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Sam was trailing a suspect. It was not official in any sense, and the suspect in question was profoundly oblivious to the idea that anyone would consider him a suspect in anything, much less try to follow him around. In fact, following Gene Hunt was absolutely the worst thing Sam ever attempted, because while he was easy to follow, he was impossible to avoid. The third time Gene accidentally ran into, ran across, or nearly ran over Sam, he glared at him and asked if Sam was a lovesick puppy dog, following him around. Sam gave him a hard glare back and asked if Gene had anything better to do than stalk his own detectives, which actually made Gene stomp off in aggravation. Sam scored one for his incredibly brilliant and witty mind, then promptly lost Gene completely.
The reason he was following Gene was because he was worried. No one remarked on Gene’s disappearances; everyone assumed a darts tournament ‘somewhere else’ or a night at the boxing club, or (Ray’s favorite suggestion) a ‘titty bar.’ But Sam knew that Gene was once in with a darker side of Manchester, and even with Warren in jail and the entire department gone on the ethical ‘up and up’ Sam was worried. He could not say why he was worried, it was a hunch, and he damned himself for that even as he leapt on it. It just seemed that whenever he got back from where ever he went, showing up the next morning (usually late) with vague references to sordid pastimes, he was…well, Sam had to be honest if he was going this far down a hunch: Gene acted depressed. Sad. Angry. Gene was not a sensitive, sentimental man, and the only times Sam ever saw Gene act like that was when he was mad at himself. Sam’s worst case assumptions were either that Gene was taking backhanders again, or being blackmailed. Gene would never ask for help, of course, so Sam decided to help him whether Gene wanted him to or not. Anyway, it was not like Sam had much of a personal life to lose to the cause. Things with Annie stalled and Sam did not want to date anyone else, particularly, so he was (in a strange turnabout) waiting for her to make up her mind about what was going on. That left him work, the Railway Arms, his horrid flat, and…Gene.
Gene did not go to the Railway Arms that evening and Sam nearly broke his neck racing down the street to catch a glimpse of which way the Cortina flew off. Not subtle, but trailing Gene was more about endurance than subtlety anyway. He caught up to Gene parked by the Canal, drinking, staring out over the water, which was something he did a lot. Personal time, obviously, and Sam felt a little bad about spying on him, but he had to make sure that he was not meeting anyone. Gene never did, and tonight was no exception. He leaned against the car and smoked and sipped for an hour. Usually he would get back in the car and often Sam would lose him then, but tonight he locked it up and walked off. Grateful for a respite from the usual ultra-marathon experience, Sam followed. He had to follow from a long way off, because Gene was a cop too and his eyes were sharp – he could pick Sam out in a crowd of hundreds, and had before. Fortunately night was falling faster these days and it was already dark.
He stopped outside a small appliance shop – radios and TVs – and looked like he was steeling himself. Then he walked in and…disappeared. Sam waited, and waited, and almost a half hour later realized he had been given the slip. Cursing, he went down a side road to find out if there was an alley behind the shop, and of course, there was. Sam walked down it on a whim, then heard voices, and one of those voices was Gene. Getting low, Sam crawled along the wall and through the alley clutter until he could see what was going on, and when he did, the knew his life was not worth the cost to replace his badge.
But he watched, transfixed, frozen in surprise and shock. The boy in front of Gene – and he looked young, not really a boy but not much into his 20s, no doubt about it, young and thin and hard-bodied – pressed his face into the wall, covered in sweat, biting his thumb trying not to cry out. His pants were down to his knees and his entire body was braced against Gene’s onslaught.
Gene’s coat was open, naturally enough, and hung down over them, obscuring hips and ass and anything that might be considered personal, but really, it could not hide the action of Gene’s thrusts or the way one hand reached around the boy, jacking him off. No specifics could be seen, but they did not need to be. Gene was fucking the hell out the kid, pure and simple. His eyes were closed and he breathed heavily and evenly, even as he grunted and spoke words that Sam could not hear. The boy whined in reaction and obviously came, his body shuddering and nearly collapsing as he arched his head back, biting his hand ferociously. Gene leaned into him, then, kissed his neck once and began pounding hard, gasping but still quiet for all the energy he was putting into it. Sam thought of the that damn battery bunny, because Gene kept going, dripping sweat and his skin bright red from blood rush, longer than Sam thought any man had a right to fuck. He finally tensed up and shook his body once, pushing so hard that the boy was shoved flat up against the wall, legs splaying out as Gene instinctively stepped forward in the middle of his orgasm to save them both from crashing to the ground.
Gene did this a lot. Sam knew that, just from how Gene handled himself and the boy and the whole process. Even as they recovered and separated, Gene’s movements were casual and familiar, helping the boy get his pants up because the kid was physically too whipped to even bend over. He leaned into him, his hands resting on the boy’s waist, and kissed him – it was affectionate and somewhat playful, although not very romantic. The boy did not try to cling or hug or ask for anything, he just returned the kiss and then pushed Gene off.
“Gotcha.” The boy laughed.
“That you did, Mikey. That you did. Clever boy.” Gene kissed him on the forehead and then turned to start walking straight towards Sam. Sam fell back behind the boxes, hoping that Gene was still too orgasmically buzzed to notice a third presence. Gene went by him, putting his driving gloves on and walking with purpose and completely oblivious to being spied on, and Sam felt that he won the lottery, because he knew he had a death sentence on him if Gene ever found out he was there. He ignored his own hard-on, figuring it was a byproduct of watching an incredibly erotic moment, and had nothing to do with Gene. It damn well better not, he told himself, even if he was gay, which he was not of course. Long after Gene disappeared around the corner, Sam finally collected his wits and stepped out.
“’Oo the bloody ‘ell are you?” The boy stared at him, and Sam stared back, cursing himself because he forgot entirely about ‘Mikey’ in his worries over Gene.
“Uhh…”
“You spyin’ on us?” Mikey glared at him, still leaning against the wall.
“Um…not on purpose.” It was really the only answer to give, because it was the only answer that would not make him sound like a liar.
“Don’ I know you?”
“Pretty sure you don’t.” Sam smiled encouragingly, embarrassed as hell but trying to save his hide.
“Yeah I do, you’re a copper. I seen you out with the Guv.” Mikey grinned with a feral, evil look in his eyes. “Oh you got it for ‘im, do you?”
“No, I don’t. I do not swing that way. No offense, I don’t care, but being here was just an accident.”
“You’re too old for him anyway.” Mikey smirked and stood up, and Sam realized he had just been bitch slapped.
“My lucky day, I can keep my virginity intact.” He turned to walk off. He heard Mikey running after him.
“’Ehy, really, you’re not spyin’ on him?” Mikey asked.
“Really, I was not spying. Except by accident. I told you.” Sam kept walking.
“You’re not goin’ to say nothin’, are you?”
Sam stopped, because the tone of voice had turned brittle. He looked at the kid, who was about his own height and build, and yes, a lot younger and very damn good looking, in a pretty way – dark hair and dark eyes and pale skin. Sam sighed. “No, I won’t say anything. I told you, I don’t care, and I mean it. What’s yours is yours, okay?”
Mikey looked at him critically.
Sam sighed again, exasperated, and threw his arms out to his side. “You really think I want Gene Hunt breaking every bone in my body? I did not see anything.”
“Good.” Mikey nodded once and then walked off down the street, and Sam breathed out in relief, wishing this night to disappear forever. Forever and ever and ever. He turned around just to make sure Gene was not stalking him or hiding in the shadows, because paranoia at this point felt like a very good idea, and saw the kid down the street, arguing with someone. Not Gene, a smaller man, and just as it began to look heated, the kid stomped back into the store. Sam reminded himself to stay far, far away from anything having to do with that boy.
He stopped by a shop on the way back to his flat for two – two – bottles of wine. The next day, he swore off of following Gene, because there were alley ways that were just too private to share, and Gene’s bizarre ‘gay homophobe’ sexuality was numero uno on that list, as far as Sam was concerned. He skirted around Gene, suspicious of his manhandling ways, but otherwise tried to behave exactly like someone who never saw anything.
But next time he saw Mikey, the boy was dead, and Sam’s best intentions went to hell.
“I told you, don’t call the Guv!” Sam yelled at Ray, who froze with the radio in his hand. Chris stared at Sam with a totally perplexed look, and all the plods on scene froze. It was two weeks after the events of ‘that night’ and Mikey’s body was found in a decrepit, falling down abandoned building. Gene was in some kind of meeting with the new superintendent, and he was already in a bad mood about that, and Sam did not want to find out what seeing little Mikey’s body in this state would do to worsen that mood. Gene would find out eventually, but out of pity, Sam did not want him seeing the boy like this.
“Let’s just get the scene secure and get Mikey out of here.” Sam waved the crime scene photographer over.
“Mikey? How you know who he is?” Ray asked suspiciously, and Sam mentally kicked himself.
“Kid on the streets, talked to him once or twice. Don’t know his last name.” Christ if that did not sound damning, and Sam cringed as he said it. Ray gave him a knowing, smug once over and then turned to Chris, who was of course oblivious. Sam decided that next time he was drunk, he was going to castrate Ray, or something, he would think of something, but in the meantime there was work to do.
They got the scene tied down, despite Chris walking through the blood trail, and Sam watched as Mikey was sent off to the morgue. It was a bad business, a crime of passion, and Mikey very obviously raped in the bargain. Cut open like a butchered calf, and it was not hard to draw that comparison, because dead he looked even younger. In fact he was even younger, only seventeen, according to the I.D. in his wallet. Sam refused to let anyone call into base about it, because he was – damn him and his high minded conscience – going to give the details to Gene himself.
When they walked into CID, Ray and Chris disassociated themselves from Sam and went to their desks. Standard operating procedure was to call the Guv in on a murder, and everyone knew it, and no one knew or could be allowed to know why Sam broke that unwritten code. He swallowed and walked into Gene’s office. Gene looked at him, staring up from paperwork, and it occurred to Sam that no one had even told him that a body was found.
“Body? Where?” Gene stood up and went for his coat, assuming this was their first notice of it.
“No, no…Gene, stop, we already secured the scene. Body’s at the morgue.” Sam said, reaching out, and realizing that he sounded very, very ‘Dorothy’ right then.
“You got one second to explain…no, never mind, I’ll just beat you to hell right now.” Gene grabbed him and threw him up against the oh-too-familiar filing cabinet and zeroed in on him.
“Wait! Wait! Please? Wait?” Sam held his arms out, and Gene stopped, surprised by the pleading tone in Sam’s voice.
“Look, I knew you were in the meeting and…it was a bad scene. A kid. So I just thought get it cleaned up quickly. Going to be all over the news anyway, and I did not want us to be lingering around.” He tried for professional and reasonable, and Gene punched him in the gut.
“I don’t know if you forgot, but I’m in charge of murder investigations! …Anyway, I’d give a fair number of corpses to have been called out of that bloody mindless meeting, and you know it.” Gene tapped angrily on his shoulder with a fist, not hard, just in warning. “Care to explain, again?”
Sam swallowed, and decided he was dead either way. “Mikey Ferrell.”
If Gene questioned why Sam thought the name was important, he did not show it. In fact he did not respond at all, which in the circumstances Sam was grateful for, because his abdominal wall could not take another hit without him puking. Gene stared at him, completely motionless, not even blinking.
“Butchered, the kid was butchered. Raped. Ripped open. It was bad, Gene.” Sam went for the first name instead of ‘Guv’, hoping for human contact. Gene cocked his head, thinking.
“He at the morgue, now?” He ask quietly. Sam nodded, and Gene nodded back at him, and went for his jacket. He was going to the morgue, and while Sam could not stop him from doing that, it had to be better than seeing the kid awash in his own blood.
Not that it was much better. He was not cleaned up or autopsied yet, and his wounds were brutal. Gene just looked, impassive, staring as if he could will the boy to wake up and identify his murderer.
“You know him?” Gene asked, his voice neutral.
“Er…not really well, no.”
“But you knew him.”
“Yeah.” Sam looked back down at the body.
“You surprise me every day, Dorothy.” Gene said quietly, and it was not funny, and it was not said kindly, and Sam realized that Gene thought Sam had been fucking Mikey too. He simply did not know how to answer that without it sounding like a cheap denial, or without admitting how he really did know the boy. Now his homophobic, queer supervisor thought that he, very open-minded heterosexual Sam Tyler, was gay. There was no end to this madness and Sam just shook his head, thinking a big ‘whhhhat-everrrr’ to himself. Then he looked at Gene, who was looking at him, and Sam realized he was in deep, way-too-fucking deep waters, because the look on Gene’s face was one of someone who, at last, found one of his own. Sam desperately tried to keep his face and his mind blank as they left the morgue.
Evidence was working through forensics and the body was due to be autopsied that night, so they poured over what they could, which was not much. Sam got Annie to riff on something like a psych profile, although everyone ignored her as usual, and Gene just sent people out to interview possible witnesses. He grabbed Sam and led him to the Cortina without explanation until they were locked safely inside, alone.
“He got a mother, works as a cashier at Spencer’s grocery.”
“Shit.” Sam sighed, not looking forward to telling a mother that her beautiful son was dead and murdered.
“She’ll be thrilled. Threw ‘im out of the house a few years ago, don’t like our kind.” Gene said it casually and Sam’s stomach clinched. The longer he let this go on, the more dead he was going to be, but damn if he could figure out a way to backtrack now. Ask Annie to marry him, maybe; yes, that was sounding good right about now. Or Phyllis, if Annie said no…anyone, really. Anyone female.
“So he told you he knows me, eh?” Gene asked, still very casual as he started the car and drove off in an unusually restrained manner, and Sam just nodded in defeat.
“In a way. Did not talk about it.”
“Discreet, that boy was. Good kid.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Never mentioned you.”
“I can imagine.”
“What the hell you mean by that?”
“Like you spent a lot of time in deep, meaningful conversation with him?” Sam sighed, feeling lost.
“No, ‘spose not. Still a good kid, though.”
“Any ideas?”
“No. None. Like you said, never spent much time, er, talking.” Gene said, and Sam thought he saw the start of a blush around his neck. “What you lookin’ at?”
Sam jerked his head away and looked out the window. “Lost in thought. Trying to figure out…it was a crime of passion, Guv. Someone who knew him….you know how young he was?”
“’Bout twenty now, I figure.”
“Seventeen.”
Gene looked over at him in horror. “Fuck.”
“On his I.D. Wallet was still on him.”
“Money?”
“None in the wallet, but you don’t rape and brutalize a kid for a few quid.”
“No.” Gene said, his jaw locked, probably still processing exactly how young Mikey was. It occurred to Sam that if they had been going at it for a few years, Gene was guilty of statutory rape when the boy was younger, and was certainly guilty under the Sexual Offences Act by fucking him alleys who knew how many times.. He pushed the ideas out of his head.
The mother was not thrilled, in fact she was devastated. She fell apart, her co-workers holding her up as she screamed that some fag killed her son and she knew this is what would come of him giving in to those unnatural freaks of nature who corrupted her beautiful boy. One of those unnatural freaks of nature who corrupted her beautiful boy helped her to a chair and squatted down next to her, patting her hand in a very stiff, formal way, promising her that he, Gene Hunt, would find that poor boy’s killer and personally rip the goddamn fag’s balls off with his own hands because that bloody bum bandit did not deserve to live. This calmed her down quite a bit, and Sam just stared in culture shock. Gene moved off and Sam asked her if she had seen him lately, or knew any of his friends, and suffered through a long winded tirade about the disgusting sort of perverts her son knew, and thank god she did not know anyone like that, and no, she had not actually seen or talked to her son in over six months. Gene nodded, unaffected, and Sam bit his tongue until they were back in the car.
“I can’t believe you encouraged her. Homosexuality is not a perversion!” Sam growled through clinched teeth.
“What you want me say, Dorothy? ‘Loved your boy, he was a fine bit of action’?”
“No! Just…you’re talking about your own kind, you know, ‘bum bandit’ and ‘fucking queers’ and…”
“Sam, don’t get high and mighty on this.” Gene turned to him, and Sam was caught by the serious, calm tone of his voice. “You want to go off and fight the cause, you just fly over to New York and start wearing earrings. This isn’t Stonewall, it’s Manchester, and we’re cops, and if anyone – ANYONE – even thinks that we are what we are, we’ll be feasting on cock in gaol. Comprende?”
Sam nodded, wondering how in the hell Gene ever even heard of the Stonewall Riots of ’69, and realizing that if Gene thought he was not gay, he would consider him a threat. A serious threat. There was no such thing as ‘gay friendly’ in this world, least of all in the police department, and the thought of someone like Ray finding out about Gene sent chills down Sam’s spine. The look on his face apparently satisfied Gene, who finally started the car.
“We’ll have to go back to the evidence on this one, and I know that makes your heart all a’flutter, dear, because other than the two of us, I got no idea who that boy was fucking.”
Sam closed his eyes, feeling like he needed to click his heels and go home.
The following day, nothing moved on the case, other than the autopsy report coming up. Forensics found almost nothing, and while Sam knew something had to be there, the technology was not available to back him up. His idea that it was a crime of passion was supported by the autopsy, and Annie read it over with him, concurring.
“I think it was someone he knew.” She tapped the photos.
“Jealousy?”
“Yeah. Rape or mutilate, maybe lust, passion. But both? It was personal. Poor boy.” She clucked.
Sam looked at her. “You know he was gay.”
“Yeah, the Guv said. Just a tragedy, yeah, a kid like that getting corrupted with a nasty disease.”
“Disease?” Sam squinted.
“Oh yeah. It’s a mental disorder.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yes, Sam, it is. We studied it in college. They’re trying to find drugs to, you know, fix it. Too late for this one.” She looked genuinely sad, and Sam shook his head.
“Do you know any homosexuals, Annie?”
She looked appalled. “I don’t hang out with that kind of person, Sam! They’re perverts, sick perverts…look at what happened to this boy!”
“That…that has nothing to do with him being a homosexual, Annie.”
Annie studied him carefully and Sam suddenly realized what Gene was warning him about in the car. He decided getting defensive would be the worst tactic, so he just gazed back at her.
“You know any of…them?” Annie asking insincerely, looking back at the folder.
“Yeah, I do. Or did.”
“In Hyde?”
“Yeah, sure. In Hyde.”
“Friends?”
“Not like that, no. But I knew them. They were just like everybody else, that I could tell.” He shrugged noncommittally.
She looked relieved and smiled. “They have to act that way, don’t they? You got to feel sorry for them.”
“Yeah.” Sam nodded sincerely.
Three days later, with no progress made at all, Sam looked up to find Gene looming over his desk. “Well if you goin’ to start playing darts, might as well get in practice. Got a small group meeting up tonight.”
Sam stared at him. “I’m playing darts?”
Gene’s eyes narrowed and Sam automatically scooted back in his chair. “That’s right, Sammy boy, you are.”
“Oh.” Sam nodded, wondering why in the world Gene wanted him to play darts now. Like they need more excuses to go drinking at the pub? Anyway, Sam sucked at darts, he had his whole life, and did not expect that to change now, not even for Gene Hunt.
“I shall graciously allow you to ride with me. Be ready to leave here by five thirty. I’m sure you’ll need the extra time to get pretty for the dart board.” Gene smiled malevolently and Ray snickered, making no secret of listening in. Sam nodded mutely.
Five thirty arrived and Sam waited outside impatiently next to the Cortina. Gene walked out and snarled and they got in.
“Really, Guv, why are you hijacking me to play darts?” Sam sighed. “And where the hell we going?”
“Well now you ‘fess up to being on the team, figured you might want to make some introductions. Also trying to figure out if anyone saw Mikey the night he was killed.” Gene said, ripping into traffic with his usual disdain for the laws of physics or gravity.
Sam glared out the window, struck dumb. Darts. Naturally. Men sticking it to each other. He tried not to laugh, fearing he would simply dissolve in hysterics. He managed to keep a grip on his sanity as Gene tore through Manchester to a nicer side of town with new-ish townhouses and well tended gardens out front. There was a party at one, probably nothing that did not happen in the neighborhood regularly, and Gene drove right past it and parked two blocks away at a carry out store. As they walked, backtracking back to the party house, Gene did not say anything. Sam figured he could write this off as part of the investigation about Mikey’s murder, and he prayed he could forget about the rest of it.
Gene stopped suddenly and Sam nearly knocked himself down running into him. “What?” He asked irritably.
“I know this crowd, Sam. Some of them can get carried away. So if anyone gets on ya’, jus’ tell ‘em you’re with me.” Gene looked at him, his face blank. Sam nodded mutely, wishing to be dead before anyone alive ever thought he was on a date with Gene Hunt. “Mind you, you want some action, best not to tell ‘em you even know me.” Gene grinned in delight and started walking again, quickly, rubbing his hands together. Sam considered this, with the bleak thought that he was much better off – much safer - with everyone in Manchester thinking he was Gene’s boy toy. Fabulous.
He heard Gene snickering as they got near the house. “What, Gene?” Sam asked, knowing he was going to regret the answer.
“I think, Sammy boy, that you’re damn pretty enough to score a bull’s eye tonight.” Gene laughed, and Sam contemplated strangling him. He reconsidered: Gene might think it was foreplay. “An’ Sam, best you just stay out of the bathroom on the second floor for this first visit,” Gene added darkly, and very pornographic images ran unwillingly through Sam’s brain. He tried to keep Gene out of the picture.
Sam went into his best ‘undercover operation’ mode as they made their way inside the immaculate, tastefully decorated home that did not look like a place Gene would normally be caught dead in, other than to interview witnesses. The host was a solicitor, but Gene did not punch him, instead shaking his hand and accepting the proffered whiskey. They obviously knew Gene was going to be there.
“Terry, this is Sam. Works with me.”
“Good God.” Terry smiled broadly and shook Sam’s hand for far too long, his gaze direct and unsubtle.
“’Nuff of that. Off to make the rounds.” Gene grabbed Sam by the arm and dragged him into the house. The party was discreet enough, but gay as The Village People, and if Sam had not actually seen Gene fucking Mikey that night, he would never in a thousand years picture him there. With Sam on his arm, no less.
It was clear that Gene was only partly there for a social call. He made a passable attempt at being low-key in asking people about Mikey, and Sam simply trailed after him, always introduced as “Sam, works with me” to men who did not have last names. Sam considered what he knew of the history of gay culture, and realized that he was participating in what was, essentially, an underground world. These men would lose everything, absolutely everything, if anyone could point them out as queer. Their homes, their jobs, their families, and possibly even their lives were all up for grabs if their sexual orientation became common knowledge. Gene was an extreme version, with a visible standing in society to lose as well, and he played his masculinity to the hilt to cover what was, in this world, aberrant and ‘sick’ behavior that would simply destroy him if generally known. It was bizarre, and sad, and Sam grew more and more depressed as they passed through’ the party. Finally Gene turned on him.
“So are you with me, or what?”
“What?” Sam squeaked, startled by the question.
“You’re following me ‘round like a nervous virgin on her wedding night. So if you don’t want some groping, you better find your own game.” Gene twirled his drink and looked around at the playing field.
Sam nodded and tried not to look like he was running away as he walked into the other room. He blindly grabbed a drink off a tray – white wine, of course, and he groaned inwardly, thinking that all he needed right now was a feather boa to be complete.
“Sam, right?”
Sam spun around, nearly spilling his drink, and came face-to-chest with a bear. The man was easily as tall as Gene, and had several stone on him, and was fuzzy. He was dressed in the 70s’ version of business casual, dark trousers and a blue button down shirt, with nary a paisley in sight, which Sam considered a special blessing. Well manicured, he was imposing and stern, but he had a kind, sweet face, and Sam reminded himself that he was undercover.
“Yeah. Work with Gene.”
“Joseph.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“No, believe me, it’s much nicer to meet you.”
Not used to being on the receiving end of a schmarmy pick-up line, Sam just smiled and nodded, wondering why girls did not slap men more often.
“First time out?” Joseph asked, sidling in closer.
“Like a debutante.” Sam fluttered, trying not to lay it on too thick, but helpless not too because it was just too easy. He tried to visualize Rupert Everett: gay, suave, manly. Yes, that was his role model tonight, and please god may no one outside of this house ever know. He could not see explaining this – much less Rupert Everett – to Annie.
“So you with Gene, or not?” Joseph crept in a bit closer.
“We work together.” Sam tried to move backwards, inching slowly.
“Right, I got it. Just friends.” Joseph grinned happily, and it might have been endearing, if he was not trying to mash into Sam’s personal space.
“Something like that.” Sam answered vaguely, hoping to keep the ‘I’m with Gene’ line ready in case of need: Gene, his own emergency escape route.
“How’s he takin’ the whole thing about Mikey?” Joseph asked, sipping his drink and staring at Sam’s lips. Sam desperately forced himself not to lick them out of nervousness, focusing instead on the question.
“Seems okay. But it’s murder, so we’re looking into it. I don’t suppose you know who did it?” Sam smiled winningly, forgetting that his mouth was the last thing he needed to draw attention to.
“My first bet is that it was his ex, Art. Brutal fuck, likes to bang the boys around. Makes Gene look like an angel.” Joseph’s expression turned dark and he said Gene’s name with meaningful inflection.
Sam stared, not sure which part of the sentence shocked him the most. Rallying, he looked around. “Is Art here?”
“Oh yeah. Surprised Gene hasn’t cornered him, given…’ey!”
Sam turned and walked off, realizing why Gene was so anxious to get Sam off his arse. He was nearly all the way through the first floor and getting ready to go upstairs when he heard Gene, and found him in the back utility room, standing next to a whiskey bottle and a small, ugly man. Sam nearly ran up to him, and Gene stared down at him, and no one spoke.
“Miss me?” Gene asked critically. “Duane, this is Sam.”
“Clearly adores you, he does.” The man smiled, a sickly sweet and oily grin.
“Uh…I was talking to Joseph…” Sam pointed behind him, trying to think up a good, logical reason why he would be running through the house looking for Gene. Other than an immediate, desperate need for gay sex, which was probably what everyone was assuming right now. He blushed.
“Oi, Gene, looks like your needed, hmm? I’ll leave you love birds alone.”
Sam watched in horror as Duane walked out and closed the door behind him. Gene stared at him. “What?”
“Art?”
Gene continued to stare at him and sipped his drink.
“I thought that other than ‘us,’ you didn’t know anyone Mikey was with, Gene.” Sam glared. “Joseph told me.”
“Joseph did, did he? Well Art didn’t do it. I check with him the day after the murder, his alibi is airtight.”
“There is nothing in the reports of you interviewing him.” Sam crossed his arms.
“And there won’t be. Art’s a businessman, very well respected, and bringing good money into the city. Don’t need his name associated with this.”
“Unless he’s the murderer, of course.” Sam snarled, fed up with this insane secrecy, as much as he clinically knew it was necessary in this era.
“Nope, he’s not.”
“How do you know?” Sam pointed at Gene, nearly poking him. Gene put down his drink and grabbed him by his lapels and dragged him close enough that Sam smelled his breath, thick with whiskey and cigarettes.
“Because he was with his latest boy, a kid named Johnny, who’s here tonight too if you’d like an introduction. And I have the word of the hotel manager where Art claimed to have been with Johnny that they were there, and checked in, and did not leave until the following morning, and were very…” Gene shook Sam, “…very…” he shook him again and Sam reached out and grabbed his arms, “…VERY loud.”
“Oh.”
Gene dropped him. “Any more questions, Dorothy?”
“Er, no.” Sam straightened his shirt.
“Well we might as well go, this little stunt of yours cost us both any chance of finding out any thing new on the case...much less getting a shag in.” Gene turned back to the bottle.
“Not yet, I can still circulate.”
“That whole crowd knows you been locked in here with me long enough for a blow job. No way.” Gene poured a double and slammed it.
“Or a fight.” Sam smiled, impressed with his clever idea up to the point that Gene backhanded him into the wall. Stunned, Sam did not do anything but stumble along as Gene pulled him out of the room by the collar.
“You fucking try that shit again, boy, and you’re walkin’ home without your pants on!” Gene bellowed and slammed Sam into the kitchen counter, tossing him off like a dirty rag. Sam fell to the ground, shaking, as Gene gave him a disgusted look and stalked off.
“Jesus, Gene, go easy on the décor.” Terry snorted at his retreating back, and a few men laughed. Sam just stared at them, realizing that they were not surprised in the least to see Gene beating the crap out of someone at a party.
Sam looked up to stare into Duane’s eyes, and there was something there he did not like, and something there that was…familiar. Sam frowned, but then Joseph was next to him.
“Come on, stand up.” Joseph smiled and helped him up, parking him next to the sink. “No one teach you not to bite the hand that feeds you?” Joseph said softly, wetting down a rag and dabbing at Sam’s face. The rag came away with blood on it, and Sam stared.
“Damn.”
“Yeah, got you good, he did. Here.” Joseph went back to his ministrations, and there was something comforting about the larger man’s delicate touch. Sam closed his eyes, trying to clear his head, reminding himself that he was here on a case, a murder case, and could not afford to let a small, bloody beating throw him off track, Gene Hunt be damned.
“That’s it, just relax. Cry if you need, babe.” Joseph said soothingly, and Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Look, not my business, but Gene’s a rough one. If you’re not in love with him, just leave off. Not worth the pain otherwise.”
Sam nodded and Joseph smiled. “Alright then.Here, stay with me, and…”
“Thank you, but I’m not really looking to..er, hook up tonight. Just wanted to get out and relax…” Sam smiled.
“Fine then. You’re a sweetie, I don’t want to scare you off. Just stay near me, I’ll keep the boys off you and Gene won’t mix with me, ‘e knows better. Not over a boy, anyway.” Joseph grinned and Sam tried not to stall on the idea of Gene fighting Joseph over a boy, or that here, Sam was the ‘boy’ they might fight over.
Sam found that staying near Joseph was almost too easy, because Joseph was very laid back and non-possessive, and Sam started to appreciate the protective presence for no reason he could name. He was always within about ten steps, but rarely close enough to cramp Sam’s style as he tried to socialize without being too flirty, and was very attentive about getting Sam fresh drinks. Gene banging him up was some kind of litmus test, though, and now Sam was accepted as part of the inner circle. Sam realized that the gossip chain here was worse than at the station. He found out almost everything there was to know about everybody except Mikey. Or Gene, for that matter, who everyone was very reluctant to talk about, and Sam never heard the phrase “oh, you know how he is” more in his life. He saw Duane around, but always off to the side, and Sam never managed to actually get close to him, although he found him staring directly at him a few times.
After about an hour, Gene circled back around, and Joseph watched him closely. They eyed each other like prize fighters in the ring, and Sam thought that if they did ever mix it up, they would probably take down the whole building.
“Gene…”
“Going to apologize?” Gene asked loudly, clearly for show. Sam nodded, aggravated, and tried to look contrite.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” He lowered his voice. “I realized something.”
“Oh I’m sure your head is working over time.” Gene said, staring down, making it clear which ‘head’ he was talking about.
“No, for god’s sake…no. I just thought I look a bit like Mikey. Older, but same build…”
“Kinky bastard, that why you liked him?” Gene grimaced.
“No, no, I mean really, NO. Just saying, maybe I could be bait…” He whispered into his drink, trying to act nonchalant.
“Bloody ‘ell, why you think I brought you here to begin with?” Gene looked at him, surprised. Sam just opened his mouth, but could not think of a suitable reply other than ‘fuck off you bloody bastard’ and so did not say anything. “Get out there and start swishing, sweet heart.” Gene pushed him and walked away.
But nothing came of Sam’s great insight, and several hours and too many drinks later, he sprawled on the couch, only to find Joseph next to him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this popular in my life.” Sam grinned, done with trying to be subtle and too drunk to consider consequences.
“Right good reason too, love, you’re beautiful.” Joseph leaned and draped one arm over the sofa behind Sam. He was not touching him, but his presence was overpowering, and Sam just blinked with the understanding that he was walking a fine line, and not sober enough to do so with any grace.
“Uh, thank you?”
Joseph leaned in and kissed him, and Sam froze, unable to think of a way he could shove him off that would not break his ‘cover.’ Joseph pulled back and looked at him.
“No?”
“Uh, not tonight, really…but it was…nice.” Sam smiled, hoping he looked sincere.
Joseph leaned in again and kissed him harder, and Sam started kissing back because there really was nowhere else to take it, but when Joseph moved to put a hand on him, Sam pushed him off. “No, really, not tonight.”
“Sure, babe. But let me drive you home, at least….”
“Oi, sweet heart, if you ain’t got your rocks off yet, it ain’t happening. We’re leaving.” Gene stood over them, and Sam thought he was just bloody gorgeous right then, his knight in shining…camel hair coat. Joseph glared at him but moved off, but not before kissing Sam on the cheek and pinching his arse as he left, making sure to slip a piece of paper into his pocket which Sam knew without looking contained a phone number.
As they walked out into the cold air, Sam thought he was going to pass out. “Christ, I’ve never been so nervous on an undercover op.” He said, rubbing his hands together.
“Undercover?”
“Well, I mean, you know, trying to find clues about Mikey…” Sam stammered, and Gene shrugged. He decided that this was it, he was going to confess to Gene about the misunderstanding as soon as they were safely inside the Cortina. He simply could not keep going with this kind of mistake in the air between them.
As they sat down and closed the doors, Sam turned and started to speak but Gene grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him into a hard, fierce kiss. He brought his other hand up around his rib cage, and pulled him close, pushing his tongue into Sam with a passion and ferocity that Sam had seen once before, and suddenly Sam understood why Gene twigged to the resemblance between him and Mikey before he did. He reached up and grabbed the lapels of Gene’s coat, considering how he was going to break this up without Gene going ballistic, and meanwhile the kiss was getting damn near pornographic. Before Sam decided on a course of action, Gene pulled back.
“Swear to God, Sam, I never felt worse about hitting you. I’m sorry.” He moved his gloved hand off Sam’s neck and stroked his cheek. “I got you hard.” He held Sam’s chin and turned his head and kissed his cheek, where Sam assumed some kind of bruise had bloomed. Sam was so shocked by this display of tenderness – being drunk did not help – that he just sat there, wide eyed. Then Gene pulled Sam back to face him. “Now, stay away from Joseph. Got it?”
“What?” Sam pushed him off, appalled by…everything. Gene tightened his grip around Sam’s torso.
“You heard me. Don’ go near him.”
“I am NOT your bitch, Gene!” Sam threw Gene’s arm off him, and realized that his ‘confession hour’ had gone horribly awry. “In fact, you know what, this isn’t even me, okay? This…”
Gene laughed, and Sam stalled.
“You’ll know when you’re my bitch, Sam, it’ll be when my cock is shoved down yer throat. I’m just saying, Joseph takes things seriously. He’s the marrying kind, and you aren’t, so leave off him.” Gene shook his head and started the car. “Don’t take a kiss to heart, love. Just an apology.”
“You have never, ever, EVER apologized for hitting me before.” Sam said crossly, confused and more drunk than he realized because he was making entirely the wrong argument.
“Before you always deserved it.” Gene said simply and drove off. Sam fumed, but finally figured out a retort.
“I am not your bitch, and…”
“So you said. Now shut it. I’m not goin’ to shag you tonight.”
“I don’t want you to shag me at all!” Sam yelled, and Gene glanced over at him
“I won’t.” He said authoritatively, and Sam very carefully and thoughtfully ignored the tone of regret in Gene’s voice.
“What about Duane?”
Gene screwed up his face in revulsion. “You want that bugger? Thought you had better taste…”
“NO! Oh for Christ’s sake, Gene, stay on topic! I’m talking about Mikey!”
“Duane did not off Mikey.”
“He was staring me down all night, and I know I saw him talking to Mikey…one night.” Sam only put it together as he said it, and it made some kind of weird sense, even if he could not explain why.
“Night he was murdered?” Gene asked, sounding very much like ‘the Guv’ again.
“No. Before that. Just…a hunch.”
“Blow me, Dorothy, you got a hunch now?” Gene snorted in amusement.
“I am NOT going to blow you, Guv. Shit.” Sam leaned back and pulled the lever to the seat so he was more horizontal, which felt wonderful as his head buzzed.
“What? Sam you got to get your mind out of the sack, we’re talking business.” Gene shook his head, and Sam resisted the urge to scream in frustration.
“Duane’s small, not much to him. Mikey was young and strong, would’ve taken more than Duane can put out to take him down.”
“Small can still be strong.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes, trying to envision how someone like Duane could get the upper hand on Mikey, and there were ways. He wanted the autopsy report, but his head was throbbing, and he did not want to open his eyes even if the autopsy report was dancing on his lap.
“Say that to all your dates, do you?” Gene smirked and Sam groaned. “Oh, not a bottom, then?” Gene smirked even more, Sam could hear it in his voice.
“You will never know.”
Sam felt the car stop and suddenly Gene was on top of him, leaning across the middle of the car, breathing heavily in his ear. “I can find out, Sammy boy.”
“Shit, Gene, no…off…” Sam pushed and was surprised when Gene let him. Sam kept his eyes closed and his hands up to ward Gene off and felt himself getting dizzy, and wondered how he could get even more drunk after he stopped drinking. Then, it hit him.
“Gene….”
“Out. Yer home.”
“No…no no no…”
“Make up yer mind.”
Sam felt Gene’s hand moving up his thigh, and he tried to push it off, struggling to sit up and failing. “No, crap, no…”
“Sam?”
“Drugged…fuck…Gene…drugged? I…was…drug…” Sam felt himself drifting, and going dark, and then he knew exactly how someone like Duane got the upper hand.
-----------------
He woke up in bed, half dressed, and feeling absolutely pissed. His brain was not working, not in any efficient manner, and he laid in bed with his earth shattering headache and no memory of how he got into his flat. He curled up to a half-sitting position and was overcome with nausea, but the idea of vomiting was too painful to consider so he just stopped and hoped that being very, very still would allow his body to start cooperating with him. Then he felt a cold towel on his head and by God, it was a miracle.
“You look like crap.”
No, not a miracle, just Gene. Sam groaned and he realized that he sounded pathetic, like a small animal caught in a trap.
“Not being flirty, jus’ saying you look like crap.” Gene snorted and Sam heard him walk away. Sam whined, not wanting Gene to leave, because he was not sure if he could live through the day feeling this terrible, and he did not want to die alone. It really felt like a choice.
“If that’s a come on, you need to work on technique.”
Sam whined again and decided to lay back down, but could not bring himself to do it.
“Jesus, Sam, you alright?”
Sam finally worked up the courage to nod, because something in the tone of Gene’s voice actually sounded worried.
“You don’ look it.”
“Like crap. You said.” Sam croaked, his voice barely working.
“An’ I meant it. Whatever the ‘ell you got slipped, it was effective.”
“Too much.”
“Yeah, probably too high a dose. Amateur, then, don’t know your weight.”
“Oh and you do?” Sam retorted, unable to stop himself.
“I carried yer arse up here, damn straight I know your weight to the ounce.”
“Ummmmph.”
“That’s what I said, too, dragging yer arse out the car.”
Sam crept up to a full sitting position, then realized he was facing the wrong way. Slowly, keeping the nice, beautiful, wonderful cold towel on his head, he turned around and found Gene staring at him from the chair. He looked beat, and Sam realized that Gene kept himself awake all night in order to watch over him.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. And I mean that.” Gene glowered.
“Blood work?”
“We know you was drugged, what the bloody good would that do?”
“No…Mikey…”
“Hm. Yeah. Good call, Sam.” Gene got up and went over to the phone, and picked it up. “What the ‘ell?” He looked at the cord, which Sam had cut with scissors a long time ago. “This why you never answer?” Gene looked at him in genuine confusion.
“Wrong people keep calling.” Sam closed his eyes and concentrated on the cold towel.
“Sam, you are a daft bugger.” Gene dropped the phone unceremoniously and stomped out of the flat. Sam heard him using the phone in the hallway. Phone. In hallway. That was weird, why would you put a land line in a hallway? And where was his mobile, anyway?
Suddenly the towel was removed, and Sam whined again.
“Damn near adorable, that is. Shut it.” Gene snapped in aggravation, dropping the towel into a bowl full of water and ice. “Blood work ain’t back on Mikey yet, but I told them what we’re thinking, and pathology’ll run a few extra tests just in case, although that’ll take longer.”
“Wait…time? Oh oh oooooooo.” Sam cooed as the towel was placed back on his head.
“Now that is fetching, better stop or I’ll get some ideas on how to make you forget yer headache.”
Sam clamped his mouth shut.
“It’s half past two.”
“Crap…what…”
“Radioed in that we’re out following up on leads.”
Sam’s mind raced to all the times Gene sauntered in late after ‘following leads’ all morning. “Cheeky, Guv.”
“I am brilliant, comes with the territory.” Gene sat down again, and pulled out a cigarette. Sam grimaced but could not bring himself to protest. “Who fed you drinks?”
“Everyone.” Sam groaned. “Who knew I would make such a fantastic queer?”
“Mmm.” Gene eyed him suspiciously, taking a long drag on the cigarette. “But towards the last? The drug did not kick in until we were almost here, even at that dose. Must’ve drank it right before you left, or close to it.”
Sam tried to think, but it really was a blur, and he shook his head.
“You remember Joseph kissing ya?”
“Ugh. Yes.”
“Glad to know you weren’t impressed.”
“Gene…”
“He get you a drink?”
Sam considered it, and realized that the one constant to the evening prior was Joseph bringing him drinks. “Yes. Several.”
“Strong drinks?”
“Yeah…actually, yeah. Everyone else always handed me wine. He kept giving me mixed drinks. Strong.”
“Hide the taste of a crushed up pill.”
“Yeah, they could. I don’t think I’d have noticed by that time, anyway.” Sam said grimly.
Gene stared off, thinking. “Mikey hated Joseph.”
“Why? Seems like his type.”
“Thank you.”
“No, I meant…oh, hell…”
“Told you last night, you remember? Joseph is the marrying kind. Gets all possessive.”
“How possessive?” Sam sat up straight and took the towel off his head to look at Gene clearly, the fog starting to clear as they discussed the case.
“Very.”
“Enough?”
“Possibly.”
“He and Mikey ever…?”
“Sure of it. Mikey was a little slut. You know that.”
“Um, well, not something I dwelled on much.”
“Me neither.” Gene looked off, a sad expression flitting over his features for a moment. “I could see Joseph taking it to heart, though. Nancy ponce.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “For a flaming queer you are a homophobic bastard.”
Gene glared at him spitefully. “Watch yer mouth, Dorothy, or I’ll wash it out with soap.”
“That your idea of foreplay?” Sam joked, then thought better of it, but too late, and Gene’s eyes went feral.
“We can try.”
“No!”
Gene kept staring at him, smoking but otherwise remaining absolutely still, like a lion watching prey. Sam got up, moving too slowly but determined to get out of range.
“I’m going to get cleaned up.” He pulled a change of clothes out of his dresser.
“I’ll be right here.”
“A great comfort to me, for so many reasons....” Sam mumbled as he stumbled to the bathroom, shutting the door tightly behind him.
They made it to work before quitting time, which Sam considered a miracle. Since no one knew of his side trip to Fantasia, he had to act somewhat coherent, which hurt more than Gene driving. The pathology lab made it clear the blood tests for Mikey would not be back until the following day. Taking Ray as his role model for once, Sam tried to accomplish as little as humanly possible while still remaining conscious, mostly using the time to re-read his notes on Mikey’s case until Chris loomed over him expectantly.
“Absolutely not, I’m going home.” Sam said, dropping the file from his hands as if it were on fire. Chris stared at him.
“No pub, then?”
“God, no.” Sam rubbed his head.
“Oh! Drank too much last night at the darts practice, did ya’, Boss?” Chris smiled in sympathy.
“Buckets. I’m going home.”
“I’ll tell the Guv.” Chris bobbed his head and patted Sam lightly on the shoulder.
“Where is he?” Sam looked around, realizing that Gene had, at some point in the last two hours, disappeared.
“Don’ know. Been out following leads with you all day, now he’s gone to follow up some more, so he said. Busy, eh?”
“Sure. Busy.” Sam shook his head – slowly, ever so slowly – and then got up. He followed Chris out but turned away from the pub to head back to his flat. He sensed rather than saw the Cortina pull up behind him.
“Oi! Get in the damn car!” Gene yelled at him. Reluctantly, Sam got in.
“Please, may I go home?” Sam begged, holding his head in his hands.
“You still feel that bad?” Gene threw him a look.
“Yes! Yes I do!”
“Too bad. We’re going on a stake out.” Gene took off.
“I could use a bottled water.”
“Why would you put it in a bottle? Paper cup not good enough for ya?”
“Gene, I just need water.”
“Christ, stop whining, you’d think we were married.”
“I’d say I’m not your type, but…”
“Sam…” Gene threatened and Sam just laid his head back.
“Where are we going?”
“Brother’s.”
“The gay bar off Canal Street?”
“Joseph goes there a bit.”
“Did Mikey go there?”
Gene looked at him. “Where the hell did you meet him?”
“I prefer not to say.”
“Perv.”
“You didn’t meet him there.” Sam volleyed back.
“Course not. Can’t be seen there. Met him at one of Terry’s do’s.”
“So we really consider Joseph a suspect now, just because he might have drugged me?”
“He did drug you, and yes we do.”
“Hate to sound like a broken record, Guv, but we got no proof of either.”
“Next time you hate to sound like something, don’t.” Gene floored it and Sam shut up, in fear of his life as they whipped through traffic. Finally Gene spoke up again. “Found out Joseph’s brother is a pharmacist.”
“Oh. Okay, then.” Sam nodded, but combined with the driving, it hurt. “So he’s got access and motive. I guess that’s something.” Sam cringed involuntarily at blurred objects as they passed them.
“You didn’t ask how I found out.”
“Fine. How did you find out, Guv?”
“A little birdy told me.” Gene smiled ravenously, and Sam stared at him. Yes, no denying it, Gene had dropped off Sam at work and then gone out to shag an informant. Sam bet if he leaned in close, he could probably still smell the odor of sex on Gene, and he caught himself tipping in the seat. Gene glanced at him, curious, and Sam fell back, wondering what in the hell he was thinking, other than to consider jealously that it had been a long time since he, himself, had actually gotten laid. He decided that his brain still hurt to much to pursue that matter in any meaningful way.
Staking out the bar was simple, because apparently the establishment and its patrons were very used to it. Gene parked none-to-inconspicuously near the alleyway that led to the ‘front’ door, and sat staring at everyone who walked by. The initial blood work came back a surprising negative, but that did nothing to temper Gene’s belief that Joseph must have killed Mikey because he so obviously drugged Sam, so they were left waiting for the more complete tests. Joseph never showed, not that day or the three following days, and Sam nursed the deep loathing he had of the Cortina with various fantasies of filling it with cement and drowning it in the canal while Gene screamed like a girl, grief stricken over its demise. Gene put Chris and Annie on an afternoon shift watching the bar, and no one complained, because it made sense to the police of 1974 that of course a fairy poofter would be the one to kill another fairy poofter and they all hung out together, anyway.
Tapping his leg nervously as the hours stretched into night on the third day, Sam finally broke. “Look, let’s just do it again.”
Gene looked up from his coffee with a surprised expression. “Sam, we ain’t even done it yet.” He glanced at the backseat.
Sam stared at him in horror. “No! No! Not that!”
Gene shook his head, confused.
“I mean, use me as bait.”
“You been sitting outside this bar for three days. I think they might suspect yer motives if you walk in there now.” Gene rolled his eyes.
“Gene, you really think Joseph did this. So, let’s prove it. Forget the damn bar. I’ll call Joseph and set up a date.”
Gene wrinkled his nose but nodded. “Would have to look sincere.”
“I can look sincere.”
“I know.” Gene sucked his teeth thoughtfully, and Sam did not dare pursue that line of inquiry. “He’ll expect you to put out.” Gene wrinkled his nose again, and Sam had to admit, it was kind of cute, then forced himself back on topic.
“I can be coy.”
“Know that too…he probably thinks you’re with me.”
“I can tell him I got tired of your shit. Close to the truth, anyway,” Sam said sarcastically, and earned a fierce glare.
“Right then, ‘missus.’ Call him.”
Sam nodded and reached into his jacket for his mobile. “Shit.” He banged his head against the back of the seat as he remembered where his mobile was. Gene just stared at him. “Where’s a phone, Guv?”
“I’d bet it’s right there in the phone box.” Gene nodded at the red booth on the street corner. Sam grimaced in defeat and got out.
He arranged the first date for a very public venue, a restaurant where waiters would serve the drinks and Sam was certain he would be able to walk out on his own power. Gene was hidden away across the street inside a closed clothing shop – the owner being very willing to assist the police, of course – but Sam did not wear any wires. This was just to set things up, and he did not expect it to go pear shaped this early in the game. Joseph showed up, looking clean and professional and grateful, and listened earnestly to Sam’s not-entirely-made-up tale of Gene-related woe. Joseph talked about his job as an accountant and they made a lot of chit chat about politics, football, and the weather. Sam had certainly been on worse first dates.
“You know, Sam, we met at that party, but I’m not really the kind of guy that gets around much.” Joseph said noncommittally as their dinner was wrapping up.
“Me neither, I guess. I rather like monogamy, but Gene…”
“Man’s a whore, babe, and you deserve better.”
Sam could not argue with that, and nodded, trying to look sad or regretful or something.
“Look, I’d like to meet up again. Soon. You…uh…like art?”
Sam blinked. He loved art, and art galleries, and art shows, and damnit if he did not feel entirely queer just then. “Yes.”
“Show opening on Thursday, modern work by a local guy. Miro-inspired, yeah? Could be interesting. I’d….like for you to join me.”
He looked sincere and Sam agreed, and they shook hands formally as they left the restaurant. Joseph got in his car and drove off, and Sam waited a few moments before tucking into the shop where Gene was.
“Well?”
“Nice guy, a bit too furry.”
“Thank you, Miss Marple. Anything else?” Gene had his flask in his hand as he sat back in a chair he had pulled from the back office.
“He told me you are a man whore and I deserve better.” Sam grinned as he leaned against the register counter. Gene glared at him.
“Well I’d probably behave if my boy put out.” Gene stared straight at him, and Sam froze. Gene took a swig from his flask and stood up, and Sam purposefully made himself stay still and not flinch as he went past. Sam felt Gene’s hand drag across his crotch but Gene did not pause or look at him and just walked out of the shop. Sam slowly walked after him, wondering when in the hell he was going to grow balls and tell Gene the truth, and also wondering on what planet that it became more dangerous for him to ‘come out’ as straight than gay.
It turned out that Mikey was drugged after all, with something that did not turn up in the first run of tests and was not usually even tested for, and certainly was not over the counter, and not off a street corner either. It had to come from a pharmacy, which Gene marked down as another tally against Joseph. Otherwise, nothing new came up.
There were other cases that required attention as well, though, and Sam managed to stay busy and generally out of Gene’s way. He mostly fretted about the art show, because it was second date, and no matter what women liked to pretend, on a second date a man expected something. He finally found himself with no recourse but to ask Gene.
“He’s gonna expect something,” Sam said, glowering, waiting for advice. They were at his flat, and it was not very late but late enough for them to have left the pub to get here. Gene shrugged as if to say, ‘of course.’
“I’m really not interested in putting out, Gene.” Sam sighed.
“I can tell.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake…”
“I know what you meant, Sam.” Gene laughed at Sam’s expense. “Just snog him a bit. Get some tongue action in there, let him get a taste, then get out. Then we’ll be on to step two. The fun part.” Gene’s eyes positively glowed with the entertaining idea of making Joseph jealous of him.
That Sam had absolutely no interest in snogging anyone was entirely lost on Gene and he sighed again.
“What? Bloody ‘ell, try to get you some action and you’re all pouty about it. Joseph’s not that bad looking, for a fuzz ball.”
Sam fell backwards on his cot. “This is just surreal. More surreal than 1974. More surreal than Dali ever got.”
“You act like you never kissed a bloke before. So he’s not your type; close yer eyes and think of Queen and Country.”
The next evening, Sam was doing exactly that, sitting in Joseph’s car and getting the bejeesus snogged out of himself by Joseph. The art show was very good and they looked like two very subtly gay men meeting up with other, not-so-subtly gay men to enjoy champagne and culture, all of which seemed to be a massive turn-on for Joseph. He was taking his turn-on out in Sam’s mouth, and if not for the facial hair, Sam would have enjoyed it, because it was tongue gymnastics of the highest order. As it went on, Sam felt hands creeping up his body, and he shifted uncomfortably.
“You okay, babe?” Joseph asked, sitting back, checking him carefully.
Sam realized that no, nothing was okay. This whole evening was never something Mikey would have gone for, and Joseph did not seem to have any kind of hair trigger jealousy that Sam could find, and he began to suspect that they were going in the wrong direction with the case. All that, aside from having to kiss a man in the back seat of a car.
“Gene’s….jealous.” Sam threw it out, and it was not planned, and Gene would rip him up for it, but Sam knew what he was doing now.
“So? You’re not with him, yeah?” Joseph petted Sam’s abdomen lovingly, his fingers trailing circles and massaging his muscles, and it felt very nice, and Sam was in shock when he realized it was prompting an erection.
“I…I…oh…”
“Oh yeahhhh…” Joseph responded to Sam’s heated reaction and leaned in for another kiss. His hand dropped and Sam was being expertly stroked off through his pants.
“Oh jesus…” Sam scrambled backwards, but Joseph followed, and Sam found himself pinned under the larger man.
“Come on, babe, do it for me…” Joseph whispered lovingly as Sam’s hands pushed into the seat for leverage and he gasped for air. “Oh Christ, yeah, you sound hot.” Joseph nearly whined and started harder on Sam’s cock.
“No…no…Gene…” Sam nearly yelled and moved a hand down to stop Joseph.
Joseph did stop, and leaned back, staring at Sam with a worried expression, and that only convinced Sam that Joseph was not their man. “You’re really that scared of him, aren’t you? That bloody fuck. Look, I’ll take care of you. He won’t go against me, and whatever he did to Mikey, he won’t get a chance to do to you. I promise, babe, okay?” He took Sam’s face in his hands and Sam stared at him in shock.
“What?”
“I promise.” Joseph nodded encouragingly.
“No, I mean, what you said, about Mikey…”
Joseph dropped his hands and looked thoughtful. “Hey, look, everyone knew how he felt about the kid. Gene’s a whore but he’s jealous of his own. Mikey didn’t deserve what he got, no way, he was a good kid, but…well, not like Gene and Art weren’t fighting over him. I thought Gene won that round when Art showed up with Johnny, but Mikey seemed to prefer someone else. So…”
“You think Gene killed Mikey?”
“I know he did. Who else would? I mean, no one knew he had you on the back burner, and I don’t blame him for keeping you under wraps…” Joseph reached out and stroked his face, and Sam was in too much shock to protest. “But, hey, that’s Gene. No one’s ever forgot Mark Harrison, eh?”
“Mark who?”
“Jesus, you don’t know? Crap.” Joseph looked out the window, frowning. “’Bout, what, six, seven years ago. Mark Harrison, sweetest faced boy you ever saw, a bit of a tart, and it just undid Gene. Beat the crap out of him. Gene put the kid in a coma, Sam, and he died a few months later.”
“No…”
“I’m not lying, ask anyone. I know why you’re scared of him, but I swear, I’ll protect you.”
Sam sat for a second, in shock, disbelieving.
“Sam?”
“I need to go ‘ome, Joe.”
Joseph did not argue and was a gentleman as he dropped Sam off next his car, asking Sam to call him the next day. Sam just nodded, distracted, and wondering just how safe he really was around Gene Hunt.
--------------
Gene was at Sam’s flat, as arranged. He made Sam get the phone line fixed, with dire promises of personal armageddon if Sam cut it again, and was waiting for Sam’s call. Sam flew in, so worked up from the revelations of earlier that he was past caring for his own safety, going from wary to outraged over the course of ten blocks. Gene lied and hid facts, important facts, from him, and he was furious.
“You bastard.”
Gene looked at him, confused and angry. “What you on about?”
“Mark Harrison.”
Gene turned from annoyed to murderous in less than heartbeat, but did not answer.
“Put him in a coma? Ring a bell? Oh and did we skip the part where you and Art were fighting over Mikey? Slip your mind, did it?” Sam was yelling.
Gene stood up and with one fluid movement slammed a fist into Sam’s stomach, sending him flying over his cot. He walked over to where Sam was gasping on the ground, but did not move another step closer, just stared down at him.
“That how it is, Gene? Don’t like what you got, so beat it to death?” Sam snarled, curling into himself but looking straight at Gene.
Gene looked at him with something like concern, then got down on one knee, leaning in.
“I loved that boy, Sam.” Gene said softly.
“Seems you loved him too much, Gene,” Sam said, not feeling very forgiving as his abdominal muscles cramped.
“Didn’t go down that way. Yeah, we was fighting, and I hit him. Hard. But he tripped and went down a flight of stairs. So yeah, it were my fault, and I live with his death every day. Happy now?” Gene took a heavy breath and sat down on the floor.
Sam unfolded and leaned against the wall, still clutching his stomach. “Why’d you hit him to begin with? If you loved him.”
Gene glanced up at him, angry and sad. “We had a difference of opinion about the nature of our…friendship.”
“Joseph said he was a tart. You got jealous, Gene?” Sam snapped.
Gene pointed at Sam, flushing red, but he did not move. “Don’t you judge me. I’ve been haunted by that mistake since the moment he fell.”
“Seems that it’s haunting you in more ways than one, then. Word is, you killed Mikey.”
Gene stared at him, horrified.
“Gene, where were you that night?” Sam asked carefully, guarding his abdomen.
“You don’t bloody believe…”
“You know I have to ask, Gene. You know.”
Gene snorted, his nostrils flaring, incensed, and Sam knew the answer.
“Jesus, you were with him that night.”
Gene looked away.
“When?”
“Early. Just a quickie.”
“Where?”
“Behind the shop where he works…worked. He was trying to break it off, anyway.”
“Joseph made it sound like you were sore about losing him to someone else.”
“No.” Gene squinted, thinking. “I knew it was on the dock: he had someone else setting him up, some sugar daddy by what Mikey said. Don’t know who, but a jealous bloke, ‘cording to Mikey. Didn’t want me coming by anymore to screw up his ‘good thing.’”
“But you did anyway.”
“He…wasn’t good at saying no when offered.” Gene grinned. Sam thought for a second, and sensed some kind of loneliness behind that admission, that Gene would seek out a boy who already spurned him for someone else. “I was just getting what I could, while I could. Nothing more than that.”
“Do we know who this other guy was?”
“No.”
“Shit, Gene, he should’ve been our prime suspect from the start.”
“I’ve been asking, Sam, but no one seems to know. No point in following that lead until there was a lead to follow. I thought we had something with Joseph.”
“We don’t.”
“How’d that go?” Gene leaned back against the other wall, his knees drawn up. Sam felt himself blush, remembering just how badly it went. “That good, eh? Well at least you got some shagging out of it.” Gene shrugged nonchalantly.
“No, no I didn’t, thank you for your concern.” Sam shook his head. “Just…okay, you’ll call it a ‘hunch,’ but I don’t think he fits the profile of the man we are looking for.”
“What do you mean?”
“Not jealous. I kept talking about you, and he was more concerned that you were going to beat me up than that I was going to go back to you.”
“Looks like he was spot on.” Gene looked at him, revealing nothing.
“Guess so.” Sam rubbed his stomach, grimacing. “Still, puts us back at square one.”
Gene studied him. “Hurt you with that one?” He glanced down to where Sam’s hands were clutched over his belly. Surprised, Sam looked at him for a second before mustering an answer.
“Yeah, you did.”
Gene got up and bent over, pulling Sam up unexpectedly. “Ow.”
“Damn ponce. Here.” Gene dropped him onto the bed and sat down next to him, and began rubbing his stomach, and it was so utterly bizarre that Sam just stared.
“What are you doing?”
“What’s it look like. Lie down.”
“Gene, I’m fine.” Panic welled up in him.
“Not going to hurt ya. Lie still.”
“No, really, I’m fine.” Sam grabbed his hand to stop him and Gene looked down at him, understanding that Sam did not want to be touched. He got up and sat back down in the chair, and Sam sat up, pulling his legs close, grateful that his hard-on had not managed to rise up too quickly. Gene was not looking at him, and it was an awkward silence as Sam realized that he rebuffed Gene in a very personal way. “Gene…”
“We need to find out who Mikey was seeing.”
“Gene, I’m not…”
“I’ve tried all the usual suspects. We’ll have to go further afield.”
“Gene, please, I’m trying to tell you…”
“Sam, shut it.” Gene got up and walked out.
Sam was re-reading the notes to the case the next day, thinking of going back to Mikey’s mother because they really had no where else to go. Gene made himself scarce, and Sam was grateful if also guilty. Gene was not even making a pass, he had been trying to apologize in his own way, and Sam basically flung it back in his face for no good reason. At least, not a reason that Sam was willing to consider, much less discuss with Gene himself, and he wondered if it was too late to viably consider asexuality as a lifestyle choice.
“’Ey Boss.” Chris walked up and Sam bleakly looked at him. “Oi, you look beat,” Chris said, looking at him with his usual confused expression.
“I am.” Sam said simply and kept looking at Chris, who finally remembered he was there for a reason.
“We got a call from the bank. ‘Bout that Michael Farrell kid.”
“From the bank?” Sam sat up.
“Yeah. ‘Bout his account.”
“His account?”
“Uh, yeah? Apparently he had one, and they need a copy of the death certificate to close it, and they don’t know who the next of kin is, no one was listed on their paperwork.”
Something about that sounded odd, the least of which was that a seventeen year old kid had a bank account listing no next of kin. Sam thanked Chris and set out to find the Guv, who was not in his office, or apparently in the building. The Cortina was not in the parking lot. Sam had Phyllis call out on the radio for him, and eventually he turned up but would not state where he was, which to Phyllis was business as usual. Sam tapped his foot impatiently while she explained that Sam was looking for him, and Gene cursed her out and cursed Sam out by proxy before stating that he was on his way in to pick Sam up.
Sam got into the Cortina and frowned. “Interrupt a good shag, did I?”
“As a matter of fact, it’s none your damn business, Tyler. Now what’s this about?”
Sam explained as they drove to the bank, and before they were fully inside the doors Gene was barking orders to the bank manager to pull out all the account’s files. There was a secondary signature on the form used to open the account of someone acting as ‘guardian’ but the name was never written in and the signature was little more than a scrawl. But it was not Mikey’s mother, they both knew that much.
“So what do we do with the account?” The bank manager asked anxiously as they were leaving.
“Right now, nothing. All of this is part of an ongoing murder investigation.” Sam answered half heartedly, mad about the obscure signature.
“A lot of money to just keep sitting around.” The manager shifted nervously, and Sam and Gene snapped around.
“How much money can a seventeen year old kid with a part time job have in the bank?” Gene demanded.
“10,000 pounds.”
Gene’s jaw dropped, and Sam’s close to it. Gene marched back to the manager. “You got any deposit slips laying around for this?”
“Oh those are kept separately, not with the account’s general files.”
“I think you bloody well better un-separate them!” Gene bellowed, and several bank customers went jogging for the exit. Sam radioed in to get some plods to help move files and soon he was back at the office with boxes of filing to sift through. Only a very small part of it related to Mikey, of course, but Sam made the manager give them examples of paperwork for nearly every account holder to try and compare signatures. It was long and dirty, boring work, and the three other detectives who were helping him sort and compare obviously wished dire physical harm against Sam’s personage, and he sympathized as his eyes glazed and he downed lethal quantities of aspirin.
There were no matches to the signature anywhere by the end of the day, and as people drifted out of the office, grumbling, Sam thought it was time for the pub himself. He sat next to Gene at the bar and ordered them both a round, and that started a long, slow deterioration into drunken lethargy that did not start to end until Nelson poured everyone out the door, well past closing. Sam realized that Gene was holding him up as they walked towards his flat.
“Don’….don’t get any ideas.” Sam hiccupped.
“Only idea I got right now is how much heavier you are than you look.” Gene grumbled.
“Didn’ drug me, yeah?” Sam giggled.
“Still think that was Joseph.”
“Nope.”
“You may like him Sam but I don’ trust him.”
“He’s nice enough,” Sam said thoughtfully as they reached his building.
“A fabulous furry shag, no doubt. Now come on, lovey, we got a flight of stairs in our future.”
“I did not shag him….oh, shit, stairs…” Sam looked up forlornly.
“That’s what I said. Com’on.” Gene pulled and Sam followed.
“Stairs…you miss that Harrison kid?” Sam asked in all innocence, but he felt Gene tense up. “Sorry, Guv, never mind.” He went back to focusing on the stairs, and Gene did not answer. They finally made it up and into Sam’s flat, which simply could not be properly locked any more anyway so there was no use for Sam’s keys which he did not successfully pull out until he was sitting on his cot.
“Yeah, I miss him.” Gene said, pouring a glass of whiskey and sitting in the chair.
Sam wondered what he meant, then remembered. “Sorry.”
“Nowt you can do. People die.”
“Yeah. Like me.”
“Don’t talk like that, Sam, I might think you are more daft than I already do.”
Sam just nodded and laid down on the cot, feeling like it was some kind of sleepover. He laid on his stomach, facing Gene. “I’m sorry, Gene, for last night.”
Gene glared at him. “You’re pissed, Sam. Go to sleep.”
“No, yes, I’m pissed, but I am sorry.”
“You were getting’ a stiffy and you didn’t want me to touch you. Got no reason to apologize.” Gene said, trying to sound harsh and intimidating but somehow, not sounding quite that way, or at least that was what Sam thought. Then he registered what Gene said.
“…you knew?”
“Course I knew. Damn I’ve helped enough boys get their heat up to know it when I see it.” Gene tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “So drop it.”
“I’m not a boy. I’m thirty seven years old, for Christ sake, I’m gettin’ tired of men calling ‘boy.’ I’m not a boy and I don’ need the likes of Joseph taking care of me, I take care of myself.” Sam frowned.
Gene looked back at him. “What?”
“Joe kept telling me he’d take care of me, protect me from you. I’m not a boy!” Sam said and he knew he sounded particularly childish and petulant, which did not exactly bolster his argument, but he did not care.
“So you did shag him.”
“NO! What’s that got to do with anything?”
“No reason a man wants to take care of someone unless he’s in love, Sam, and most men don’t hit that until after the first shag, at least.”
“Not true. You took care of me when I was drugged, and then last night after you hit me.” Sam threw back, and stopped dead when he saw Gene’s expression. He stopped more than dead, because Gene gave everything away in that one, flickering moment and there was nothing Sam could do. There was a long, heavy silence as they stared at each other, and Sam managed with great self control not to panic.
“How far you get with Joe?” Gene asked levelly, his eyes bright and glittering.
“Snogging. He got his hands, er, downstairs outside…but, er, not interested.” Sam answered, cringing.
“Good. Go to sleep.” Gene finished his drink and turned off the light. Sam heard him shifting in the chair and soon his heavy, familiar breathing filled the room. Sam could not fall asleep, though, remembering Gene’s expression and the feel of Gene’s hand rubbing his belly, or Joseph’s for that matter, and his mind floated off into the sensation of remembering for a while. When he came back to consciousness, the whole building was still and Gene was deeply asleep and Sam wondered if that special ‘belly touch’ was as special as he remembered it, and it seemed like a very good idea to find out.
Sam rolled over onto his back in the darkness, which smelled of Gene, and began running his hands up and down his chest and belly, and it did feel good, and he wondered for all the sex in his life how he missed this particular turn on. He lifted his shirt and reveled in the feel of his hands on his skin, closing his eyes and breathing deeply as the hard on slowly formed. He rubbed his nipples and his neck but nothing was quite the same as the tips of his fingers sliding down the middle of his belly and he groaned softly as he drew circles and spirals on himself, rolling his hips just to feel his muscles moving under skin. Finally his erection was too uncomfortable and he undid his pants, pushing them down only to his thighs, figuring he could get comfortable later. This was not about being comfortable, and if he looked like a fool he was drunk enough not to care. He dug his heels in and grabbed his cock with one hand while keeping the other moving in light circles over his belly. He stroked his cock evenly, stopping only to spit on his hand for instant lubrication. The dual sensations were outstanding and he purred as he turned his head to the side, rubbing into the pillow, finally pushing his hand flat against his belly, kneading his fingers into himself as other hand slid up and down his shaft, teasing the head. His pace began picking up instinctively as his body asked for and answered its own needs, and his breath became quick as he fisted his cock with force, pumping it. He was making short gasps, his hips starting to thrust, and he knew he was close.
“Jesus, Sam…” The voice floated over him and it all seemed right, just then, as he pushed down on his own belly and thrust into his hand and came.
“Gennnne…oh oh oh fuck…” It was amazing and perfect and he knew he was drunk and being stupid and he did not care as he drifted off to sleep.
He woke up a mess, remembering bits of pieces, and wondering if he really did that with Gene in the room. Hard to know, because Gene was not there, and Sam had no idea when he left. Before or after the incredibly stupid masturbation session where he called out Gene’s name when he came? Yes, of course he remembered that part, because Sam Tyler was never lucky enough to black out the really embarrassing parts. He just could not accurately recall if Gene really said anything and really watched him, or if it was part of a drunken fever dream. He had a preferred answer to that question, but he did not trust it.
He walked into the office in a state of suspended animation, knowing that Gene would act like he had not been present for Sam’s erotic interlude even if he was, but scared nonetheless that he might say something. Sam remembered the way he looked at him when Sam basically called him out for being in love with him, and it was passion, raw and helpless. So, in this perfect world, Sam was now an object of affection for his lovelorn homosexual superior officer who believed that Sam was gay and just playing, what, coy? If it were not for his devotion to duty, Sam would have bought a ticket to London. Or Paris. Hell, Algeria was sounding really good. He approached his desk, looking around for Gene and found him staring straight at him though the blinds of his office. He motioned for Sam to come in, and Sam walked the plank.
“You were right.” Gene pitched a piece of paper at him, and Sam realized that Gene had been in the office for hours, had probably gone straight here whenever he left Sam’s flat in the dark of morning, and spent that time sorting through bank documents trying to find Mikey’s killer. He looked smashed with exhaustion.
Sam picked up the paper. “About what?”
“Duane. Duane Harvey.”
It was Duane’s signature on Mikey’s bank account paperwork, and somehow Gene matched up that signature to a document he signed taking out a safety deposit box two years before.
“Why hasn’t he come forward to claim the money?”
“Waiting. Letting the murder investigation die down. Probably thought the bank would get in touch with him about it, not expecting a paperwork gaffe.” Gene ran a hand through his hair, destroyed.
“What is it, Gene? Why haven’t you gone out to grab him?”
Gene looked up at Sam and he knew why. Gene wanted to kill Duane, and did not trust that he would not do just that if someone was not there to stop him.
“Right, Guv. Let’s go.”
Gene shook his head. “You go. Take Ray with you.” He reached over for his cigarette.
Sam put his hands on his hips, deciding to face this head on. “Don’t want to ride with me?”
“What?” Gene snarled.
Sam did not repeat the question, just raised his eyebrows.
Gene took a long drag on the cigarette, inspecting Sam, then twitched a little. “Not that. But if it was Duane, and I bloody well know it was, then it’s my fault that Mikey copped it.”
Sam shut the door, but did not move otherwise. “What the hell do you mean?”
“I told you, I couldn’t leave him alone. Mikey was careful, kept it all out of the way, but…” Gene looked off, angry.
“Shit. You bragged.” Sam folded his arms in fury. Boys and their games. Gene did not respond, which was damning enough.
“What about the drug? In Mikey’s system?”
“Sam, Duane Harvey is a pharmaceutical sales rep.” Gene still would not look at him, putting out his cigarette and staring at it as the final spark died.
Bringing in Duane was not difficult, and worse, getting a confession out of him was painfully easy. He was still in love with the dead boy, and broke when confronted with what little evidence they had, going from raging homicidal lunatic to grief-stricken lover and back again without stopping for breath. Gene did not participate, confusing most everyone except Sam, but otherwise it went like clockwork. When the paperwork was done and everything was as tidy as Sam could make it, he went down to the cells and visited the murderer. By himself.
“One final question.” Sam leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Harvey sat on the bench, hands clasped, looking at the ground. He became very subdued once they locked him in the cell, but Sam still had two officers outside, just in case.
“That night of the party at Terry’s. Did you drug me?”
Harvey looked up at him, confused. “What?”
“You heard me.” Sam pressed, but pretty much knew the answer just from the look in Harvey’s eyes.
“No. No that was not me, Sam…ah, Inspector Tyler.”
“But you know who.”
“…Joseph asked me a while ago for some pills to, you know, help a bloke relax. I gave him some that night, early. He broke up with Harry a while ago, and I think he was only planning ahead, just in case. Then he saw you. We all knew you were…new.”
Sam cringed inwardly with the realization that the undercover operation had not gone quite as smoothly as he thought.
“Slipped me too much. Could’ve killed me.”
“Don’t think he meant anything by it, Sam. He was just taken with you. Well, a lot of us were.” Harvey shrugged, not meaning it as a complement, and looked back down. “It don’t seem right that bastard gets all the beautiful ones.”
Sam walked out.
His call to Joseph later was short and bitter, at least to Joseph. Sam explained that he knew Joseph had drugged him, that he did not particularly take well to that, and for Joseph to steer clear of him in the future. He laid it on a bit thick, and Joseph was genuinely mortified and apologetic, but Sam did not need the man pining for him. It would not be fair, so he cut it brutally and quickly and hung up as soon as he could, feeling sick to his stomach. It really was not ethical, the way he treated Joseph from the first minute they met, and Sam did not like himself much for it.
Finally, he went to find Gene, but that was the biggest failure of his day. Gene was simply gone. He was not in the building, he was not responding to radio requests, he was not at the Railway Arms and he was not at his own flat. Sam tried a few of the restaurants he knew Gene visited infrequently and even the boxing club, but Gene was off the map. Frustrated, Sam blew off the rest of the team and went home straight from work, and walked into his flat to find Gene passed out on his cot. There was an empty bottle on the floor that Sam never bought, and was probably a full bottle a scant six hours earlier. Sam made a lot of noise straightening up and making himself dinner, but Gene snored and never moved. Sam tried to watch TV but it was reruns – at least, to him they were reruns – and boring and he was still recovering from the night before himself. He stared at the chair, then at the unmovable Gene on his cot. He changed into his sweats and wrapped himself in his only spare blanket and laid down next to Gene, shoving him onto his side and putting his back to him so they were both reasonably on the bed. Better than the floor, Sam mused in irritation as Gene snuffled and returned to snoring.
---------
“Mmmph.” Sam heard and felt the sound behind him, and felt the arm over his waist, and Gene’s breath against his neck. It was before dawn, and light was barely creeping in through the window. Gene was, if nothing else, exceedingly warm and Sam was very comfortable, as long as he did not really think about it. At all.
“Bloody…christ ‘oo used me head for a drum solo?” Gene mumbled, unmoving.
“That would be the responsibility of the stupid twat who drank himself to the bottom of a bottle of whiskey yesterday afternoon.” Sam mumbled back.
“Sam.” Gene sat up, too fast, and nearly howled in pain, grabbing his head with one hand and propping himself up with his other.
“No, you! You drank yourself to death yesterday. Welcome to hell.” Sam rolled on to his back and glared at Gene. “AND you stole my bed.”
They stared at each other for a second, and it was obvious that Gene simply did not remember how he got where he was. “Gene, lie down, you look beat.” Sam rolled back over on his side and prayed for another hour or two of sleep, if Gene would just, for once, please just once, cooperate.
“Sam…”
“Lie down!”
“Oh crap don’t yell.” Gene whined and laid down, moving back to separate himself from Sam. “Damn.”
“You did it to yourself, don’t expect sympathy.”
“You are a grand comfort, you are.” Gene grumbled.
“Your Grand Comfort is cold. Move closer.” Sam shuffled backwards into Gene. He felt Gene pause, then relax, curling around him and putting his arm back over Sam’s waist. Sam smiled contentedly as the warmth seeped into him.
“Yer own grave, Sam.”
“Molest me and I will press charges, Gene.”
“Always enjoy a challenge.”
“Go to sleep.”
“No. I think I’ll lay here and let me headache do the conga.”
Sam snorted in laughter and Gene pulled him closer. “You took care o’Duane?”
“Nicked. Locked up. Confessed.”
Gene did not say anything, but Sam felt a slight squeeze from the arm around his waist, and it made him happy to know that Gene was free of worrying about the case. He wished there was some way he could talk to him about Mikey, to convince him that it was not his fault, but that might lead back to Harrison and Sam was not prepared to delved quite that deep. Sam could not change anything, and he knew that, but maybe for a while he simply could keep Gene from being quite so lonely. A worthy goal, but not one to talk about without sending the wrong message, so he stuck to the topic at hand.
“Told me that he gave some of that drug to Joseph. Nothing too malevolent there, Joseph just wanted me to relax and overestimated the dosage.”
“I was right.”
“Yes, Gene, you were right.” Sam sighed in exasperation.
Gene leaned in closer and kissed the back of his neck, catching Sam so off guard that he did not have time to react as Gene’s tongue moved in a languid circle, pressing heatedly against Sam’s skin. “There are better ways to relax a man.” Gene stopped, and simply laid down completely. “So you call him?”
Sam started at the question, still distracted by the heat and intention of the kiss, then figured out what he meant. “Joseph? Yeah, broke his heart. I’m a real bastard.”
“I coulda told you that, Sam.”
“A minute ago I was your Grand Comfort.”
“Still are. Still a heartbreaking bastard, too.”
Sam’s mouth went dry. “Am I breaking your heart, Gene?”
“Every day, Sammy boy.”
“Gene…I really need to tell you…”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“Don’t.”
“You don’t even know what I’m talking about!”
“Right, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Gene.”
“Sam.”
“Shit…”
“Just say it if you want me to leave. Might take me an hour to remember how to walk, but I can crawl out under me own power.” Gene said, sounding half asleep and nuzzling into Sam’s shoulder.
“No. Stay.”
“I planned to.”
“Bastard.”
“Yours…” Gene mumbled and drifted to sleep, and Sam wondered what he was going to say.
Sam woke up with morning blazing through the window and Gene blazing at him, his eyes not quite clear but intense, propped up on one elbow as his other hand…
“Oh, shit.”
Gene grinned and looked entirely evil.
“You were there, you watched me.” Sam hissed as Gene’s fingers ran over his belly. His arm was thrust down the blanket Sam was wrapped in and his hand was under Sam’s tee shirt, so it was skin on skin and Sam’s erection answered accordingly as Gene fondled his abdomen obscenely, his touch hot and firm and simply everywhere. Sam was aroused and panicking at the same time and so remained completely still, unable to function, his brain cross-wired. Gene leaned down and began kissing his neck, and it was finally overload.
“Gene, stop stop stop!” Sam floundered, pushing Gene away. Gene let him, but did not remove his hand from the blankets, and stared at him.
“You asked me to stay.”
“That…this…wasn’t part of the bargain.” Sam physically pulled Gene’s hand off him.
“What bargain, Sam? When did we make a deal?” Gene’s eyes narrowed in displeasure.
“No, not what I meant. I mean…I’m not gay, Gene. I’ve never been with a man and I’m not entirely sure I want to start now.” Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes, wishing he started this particular conversation about two weeks ago.
Gene blinked, speechless and confused.
“Really, Gene, I’m not.”
Gene laid down on top of him, thumping into him like a cement block. “Now’s the time to tell a man you’re a virgin, when you got him in your bed and worked up. Good plan, for a prick tease.” Gene was not amused.
“I didn’t mean…! I’m not being a tease, damnit!”
“Yer lying, though.”
“No I am NOT!” Sam pushed at him.
“Then how did you know Mikey? And let me tell you, Sam, ain’t no man going to let the likes of Joseph snog him unless he was willing to go there.” Gene did not wait for his defense and smashed into a kiss, sucking at Sam’s tongue until he was breathless, and moving his hand under the blankets again. When he pulled up he grabbed Sam’s face with his other hand, the one under the blanket scrabbling at Sam’s shirt as Sam squirmed in panic. “Damn right I was there when you jacked yerself off and you said my name.” Gene was furious. “You crawled into bed with me. You told me to stay. What the FUCK are you playing at?” He shook Sam’s face and clawed at his skin.
“Oh jesus, jesus, Gene, back off, for god’s sake…” Sam stuttered, fumbling, unsure of how to get away from the fury on top of him. Gene looked at him, hard, then stopped. Sam gulped for air as Gene stared at him, motionless. “I’m not playing at anything, I swear to god. I’m not gay…you just assumed, because I knew Mikey…I couldn’t tell you without it sounding bad, like was hiding or something, and then there was the party and …shit, Gene, I never meant to lead you on.” Instinctively, Sam reached out and cupped Gene’s face in his hands. “I was worried about you, so I asked you to stay. I know you cared about Mikey and blame yourself and I looked all over for you yesterday then I just found you here, at my place. I didn’t know what to do. I was just…worried.”
Gene was still breathing unevenly, but he took a deep breath then turned his head slightly to the side and kissed Sam’s hand. Sam’s eyes went wide as Gene looked back at him, smiling in understanding and relief and mischievousness. “Just want to take care of an old fool, do you?”
It was worse than a loaded gun in his face, because this shot hit home before the hammer even fell. Sam froze as Gene bent down again, this time softly, and kissed Sam on the lips with a gentle, nudging touch. His hand under the blanket sunk down and played at the skin right above his pants, erotic and loving. Gene lifted his lips as Sam pushed half-heartedly against his shoulders.
“Let me do this, Sam.”
“I…I’m really not…”
“You think it matters now?” Gene’s hand dipped under his pants and stroked his cock, which gay or not was very hard. “Toss me out…” Gene gently kissed him. “Throw me to the bloody floor…but I’m taking this.”
“Oh, god…” Sam closed his eyes as Gene kissed him again. Sam thought about kissing back and did so before he decided how. He knew it was Gene and it tasted like Gene and somehow he thought that was wrong, that this was all wrong, but Gene’s mouth was warm and pushing into him erotically. Sam opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but he drowned himself with the sounds of his own pleasure, his tongue mixing with Gene’s until Sam was desperate for the sensation of Gene and he chased his lips. He did not know what to do with his hands, and even so did not really want to hug Gene, so he curled his arms up and ran his fingers through Gene’s hair, which made Gene groan into the kiss, sending an electrical charge through Sam’s body. Gene did not press into him, although Sam knew that he had a hard-on somewhere under the blankets; instead he kept working at Sam’s cock, his hand drifting and light, circling his fingers around the head and smearing the drops of pre-cum down the underside and rubbing his thumb there until Sam was nearly crying into his mouth, the kiss ragged and half broken. Finally Gene wrapped his hand around Sam’s cock and began gliding up and down, slowly building pressure and tension until Sam was shaking, his hips jerking.
“Come on, Sam…you made me wait too long for you….” Gene whispered. Sam opened his eyes and looked into the beautiful green eyes of the man making love to him, and he balled Gene’s shirt in his fists.
“Oh, fuck, Gene…please! Gene!” Sam folded up into Gene’s embrace as he came, gasping, in shock as Gene squeezed his throbbing cock mercilessly.
He heard Gene laughing. “Glad you ain’t queer, you bloody ponce.”
Sam could not say anything, and simply fell back on the cot, horrified and completely at peace with everything in the world anyway. Gene pulled his hand out and cleaned it on Sam’s blanket, and Sam just watched him without comment, wondering what it meant to love someone like this. Sam did not know, and did not understand, but he felt particularly marvelous right then.
“Now I know it was good, you’re not even screaming at me ‘bout yer sheets.” Gene laid down and rolled Sam onto his side so they were spooning again.
“You really think I’m in love with you.” Sam finally said, nestling down.
“Right certain of it.”
“Even if I’m not.”
He felt Gene go still behind him, and he spoke very softly as he answered. “Your rules, Sam.”
“Won’t be your bitch.” Sam said unhappily.
Gene relaxed and Sam knew he was smiling. “I believe we set the condition for that earlier. So unless yer feeling…”
“No no no, I’m not quite ready for that. No.”
Gene chuckled. “Then I guess you remain a free man.”
“Not really.”
Sam was not prepared for Gene’s reaction to that. He pulled Sam closer with a cry that was pained and quick, and rolled his hips against Sam’s ass.
“Oi, I’m not sure I’m ready for that, either…” Sam grabbed the edge of the cot to pull away.
“We both got pants on and two blankets between us. I’m a strong man, Sam, but I doubt even my ability to drill through all that.” Gene said breathlessly, pulling him back.
“Oh.” Sam still clung to the edge, uncertain of what was next.
“Girl.” Gene smirked, rolling his hips again.
“Any possible way I can enjoy the afterglow in peace?”
“No.”
“Gene…” Sam sighed and Gene grabbed at him, shoving his hips at his backside.
“Not now, Sam.”
Sam stopped. It felt weird to have Gene behind him, dry fucking him through the sheets, but the only thing that Sam thought then was how long it would be before Gene shagged another informant, or met some kid in an alley. Sam gritted his teeth.
Gene started panting, holding him so tightly that he could barely breathe, making fast, tight grinds against him. Even through pants and two sets of blankets, Gene’s hard on was furious and hot. Sam reached behind him and grabbed for Gene’s thigh, hoping for traction. Hearing him, he sounded just the way he did when he was fucking Mikey in the alley, and Sam blushed in anger.
“Gene…”
“Shhh….”
“No! You remember the first time you kissed me? In the Cortina?”
“Sam, I’m…busy…” Gene grunted as he talked.
“I mean it. You remember?”
“Yes, I remember! Shut up.” Gene tried plowing at him harder.
“You told me to leave off Joseph.”
Gene slowed down. “Yeah, yeah, I remember. You going to let a man get off, or not?”
“You said he was the marrying kind, and I’m not.”
Gene stopped, breathless, but kept his tight grip around Sam. “Yeah.”
“Well I am the marrying kind, Gene.” Sam stopped there, not sure if he was taking this the direction he wanted to go, but he wanted to make it clear that he was not allowing this happen just because it was convenient. Gene was still motionless behind him, even if the hard on had not died down at all and was still pressing into Sam’s ass cheek through the covers.
Gene took a deep breath. “I was married for thirteen years, Sam, never once cheated on her, until the last year when it went all to hell anyway. Saw everything I wanted walking by me, everyday, never touched. Never even thought about touching.”
Gene moved his hips again. “I’ve fucked boys in alleys and behind counters and over desks and chairs and in the car. Only one I ever took to bed was Mark. And I lost him…even before that fight, I lost him....”
Sam nodded, regretting the conversation already. “Gene, I…”
“No, you want to know. You want to know why I kept fucking Mikey.”
Sam did not know that was what he wanted to know, but it sounded right. It had bothered him for a while, in any case.
“Because I saw what I wanted every day and couldn’t have it. It was like being married all over again, a damn prison. I couldn’t have who I wanted and I could not give up what little I had…he reminded me of you…jesus….I never thought…but jesus Sam, let me have this much…” Gene pressed his face into Sam’s back and he was shaking, grinding into Sam and finally beyond words, working himself back up. One hand he kept clasped to Sam’s body but the other he ran up and down it, almost massaging muscles as he traced them out with his touch. Sam was turned on and he really did not care what would happen next, or later, or tomorrow, because here was a beautiful place to be. He needed to let Gene know that, he had to tell Gene that it was going to be alright, that he was not going to leave him, and that he needed Gene to stay for him.
“You’re wrong…”
“Sam, please…just let me finish...if this is all I ever get, let me finish…” Gene pleaded, keeping his head down and powerfully thrusting.
“…Mark isn’t the only lover you’ve taken to bed…”
“Sam…don’ argue, damnit just once…” Gene gasped in frustration. He was close, and Sam heard it in his voice, and felt the power surging through Gene behind him, his hands clutching at Sam’s body.
“…You forgot about me.”
Gene stopped for a moment, registering the words, then started fast, raging into the feel of Sam’s body against him. Sam grabbed for the edges of the cot, bracing himself with every working muscle against Gene’s strength, even pushing his head into the mattress for any traction he could get to keep from being shoved onto the floor. Gene tipped over with strangled yell, rolling forward onto Sam and nearly crushing him, his hips pounding at him, out of control, desperately repeating Sam’s name over and over into his ear. Sam laid still, knowing what he had done and what he had said in the moment, and realizing that he had somehow changed his life. No, he had changed both of their lives, and now both blankets needed cleaning.
They laid motionless, and Sam listened as Gene’s breathing came back under control. Gene ran a hand slowly down Sam’s side, and pressed his face into Sam’s hair, and it was gentle and loving and Sam thought he was preparing himself for something. Sam felt a twinge of panic then, wondering what Gene was thinking, wondering what he was thinking. Gene finally pulled back and rolled Sam over and looked at him. “I can leave.” It was a question, of a sort, and it was Gene’s way of trying to be diplomatic and gentlemanly, if Sam was having second thoughts.
“Why?” Sam shrugged. It was pointless to pretend they were not in it now.
Gene nodded and laid down, wrapping into Sam with his head on Sam’s shoulder.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Sam said quietly.
“Nothing new under the sun.”
Sam shook his head, annoyed and amused. “You’re in love with me.” He squeezed Gene into him, pleased with that idea, as bizarre as it felt to say it.
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Not until I get what I want.”
“You’ll have to let me recharge, Sammy boy, I ain’t as young as I used to be.”
“No! Oh for…I just want you to stay.”
“Me. Here. Anything else?” Gene grumbled into his chest.
“Give up the rest of them. I can’t…I won’t fight for you. You’re in this, or you’re not.”
“…works both ways, Sam.”
“…Yeah, I guess…it does…” Sam blinked in confusion.
“Deal. Now please, in the name of God, if you love me: shut up and go to sleep.”
Sam shut his mouth and kissed Gene’s forehead, then closed his eyes.
##########