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"Gene."
Gene stirred at the sound, pulling himself awake, and looked over at the bed. Sam was propped up on an elbow, looking at him with some confusion, and Gene tried not to react. The two men stared at each other in the darkness, light sneaking into the room from the windows. This was a turning point, Gene could feel it in the tension radiating off of Sam. The thinky little bastard was questioning himself, and god help him, if he began questioning them now, Gene was going to crack in the worst way. He desperately need Sam to be strong in this moment, but it was not something he could ask or even beg for. Now was the point when Sam was going to accept or reject what happened, and Gene knew that his life hung by that thread. He did not believe he could take having this withdrawn from him twice in one lifetime.
Sam rolled up and went to the sink, and Gene tracked him with his eyes, too anxious to move because if he broke now, he would be out the door before Sam could stop him. No, more likely he would fight, the rage and hope and anticipation of ten years spilling out and he would come undone in the worst way: unrestrained. Self control was an on or off switch for Gene, and for ten years it was always on because there was no safety. He rode that tipping point every day and it scared him because he felt his ability to hold himself together wearing down like old cotton, thinner and thinner each day he wore it. It ripped the second Sam started on him that evening, the first words out of Sam's mouth destroying the fabric of his self-control and he needed Sam to be strong for this, because Gene was too far gone into it now to just back out or stop. He was tipping over that line and there was no control left in him and most likely, he would hurt Sam very badly. He would destroy everything, as he was so good at doing in his life, and he desperately needed Sam to stop him from hurting both of them.
Sam wet down a towel with warm water and walked over to the chair, grabbed a handful of Gene's hair, tugged his head back gently, and cleaned off his face. Gene's stomach clinched in pleasure, hope once again flooding him as he turned himself over to Sam, who threw the towel aside and put Gene's face in his hands. He kissed him, harshly, all teeth and jaw and tongue and Gene kissed back, immobile because he was in Sam's hands and unwilling to move without permission. He took in the kiss and gave Sam whatever he wanted.
"You're fuckin' perfect, Gene." Sam whispered, pulling back. This again was something new and unique to Sam, this affection and kindheartedness, and given as a reward so rightly earned made it nearly divine to Gene. Words from on high, words to be fought for and chased and adored and Gene had to force himself not to smile.
"I want you to go to bed with me, but if you do, I'm going to fuck you, I'm going to use you. Understand? You can't leave, but you don' have to do this. Stay here," he pointed at the chair, "Or come to bed."
Sam turned away and for the second time that night left Gene in the chair as he went to lay down on the floor. Gene almost did not know what to do with the choice. The rules were clear and the restrictions unmistakable, but there was still a choice to make, and here Gene finally understood how far out of his depth Sam was. Sam used his authority to lay out the choice, showing he would do this for Gene with or without a sexual connection, but Gene could read it in the younger man's body language as he settled down: Sam was scared of Gene refusing him. It did not occur to Sam that what Gene wanted did not matter, and Gene's first thought was to despise him for not knowing that, because it cheapened Sam's power.
But as Gene stared at Sam, lying still and nervous in the bed, he understood that he was not being fair. None of this was what Sam asked for and he was swimming in deep, very deep waters, yet as he tried to keep from sinking his only thought was to protect Gene. It was a sobering idea, because it meant that Sam offered more than He ever could. Back in that life it was the other man taking what he needed and wanted and giving Gene a safe harbor, a way to exorcise his demons. Sam was different. Sam was not doing this because he knew what Gene needed – clearly the boy did not have much of a clue, although good instincts – but because he was willing to be anything Gene required.
Love. No other word for it, and Gene's assumptions about what was going on between them shattered. He knew rules, but not these rules; he knew power and submission, but not on this level. He loved, passionately and desperately, and been loved in return for what he was…but not for who he was. He did not know Gene outside of their weekender flat, never saw him in any circumstance other than inside they world they created together, and never showed much interest anyway. After seven years He moved on, never explaining why but Gene figured out it was something to do with the man's job. He relocated and it was over and Gene remained behind, abandoned and without any anchor, no one to hold him down. It was not love between them in those years, and sometimes Gene wondered if He might have tried to bring Gene with him or stayed for Gene's sake, if love was there – if love made that much of a difference. Now, he knew, it did.
Shaking, Gene pushed out of the chair, fell to his hands and knees and crawled over, because Sam did not give permission for him to walk. Always err on the side of the negative, that was the safety, and maybe Sam knew that and maybe he did not, but Gene could not bring himself to walk now if he tried anyway.
Sam sat up as Gene approached him. "You really want this?" Sam asked tentatively, reaching out to stroke his face, and the question was heartbreaking. Gene could not answer it. Instead he leaned in and kissed him, returning his power back to him, and Sam took it. He put a hand on Gene's shoulder to keep him still and pushed him back slightly. "Stay. Don't move." Sam crawled over to the small bedside table and retrieved his lube.
When he returned he moved on his knees behind Gene and wet down his fingers. Gene was still on all fours, looking straight down, knowing what was next, and preparing himself for it, breathing deeply like he was taught, relaxing and waiting for pain. Ten years, and Gene was not in practice or in top form anymore; he felt Sam's finger push into him and he was tight around it, his muscles clinching involuntarily. He nearly laughed at the thought that Sam probably thought he was a damn arse virgin, as Sam worked carefully and slowly and patiently opening him up. By the time the third finger was inserted Gene felt his abdominal wall cramping and he wanted to choke, but there was no permission given to speak or make any noise and Gene bit his tongue to keep quiet. It still was not effective and he wondered if this failure would make Sam stop.
"Go ahead and make some noise, go ahead if you need to."
With that Gene heaved a sigh that turned into a long, guttural moan, ebbing with the motions of Sam's fingers, calming down his heated muscles and Gene's whole body relaxed around the sound of expelled air. He felt Sam pulling out and he waited for penetration, but Sam moved away to lay back down. It was a peculiar place to be left and Gene wondered how long he was expected to stay there. Then Sam pulled Gene over him, forcing him to straddle his hips. Gene's confusion cleared as he felt Sam's erection under him and Sam's hands pushing down on his thighs. This was going to hurt, worse than Sam's fingers, and Gene ached for it. Sam bent his knees, raising up his hips until skin touched, and reached down between them to his cock up between Gene's butt cheeks, pushing him apart and open until the tip of Sam's cock was pressed against his sphincter.
Gene did it before he knew why. He reached out and put a hand on Sam's shoulder to stop him.
"What?"
"Fuck me." Gene's voice was hoarse and low, and he squeezed his hand hard as he spoke. It was an absurd request but the absurdity was that he made it at all, that he spoke without permission, that he dared to ask for anything but was unable to ask for more. Gene felt as if he were in the middle of a see-saw, tilting back and forth, stuck between Sam's power and his own. He was horny and Sam wanted him and it should have been a simple equation, but Gene was not ready. He was not there and he was unstable, and he looked down on Sam feeling his need and desperation washing over both of them, confusing both of them, and solving nothing. Another failure that Gene brought on himself and his self-hatred burrowed into his mind, wrestling back control and pride for no reason other than shame.
Sam let go of his cock and grabbed Gene's, and while Gene saw uncertainty in Sam's motions, there was also determination in his eyes. He felt that familiar doubt, it might even be called fear in a lesser man, about what was going on. It was never a sure thing, and sometimes it did not go right, and Sam genuinely did not know what he was doing anyway.
"Put your hands on your thighs, I don't want you touching me." Sam squeezed his cock and Gene hissed at the sensation, but slapped his hands down loudly on his thighs, exasperated with himself. He could be getting fucked blind right now, but instead he did not know what was next and trusting an inexperienced top who was under him. His control of the situation was slipping out between his fingers and it was what he desperately wanted, but it was hard to admit that. Every time, it was a fight.
"Tell me what you want." Sam squeezed harder and Gene cursed. "Tell me what you want, Gene."
Gene knew he looked furious because he was. Talking was not part of this. Never was. Should not be. He did not talk, he was not allowed to talk, and now Sam was demanding words from him when he was supposed to be beating him into the ground. Gene remembered too late that with Sam, words are power.
Sam was younger and inexperienced, and susceptible to re-direction. Rebellion welled up in Gene at the thought.
"Tell me, or go back to your chair for the night." Sam let go of Gene's cock and held his hands out to his side, indicating that he was not going to touch him. Gene had enough, the very thought of hearing his own voice repellant, and started to sink down right on to Sam's cock and start the fucking. Sam swung a hand down and slapped his penis.
Gene howled in pain and raised back up, gasping, staring in surprise at Sam, who was looking – and acting – fierce and determined. Sam was going to fight this out, and the only question was, how far was he willing to take it?
"You do it my way, Gene, or you're out."
Empty threat. Gene hated empty threats, they were a waste of time and energy, and he gave Sam a critical look. Gene continued sliding back together, his purpose here muted and shameful and he started to wonder why he let it get this far when Sam obviously could not handle it.
Sam reared up and hit him in the solar plexus.
Gene fell backwards, shock radiating out of him, staring at Sam in genuine surprise.
Sam started spitting, furious at him. "My house, MY RULES. Isn't that what you're always saying? When I came into CID you made damn sure I knew who was in charge but here, HERE, you do what I say or you walk the fuck out! You don't fight me HERE."
The hell he did not, and Gene curled up to beat this out of Sam; a welcome release, even if not the one he thought he was going to get. If he could not ask for more, he would take a fight.
Sam stood up and put his back to him, nullifying the fight before it started. He walked over to Gene's clothes, piled by the chair, and threw the shirt at him.
"Get dressed. Get out."
Gene grabbed the shirt and stared at it, confused. This was not how it goes. Gene was challenging Sam, calling him out, desperate for him, and Sam was closing the door. He was not punishing him, he was not fighting him…it made no sense. "Fight me."
"No. I told you the rules. You're breakin' 'em. You go. GET OUT." Sam threw his trousers at him. He threw the socks next and then the shoes.
Gene kept staring the clothes, feeling helpless with the rules changed to something he did not know, his certainty cracking and his confidence shaken.
"Get. Out."
Gene looked up at him, unable to answer or rebel or obey in his confusion. Sam walked over and grabbed Gene's hair, yanking his head around. "I never told you to look up. I never told you to look at me. I told you not to fight me. You're breaking every rule I set down, why should I let you stay?"
Gene was not going to beg, but he could not fight someone who was not willing to fight back, and he did not understand what Sam was doing. Nothing he did was right, and in that realization Gene's mind and soul began disassembling again, sinking back down into Sam's power. He looked at Sam and saw something click there, and Gene knew he was in trouble. The best kind of trouble in the world.
"You can't do anything right. You can't follow my rules but you can't leave, can you? Can't make yourself do it, just get up and walk out like a man?"
Gene snapped in automatic rebellion and tried to pull his head out of Sam's grasp but Sam yanked again and slapped him across the face. Gene stopped, paused, and looked down as the doubt returned, and the shame and the anticipation. This was the precipice Gene looked down every day, every second of his life, and Sam was pushing him over it. Gene was tripping over that line of trust because he had to, and Sam was finally in complete control.
"You can't control your temper or your drinking or your own dick, can you? You've got a hard on and you don' even want it, do you? You're a fuckin' miserable tosser who wants a 'nancy fairy boy' like me to fuck you up the arse. You sucked my cock and you loved it, you drank it down you goddamn pervert, because you can't help yourself. You want it, you want me, you want this." Sam pulled his head up and slapped him again, and Gene's entire body went slack from the sensation. There was no fighting, no arguing, nothing but acceptance of his place at Sam's feet.
"You can't fight me because I know your secret, that you love having a cock shoved in your mouth, that you love being used like a rent boy, a whore." He leaned in and whispered. "So that's what I'm going to do, fuck you like a whore, not a cop, not a man, an arse-licking whore…"
Sam studied him for a second and let go of his hair. Gene glanced up then, and as soon as he did Sam slapped him again. Gene dropped his head, his heart pounding, Sam's harsh words mixing with the physical assault into a heady brew of adrenaline. Gene did not know what was next and lived for it, deserved it, needed it.
Sam went and laid back down and lubed up his cock again. Gene watched him indirectly, keeping his face pointed at the floor.
"Now get over here, crawl over here, don' make me come and get you," Sam snapped and Gene moved fast, crawling over and on top of him, keeping his face down, Sam's tone of voice a familiar balm. As he fell back to rest on his lower legs, kneeling over Sam but hovering above Sam's erection, Sam tapped his cheek in a play slap.
"I'm making this up as I go along, and your bloody minded stubbornness only made it more difficult so I'm going to ask you again, and you're going to answer: tell me what you want."
Gene would take a whipping before this, in fact he could take a hell of whipping and he wanted to. Anything but Sam's damn insistence on words. For all he had done in his life, Gene never talked about what he felt or needed, only took what was given, and the very idea of saying any of the things trapped in his mind was terrifying. Words were too close, too intimate, too personal, because words were for lovers, not…this. He was taking too long to respond at all and Sam lost patience.
"Fuck, Gene, I'm gonna get pliers next," Sam said in annoyance and slapped him again. Gene hunched up, his muscles flexing, fighting his own rebellion and revulsion. Sam slapped him again.
"Fuck!" Sam cursed and slapped him three times in a row, and on the final slap Gene gave up. His rebellion and humiliation and shame and fear – the feelings that rode him every day, that haunted him in his sleep and ruined every good thing he had in life – cracked under Sam's continual, forceful pushing. Unexpectedly and through a route he was never led down before, Gene snapped and his entire body collapsed as the stress of being Gene Hunt, DCI, slid off his shoulders and out of his mouth and Gene was talking. He did what he was told to do, and started telling Sam exactly, precisely, what he wanted.
The words seemed to have no end, a ceaseless litany of filth and perversion rolling out of his mouth as he described Sam fucking him, hurting him, destroying him, all the deep fantasies that Gene nursed for years, had tried to kill through booze and one night stands and his job and which sometimes leaked out of his fists and his cock in a fight. He kept talking, looking down at Sam's body, curling over further and further in shame as he admitted every base, lurid desire he had, what he wanted Sam to do to him, until he thought he was wrung dry. He stopped and waited for Sam's punishment to land on him, to beat Gene's failures and faults out of him, craving absolution from the only person who could give it to him.
"…beg." Sam whispered, looking up at him with raw need and determination.
Gene flinched, horror struck. Only Sam could think like this, to use words instead of leather or wood or fists to grind Gene down into nothing. His surprise stalled him and Sam slapped him so hard they both nearly toppled. Gene closed his eyes and went into freefall, knowing he was lost and wallowing in it, safe because Sam was there, Sam was in control. He begged, pleaded, tore himself apart and he asked Sam to answer him but Sam remained silent, waiting for more. Obediently Gene started over, begging again, pleading more, shredding himself in desperation.
"Say something, Sam, say something, do something, please…" Gene bent over and put his head on Sam's chest. "Jesus fucking Christ, please, please, say something, fuck me, god what do I have to do, please…" His voice cracked as he began sobbing while he begged, over and over, and Sam let him, still not touching him as Gene splintered into a thousand sharp pieces, his emotions tumbling and colliding until he did not know who he was anymore and simply did not care. He was free, absolved, and pure.
He was not even aware of Sam moving until he shoved his cock into him. It was a cruel insertion and Gene cried out, pulling himself up, his eyes closed, the pain and shock delivering him from all awareness or need. Sam braced his feet and began pounding into him, and Gene shuddered and let out a low, keening wail.
"Look at me, Gene. Fucking look me in the eyes while I screw you." Sam ordered, and Gene opened his eyes, at last allowed to look at the beautiful man who owned him, and the tears continued to roll down Gene's face because he saw power and strength radiating off of Sam, the most intense aphrodisiac in his life, and yet for the first time, love. Sam loved him, was doing this for him, needed this from him and accepted it. Gene knew he had nothing to offer in return but himself and his shame and his failures and he fell even further into Sam's incredibly deep emotional well, falling and falling and knowing who would catch him.
Sam reached down and wrapped his fingers around Gene's cock and began stroking him. "You're goin' to come first. I want to feel you come over me, begging me to come, and you aren't goin' to look away or close your eyes I'm goin' to see your soul when you come…"
Gene mouthed silent words, unable to talk fully but begging nonetheless as his eyes focused on Sam, until he finally came, shaking and twitching as he fell apart in Sam's hands, crying out Sam's name as a plea for mercy because only Sam could give him this. He did not know what he did or how, but something sent Sam over and he clawed at Gene's thighs as he came, furiously slamming up into Gene who was silent now, bracing himself, Sam's empty vessel to fill. Sam attacked him and flew out of control when his orgasm hit, and Gene fell in love as he watched him come, possessed by something Gene was only beginning to understand.
Sam was under him, and theoretically the weaker party, but even so, Gene knew who was still in control. Sam rolled Gene over carefully and stretched him out and laid on top of him as he shook uncontrollably, the familiar recovery process beginning, the high still strong but petering out.
"You're safe, here, I tol' you that." Sam ran his hands up and down him, rubbing him, working out the heat. He pushed forward and kissed him, softly, lovingly, and Gene reacted, wrapping his arms around Sam and sighing into him in release, another new part of the process that was uniquely Sam's. As they kissed, Sam caressed his face and neck and shoulders, then pulled up and looked down on Gene, smiling honestly and full of compassion. "So beautiful, Gene, you 'ave no idea how…bloody incredible you make me feel…" Sam kept talking, bringing Gene back with kind words, endearments that would shame either of them in the light of day, an unfamiliar and odd sensation that Gene basked in, thinking gleefully (before the doors began closing in his mind) that this is what it felt like to have it all.
"Not…not done…in years…" Gene gasped as he reassembling himself, coming back to his senses with a clarity and surety of purpose that escaped him every other moment of his waking world. He felt Sam tense up against him and remembered that Sam was still new to this, and was probably worried about how things stood now between them. Age and experience had its graces, and Gene ran a hand over his face before he looked at Sam. "I'm yer DCI."
Sam nodded and tried to back away, but Gene stopped him, sensing his confusion and not wanting him to misunderstand, although he was not sure of what would make it clear.
"What are you?"
"…your DI." Sam said, running a hand awkwardly over Gene's chest and looking much younger than a man his age had a right to look. It was an answer and it was the right answer, of course, but not the full one.
Gene looked at him critically. "Here?"
"…what are you, Gene?"
Gene looked around the flat, his haven, his true home, as long as Sam was in it. "Here, just here: I'm Yours." As he said it, he knew it was true. Here, only Sam's rules applied and Gene was truly free. He leaned over to whisper into Sam's ear the endearment no one else deserved to wear, the word he once thought he would never live to use again, the word that meant liberation and strength and, at last, love: "…Master."
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