Summary: Sam hits rock bottom. Sequel to Serpent's Tooth
Rating: M - Mature Adults only (may contain drug references, violence, nudity, coarse language, sexual references, adult and supernatural themes)
Warnings: Loosely based season one
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended
It was going to be a long, tense night with nothing but the smattering of rain across the windshield and the slow ticking of the Cortina's engine as it cooled, clicking away steadily like a death watch beetle.
Sam's breath fogged the passenger window as he leant against it, but he resisted the urge to draw patterns, bored as he was. Gene hadn't said a word since they'd pulled up here, rolling to a stop a few discrete metres up the road from a Chinese takeaway in one of the more interesting parts of town that Sam knew well. Too well.
Hence the strained silence. He knew that Gene knew, so there was nothing to be said, but he could tell from just the way Gene was sitting that he did not approve of his officers being on such intimate terms with what Gene had earlier termed a latter day opium den.
Sam breathed out slowly, trying to not think about the hunger that coiled in his gut. It was so hard, when what he needed was so close at hand.
Gene sensed the movent and glanced at him, then quickly glanced away.
The Cortina was suddenly claustrophobic, and Gene was acutely aware of every rise and fall of Sam's chest, the quick little breaths as Sam tried to hide the fact that he was still toughing it out, still shaking like a junkie, underneath his skin. Gene could smell the sweat, mixed with soap, that was rising from Sam. He could hear the tiny creaks of Sam's jacket as he moved, the rustle of his shirt. He could imagine the soft, warm skin beneath.
"I could really go a sweet and sour," Gene spoke at last with deep longing.
Sam's eyebrows rose up and down in mild reaction.
"Won't that tip them off, if DCI Hunt walks in there, tonight of all nights, and orders a number seventeen?"
Gene shot a glance at Sam, letting the fact that Sam knew what number it was on the menu slide. Of course Sam knew. He knew this place. He knew what it was and he could have told them, without Gene having had to work his way through minor scum, though that had been therapeutic. All that rice and weird foreign muck in Sam's flat, this was where he bought it, and soon it hadn't been just packets of rice they'd been handing over. He wondered if it had been as simple as that, Sam being offered, and tempted, just one night when he was down low and easy prey.
"I'm hungry," was all Gene said.
Sam glanced primly at his watch.
"You had dinner just two hours ago."
"Well, I'm bored," sulked Gene. "I need to be doing something and you carry on like a woman if I smoke in the car and you won't let me suck you off."
Sam choked. Gene's ability to just blurt out exactly what he was thinking on occasion never ceased to shock him.
"Here?" Sam squeaked.
"Yeah, why not." Gene was studying him, eyes bright. "There is no time that I don't want to fuck you. And go down on you. And kiss you."
Sam was just looking at him, half rabbit in the headlights, half inguen.
Gene leant close, voice husky.
"I want to push you back in that seat and slowly undo all the buttons on your shirt and bite my way down, all the way down. I'd pull your belt off real slow, open your trousers and slide my hand in, stroking, saying hello, pumping you until you're nice and hard, and then I'll take you and kiss you, licking that little slit…"
Sam's eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed. What the hell, Gene shrugged, and he reached across and kissed him, full on the mouth.
Sam tried to pull away from Gene's touch.
"I thought you said we couldn't."
"I said we had to be careful. I told you mud sticks, and you'd better keep your nose clean and dot all your I's and cross all your T's. I didn't think that would be too difficult, for you. But you surprised me. You went and got yourself a habit. Obviously, behaving yourself means something completely different in Hyde." Gene sneered the word. He'd been hurt and he didn't try to hide it.
"I don't want to hear it. We'll just fix this, alright?"
"I said I'm sorry." Sam insisted, voice heavy with emotion, and he kissed him.
Gene reacted with surprise, as if he'd just been sucker punched.
"What was that for?"
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"
"No, not like that. You don't understand. I'm beginning to think you never could. "
"You don't want me back."
"It's not like that, it's just, damn." And he kissed Sam. It was confusing and uncomfortable and he still wanted to beat some sense into the little shit but he kissed him anyway.
Something happened. Something suddenly clicked. Sam didn't freeze up or pull away, not this time. He let Gene kiss him, long and slow, as Gene's hand slid purposefully up along his thigh, Gene whispering in his ear.
"I'm going to suck you so hard your eyes roll back. Then I want to throw you on a bed and come all over you, and then lick it all off, bit by bit. Then I want to turn you around and fuck so you hard, and watch myself in the mirror, fucking you, so I can see your face when you come."
He heard Sam's breath hitch, catching in what could have almost been a moan. He dared a glance at Sam, who was flushed slightly, just looking at Gene with a curious mix of confusion, revulsion and desire, and Gene took his cue to lean over and kiss him again.
There was no resistance at all now and Gene's tongue slid into him like a warm knife into butter, and that warmth spread through Sam, leaching away the tense rigidity he'd been steeling himself with, like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Gene had felt Sam's indignity brewing into an outburst, but he'd undercut him, changing Sam's outrage into a deeper passion, feeling safe to breath at last when he felt Sam's hand reach for him a pull him closer. That's it, he coaxed, just give into it, and it will all be all right. Gene's thumb stroked slowly down Sam's throat as he kissed him, over the quietly thrumming pulse, and then down to Sam's collar, then back up again. Sam's mouth opened, and he still tasted like Sam, so familiar, yet so achingly distant of late.
"Don't say a word," Gene instructed, eyes sharp, as he ran his hand along Sam's thigh again to rest over his belt. "Not one word." He unbuckled the belt and unzipped Sam's fly. Sam said nothing but groaned and closed his eyes as Gene slipped his hand inside.
He was nice and hard. Lovely. It seemed a shame to waste on just a hand job, but needs must, thought Gene, despairing of ever climbing into the back seat with Sam again. One of these days he'd be caught with his trousers round his ankles and his DI's prick up his arse, but that day wasn't today.
They were supposed to be watching the road, watching everyone and every car or van that turned into the street and went up to the Chinese takeaway that sold more than was listed on the menu. They were supposed to be watching, but they weren't. Heavy rain splattered over the windshield which was fogged by their breath, and Sam had his eyes closed, his head tilted back, almost rubbing against the back of the seat as he moved, sliding down low, breathing in short, sharp little gasps.
Gene's hand was buried in Sam's trousers, slowly easing him up and down, faster now, making Sam's breath almost stutter.
Gene wasn't watching the road. He was watching Sam intensely, watching him twist slightly in his seat, watching that throat arch and swallow, watching his face tighten as he fought against creaming in Gene's hand.
A sudden knock at the window and a flash of torch stopped them, Sam almost choking and shooting forward to cover himself as Gene rubbed his sleeve over his window, slapped his warrant card up against the glass and furiously barked at the plod to fuck off.
"Aren't you supposed to tell the local uniforms that a job's on?" Sam asked, all business, zipped up and wiping away at the windshield in front of him.
"And deliver a gilt edged warning that the jig is up to these bastards? I think not," Gene sneered, equally prissy. The moment was well and truly gone and a coldness settled between them again.
He'd pushed it too far. Sam had been well into it, but now he was out of it he seemed to be suffering another bout of whatever the hell was up with him. Buyer's remorse, or something worse? Gene didn't want to pry. He could just see that Sam was shivering and going green around the gills.
"You're cold," Gene stated the one certainty he knew. "There's a blanket in the back seat."
Sam grabbed it and wrapped it around his shoulders, settling a little. It was a new blanket, but Sam didn't ask what had happened to the old one, and Gene would never tell him.
Gene glanced at the rear view mirror at the departing plod, then glanced forward to the telegraph poles. Sitting here like this, there could only be two reasons: they were either perverts or filth, or both, as it happened. What had Sam said, something about television cameras on telegraph poles?
It had been a sunny day and they been waiting for Benny the Bunny to take his dogs for a walk. Gene was leaning up against the old wall, enjoying the curling warmth of the brickworks, while Sam had been darting looks from pole to street light and pole again, until Gene had finally demanded to know what he was looking for.
"No CCTV," Sam had answered smugly, earning another look off Gene.
"No cameras. In Hyde, there are cameras everywhere, watching. No cameras," Sam said again, smiling. "It means I can do this." And he'd just swung around and kissed Gene full on the mouth, in broad daylight. There wasn't another soul outside, but still. Gene made some small effort to push Sam off, but it had all been for show, and Sam had made him cream in his pants, just kissing him, up against the wall, in dangerous view of anyone who'd chanced to look.
He missed that Sam. He grieved for that Sam. And since Sam was going to sit over there like a cold fish in his seat, there might as well be cameras everywhere. It'd save them sitting out here in all weathers like a dog's bollocks.
Sam suddenly grabbed his arm, and Gene's heart leapt at the hope of a sudden change of heart, but crashed an instant later when he saw what Sam was pointing at. A van. A dodgy little off white panel van had pulled up. It was on.
They waited until the van was unloaded and then watched as it departed, and another car further up the road silently slid into its wake. Gene was a cunning bastard, and he wasn't about to race in there guns blazing without having the little delivery van followed back home to mother. If it made another stop off on the way, he had cars in place to lock those down, too.
"Right, I want you to go in there and do a deal. I'll come in, in about ten minutes or so, and bust the lot of them."
Sam just looked at him.
"Off you go then." Gene prodded, glancing up the road and back.
Sam paused, hand on the door.
"You want me to go in there and score?"
"Don't worry, Sunshine, I'll search you from top to bottom when you get back, and there is no place I won't look."
"You don't trust me," Sam sulked.
"Any reason why I should?" Gene countered tersely.
Sam rolled his eyes. "I'll pee in a cup every day if you want me to."
"Why on earth would I want your pee in a cup?" Gene demanded, aghast.
"You can have it tested for drugs, every day."
"Is that what they do in Hyde then? Have you all peeing in cups?"
"Yes. They also send us off to rehab and counselling."
Gene snorted. "You don't need counselling. You just need telling to stop it or I'll give you a good slapping."
Sam half smiled. Strangely, that would work. Every cell in his body might be screaming for a fix, but he knew that he'd let Gene down, and he couldn't do that again. Shame was an excellent behaviour modification tool. Guilt worked, too.
Gene saw Sam's hesitation, and guessed at part of the reason.
"I'll be right behind you," he promised. "Now get out there. Go."
He shoved Sam out of the car.
Gene sat there, hunched over the steering wheel, watching Sam walk up the road, all bent over, hands deep in his pockets. It was hard and humiliating but it needed to be done.
Gene picked up the phone and made the call. "It's on. On my signal, you lot follow me in."
"Right, Guv," came Chris' voice over the radio, and a second car quietly pulled in behind Gene, flashing the headlights just once, as a signal. Just Chris and Ray, and a couple of uniforms if things got hairy. Just an intimate group for dinner, not need to let it get crowded and out of control, not with Sam being so twitchy.
Sam paused on the threshold, glancing nervously down the street to where the Cortina lay in wait. This wasn't the first time he'd been here, nor even the first time he'd been here after hours, and yet somehow it seemed all the more fraught now that he was actually here on duty, as opposed to private business. That was weird. Maybe it was because he knew, for sure this time, that Gene was waiting and watching.
Or maybe it was just nerves. Steeling himself, Sam pushed at the door, which opened easily under his touch despite the 'Closed' sign that flopped wearily from a red string taped haphazardly to the glass door.
The restaurant itself was darkened, with two rows of silent chairs and tables standing on either side of him like Easter Island sentinels, but the real action was out in the back rooms. It always was. Sam reckoned in his years as an officer of the law he'd seen more kitchens than any health inspector, and some of the kitchens he'd seen would have made any sane health inspector retire from the field.
He followed the sounds of frenetic activity and babbled voices and clanging metal, walking past the porcelain cat that waved to him from its place by the till and stepped through the plastic strips that guarded the doorway.
There was a tense moment as everyone froze, then angry voices broke out and movement returned as they realised it was just Sam.
"Come back later," he was told, and very brusquely at that.
"No, now" Sam insisted, and was given the brush off again.
Sam still didn't move and Chen stepped in front of the pile of brown paper wrapped parcels his colleagues were so intensely excited about and gave Sam a very scouring once over, scanning him up and down as sharply as a laser beam.
"You got the shakes bad, you stupid junkie. Here," he slapped a small sample the size of a postage stamp into Sam's hand.
"You go away now. Come back later."
"Thank you," Sam smiled at them like a cat who had just discovered a nice fat carton of cream left out and unattended.
He slipped the folded foil packet easily into the front pocket of his jacket. He could do this. He counted the parcels on the bench behind Chen, making a quick calculation. He could do this. Just make like the dumb Gweilo and slowly walk out of here and give Gene the nod.
It would have worked perfectly if his radio hadn't crackled at that precise moment.
"He's a cop!"
Before Sam could do anything he was grabbed roughly from in front and behind, subdued with a sharp blow to the stomach, his arms twisted around behind him, his badge torn from his pocket and flung into his face with a hard slap. At least Gene had made him go in unarmed, or he'd be eating his gun right now. He thought he had a chance until Chen filled a needle to the very brim from where they'd been testing the merchandise and pressed it hard against Sam's throat, spinning him around to face the doorway just as Gene burst in.
"I'll have a lemon chicken and a fried rice, thanks. You guys want anything? No? How about some prawn crackers? Hello, Sam." Gene raised his gun and pointed it straight at Chen, speaking very slowly and clearly.
"Let him go."
Chen jerked Sam back hard, making him wince, jamming the needle in further.
"No, Gene, don't," Sam pleaded for his life. "It's nearly pure, I'll be dead before I hit the ground."
"That so?" Gene asked, still holding his gun on them, watching Sam's eyes, watching the blood trickle down his throat from where the needle pricked his skin, watching Chen, wild eyed and bloody dangerous.
"He'll never do it, you know. It'd be a waste of good junk."
"Gene," Sam begged, feeling the needle press harder.
"Sam, stay still," he warned and Sam's eyes widened in horror.
Gene snapped of his shot before Sam could say another word. Chen's head snapped backwards, bursting like a ripe fruit as he fell backwards, nearly taking Sam with him. Sam slapped away the needle dangling from his throat and fell against the workbench, grabbing it to hold himself up, gulping air.
In one swift movement Gene caught Sam by the collar and pulled him up close, picking up the syringe, holding it front of Sam and demanding to know if he had any of it in him.
"You okay?" he asked breathlessly.
Sam shook his head, breathless.
"You bloody lunatic," Sam swore, heart still racing.
Gene could see he was all right and, still moving, Gene swung around, one arm still protectively around Sam, holding him to his side, the other swinging his gun across the room in an arc, more than ready to fire.
"Right. If any more of you bastards would like to threaten one of my officers, step forward and we'll get this over and done with right now."
He meant it and they could see he meant it. An assortment of knives and cleavers that they'd been using to hold off the cops all clattered to the ground in a single discordant note and Chris, Ray and the uniforms started cuffing them, one by one, reading them their rights in batches.
"We'll need an interpreter,' Sam reminded, rubbing his face in a nervous tic, but still on the job.
"Later," Gene agreed. He tilted Sam's head to the side, trying to get a better look at the needle stick, gauging the size of Sam's pupils under the light.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Aside from having someone's brains blown all over me? Yeah, fine."
"I'm sure we can get it dry cleaned," Gene teased mildly, picking a speck of Chen off Sam's shoulder and flicking it away.
"He could have killed me."
"I was never going to let that happen.," Gene told him, slightly more seriously. "Cheer up, Sammy boy. You've done well."
They stood together, only inches apart, grinning at each other insanely now that they knew the worst of it was over and they had prevailed again.
Then Gene had to swing away, DCI once more, directing traffic as alleged criminals and alleged substances, weapons and other evidence were carried carefully from the shop. It was exactly like a circus and Gene was the ring master, and they all fell into line.
Sam started following Gene out of the shop when Gene suddenly turned, placing one hand firmly on Sam's chest.
"Right, empty your pockets. Now. Where I can see them."
Sam gave Gene his eye rolling 'you must be joking' expression, then saw that clearly Gene wasn't, and began to huffily turn out his pockets, depositing coins, keys, pens, gum and tissues, etc on a nearby bok choy strewn bench. When he was done he glared at Gene, but Gene wasn't finished yet.
Gene swung Sam around, pressed him up against the wall and began expertly frisking him, patting him down from top to bottom, running his hands up and down Sam, gliding across every rise and fall of fabric, and Sam just knew he was enjoying this, and shot him a shrewish look.
Gene was enjoying it, perversely, even though he regretted Sam forcing him to have to do this. With the wild look Sam was giving him, he could have nailed him to the wall, there and then, but he exercised the control Sam never gave him credit for and backed off, just a little.
He'd found the little packet, holding it up to Sam with a mild variation of the salute given to the French at Agincourt, and then pocketed it, relieved at least that he'd found it, though disappointed that Sam hadn't handed it over. Not that he'd given him much of a chance to do so.
Sam scowled, stuffing everything back in his pockets, all the while watched carefully by Gene.
"Cheer up, Sam," he insisted, wanting to put all this behind them. "Here, have a fortune cookie."
He tossed one to Sam out of a nearby jar.
Sam, understanding Gene's gesture of friendship at least if not entirely on board with it, broke it open to appease him and extracted the tiny slip of paper.
"You are just beginning to live."
Sam glanced up, unsure of what to make of it, then slipped the paper in his pocket, and crunched on the sweet pastry. Maybe. Maybe that's why it was so damn hard.
Sam stood pressed back against the wall as all manner of protesting low life was dragged past him either on the way to the cells or to the cafeteria which was seething with dealers and suppliers all protesting their relative innocence. All made time to salute the Judas goat as they passed.
Sam's sense of outrage had returned, with a vengeance. He was furious, feeling used and abused, and knowing damn well his cover was blown wide open. He knew exactly why Gene had made him wait here, so that every single one of them would see him as they were walked past in handcuffs.
Gene strode past, very busy yet obviously pleased at a good night's work, and turned to wink at Sam, which was all the trigger Sam needed to hiss and spit at him.
"You set me up. You've made sure that no dealer in this city will ever sell me anything ever again."
Gene stopped but said nothing.
"Bastard." Sam's whole face narrowed to a sharp point of resentment.
"A bastard who loves you." Gene spoke quietly, but from the heart, and it wrenched a bewildered look from Sam, as if it were hard to comprehend.
"Come back to me, Sam."
Sam's eyes narrowed again, untrusting.
"Because I miss you. I need you. We're a team. I need you by my side." Gene's voice was heartbreakingly brittle.
That's what caught Sam. There was no denying Gene's sincerity now.
"Why would you want me? After everything-" he had to ask.
"Beggars can't be choosers," Gene fobbed him off, switching back into sarcasm, but there was no denying that moment of truth between them.
"If I said yes?"
"I'll take you home and shag you rotten."
Sam grinned. That was offer he found hard to refuse. Especially with Gene looking at him like that, all hope and expectation and, yes, love. Real, messy, honest to god love.
"Yes," he agreed, and he saw Gene shine with joy and relief. "Yes."
Gene was never a man to willingly break his promises, and this was one he meant to keep. He was a man of his word, after all.
They rolled across the floor in a tangle of sheets, Sam's bed having proved too small and fragile for their needs. Lying on the floor, wrapped in each other, there was nothing else, on one else, no world outside, nothing beyond Sam's room. Nothing except their hearts, their skin, their fingers, their tongues, tasting and stroking and feeling all over each other, inside and outside and up and down.
Gene held him tight as Sam slowly came back down to earth, still breathing fast, nuzzling blindly at flesh as Gene kissed and licked at Sam's sweat sheened skin. Right now Sam was his to hold and touch and taste and nothing else mattered. Gene didn't dare say a word, he didn't dare spoil the moment. He just kissed Sam, long and slow, and cuddled him as he slowly came down.
Then he rolled Sam over, so that Sam lay on top of him, sleepy and nuzzling, eyes still closed. Gene's hand could now glide unimpeded from Sam's shoulder, down his back to the dip and curve over one very nicely formed buttock to rest upon a thigh and then slowly returning the journey. Sam let out something like a sigh as Gene's fingertips gently circled his skin, content just to lie like this, in Gene's arms, forever, if he could.
Gene had all he needed, right here. Sometimes it felt like he'd waited all his life for Sam. The way Sam made him feel, it was madness, it was magic, and it was all that he wanted. He had Sam in his arms, and he was happy.