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Sam always thought that when – if – anything happened between them, it would be fast, hard, and temporary. He never had illusions of romance or retirement plans or even something more than fuck-buddy status. It was 1974 and whatever else it might be, ‘open and accepting of homosexual liaisons’ it was not. He did not plan on heartbreak either, though. He just accepted that whatever might develop would be more casual than anything, off the cuff and taken as needed and when possible. Nothing serious. Nothing like a committed relationship.
He sat in the lounger chair considering these thoughts, sipping the whisky Gene poured for him, which was an excellent single malt because that was all Gene allowed into the flat anymore. Sam wore his sweats, because they were comfortable and clean – Gene made sure of that last, before he dressed him – and watched as a completely unselfconsciously naked Gene put the bed together. It was a new bed, just a double but still acres larger than the painful cot Sam had slept on for more than a year. Gene was assembling the bed frame as the mattress and box springs stood to the side, components of a bed that Gene bought for him. Of course he asked first if Sam would let him.
Sam shook his head, wondering at that. At work, nothing changed more than a few knowing nods every now and then, because it was too dangerous otherwise. In fact, Gene did not even seem to think about it: out there, he was DCI Gene Hunt, and all that entailed and required; in here, he was Sam’s, and he walked between those worlds without a shrug.
It was obvious to Sam’s inexperienced eye that Gene was, in fact, very well trained.
Sam was not entirely sure of what all that phrase meant, though. He desperately wanted to google “dominant submissive relationship” and “master slave BDSM” and a few other phrases but his worst luck, to land in the middle of the real thing and not have a clue. Sam was totally ignorant, in fact, and knew it. He knew instinctively could not ask Gene about ‘this’ outside of the flat. Gene would not discuss it. Inside the flat Gene expected Sam to know what was going on, and became very upset when forced to talk at all. Whoever had Gene before Sam apparently did not like the sound of Gene’s voice or something, and Gene believed that talking was some form of punishment. Their worst night so far was when Sam begged Gene to talk to him about his past experiences, and Sam had gotten ‘there was this guy’ out of him before all hell broke loose and Sam had, for the first time in his life, subdued and cuffed a superior officer. Gene did not break down then – he had not actually broken down since their first night together, and Sam was not going to push him there unless it seemed absolutely necessary, if for no other reason than it was exhausting to deal with – but he was angry and would not do anything Sam told him after that. Naked, cuffed, and furious, Gene sat down at the foot of the bed and refused to move for hours.
Sam did not get it.
It was moments like that when he really wanted some kind of manual, “How to Dominate Gene Hunt For Dummies” because Sam knew he was getting it wrong. He was following his instincts and, ironically, Gene’s lead because he simply did not know what Gene expected out of this. Sam was not even sure if Gene wanted the physical aspect of it; the sex was incredible, and Gene gave the best blow jobs known to man-kind, but he never instigated anything, ever, and only did what he was told. He never asked for anything and again, Sam knew that Gene expected Sam to already know what he wanted. Sam toyed with ideas of restraints, spankings, toys but he was genuinely uncertain if Gene’s need to be dominated translated into a willingness to be physically subjugated.
When the bed was put together and the sheets on it, Gene stood next to it and looked over at him, wordless as ever. Sam sighed and put down the drink.
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Gene called him into his office and motioned for him to shut the door. There was nothing to the cases they were working that was particularly special, so Sam went in with a sense of dread, fearing something odd, and probably unpleasant, and most likely involving Gene getting chewed out by Rathbone again. Gene did not stand or pace or even look angry, though, so Sam took the cue and perched familiarly on the edge of Gene’s desk.
Gene took a long drag on his cigarette, studying Sam carefully. Sam shifted, realizing that whatever was bothering Gene, it had to do with him. Charges of brutality? Accusations of corruption? Sam wrinkled his nose in anticipation of the lunacy. His behavior was more straight arrow than most priests in the city and for all Ray’s jokes about having an arse hole so tight it could make diamonds out of coal, Sam thought that ‘retentive’ was better than ‘repulsive.’ As he scanned the desk while Gene glowered in silence, he noticed that Gene’s other hand held a piece of paper, loosely, his fingers toying the edges. It looked like a formal invitation, large and cream colored and thick paper. Gene saw his glance and held the folded over paper out to him wordlessly.
Sam opened it up, read it, and frowned. “So? What’s this?”
“An invitation. What people send out when they want to make a crowd. And yer a detective?”
“Right, right, I got that part. But to what? For who? It’s just a date and a time and phone number.”
“That all you see?”
Sam looked at it again, and shrugged. “Fancy embossing with some logo I’ve never seen before. Doesn’t look like a monogram.”
“2-L. Stands for the Second Level Club.”
“Okay, exclusive club?”
“The most exclusive. Personal invitation.”
“You belong to a gentleman’s club?” Sam tried to imagine Gene in the rarified air of an exclusive, posh gents club. He failed.
“No. Never did. Just on the list.” Gene sat back and kept his expression neutral.
“Okay, I give. What’s this about?” Sam dropped the invitation and crossed his arms, tired of being strung along.
“Not for me to say. I’m givin’ to you, that’s all I’m supposed to do.” Gene’s words were stilted and forced and he refused to look Sam in the eyes, which was the only reason Sam caught on.
“Oh. God.” He picked up the invitation again. “For real? A BDSM club?”
“A whatsits? Beedy Sam club?” Gene tried not to grin, but his confusion was genuine.
“B.D.S.M. Bondage/Domination/Submission/Masochism.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed. “Not what I’d call it.”
“I’m sure.” Sam rolled his eyes and ignored Gene’s brewing displeasure. “Whatever you want to call it, Gene. So this is an invitation to a party at a private club that you don’t belong to? Why you?”
Gene put out his cigarette and stood up. “That’s your problem. Figure it out like the little Nancy Drew you are.” Gene grabbed his arm and shoved him out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Sam stood with the invitation and stared at Gene through the glass but he was now invisible to Gene, apparently, who sat down to read a file. Sighing, Sam went back to work. When the place filtered out for the pub – Gene included – Sam pulled out the invitation again and dialed the number.
“Good evening, Sir. How may I help you?”
Sam sighed again, hating life. “I don’t know.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A… ‘friend’ gave me an invitation.”
There was a long pause. “A friend?” The voice was cautious and wary and slow.
“Gene Hunt.”
There was another long pause. “Ah. Yes, but…you aren’t Master Shaw, are you?”
Sam filed the name away. “No. I’m DI Sam Tyler.” He figured if they had Gene’s name, then it would not be any worse for them to have his.
“I’m not showing you on our records. You’re not a member, then, sir?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no.”
Another long pause. “I’m sure you would know if that were the case.”
It was cold silence that dropped between them, and Sam felt like the man on the line was waiting for some kind of signal, but Sam was at a loss. “Look, Gene got the invitation and gave it to me and told me figure it out. So here I am, calling, and talking to a brick wall. Don’t suppose you could lend a hand, here?”
“One moment, sir.”
Sam held the line for a bit and then another man picked up the phone. “Sam Tyler?”
“Yes.”
“Richard was telling me about your…situation. Gene’s been on our books for a long time but…”
“He said he wasn’t a member.”
“Oh, of course not. An auxiliary, though, and naturally we would have no way of knowing if he was taken up by someone else. If I remember correctly it’s been many years since Master Shaw left Manchester, but we send an invitation out for the annual ball regardless. Richard thought for a moment that you might be him, returning to town. But it sounds more like Gene has found another home?”
Sam parsed the meanings of the man’s words. “You could say that.”
“Wonderful. I hope that you consider membership.” The man sounded genuinely pleased.
“I think Gene wants me too.” Sam sighed, tapping the invitation against the desk.
“Oh those buggers have a way of getting what they want, don’t they? And they call us ‘Master’?” The man laughed and it was rich, gleeful sound.
Sam smiled just because the man’s humor was infectious, but part of his brain tripped with the word ‘Master.’ He did not feel like one and did not like Gene using the word, which he rarely did, and only in Sam’s flat on the few occasions he spoke at all. It was bizarre to hear it so casually thrown about during day, over the phone.
“Mr. Tyler, I’m Sir Joshua Wade. You were speaking to my slave Richard earlier. Normally you have to be a fully paid member to attend a party, but given Gene’s history with us, I think I might sway the committee to allow you to attend, gratis, for the night. As a gesture of good will and in hopes of a future long-term relationship with you and your slave.”
Sam raised his eyebrows at the idea that Gene was his ‘slave’ but it was true, and it was the reason he was on the phone, and it still sounded…wrong.
“I appreciate that. I think Gene will appreciate that.”
“Truly, our pleasure, to have such a stunning slave back among the faithful.”
“Question.”
“Please ask.”
“Gene can’t join, can he? Because of his…status.”
There was a low chuckle. “That’s correct. This is a club for the Masters and Mistresses, who bring what pets they may have. I assure you we are very discriminating; you won’t find any weekend warriors in our ranks. May I ask a rather, er, sensitive question in return?”
“Fair enough.”
“Gene is…particular. Very much a lifestyle man, even if he can’t live it every hour of the day. He’s been around for years, we all know and admire him. But I don’t know you, and you are asking very…basic questions. Are you, er…new?”
“Like a baby in a pram.”
“You must be something altogether.”
“Not sure I follow.”
“I told you. Gene is particular. His former master was a legend, really, just an amazing man. And now Gene’s been taken in by a newcomer?”
“Ah. Well. To be honest it happened a bit by accident.”
There was more laughter. “With Gene, I doubt that. But nonetheless, here you are, and I welcome you. Shall I put you down as attending?”
Sam sighed, knowing it would – somehow, in some undefined way – make Gene happy, and curious despite himself. “Yes, do that.”
“And how many slaves? Just Gene?”
“Yes, just Gene. I really think he’s enough.”
“Ha! No doubt, that clever bastard is a handful…now, please remember that the ball is not clothing optional, in fact we encourage formal dress attire. Restraints are available, of course, for a nominal cleaning fee. This is not mixed gender affair. We’ve had more requests for those, however in case you are interested we do have two men-only events on the calendar for next month.”
Uncertain of what a ‘men-only’ event might entail, and unwilling to let his imagination wander there in the middle of CID, Sam made ambiguous agreeing noises until the conversation was over. As he hung up he realized that as curious as he was about this whole situation, he was not looking forward to it, mostly because he had no idea what to expect….or what Gene would expect of him.
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They both wore tuxedos. Sam thought maybe he was supposed to do something “toppy” to Gene, but short of locking a chastity belt on him under the trousers, he was out of ideas, and where the hell he was supposed to find a male chastity device without being able to just order it online from Lovehoney was a mystery to him. Every sex shop he knew had only been visited in order for Gene to shake down the owner for information on a case, and they mostly seemed to traffic in magazines and blowup dolls. Belting himself into the Cortina (oh, the irony) for a hell of ride, Sam let out a slow breath and fixed the cuffs of his shirt.
Gene, for lack of a better word, was bouncy. He drove southbound out of the heart of the city, grinning and yelling at traffic while smoking like a fiend. Sam saw the signs and knew what they meant: Gene was both excited and nervous. The phrase “like a virgin on her wedding night” popped into Sam’s head and he laughed out loud.
“What’s that about, then?” Gene eyed him narrowly.
“You do know I have no bloody clue what I’m doing?”
“I’m used to that.” Gene smirked.
Sam frowned. “I meant, with this. Us. This not-BDSM, not-relationship that we aren’t allowed to talk about. Whatever.”
Gene took a long drag on his cigarette. “You talk about it enough for both of us.”
Sam rolled his eyes but was not about to deign that with a reply.
“Tell you what: your sensitive nerves can’t take it, we leave. Give the word.”
“Oh like that’s worked so well in the past with you,” Sam snorted, thinking of the one thousand times he tried to pull Gene out of a pub or a fight or back alley boxing club.
Gene was quiet for a long time before he answered, which only gave Sam the creeps. Gene finally sighed heavily and put both hands on the wheel. “Tonight, it will. Say the word, we leave.”
It was as submissive as Gene ever got outside of Sam’s flat, so Sam was not about to argue about the likelihood of Gene living up to the promise.
They ended up in Hale Barns, which should not have surprised Sam when he thought about it. A historically wealthy and upscale village within the Greater Manchester area, it was home to one of the better golf clubs and a lot of old well maintained mansions. Gene knew where he was going, which turned out to be a very nice estate that only looked rural, its presence hidden behind tall walls and shrubbery. The gate had a guard who was dressed like a nineteenth century footman and yet still did not look out of place. He studied the invitation Gene handed him for a full minute before handing it back and letting them pass.
Sam couldn’t help remember Gene crashing the swingers’ party at **** during the **** case, and a feeling of doom overtook him. Gene had acted like an ignorant arse then, and Sam suspected that stuffing him into a tuxedo—no matter how good it looked on the man—wouldn’t give him anything more than a cheap veneer of sophistication.
He took comfort in Gene’s promise that they could leave whenever Sam wanted. He was going to hold Gene to that if he had to whip him into line…which, he thought sourly, might just be what Gene was angling for. Sam had no way of knowing.
The party was not the swinging hotbed of depravity Sam expected. The house was elegant and lit for effect, the guests dressed in various styles of tuxedos, and the ballroom was the center of attention with a quartet of musicians playing old-style waltzes. Some men danced together, others clustered in groups around the edges of the dance floor, and aside from the single-sex makeup of the crowd, it was pretty much what Sam had thought any upper class social gathering would look like. Except for the leashes.
He cringed when he realized that he had overlooked the most obvious mark of ownership of all: collar and leash. He glanced at Gene as they made their way deeper into the room, which wasn’t huge but definitely stately. His best guess was that there were nearly one hundred men present, give or take, but then only a few couples were sporting the leash option, so Sam figured maybe it wasn’t the faux pas he feared.
A few couples were sitting, the Masters in chairs and their slaves at their feet, like dogs. The more Sam paid attention, the more he picked up on subtle signs that marked Masters from slaves, be it simply their attitude or how they held their partner’s elbow. However, the full-on BDSM scenes he half-expected were absent.
“Sam Tyler?” A gravelly voice asked from somewhere over his head. Sam looked up and up and up to a tall, thin man who was noticeably older but hardly stooped over in his decline. His posture spoke of military service and his bearing of nobility, and Sam figured he was 190 centimeters at least. Sam clued in to his identity as Gene shuffled backwards a little, placing himself behind Sam.
“Sir Joshua Wade. A pleasure to meet you, and to see Gene here again.”
Sam shook the proffered hand, feeling underdressed in his second-hand tuxedo and scuffed up shoes. “Thank you for inviting…us.” He paused on the last, unsure of how to thank his host for an invitation that had not been sent to him.
Sir Wade smiled knowingly. “Would hardly be right for Gene to leave you home alone, now would it?”
“No, I guess not.”
Sir Wade made a motion at Gene. “May I?”
Sam nodded, because it was not as if he was in a position to stop the man if he decided to turn Gene over his knee to spank him—and, Sam thought wildly, Sir Wade probably could with ease.
“Gene, be a good boy and go get your Master a drink. You know where the bar is.”
Gene snapped around and walked off. Sir Wade turned back to Sam. “Please call me Joshua. Masters tend to go on first name basis here, once they’ve been introduced.”
“Thank you, Joshua. Please call me Sam.” He tried to sound formal and polite.
Joshua chuckled. “We stand on ceremony here, Sam, but not obsequiousness.”
Sam grimaced, knowing he was caught out. “Sorry. This is a bit new to me.”
“So I see. Did Gene show you around?”
“We just got ‘ere.” Sam felt his accent like an albatross.
Joshua nodded, politely oblivious to their class differences. “Not much to it, really. The ballroom here, a gentlemen’s parlour down that hall. The gardens, such as they are, are through those doors. We do have a couple of play rooms set up, but they are upstairs and they are for club member use only, I’m sure you understand. However do feel free to go up and observe; any room with an open door is open invitation. Ah, Gene! Wine. Good choice.”
Sam reflexively grabbed the wine Gene shoved at him, and barely stopped himself from saying ‘thank you.’
“If memory serves, Gene is a bit of a voyeur. It might be a nice way to finish off the party to see some of the Masters in session before going home.”
Sam raised the wine. “Always willing to learn something new.”
“I’m sure. Enjoy yourself, and your slave.” Joshua ended the interview politely but as thoroughly as closing a door, walking away.
Sighing in relief, Sam turned to Gene. “Didn’t you get yourself a drink?”
Gene looked at him like he was crazy. “’Fore you tell me to? Not looking to get knocked to me knees.”
Sam sighed again. “Gene, go get yourself a damn drink.”
Gene threw him a sour look. “Thank you, sir.” He turned again and walked away.
“Good to see Gene hasn’t grown out of that vim and vigor of his. Keeps everyone on their toes,” a voice said to Sam’s right. He turned to come up face to face with a stocky ginger man who was probably half Sam’s age, or at least looked it. Sam figured Chris was older. The guy turned to smile at him, and Sam realized that he was much older than he looked at first brush, although Sam still wouldn’t peg him for a day over thirty. “Aaron Lennox.” The guy stuck his hand out.
“Sam Tyler.” Sam wondered how long it would be before he accidentally called the guy “Annie.”
They shook and Aaron grinned wickedly. “Richard sent word along the slave vine that Gene was coming in tow to a new Master. I have to admit you’ve incurred a lot of curiosity.”
“I aim to please,” Sam said, raising his glass in salute.
Aaron laughed. At that moment a stately man approached quietly, dark haired and deferential. He was about Aaron’s size but easily twice his age, more in line with Joshua’s generation than Sam or Aaron. Sam gave him a questioning look, wondering why he didn’t introduce himself. Obviously the Masters did not have to wait for introductions.
Aaron placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. “This is Sizemore, my boy. Marvelous blowjobs, I have to brag.”
Sam blinked and schooled his face to polite interest. Sizemore bowed to him, Aaron’s hand never leaving his shoulder as he dipped down. “Master Tyler.”
“Ah. Yes. Sizemore. Pleasure to meet you.” Sam clutched at his wine glass to keep from trying to shake the slave’s hand.
Aaron’s hand quickly moved up and slapped Sizemore’s head with a loud smack. “Okay, you got a good look. Now go upstairs and find our assigned playroom. Make sure a lot of lube is available, I want to fuck you senseless.”
Sizemore grinned, bowed again, and walked off with a spring in his step. Aaron shrugged and gave Sam an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that, but the curiosity was killing him. I couldn’t get him to concentrate on anything.”
“Not a problem,” Sam said, feeling utterly lost and wondering when Gene was getting back.
“A pleasure to meet you. Our door will be open, feel free to stop by!” Aaron pointed up, obviously meaning the playroom where Sizemore was corralling their lube, and smiled broadly. With a nod of his head he turned and left Sam standing alone somewhere between the dance floor and the wall, looking conspicuous. Trying not to stand out too much, Sam scanned the room for Gene, whom he spotted making his way back with a tell-tale half empty glass of scotch.
Sam had reached the level of confusion and discomfort where he mostly felt angry, so he glared at Gene as he walked up. Gene gave him a confused look.
“You told me to get myself a drink,” Gene said, pointing at his glass.
“Everyone here knows you,” Sam hissed.
Gene raised an eyebrow, which if they were in CID was fair warning Sam was about to get a royal dressing down. Instead Gene sipped at his glass and just gave Sam a nasty look.
“When was the last time you were here?” Sam could not keep the accusation out of his voice.
“Ten years ago.”
“That long?” Sam looked genuinely confused.
Gene slugged his drink, finishing it off without grace. “He left the day after.”
They stared at each other, and Sam felt his upper hand slipping because he had no fucking clue what to say to Gene, who clearly had his heart broken the last time he had been here by the man whose shoes Sam could never hope to fill. Sam recognized by the set of his shoulders that Gene was waiting for something, but Sam had no idea what. He looked at Gene’s empty glass.
“Go refill your drink. I need some room.”
Gene huffed and put obvious effort into not rolling his eyes, but walked off with purpose.
Sam sighed, took a sip of wine, and shuffled over to a wall he could put his back to. He was there only a few moments before he found himself under—far under—the magisterial gaze of Joshua.
“You sent Gene off for another drink already.”
Sam figured he had nothing to lose with being honest. “No. He was making me uncomfortable so I sent him away for a few minutes.”
Joshua’s eyebrows went up in surprise, but he refrained from commenting. Under the pressure of Joshua’s stare, Sam shrugged one shoulder.
“Not my usual kind of gig.” He pointed at the people around them. “And I don’t know what Gene expects.”
Joshua looked curiously at Sam. “I’m not sure what you expect.”
Sam sighed heavily. “Neither do I.” He took another swallow of wine.
“Please don’t take offense at this, Sam, but if you don’t particularly want to be here, you should leave.”
Sam grimaced. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to—”
“I’m not offended.” Joshua smiled. “I’m just used to men who know what they want, and this—” He waved a hand around to indicated the party, “This is what they want. A safe place to be themselves, with their slaves ready and willing and obedient. We spend a lot of time pretending these things don’t matter to us, but they do…but not, I take it, to you.” Joshua studied him.
Sam nodded. “Not really, no. I’m here for Gene.”
Joshua frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“He gave me the invitation and told me to call you. He wanted to come.” Sam shrugged with what he hoped was a “subs, what you gonna do?” expression.
Joshua was quiet for a while but did not move away. Finally he turned to Sam again from where he had been watching the men mill around the ballroom. “But you’re not even sure of that, are you?”
Surprised at being caught out, Sam nodded. “Yeah.” He decided to plow forward, because Joshua Wade was as close to Wikipedia as Sam was going to get for the next forty years on this subject. “Look when I said we got together accidentally, I wasn’t lying. I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Gene won’t talk about it, and apparently our only ‘safe zone’ is my flat where he won’t bloody talk at all. I’m flying blind, so if Gene wants to be at this damn party, then we’re at this damn party, because honestly I don’t have bloody clue and you’re the only person I’ve met who is even willing to talk about this without expecting me to know everything already.” He knew it was bad form but his slammed his wine anyway just to stop the verbal diarrhea.
Joshua was looking at him with blank, blinking eyes. He opened his mouth and then closed it again. Finally he shook his head. “I think I see the problem.”
“Which one?”
“The one named Sam Tyler,” Joshua smiled, and Sam could see the charm of the man. He had at least fifteen years on Sam, but like Bill Nighy, he could bleed charisma when he wanted to, no matter his craggy complexion or fierce, graying hair.
Sam blinked back at him. “What?”
Joshua landed a heavy, sure hand on Sam’s shoulder, and for the first time Sam felt small next to him. “There is an art to being certain of who you are and what you want, but that is something both masters and slaves share. The difference between them rests in how they live up to that. The true art of being a master is believing that whatever you want, your slave will give you, because you know that is all a slave ever wants to do; and the art of being a slave is to give a master whatever he wants, without question, and with his whole heart, because that is all a slave ever truly desires for himself.” He pulled his hand back and looked out over the crowd of men again. “Master Shaw found Gene young, and they were together for, oh, nearly a decade. I don’t keep track; Richard could tell you. They were a stunning pair, and what I can say without breaking confidence is that Shaw was utterly in command of Gene. If he gave a ‘silent house’ order, Gene would follow it until the day he died, or until it was rescinded.”
Sam stared at Joshua, everything hit him like a tsunami crashing onto shore. “Or until his new Master gives him a new order.”
Joshua’s smile was bright and predatory. He took a sip of his scotch before answering. “I believe you get the idea. The question is whether you are the ‘Master Tyler’ be believes he serves. And I warn you, Sam, if you are not, then let him go.” The last was a genuine warning, which surprised Sam, but he did not challenge it.
Joshua walked away, leaving Sam bobbing in the sea of masters and slaves and looking for Gene. He found him pouring glass of wine, which Sam assumed was for him. Next to him a weedy man with mean eyes was also pouring wine, and the two of them were obviously keeping their distance. The weedy man spotted Sam first, eyeing him as he came up with a narrow, thoughtful expression before speaking in an aside to Gene.
“Skinny.”
Gene turned around to look at Sam, as if he had known Sam was behind him. Sam was beginning to think Gene always knew where he was.
“Boy don’t eat.”
The weedy guy sneered. They were talking as if Sam couldn’t hear them. “Only reflects poorly on you, then.”
Gene bristled, throttling the glass of wine in his hands. “Seems some of us are better at getting our way than others.”
The weedy guy bristled back. “Some of us are not day trippers.”
Sam hurled himself between the two men as Gene moved toward the guy. “Back off! Both of you!” He yelled, and stood frozen in shock as both men stepped backwards.
“Harris! What the hell, man? On your knees!” A tall man with blond hair but a plain face stepped forward and all but slammed the weedy guy to his knees. Everyone around them stood quietly, watching the scene. Sam felt that he was missing out on some important undercurrent, but he simply waited for the scene to play out. As the seconds passed, Sam saw a tight, poorly concealed grin spreading over Harris’ face, which confused Sam until he looked over to see Gene nearly vibrating with frustration.
“Gene, put down the wine and go get my coat. Now.” Sam snapped out the order, and it wasn’t a problem to sound like a bitchy and annoyed top because he was.
Gene nodded and did what he was told and it felt just like they were in Sam’s flat except that now Sam understood what was going on. A little.
The blond man looked at Sam. “Master Tyler, is there anything my worthless and ill trained slave needs to apologize for?”
Sam did not like the way the guy talked about the man at his feet, but he figured that was between them. “No. I believe it was, ah, between the ranks, as it were.”
The guy’s brows shot up. “Well, that makes sense. My sniveling toy never has recovered from my asking Gene to play.”
Sam had a pretty good idea he wasn’t talking about a round of tennis. Seeing something on Sam’s face, the guy held up his free hand. “It was a long time ago, just after Shaw left town.”
Sam nodded, wishing to hell he knew the guy’s name. The guy yanked at his slave’s hair, pulling his head back.
“You damn jealous girl, I should shove a dildo up your ass to remind you who you belong to, but quite frankly right now you aren’t worth the effort to punish or reward. Get the hell out of my sight until you can crawl back on your hands and knees with some sincerity.” He tossed Harris away from him, nodded cordially at Sam, and disappeared into the crowd. Harris glared furiously at Sam from where he was sprawled on the floor, as if it was his fault. Around them, people returned to laughing and drinking and dancing.
Gene appeared next to him with his coat, a blank look on his face. Suddenly Harris began smirking. It clicked with Sam, then, that the little arse-wipe had been planning to cause a scene since he saw Sam walk up. He was trying to string Gene up on a hook to watch him swing. Sam glared at Harris while Gene stood quietly next to him, looking off somewhere far away. Joshua’s words came back to Sam in that moment.
He turned to Gene. “On your knees.”
Harris smirked harder, pulling himself into a sitting position to enjoy the show.
Sam paused and wished he had a drink, and in that moment realized what he needed to do to. Or rather, what he wanted to do. Sam stepped forward and dug into Gene’s tuxedo jacket, pulling out a flask and unscrewing it. He put his other hand under Gene’s jaw and tipped his head up, poising the flask near it.
“Don’t swallow,” Sam ordered as he tipped the flask near Gene’s mouth, and Gene was forced to open or have it spill down his front. Gene closed his mouth and held the liquor without swallowing as Sam withdrew the flask, slowly screwed it shut and put it back inside Gene’s coat, taking his time. He looked at Gene. It was one of the single malt flasks, so his eyes were watering from the burning whisky held in his mouth. Sam let him sit there in pain for a few seconds, then cast a displeased look at the arrogant bastard who had tried to play them. He bent down and kissed Gene, the whiskey flowing into his mouth as they shoved the liquid back and forth between them, but Gene did not let a drop of it escape. Sam sucked and then closed his lips against Gene before standing up. “Now you can swallow.” He whispered after he downed the rest of Gene-laced whisky in his own mouth. Gene swallowed, looking up at him with a slight, almost imperceptible look of gratitude in his eyes. Sam stroked his face. “Perfect, Gene. Just perfect.”
Sam stepped back and faced Harris, who was flushed and quiet. “He’ll always be a better slave than you,” he snarled, then turned to Gene. “We’re leaving. Go get the car while I give our—my regards to the host.”
Gene looked utterly stunned by the whole display, and it took him a moment to rally before he jerked up off the floor and headed towards the front door at a fast lope.
Joshua was, predictably, standing nearby. He nodded graciously at Sam. “Gene and Harris have been spitting at each other for years. That was enjoyable.” He raised his glass in salute.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Stupid, petty show.”
“A show, yes, and entertaining. Stupid and petty, not so much. Harris will think twice before trying to cut Gene down again, because now he knows the mettle of the Master who is looking out for Gene.” Joshua paused, cocking his head. “As do I. Gene’s service to you is fitting. Have a good evening, Master Tyler, and please give Gene a good solid spank from me.” Joshua chuckled and waved Sam away.
Shaking his head, Sam left Joshua to his party and headed out to where the Cortina was idling in the drive. He got in the passenger side and waved a hand at Gene, motioning him to get the car moving. It was a long, quiet drive back, although Sam could pick up on the tension by the set of Gene’s shoulders and the fact that he wasn’t smoking. Sam figured Gene was going to give him the silent treatment the whole way, with the expectation that when they got to Sam’s flat things would go back to normal for them.
Sam was not in the mood to let that happen.
They stalked into the flat as they did any other night, the only difference being their rumpled tuxedos and complete lack of conversation. Sam was waiting, though, and as soon as Gene shut the door Sam rounded on him.
“On your knees!” He pointed at the floor, and was surprised when Gene all but fell down in his haste to comply. He frowned at Sam a little, which was Gene’s version of being confused, but he did not say anything or even twitch otherwise.
Sam took off his tie and tossed his coat and jacket on the lounger. “Now, we’re going to talk tonight. I’m not askin’, or begging, or hoping.” He unbuttoned his trousers, pulling out his dick as he walked up to Gene. “But first we’re going to work on you opening your mouth.”
Gene brought his hands up to grab Sam’s hips like he normally did for blowjobs, but Sam smacked them down. “No. Hands at your sides. You’re doing this my way.”
Sam’s experience with rough sex consisted mostly of a few grudge fucks with ex-girlfriends, but he was drawing on his frustrations with Gene and their mysterious relationship to ramp himself up to take control. Gene looked up at him, eyes sparking with interest, but he did not say anything as Sam stood in front of him, tugging on his cock to plump it up a little. Sam had to admit the view was good: Gene in his tux, his own tie hanging undone, on his knees and looking hungry. Sam stepped closer and fed himself into Gene’s open mouth, groaning.
“Shit yeah, Gene. That fucking hot mouth, it’s good for something. I know you know how to use it, c’mon.” Sam pumped his hips just a little to set the pace. He wanted to get off, take the edge off of his anger and frustration, and Gene was good for that. It was a new way of thinking about the man who had sworn himself to serve Sam like a slave, a little frightening but also exciting, something Sam had never quite felt before between them.
Gene’s eyes were closed as he sucked and bobbed his head, his tongue flashing over Sam’s sweet spots, his pace fast and sure. Sam grabbed a fistful of Gene’s hair and tugged on it, taking over the rhythm, and Gene groaned. Embolded, Sam shoved Gene down on his cock until he felt Gene’s gag reflex kick in, and that was the hottest thing Sam had ever done during oral sex in his life. He pulled Gene’s head back enough for him to catch his breath, then yanked him forward again. Gene opened wide and took him in until his throat was rebelling around Sam’s cock again. Sam repeated the move until Gene’s eyes were watering and slobber was running down his chin. Sam was vibrating, he was so close to coming, but he held on, deciding that coming down Gene’s throat was not quite the point he wanted to make.
“Open your eyes, damnit!” Sam growled, holding himself back while pumping his cock with his free hand. He kept his grip on Gene’s hair to keep him in place.
Gene opened his eyes. They were glassy and dazed, his pupils blown wide. He looked stunned. Sam saw the tent in Gene’s trousers when he looked down.
“Fuck, fuck…Gene…yeah, damn you!” Sam came, thrusting forward to spill onto Gene’s face. Money shots weren’t really Sam’s thing but in the moment it hit the message he wanted to send. His hand flexed against Gene’s head as he marked Gene with his cum, feeling like he owned him for the first time. He gasped for air. “Catch me.”
Gene’s arms shot up to grab him as Sam crumbled down. He held Sam against his chest, and Sam could feel the tremors running through Gene’s body. Gene’s erection was hard as a rock against Sam’s hip. After the shakes wore off, Sam pushed backwards until he was sitting on the floor in front of where Gene was kneeling.
“I don’t give a damn what your last Master told you. This is my flat, and you’re mine. My rules, yeah? So I’m ordering you to talk. You get to say whatever you want, whenever you want. If I catch you holding back I’ll punish you.”
Gene’s eyes narrowed, despite his flushed skin and heavy breathing.
“Fine. You don’t want to talk, sit there with your hard on for the rest of the night.” Sam rolled up and dropped his trousers. “You don’t get to touch me. I’m taking a shower alone.” He kicked off his shoes, walked out of his trousers and unbuttoned his shirt.
“Bloody tease,” Gene growled.
Sam spun around, walked over and kissed him. Gene blinked up at him, surprised and suspicious.
“Keep talking, Gene, and I might even let you get off tonight.” He wiped his cum off of Gene’s face with the hem of his shirt.
“That turn you on, does it?” Gene frowned again.
“Watching you come? Yeah.”
Gene grinned. Sam grabbed his jaw, shaking his head. “Don’t fuck around with me, Gene. You’ve been playing to my ignorance, but not anymore. We’re doin’ this my way or you’re on the street.”
Gene’s expression went dark, but it was not out of anger; Sam studied him for a moment, registering the renewed flush and the look of desire in his eyes. There was something else though, something that was not quite worry but gave Sam pause.
“Never thought I’d have to fight to get you to talk.” Sam tightened his grip on Gene’s jaw.
“Yer making a mistake.” Gene snarled back.
Sam paused, trying to figure out what to do, but then his annoyance took over. He pulled his arm back and slapped Gene hard enough to send the bigger man staggering to the side.
“You don’t get to tell me that, in here.”
“Then tell me to shut up!” Gene yelled at him, holding himself up with one arm, radiating fury.
It all clicked into place. Sam stepped forward and grabbed Gene’s hair again, pulling back to a balanced place on his knees. “That what happen? You mouthed off and he told you to shut up, forever?”
Gene looked furious and embarrassed at the same time, his mouth open but silent.
“That it, Gene? Answer me!”
“Yes! Damn you to hell, Tyler.” Gene spat out the words, shaking with fury.
Sam grabbed Gene’s face with both hands and kissed him again, fucking Gene’s mouth with his tongue until his back hurt and he stood up again. Gene was breathing heavily, but his anger was broken.
“How old were you, Gene?”
“Nineteen. Back from National Service.”
“Before you even joined the force?”
Gene nodded, looking off to the side. “He got me the job. Started out as a plod – good work, steady.”
“You don’t owe him the rest of your life for that.”
Gene shrugged. “I was a mouthy bastard.”
Sam laughed. “For fuck’s sake, that hasn’t changed.”
Gene looked over at him, suspicious. “That’s on the job.”
Sam reached out and stroked Gene’s face. He could see the effort Gene put in to holding back his reaction to the kindness. “That’s us.” Gene still looked unconvinced at Sam’s words, but Sam shifted forward again. “Take me. Get me hard for you. I want to fuck you and hear your beautiful, filthy mouth cursing me when you come.”
“Perv.”
“Yeah, yeah. Take it, Gene,” Sam whispered, rubbing his mostly-limp dick over Gene’s lips. He knew he could get it up and hold it for a while now that the edge was off. Gene’s eyes fluttered closed and he opened his mouth, gently sucking Sam into him, teasing slowly with his tongue as he urged Sam’s dick back to hardness. Sam let himself float into it, still high from his first orgasm and unwilling to chase the next one just yet. He closed his eyes and petted Gene’s face, feeling his dick slide in and out of the Gene’s mouth.
Gene made small noises that could have simply been heavy breaths or grunts of arousal, and that broke Sam out of his reverie. He stepped backwards, smiling at Gene’s attempt to follow.
“No. I got plans. Get up and strip.” Sam took another step backwards to give Gene space. He started stroking himself lightly, enjoying the contrasting sensation of his own fingers after Gene’s tongue.
Silently, Gene stood and took off the rest of his clothes. He stood naked in front of Sam when he was done, his neglected dick bobbing hard and red in front of him.
“Got anything to say to me?” Sam asked, heavy lidded, taking in the utter magnificence of Gene, naked and horny in front of him.
Gene shrugged, eyeing Sam’s dick.
“No? You don’t want this?” Sam grinned, waving his cock at Gene.
Gene snorted and rolled his eyes. “You know I do, Tyler. Quit stringing me along.”
“Every time I do you stop talking.”
“I got nothing to say,” Gene snarled.
“Bullshit, Gene. So much bullshit. Tell me what you want.”
Gene stepped forward and grabbed Sam by his shirt. “I want you out of these bloody clothes.” He stopped short of yanking the shirt off of Sam, though, and looked him in the eyes.
“Ask and ye shall receive. Get me out of these bloody clothes,” Sam smiled, holding his arms out to his side. Gene did not need to be told twice, quickly divesting Sam of every scrap of cloth with military precision. When he was done Sam shoved him backwards. “Get down there. Face the bed. I want to take you.”
“Mount me like a stallion, are you?” Gene snapped as he got down onto the floor, freezing as soon as the words left his mouth.
Sam came over and put a hand under Gene’s chin, forcing him to look up. “Yeah. Just like that.” Sam leaned down to kiss him. His dick poked at Gene’s back, and their bare skin touching sent electricity sparking between them. Sam deepened the kiss, trying to get his point across. Gene put his hands on the bed, still and passive under Sam’s touch despite everything. It amazed Sam that Gene could be so full of contradictions and yet still make so much sense.
He ended the kiss lightly, stepping back to look at Gene on his knees in front of him, but it struck him as wrong. Sam didn’t want to kneel. It was petty but symbolic and he knew Gene would get the message. He slapped Gene’s arse. “Up. On the bed. Kneel. Present yourself like you’re my whore. My slut, Gene, that’s what you are on that bed,” Sam said, talking all the way through Gene crawling up on the bed as instructed.
“Gonna use me or chat me up all night?” Gene snarled as he settled into position.
Sam rubbed the tip of his dick over Gene’s crack. Gene sucked in a breath. “What that, Gene? You say somthin’?”
“Prick tease.”
“Yeah.” Sam laughed, reaching for the lube he kept on the bed stand. He slicked up his fingers and pressed them against Gene’s hole. “What do you want?”
“Fucker,” Gene snapped while gasping for air.
“Yes I am.” Sam laughed again, almost giddy with arousal and the rush of power he was feeling. “Tell me, Gene. Tell me what you want. That’s a goddamn order!” Sam shoved his middle finger in fast, but not with too much force. His goal was to get a reaction, not rip the man open.
Gene blew out a heavy breath. “Just want you, Sammy. Just want to be yours, get used hard, have you all over me. You get that, you annoying twat?”
Sam shook his head, trying not to laugh. It was pretty easy to see why his former Master put a gag order on him, because Gene could walk the walk but not talk the talk. Nothing in his voice was subservient, despite his body hunched down on the bed with Sam’s finger up his arse.
“I fucking love your mouth, Gene. Always a fight, with you.” Sam pushed in a second finger and started finger fucking Gene hard. He held Gene’s hip with his other hand, to keep them both steady and grounded.
“Fuck, you fucker, yeah, you like the damn challenge, don’t you?”
“Hell yeah. Why do you think I love you?”
Gene froze, his head hanging down. “Careful what you say, Sam.”
Sam slowed his hand down, moving his fingers in and out of Gene slowly but steadily. “You questioning me? You’ve got a classy way of bad timing.” He watched his fingers moving, sliding into Gene’s body, disappearing, then slipping back out, over and over. “I love you. My rules.” He pulled his fingers out, watching as Gene’s muscles contracted at the loss of contact. Sam slicked up his cock. They had not been using protection, which grated on Sam’s nerves out of habit more than anything, but for once he was really glad about the close contact.
Gene had gone silent again, waiting for Sam. Sam decided to let Gene have his moment, moving forward to push his cock at Gene’s arse.
“Taking you now.”
“’Bout damn time.”
Sam laughed as he lined his dick up and pushed in. Gene groaned as Sam’s cock breached the still-tight ring of muscle. He paused there, the head of his dick shoved into Gene, and waited. Sam wanted to fuck forward with everything he had, knowing Gene’s substantial weight and strength could take anything Sam threw at him, but he waited.
“Sam…” Gene’s voice trailed off into a croaking, broken sound.
“You can say it, Gene. Say it to me, what that bastard never wanted to hear from you.” Sam pushed in slowly, the lube and Gene’s willingness easing the way, and he slid forward, sinking into Gene. Sam’s thighs were shaking from the strain of holding back, but Sam finally got it. The head rush of power wasn’t coming from beating Gene down, but from holding them together when Gene couldn’t. He was giving Gene space to break, a controlled and safe place to let himself feel everything at surface level. Sam’s job wasn’t to put him down or put him in his place, but simply to be strong when Gene needed to be soft.
“C’mon, Gene. Give over, let me have this,” Sam coaxed him some more, running his hands up and down the long, sturdy cords of Gene’s back.
“Sam…Sammy…” Gene groaned.
“Yeah, yeah. Gene!” Sam pulled out and pushed back in, hard but not fast. He knew he couldn’t keep holding back for long, but he was playing for time. “Fucking beautiful for me, Gene. Fucking perfect!” Sam gasped, curling over Gene and grabbing his hips, still stroking slow and steady.
“Love you, Sammy. God, love you. Fuck me, I love you,” Gene broke and babbled, pushing his face into the covers. Sam did not answer, but picked up his pace to start slamming into Gene the way that always brought Gene off, balls slapping and both men gasping. Gene groaned into the covers, repeating Sam’s name over and over until Sam felt him clinch and stutter, coming hard enough to nearly kick Sam off of him. Sam finally gave over to instinct and rutted mindlessly, glorying in the feel of all of Gene’s power shaken to the core under him. Sam wrapped up his love in the trust Gene had in him until his orgasm washed over him like a strong wave, knocking him forward onto Gene’s back.
Sam stayed plastered there until he could speak again, knowing Gene would not even flinch to move him off. “I mean it, Gene. I love you.”
“Yer a great big girl. Now move, I got to change the cover you made me mess over.”
Sam nearly fell off of him, rolling onto the bed laughing. Gene pushed him roughly aside until he gathered up the sweat and cum soiled sheet, grumbling the whole time about doing more laundry, but Sam could not stop giggling. Gene stood over him, naked but clutching the sheet, frowning.
“Crazy bastard.”
Sam propped himself up on his elbows, grinning. “Yeah, but you’re stuck with me.”
“Not sure but that’s the other way around, Sammy boy.”
“I got you, Gene,” Sam said. “I got you.”
#