangue and Gene walked casually into his office, leaving the door wide open for the first time in weeks. Sam proceeded to throw away all the reports on Miller’s desk, most of which were written and typed up by Chris or Annie, and pulled up a chair to watch him as if he were a child while he typed up everything on his own. He nit picked every detail and returned every folder that had even one piece of paper out of place and by the end of the day Miller was red faced, angry, and confused. On his way out that night, Gene studied the flustered kid and then made a joke with Ray about Miller choking on ‘his mama’s knickers.’ Miller wilted in humiliation as everyone left him behind for the pub.
Sam, though, was outright ruthless the next day, and the day after that, and finally later that week Miller arranged a closed door meeting with Hunt to complain about Tyler’s treatment of him, which he considered extreme and unfair. Hunt walked up, threw him up against the filing cabinet and yelled at him for being a spineless cunt, then dragged him out the door and shut it. This left him standing with his figurative dick in his hand and no one to turn to but Sam, who let him know his work was substandard and his attitude unacceptable. He shoved Miller into paperwork for weeks, indirectly letting everyone else on the team know he was in the shit house. Gene and Sam were finally working as a team again and as their treatment of the boy became tough and unforgiving, the entire team fell into line and refused to cut the charmer any slack.
When DC Miller asked for a transfer the following month, it was refused. When DC Miller walked off the scene of a murder investigation, irate over his treatment and bungling evidence in the process, Gene and Ray threw him into the boot of the Cortina, which Sam closed on him. When he asked anyone to try and cover for him, or do his paperwork for him, or do anything for him, it was duly reported back to his superiors and he always, always paid in blood, sweat, and tears.
When DC Miller proved instrumental in solving a major investigation two years after he first came into CID, working nearly three weeks without sleep assisting DS Skelton to lock up an airtight case against the suspect, who was eventually sent up for life based on the evidence they provided, DI Tyler put him in for promotion to sergeant and DCI Hunt signed off on it.
When DS Miller asked DCI Tyler for a transfer to RCS two years after that, it was granted.
When DS Miller put in for DI, he confided to Sam his plan on ousting Litton and taking over RCS himself and remaking the department into an efficient, hardworking unit. Both Tyler and Hunt wrote letters of recommendation.
When DI Miller finally made DCI and was given RCS for his own, he sent letters of gratitude to the men who put him in for the promotion, DSupt. Hunt and DCI Tyler. He also sent an expensive bottle of single malt to their home, which they refused to open until he joined them and the rest of ‘the old crew’ for a private celebratory dinner. Later that night after everyone cleared out and Sam collapsed on the couch next to Gene, they agreed that having the new guy come between them was the best damn thing that ever happened for all involved.