Chapter Eight - Let's Spend the Night Together

As Sam shuffled his way into the main room, Gene stood and watched. He couldn't believe what had just happened, what he had just done. What about all that stuff he'd decided about pulling himself together and ignoring all these feelings? He felt out of breath, as though they'd just had another fight instead of kissing. He stripped his gloves off, tucked them in his coat pocket. He'd never kissed another man before. With the exception of one or two conflicting reports from some parts of his brain, he was shocked to find that he'd enjoyed it. His body certainly had, there was no denying the stirrings he'd had in the trouser department as he pressed his lips to Sam's or the flush in his cheeks now. He was buzzing. Christ, it was almost as good as punching the man.

He followed Sam out, now, to find Tyler sitting on the bed, wrestling off his shoes. There was no fresh blood on his face; even though he knew it wasn't broken, he had been afraid they might have set it off bleeding again just now. When they kissed. I've kissed a bloke. He kept returning to it, trying to fit the concept into a brain that had long since outlawed that kind of behaviour. Sam was finally in his socks, and boosted himself up on to the bed properly, leaning against the wall where a headboard would go if he'd owned such a luxury. He saw Gene come out of the bathroom and gave him an unusually shy grin. Gene kept his face straight, wanting to attend to the next bit of business, which would involve a large Scotch unless he was very much mistaken.

'Got a freezer, Tyler?' he asked, brusquely. Sam's grin faltered as he replied.

'Eh, yeah. Yeah, there's a freezer box at the top of the fridge. Why...' Gene didn't wait to hear the question, but turned and stepped up to the appliance in question. Sam leaned back and shut his eyes. He heard rummaging and a bit of banging, accompanied by some low-level swearing. There were some clinking sounds next, which made Sam open his eyes again, and he saw Gene over-burdened with one glass, one mug and a balled-up tea towel. He looked around for the table and put everything down, then took the few steps over to the bedside.

'Here,' he said, thrusting the tea towel at Sam. Sam had no clue what he was supposed to do with this and didn't reach for it immediately, looking questioningly up into Gene's face.

'It's ice, for your nose. Bring the swelling down. Stop it hurting. Go on,' he said, offering the bundle again. Sam was touched; even though the Guv had given him the burst nose in the first place, he'd never have expected him to try to make amends. He took the makeshift ice pack and applied it to the bridge of his nose. It felt good, and he stretched his eyebrows up to settle it in more closely. Of course, this meant that he couldn't see what Gene was up to now, but he was almost glad of an excuse not to look at the man. Gene was acting like nothing had happened, and Sam didn't know if he could bear to have this, whatever this was, offered and withdrawn again so quickly. He concentrated instead on the soothing cold on his bruised face, and on listening to Gene's movements.

First he heard the camelhair coat come off, and he pictured Gene hanging it on the coat rack. Next, he heard the glass and mug clinking together, and the unmistakable sound of a Scotch bottle being opened and poured. There was a sudden quiet cracking sound; Gene had even put ice in the drinks. That was practically a cocktail, by his standards. Sam heard some shuffling around then and another bit of banging and swearing, this time coming closer to the bed and ending in a soft thump. Finally, he heard Gene turning to the table and back, and presently the mug was pressed into his free hand, handle positioned so it was easy to grab. He took it, with a nasal 'thanks'. Gene sat down in the chair he'd dragged over - probably the armchair, it was marginally less uncomfortable, even if it was a bugger to move.

Sam carefully lifted the ice pack away from his nose and looked at it, checking for any blood on the towel. There was none; he thought he'd avoided a broken nose very narrowly, but avoided it all the same. He took a sip from his mug, looking out over the rim at Gene, glad to have a barrier between them. Gene was sitting forward, elbows on knees, holding his glass in both hands. He leaned forward as he asked 'How is it?'.

Sam swallowed his whiskey. 'Not too bad now. Thanks for the ice. And the medicine.' He raised his mug a little to illustrate his point. Gene flashed a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and was gone before it really got started. He was still trying to process what had happened in the bathroom, and trying to think what to say next. Should he ignore it, pretend it hadn't happened? Should he tell Tyler now that it had been a mistake, brought on by high temper and strong liquor? That was at least partly true; if they'd been sober, none of this would have happened. That didn't mean that Gene wasn't glad it had happened, which was the most confusing part. He was still trying to figure it all out when Sam spoke.

'Gene...' he started, sounding unsure and not looking over at him any more.

'Yeah?' Gene kept his tone neutral.

'Are you gonna send me back to Hyde now?'

This was an unexpected consideration; it had no more occurred to Gene than it had occurred to him to get on the radio and tell the night shift at the station how he'd almost broken Sam Tyler's nose, but it was OK because he'd kissed it better.

'And lose my best man? You are joking me,' he replied, voice almost outraged. Sam chanced a look over, at that, a hesitant smile starting at the corners of his mouth. 'Of course not, Sammy-boy.' He took a drink, swilling the cold Scotch around his mouth. Sam looked relieved.

'So...' he started again.

'Oh, spit it out, would you?' Gene was rattled, because no matter what Sam was going to ask next he didn't think he knew the answer.

'I'm sorry, will we just talk about football instead?' Sam asked waspishly.

Gene had been right; he didn't have an answer to that, or to anything else except perhaps 'Are you going to need lots more Scotch?'. Well, he always said that if you had nothing to say, you'd better say nothing, and sat quietly in the worn armchair. He felt a bit like he was visiting Sam in hospital, which might not have been out of the question if things had gone just a little differently earlier. The thought made him shiver. Sam noticed.

'Cold?' he asked, a certain iciness in his own tone. Gene could have lied and agreed with him, but decided to try for the truth.

'Not cold. Scared. I could have broken your face there.'

Sam looked back into his chipped mug, swirling the drink gently against the sides. He nodded slowly.

'You could. You wanted to, as well.'

It was Gene's turn to be surprised, and Sam lifted the ice pack back to his face, obscuring his eyes. He thought about denying the accusation, but it hadn't really been said that way. It was just a fact, they both knew that Gene's temper was on a hair trigger, and it wouldn't have been the first time he'd put someone in an ambulance. It had never been one of his own men, though. Never.

'Never,' he said out loud, half to himself. Sam gave no reply, eyes still closed and whiskey held loosely in one hand. 'I would never.'

'Didn't seem that way, did it?'

'I know. I'm sorry.' He couldn't believe he was apologising for the second time in one night, but what else could he say? Sam managed to take a sip of his drink without dislodging the ice pack, making a quiet noise of appreciation as it hit his throat.

'Is that all you're sorry for?' he asked, after another pause. That was a loaded question, and no mistake. He kept his face covered, obviously finding it easier to ask that way. Gene took his time in answering, spinning this awful moment out a lot longer than he wanted to.

'No. I mean, yes. I mean... I don't bloody know what I mean.' He took a large draft of Scotch, striking out for inebriation again after this whole sobering experience.

'Me neither Guv. Not much change there though, half the time it's like you're speaking another language.' He peeked out from behind the bundle at his nose, then, and Gene rewarded him with a laugh huffed out through his own nose and a cynical purse of the lips.

'Look who's talking, Tyler,' he replied, his tone lighter than the words suggested. Sam's eye closed again, and a faint smile touched his lips. He settled himself more comfortably against the wall, legs stretched out ahead of him. He'd sat near to the edge, leaving almost enough space for someone else to fit in, if they didn't mind the close quarters. Looking at that space, Gene felt a bit uneasy. Was he going to get into bed with Sam later? The question made him nervous, which was not a feeling he was normally at home to. He didn't seem to be having any regrets about crossing this line with Sam, not yet anyway, but there was crossing a line and there was stampeding over it like a herd of elephants. He wondered what Sam would do if he got up and sat down next to him, maybe even held the ice pack for a while. That thought was so un-Gene Hunt that he laughed a little. Sam heard him.

'What's funny?'

'Me playing ruddy Florence Nightingale here.'

'It is a bit,' Sam agreed. 'You're not doing too badly, though. Ice and whiskey, two key components in any medicine cabinet.' He took the ice away again, wrinkled his nose carefully. 'It feels a lot better now. It was just a nosebleed, nothing broken. Probably no black eyes, either.' He turned his face towards Gene now, as though to show off the lack of black eyes. Hunt nodded sagely, eyes roving across that face, checking for injury.

'Think you'll be fine, Tyler.' Both men tipped up their glasses in unity, then, an unplanned move that was nevertheless perfectly synchronised. They both drained them, and Gene returned his to his knee.

'So...' it was his turn to be hesitant now. Sam regarded him, blinking a bit groggily. Gene thought that events were catching up with the DI, maybe even a bit of shock setting in.

'...d'you want me to go, then?' He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be. He felt like he might never be sure of anything to do with Sam Tyler again. Sam continued only to look for a while, and Gene wondered if he should repeat himself, but before he could, Sam started to shake his head.

'No. I don't want you to go. Will you stay?'

Gene nodded firmly, finding that he was gladdened by the answer. 'I'll stay. Got to make sure you don't go slipping into a coma in the night.' Something about this struck Sam as funny, and he laughed for a long while. He wiped his watering eyes when he was done, held the melting ice pack up to his nose again and stuck out his empty mug at a bemused Gene.

'Give us a top up,' he said, voice still full of good humour. Gene wasn't sure what that was all about, but he'd take the laughing Sam over serious Sam any day. He took Sam's mug and stood up, adding another generous measure of whiskey to it and to his own at the little table. When he turned to go back, he realised that he had a chance, now, to change seats, to get closer to Sam again. In the end, he couldn't make himself get onto the bed, but made a compromise by dragging the armchair around after he'd handed over the drink, so that he was sitting closer. He didn't think they'd need another drink after this, the adrenaline from earlier was fading, and while he still had a lot of questions to ask himself, dog tiredness would probably win out.

'What a week,' he said, leaning back in the chair and propping his elbows on the arms.

'You can say that again,' Sam answered. They sat silently, contemplatively sipping their whiskey. Sam felt much calmer than he'd have given credit to not so long before. A lot of that was sheer tiredness, but now that something had actually happened with Gene he could stop worrying about it. Alright, it brought up a lot of questions, but he could face them in the morning. He thought back to the kiss, which had been over before it really got started. He closed his eyes, fully recalling the moment. It left him feeling a little breathless, the ghost of Gene's lips brushing his own making him tingle again. The power of the man, all contained and focused on that one small area, was more intense than anything Sam had experienced in years. The thought of experiencing it again made him feel a twitch of longing under the blanket of weariness. When he opened his eyes, Gene was looking at him intently, seeming to read his mind. He leaned forward in the armchair, putting himself right on the edge of the seat. Sam didn't think, but slowly slid his legs off the side of the bed and sat upright, facing Gene. Their knees were touching, and Gene parted his so that one of Sam's legs fell between them. He leaned over and put his mug down on the floor.

This time there was lots of opportunity to change his mind, to lean back again, but Gene didn't take it. He wanted to kiss Sam again, he couldn't deny it; the time for outright denial had been left behind in the pub. He watched as Sam leaned in to him, this time, inching closer and watching his eyes for any sign of refusal. Gene felt like a speeding car in an action film; out of control, but slowed down so you could experience every moment in glorious technicolour. Sam was breathing hard, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. As Gene's eyes were drawn to those lips, Sam closed the narrowing gap between them, holding his head at an angle to protect his nose. He met Gene's lips and held still, just as Gene had earlier, with them barely touching. He flickered his tongue out again, the tip of it lightly touching the bow of Gene's upper lip as it passed. Gene heard a high ringing in his ears, felt his heart pounding beneath his shirt. He didn't move though, wanting Sam to take control. The puffs of breath from the other man's mouth were almost too much to bear, but if he made any sudden moves he might hurt him, and right now he felt like he never wanted to do that again.

Sam finally pressed their mouths together properly, sealing the kiss. As their mouths opened, Gene reached out a hand and cupped the curve of Sam's jaw. His thumb rested on the man's cheek, his fingers threaded into the short hair on the back of his neck. Sam sighed softly as they kissed, leaning a little further in. He slid his tongue across Gene's upper lip and back into his own mouth. Gene felt a thrill that ran right down his spine and lit up his groin. He waited for Sam to use his tongue again, then met it with his own. He couldn't control a shudder when they touched, but he was careful with his hand, which was now sliding down the back of Sam's neck, thumb tracing a line from cheek to collarbone. Sam brought his own hands up and buried both of them in Gene's hair, running his fingers through it as though he'd been holding back from doing so only with great difficulty, for God knew how long. Gene's hand slid down Sam's bare arm, coming to rest on the firm curve of a compact bicep. Sam brought his hands round to hold Gene's face, fingertips tracing over the scars, one thumb touching the corner of their rhythmically moving lips. This sent another wave of excitement into the pit of Gene's stomach. Sam moved his hands back to loosely link behind Gene's neck before breaking their lips apart, tipping his head forward to lean their foreheads together instead. He gasped in a huge breath, puffed it back out again. Gene removed his hand from Sam's arm and put it back in his hair, cradling the back of his head with strong fingers. He was out of breath, too, and lit up like a Christmas tree. It had never been like this before, not even when he was seventeen and randy all hours of the day and night. He kept his eyes closed, leaning against Tyler and basking in the glow they'd created between them. He did what seemed natural, then, and shifted a little, guiding Sam's head so that their faces were now side by side, cheeks sliding against each other, and drew him into a hug that said more than he would ever be capable of expressing in words. Sam laid his head sideways on Gene's shoulder, wrapping his arms further round the man's neck. Gene kept his hand in Sam's hair, gently running his fingers through it, marvelling at the way short hair felt under his palm. They both breathed deeply, in synch and connected, until he felt Sam move a little.

'Gene?' His voice was muffled.

'What?'

'Are you still holding your glass?'

There was a pause.

'Might be.'

Another pause.

'Well, you never know when you might be thirsty.'

Sam started laughing, sitting upright again. He reached down for his own drink, and tilted it towards Gene.

'Cheers,' he smiled, flushed and happy.

'Cheers, Sam.'