-1One More Than Company Part OneIt was a power struggle every time. Gene Hunt was his boss, his guv, the leader of the pack and the sheriff of Manchester. He never missed a chance to prove he was the alpha male and he was built to defend the title: a roaring lion. Sam on the other hand felt like he was built less to confront and more to evade but never backed down when confronted. He would always put up a fight, never giving up because he couldn't and priding himself on those ethical standards that got him those less-than-loving nicknames: 'ponce,' 'Nancy Drew,' oh and Ray's 'nagging Mother Teresa without the tits' had been a colorful one. This whole world was corrupt, a boozing, sleazy exaggeration of the 70s and Sam never wanted any part of it. Until Gene asked him to, until the fearless cowboy was aided by the cunning outsider and there was something strange but right in the way they changed a world that slowly started to matter.
It was this growing reality that was the most dangerous.
Gene had Sam's arm pinned behind his back as he shoved the DI's face further into the dated green sheets of his bed. Pressing hard against his arse, Sam could feel Gene's familiar bulge against a pair of slipping trousers. The man's breath was hot and heavy against the nape of his neck as he growled in a possessive manner, nipping and biting at his taut shoulder. The pushing and rubbing turned into an easy and rocking rhythm. Gene coerced Sam's face farther into the bed as his own member started to throb for attention, but he was helpless and even starting to choke in the waves of fabric.
"Fuck" was something he managed to gasp in the throes of heated humping and Gene loosened his grip with a teasing laugh. Flipping himself over Sam pushed Gene's hips away defiantly, glaring up at the man in annoyance. Unhindered Gene smirked down at him. Returning the gesture with a grunt he pushed Sam back on to the bed and crawled on top of his lean and tawny DI. Sam stretched and writhed but he stayed.
Gene applied his weight, pinning Sam's upper body against the sheets and inserting himself with ease between those raised legs. A soft gasp escaped Sam's lips as Gene traced the line of his ribs, torso, and hips. Undoing Sam's trousers he relieved that desperate confinement. Once free Gene took Sam in his hand, massaging the pink tip-soft to the touch but hard with want- in a teasing manner before vigorously pumping at Sam's cock.
Hhnnhhh. Sam threw his head back along with his eyes in a guttural rush of ecstasy, letting himself go until he forgot he had hands or legs, only himself in Gene's grip. After a few moments he pawed at Gene who let him free the DCI's own hardened cock, running his palm up and down Gene's shaft in steady but eager strokes. Wrapping his thin fingers around that throbbing member he took the man like a handlebar.
Gene had shifted to allow Sam access and the two of them laid on their sides as they beat each other off, sweat glistening off anxious bodies in the dim light with a chorus of hard and frequent moans played against their urgent actions. The Manc Lion leaned in for a bite, kissing Sam deeply and pulling at his lip when he drew back. Sam felt those teeth as they bit into his flesh and stared after the man with an equal hunger when he let go. His darkly demanding look didn't go unanswered as Gene quickly replied to the prompt; instinctively letting go, in one fluid motion he turned Sam over again.
There was another grunt as Gene positioned himself. "No cuffs tonight?"
"Not 'till the bruises heal from last time."
"Dorothy."
A quick smack on the arse cut any reply from Sam who clawed his fingers into the bed sheets and pushed himself against Gene, sliding inside him with two saliva-soaked fingers. Hunt laid another smack down on that tight bum of Tyler's, delighting in the bright red mark that lingered. With enough prep he grabbed his begging cock and eased the head against that round line of waiting muscle, applying pressure until those cheeks gave way to him as he knew they would.
Sam relaxed around the guv, only clenching his muscles in a reactionary manner when Gene surprised him with another slap. Gene pulled him in, pumping that hard cock into his arse in short, powerful thrusts. As he reached down to touch himself Sam moaned without inhibition as every thrust swelled inside him and washed over every tingling nerve until he was craving the next slap as much as the next thrust.
Gene quickened with urgency, hips slapping loudly against Sam's now bright red arse and grunting with the exertion while buzzed with bliss. Digging his fingers into Sam's waist like claws, the lion growled as the race to gratification was nearing an end. Tugging at his own todger in two final motions Sam felt himself come against the sheets with Gene pounding his arse; another white stain faded green. With Sam's satisfied moans as an incentive Hunt released himself inside his DI, pulling out just soon enough to see his cum spill out of that still-red arse.
Sam let his hips fall against the bed lazily, turning his head to the side to watch Gene who pushed a trail of cum up over his tender cheeks and into the small of his back. A shiver ran up his spine at the action and he met Gene's gaze on the bed next him.
"You're wrong about this case you know."
Gene was still leaning over Sam in all of his naked glory, soft and covered in the sweat and juices that had spilled out of him. "Christ Tyler you'd think after shoving something up your jacksie you'd be appreciative and shut your gob."
Sam watched him darkly, fighting with the dozy satisfaction that urged him to rest and the lingering murder that urged him to fight. "I'm being serious Gene. This was a homicide."
Gene studied him. "If you weren't so convincing I'd think you were doing this just to torment me with your nagging."
A smile tugged at Sam's lips. "Maybe I am."
"Thank you Linda Lovelace." DCI Hunt rolled onto his back, insisting that he was going to relax even if his DI wasn't. Wrapping an arm behind his neck he rested against the headboard. "It were drugs that killed him Sam, tweaked out like spastic crammed with roman candles. The murderer is the smack dealing bastard on my patch."
He admired Gene in the dark aftermath of his flat. Looming over him those mildly flexed muscles supported a head that was etched with a protective and determined look. "It's not that simple." He looked away with a soft exasperation. "You didn't read the forensics report did you?"
When he turned back Gene had busied himself digging in the pockets of his camel coat hunting for a pack of smokes. He called back at Sam. "Why can't it ever be easy with you?" Finding several flasks but not the indulgence he was searching for his DCI took a break from the search, taking a swig from the small metallic container. Parting his lips with a contented sigh Sam's curt glare cut off the warm diversion of a single malt. "We know how he died!"
Sam still pressed on. "There were serious signs of sexual assault and there was a casino token in his mouth. Like some sort of calling card, or warning."
Sliding the flask back into one of his pockets Gene had continued his search. "Did he choke on it?"
DI Tyler frowned. "No."
Finally victorious, Gene leaned back against the head board once again with a pack of cigarettes, smugly placing one in his mouth and lighting it. Breathing out there was a stream of smoke to aid his satisfaction. "Then I'm still right."
"No!" Sam furrowed his brows in frustration and was set on disputing this point till Gene saw it his way, but his superior officer cut him off before there was a chance.
"You'll be happy to know I've got a transfer request from another officer, one of yours, from Hyde. Figure he can 'elp you out with all of your anxious filing desires."
"Don't change the-" but Sam's brain overrode that sanctimonious principle of his at the drop of a key word "From Hyde?"
"Yeah 'nother DI."
Sam let the gravity of the statement sink in. Hyde of course was an elusive metaphor for back home. Was it some one that he knew then, or could it be help? It seemed strange to be thinking about escaping now, while he was sitting naked in this ugly green bed with Gene's cum starting to dry against his pale thighs.
"He's temporary Sam. I've had a look at his file. Never in one place more than a few weeks and chances are once this case is over he'll be out of our hair too. "
Sam was silent for a few moments, lost in thought for what this could mean until Gene's voice brought him back, let him focus on where he was. "He were a rent boy then."
"I guess." Sam replied quietly, shifting his thoughts back to the case. It made sense after all, a young male with no real identification: a victim of the sex starved and drug hazed world in which he inhabited. "But why the poker chip?"
"Dunno." Gene offered with all of the insight an after shag fag could give. "Usually they gag on cocks."
Giving Gene a cross look for his insensitivity, Sam continued. "Seems like some one's trying to make a point."
Gene scoffed. "Sex and gambling, point made."
"Maybe, maybe something more."
They sat like that for several minutes, the soft burning of Hunt's fag the only real light to share between them. In the silence it came back to Sam, the worry, the guilt. He had to go home, that wasn't a question but he was starting to become aware of a very dark possibility: would he miss it? This newcomer could be the key that would bring him out of a backwards world. It could be the beginning of the end. Finally. No more beating up witnesses, no more dark age humor, no more incomplete reports, no more Gene. Oh. There was that lingering feeling of guilt.
"Speaking of something more," Gene moved on, grinding the burning cigarette butt into an ashtray on the shelf above Sam's bed. It was something Sam kept there just for him, having grown tired of whining about it every time he would put it out on the floor or in an empty bottle of Boddington's. Without needing to speak his intent Sam's DCI turned on him, pressuring his lanky DI's body until it gave in to him.
Sam rolled his eyes and feigned to push himself away from Gene's advances, falling back on to the bed anyways. "You're insufferable." He wanted Gene to take away that fear from him, take away the guilt and the worry. He protected this city with everything he had, could he protect Sam too? Give it to me Gene, he would think, give me a place to belong.
Gene growled in his ear, his voice musky with the promise of burning tar and a long night. "I like it when you talk dirty."
~~~~
It was the next afternoon and Sam was starting on another cup of coffee when he came, entering with a quirky swagger that was so out of place Sam instantly guessed this was the man they had been waiting for. Yet as the newcomer made his way into the station Sam noticed nothing else seemed to fit that very specific 'I don't belong here because I'm in a coma' profile. There was a look of curiosity and vague displacement at the sight of the dim office and the atmospheric haze of cigarette smoke but not the shock and awe and immediate disdain Sam thought it deserved when first thrust upon some one. The detective inspector of mystery walked closer and Sam concluded that the gait he'd mistaken for distress earlier originated from nothing more than an odd quirk of personality and his attire seemed to support that assessment. Across the new DI's shoulders was draped a gray blazer, about his waist a pair of brown trousers. Peeking out from the blazer was the tell tale wingspan of pink 70's lapels, hugged tight by a blue and navy checkered sweater vest. Tall and lean he had shaggy brown hair and what Sam would later learn was a permanent five o'clock shadow, but what was most entrancing was his eyes: large and luminous with the echoes of laughter and darkness. It was a moment or an eternity later into those eyes when he realized they were looking back at him too.
"Your picture doesn't do you justice." The new DI stood in front of Sam's desk, paying him the greatest attention while utterly ignoring the looks of interest circulating around the station.
"Hang on…they sent us a Scot?" Ray wondered loudly in his usual xenophobic manner, two feet propped up on a stack of files that Sam had earlier expressed some earnestness in him sorting through. The newcomer paid him no heed, waiting patiently for Sam.
DI Tyler swallowed with a dry mouth. "You're the uh, the new DI…from Hyde, yeah?"
"Nope, Glasgow." Was the curt response as he chewed on his thumb. "But I've been. Stiffs in suits, not to much to see. You?"
Sam couldn't swallow that answer either. "You could say."
Done with his thumb the new DI dragged a hand through his hair, bouncing straight back into the disorder he'd arrived in. "I'm gonna come clean with you Sam, your team would be over the rainbow to have you back but-." And here he broke his gaze from him possibly for the first time since arriving. "M'not really sure how."
Sam scoffed at the absurdity of some one jumping in to save him only to get stuck themselves. At the news, his heart leapt into that dry throat and he leaned in closer with cautious necessity.
"You mean…the future?"
He tapped the side of his head urgently, that is until a HA-HARUMPH echoed through a station that had suddenly become quiet. It was Gene standing a few paces from them with a disapproving look. Sam turned back to their newcomer and saw how the soft pale skin of his neck disappeared into the crook of those wiry shoulders. It dawned on him how close they had been. Jerking back sharply he ran into the edge of his desk with a loud thump, creating a new carpet of files on the concrete floor below.
"He um…he's the new, the new DI." Sam explained, covering his mouth in embarrassment as he found a very interesting stain on the floor to attract his attention.
"DI Peter Carlisle." Chimed in the visitor, sparing Sam a knowing but amused look. "From wherever you like, to wherever you like."
"Well we don't usually sniff the new ones." Gene spat at the accused "But since you're a Scot you can go straight from here to the boozer and buy us all a round eh?" Gene looked around him and the other officers gave out their cries of agreement. All for one and one for all, it was Hunt's usual test to see if the new DI would fit in easily to the department he spent so much time molding.
Peter crossed his arms and his smile twinkled. "Aye. Cause I've got nothing better to waste my loose pocket change on."
"Pocket change, on your wages?" Gene clapped Peter on the back "We'll soon fix that." Their DCI turned and announced to the rest of CID. "But just because DI Carlisle here is going to get as all shit faced doesn't mean you lot have an excuse to be as useless as you will be tomorra morning. Now Mush." He waved his hands and the group scattered to do repetitive tasks that would make them appear busy until beer o'clock rolled around.
Sam waited a moment or two for the other's to shuffle away before giving Gene grief. "So you don't welcome every new officer with a nice little punch to the gut?"
Hunt smirked. "We all know you're a special case Tyler." Sam looked away in annoyance unsure if that was a comment on their relationship or his sanity. "God help me if I had to deal with two of you." Gene sized Peter up with a brief glance as if double checking. "You don't go home and wank off to the smell of detergent do you?"
Sam gaped at Gene's question. Just because he had explicitly stated that he enjoyed the smell of fresh laundry and Hunt had actually been wearing a fresh shirt that day instead of his usual wrinkled, whiskey soaked attire does not make that an appropriate line of interrogation for the new DI.
Peter raised a thick eyebrow in curiosity but answered smoothly. "I think what I go home and wank off to is my own affair. But I'm flattered by your curiosity."
Sam could see his DCI had missed the sardonic jib buried in the accent. It was Gene's turn to feel uncomfortable but still ignoring the indignation written all over Sam's face he switched over to safer matters. "He's yours Tyler. You're free to go all Mary Poppins on the Collator's Den but don't you dare touch my office." With that he left them to return to his sanctuary and no doubt continue some hard work on a bottle of scotch.
"Who was that ray of sunshine?" Peter asked, following the retreating DCI with his eyes.
"DCI Hunt, otherwise know as 'the guv'." Sam said it with all of the sarcasm it deserved but he couldn't help smiling to himself.
"You know I'm willing to bet," Peter mused, chewing on a pen from his desk that Sam just noticed was missing. "that a man like that who glowers and shouts cause he fancies himself the leader of his pack," removing it from his mouth he gestured with the pen to make his point, a fresh coat of saliva catching the light, "purrs like a kitten when you get him alone."
Sam scoffed at the cheeky bugger and slyly stole a glance at Gene's office. He was there watching them through the blinds but after a campy wave from Peter he scowled and whited out their view.
Carlisle shrugged "Or not." and tucked the pen into his jacket pocket, his hands into his trousers. "Seems like we both have catch up duty, care for a cuppa?" And without waiting for a reply the new DI turned on his heel and ambled towards the exit.
Sam shook his head in bewilderment at the last few minutes, looking back at his desk he was faced with files still scattered on the floor, waiting for him to sort them again. He grabbed his coat and followed Peter.