This isn't the kind of thing I usually write, but it was a bit of a stop-gap while I started on another Jim/Alex story. This is essentially non-con, not too graphic but contains bad language throughout. There is slash there, so if you don't like that kind of thing, please don't read. Please R&R, comments welcome :) DP. (I own nothing, I just take the characters mould them to the situations I like best.)
Smug. Maybe he was, but as he saw it that wasn't always necessarily a bad thing. Smiling to himself, he straightened the paperwork on his desk for the third time in as many minutes. Perched on the edge was his sacred manila folder, the contents of which were worth their weight in gold. Egotistical. He always felt that was a touch of an exaggeration, he was a Detective Chief Inspector after all. As he rose from his chair, he smoothed down his suit and picked up the file. Turning the light off as he left, he held the folder in both hands and walked away from his office. It had looked unlikely at certain moments in the investigation that he would not get the information he so desired. But when it had all come together, he looked like the cat that got the cream for two full days. He had holed himself away, busily compiling his report, the results of which he held in his hands.
Arrogant. He liked to think he had an arrogant streak that only reared its ugly head as and when it needed to. His heels clicked out a rhythm as he strode down the corridor to his intended destination. It was a place that would have instilled fear into a lesser man, but not him. Outspoken. He preferred to think of himself as forthright, and only when it was needed. He had told the entire CID team what he thought of them, because it needed saying. The empty corridors were so peaceful; he was able to hear his own thoughts for once. The truth was, he didn't care if every brick from Fenchurch East were to be removed, with or without the useless half-wits inside. The one person he cared most about in the world didn't care about him. They wouldn't give him so much as a backwards glance the minute he announced he was leaving. Maybe it made him cold hearted to think it, but he couldn't find it in himself to care about a single person other than himself. He had learnt to look after number one. Perhaps if he hadn't been so deep in thought, he would have heard the slight echo of boots behind him. Instead, he only became aware of their presence when a fist connected with the small of his back.
The pain was so intense he dropped to his knees; one hand snaked round to try and ease some of the ache. Warmth spread across the small of his back, along his spine and he felt like his right kidney had just been punched clean out of him. "Well Jimbo, what's in the folder?" The husky voice was indisputably that of his nemesis, who sounded very pleased with himself for flooring him.
"Hunt." He couldn't manage another word as Gene's fist connected with the exact same spot. Warmth turned to sheer agony as the initial shock wore off. He would have put good money on having some form of internal bleeding. Gene grabbed a hold of Jim's curly locks and forced his head back. "You thought you were being so clever, trying to turn the entire team against me. 'Cept you couldn't get Drakey on board, you know why Jimbo? We are a team. We've had ups and downs, but we are unbreakable me and Bolls." Jim said nothing; the pain that radiated around his lower back combined with having his hair yanked back viciously had brought tears to his eyes. But he didn't let them spill over. Jim Keats doesn't cry.
"I know your game, Jimbo. Drake told me you wanted her to do anything to get me. Was that one of your sick little fantasies? Thinking about her shagging me, on your say so nonetheless?" Anger built within Jim. He might not have known Alex Drake as long as Gene had, but he certainly cared for her a lot more than Gene ever could. And as he heard him talking about her the way he was, Jim felt his composure slip. "Ever since you waltzed in here, you've only ever wanted two things; me on a plate for you and to get your end away with Drake." If only he knew, how much she meant to him, he wouldn't say things like that, Jim thought to himself. As Jim knelt on the cold, hard floor he drew his elbow forwards before forcing it up and back. Driving it into Gene's groin, he heard the older man groan before he collapsed to the floor next to him. "Level playing field now Gene." Jim mumbled softly as he tried to massage the pain in his lower back. If Jim had looked at Gene in the instant that he had floored him, he would have seen pure hatred reflecting back at him.
Drake had hit him, twice but that had only dented his pride, bruised his ego. Then Keats came along and hurt him more with one single action. The next thing to register with Jim was Gene pulling himself to his knees, one hand still resting between his legs while his free hand connected violently with Jim's cheek. The impact sent him tumbling backwards, his lower back hitting the ground first caused him to yelp in pain. Gene's lips curled into a smile at the yelp, it confirmed to him that he had hurt Jim. He didn't intend to stop there however. Jim sat up and collided with Gene's fist once again, but he was able to retaliate with a punch of his own. Gene gripped him by the collar as they began to roll around the corridor, fists flying in every direction. One of Gene's first, and best memories of Sam Tyler had been the many fights they had endured over the years. But as his fight with Jim progressed, a slight pang of guilt hit Gene. All it took was one momentary lapse in concentration and Jim capitalized. He grabbed his lapels and threw him against the wall with all the conviction he could manage. Had they of not been on the floor, it might have succeeded in hurting Gene, instead all it did was slow him down for a split second. But before Jim had a chance to move, he had his back pinned to the ground and Gene's full body weight pressing down on top of him. Jim hadn't felt anguish quite like it before, so as he deliberately pushed down against him he felt like his insides were going to burst.
It took an almighty surge of adrenalin from Jim to even slightly unbalance Gene, but when he found that opportunity, he seized it with both hands, literally. Shoving him back, Jim was able to turn around and get away from him. He wasn't usually one to run from a fight, but everything about Gene screamed that he should run before he killed Jim, in cold blood. The rubber of Jim's shoes squealed and slipped as he tried to run, but Gene was too quick for him. He was on him in less than a second. Jim fell, face first to the ground, before Gene pressed himself against his throbbing back. "You can't outrun the Manc Lion Jimbo; I thought you would have guessed that already, being the smart boy you claim to be." Gene hissed into his ear, and it brought a shiver to Jim's spine. The tingles met the throbbing and caused Jim to let out an agonizing growl. Gene said nothing, he just kept his grip firmly on the back of his head once again. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim spotted the abandoned manila folder. If he had a way to shake Gene, once again, he could grab the folder and make a proper run for it. But his options were few and far between. Then, Gene seemed to hand him one on a plate.
Gene shifted a leg so it was on the outside of Jim's right leg, which enabled him to bring his knee up underneath him and though it was a bit of guess work, his heel managed to collide with something around Gene's groin. "Pencil necked bastard..." Gene uttered as he slid off Jim, once again clutching his groin. A slight smile illuminated Jim's lips as he staggered to his feet, grabbed the file and headed uncertainly away from Gene. He had to give Gene his credit, because no sooner had Jim turned the corner did he catch up with him. Rough hands grasped the back of his coat and launched him against the nearest wall. This time, the file fluttered from his hands and spilt its contents across the corridor. Suddenly, Jim had other things to worry about. He took another brutal punch to the face, one that caused his nose to erupt. At some point, some tears must have trickled down his cheeks, together they cascaded to the floor. His strength was ebbing with each and every punch he threw and received. Gene looked to be flagging too, but as Jim thought it he upped his game, or rather, lowered it. As Jim turned to hit Gene again, a foot shot out and tripped him. Landing in his own blood wasn't a nice experience, made worse by Gene forcing his face into it. "You're a bastard, Jimbo." Gene huffed, breathlessly. Then something unexpected happened.
Gene knelt at his side and turned him over, all the anger seemed to have faded as suddenly as it had appeared. His eyes twinkled with tears and blood streaked his face, but all that mattered to Jim was that his anger seemed to have subsided. Gene's rough hand stroked Jim's bruised cheek, almost tenderly he thought. He felt Gene start to wipe the blood from his face and he relaxed a little. "You're dying to cry, aren't you?" Gene said abruptly, watching as Jim's chest rose and fell erratically. He shook his head, and prayed he didn't shake his tears out for all to see.
"I don't cry." Short and sweet, that was all he needed to say, Jim hadn't cried for many years and did not intend to start again in front of Gene Hunt of all people. He pulled Jim up into a sitting position and observed him for a moment. "What?" Gene shook his head, apparently lost for words. Instead, he carried on removing the excess blood from Jim's face. Then it happened. Gene leant down, his lips crashing against Jim's. A lump formed in Jim's throat, one he battled to force back down. Gene tugged his coat from his shoulders, followed quickly by his jacket. Jim was numb. He didn't want this. He didn't want Gene's hands roaming around his body the way they were doing. He didn't want Gene's lips against his. But as Gene yanked him up by the material of his shirt and shoved him against the wall, he knew instantly where it would end. He didn't like it.
It all happened so fast, Jim couldn't really take it all in. He felt his trousers being forced down to his ankles, Gene's stubble rubbing against his neck and his hands gripping his hips as he defiled Jim as roughly as he possibly could in the corridor. Jim screwed his eyes shut in order to prevent the tears he indefinitely knew would spill over if he kept them open. Gene muttered to him the whole time, about how he was a pencil necked bastard, a wanker, a speccy eyed twat and so many other things they all merged in to one. He didn't stop there though, he told Jim how no one would want to touch him again after this, not that anyone had wanted to before. As Gene reached his climax, his fist connected one final time with the small of his back. It was only because Gene was still behind him that his knees didn't buckle completely. Jim bit his lip as Gene removed himself from him and cleaned himself up. "Don't you dare think you can come waltzing into my kingdom, Keats, turning my friends against me. Unless you want a repeat performance..." Gene growled into his ear before stalking off out of the station.
Jim's lip trembled as he sunk to the floor. He felt sick. He was numb all over, except for the tremendous pain in his back. His hands shook uncontrollably, but he didn't cry. Because, Jim Keats doesn't cry.