Fic: The Kept Man (37/40), brown cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (37/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1942 this part; [68,460 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
It was dark. He was alone. He thought he was alone. He ran forward, trying to escape the room. Needing to escape the room. His legs hit something soft and he fell forward, unable to maintain his balance. He scrambled to his feet, trying to get some traction, but a heavy hand placed itself on the center of his back, weighing him down.
“There, there pet. You’re safe here,” he cooed, and Sam wanted to scream. It came out a whimper. The hand started stroking his back as the room became brighter. Red. Everything was red. “I’ll protect you.” Two hands were on him now, both running up and down his sides. He wanted to move, to get away, but he couldn’t. “Will you let me protect you, Samuel?”
He was flipped over and wanted to scream again, but could get no power behind his voice. Warren leered at him, raking his eyes up and down every inch of him. Sam couldn’t remove his eyes from the wound in Warren’s forehead. The dead man pressed down on his shoulders, pinning him to the mattress. The mattress with the red, silk sheets. Sam hated that mattress. He hated that mattress because he used to long for that mattress.
Warren ripped open Sam’s shirt, running his cold hands up and down his chest. “Oh, yes. What a good boy.” He bent down, running a swollen tongue over Sam’s nipple. Sam gasped as he saw the gaping hole that had previously been the back of Warren’s head. Blood and brains were dripping out, onto his back, as he continued to nip and suck at Sam’s chest. Warren leaned back and tore off Sam’s trousers and pants, leaving him naked and prostrate before the hungry man.
“No...” Sam breathlessly begged. “I don’t want this.”
“He seems to think differently,” Warren smirked, nodding to Sam’s full erection.
“No...” Warren wasn’t holding him down, but still he could not move.
“What a very good boy you are, Sam,” Warren grinned with lust and wrapped his stiffened lips around Sam’s cock.
“No...I don’t...I don’t...”
“Then why don’t you leave, Sam?” She asked, titling her head quizzically. She was there, standing just behind Warren’s rotting head. “No one’s forcing you to stay. You can leave whenever you want. Don’t you want to leave?”
“Yes. Yes I want to leave!”
“Then why are you still here? Why are you letting this happened?”
Warren moaned around his penis and Sam felt his hips buck instinctively.
“I...I’m not. It’s not my fault.”
“Just go, Sam. Just leave. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
He saw a flash of his mum. Of Maya.
“Everyone wants you to wake up.”
Please, darling. Come back to us.
“Mum?”
Warren took him deeper. He gasped and bucked again. He felt sick.
“All you have to do is take the final step.”
He was on a roof, his foot outstretched over the edge. Warren bit into him. He was back on the mattress. Back in the room.
“Unless you want to stay.”
Warren bit down harder. Sam screamed.
“Do you want to stay here, Sam?”
He screamed and thrashed, desperate to get Warren off him, Warren’s corpse, off him.
“Sam!”
“No! Stop it! I want to go!”
“Sam, calm down!”
He pushed and flailed. He had to get the body off him. “Get away from me. I don’t want you!”
“Sam. Sam, it’s Annie. Annie Cartwright.”
A woman’s voice. Not the little girl’s. He pulled back his arms and tried to focus on the person sitting on the bed beside him. It was Annie.
“It was just a nightmare, Sam. You fell asleep and had a nightmare, is all. Just a dream.”
Sam had curled himself up by the headboard of the bed. He darted his eyes wildly about the room, taking in its dull, beige tones, checking for red. Checking for any sign of red.
“Sam?”
He swallowed and settled his breathing, brushing the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had begun to bead at his brow. He finally settled his nervous eyes on Annie, blushing from utter embarrassment. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m...”
“It’s alright. We all get nightmares.”
“I...I, uhm...” He lifted himself off the bed and hurried into the bathroom, locking himself inside. Quickly shedding his trousers, he accepted what he had been expecting, though didn’t want. His pants were damp with come. He kicked a shoe-less foot against the side of the tub and paced frantically before stripping completely, and throwing himself into the shower.
*
DCI Hunt was told he needed to wait thirty minutes if he wanted an unscheduled meeting with DCI Morgan. DCI Hunt picked up the twiggy Desk Sergeant, (the boy had nothing on Phyllis), placed him to the side and proceeded up to C-Division’s CID. Morgan had apparently been informed of Hunt’s arrival and appeared entirely unimpressed as the A-Division DCI threw open is office door.
“DCI Hunt,” he stated as he surreptitiously shuffled some papers on his desk. “I was wondering when I’d be seeing you here. Please, take a seat.” Without even looking at Hunt, he waved towards the chair in front of his desk.
Gene slammed the door shut and made as much noise as possible as he slammed his body into the stiff chair. His gruff movements caused a paperweight on Morgan’s desk to wobble and Gene was pleased as the man had to reach out and stop it from falling over. “Charlie Edwards,” Gene announced.
Morgan continued to review the papers in his hands, using his pen to make careful notations.
“Charlie. Edwards.” Gene demanded again, leaning forward.
“I heard you the first time, DCI Hunt. There’s no need to repeat yourself,” Morgan rebuked him, still without sparing him a glance. “You arrived unannounced, so you’ll have to excuse me if there are a few other items that require my attention before we have this conversation.”
Gene waited impatiently as Morgan made some final marks on his papers. Finally, the pen was set down, followed by the papers. Morgan sat up straight, stared at Gene, and folded his hands across the desk.
“Charlie. Edwards.” Gene repeated again, just because he could.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to certain items which Mr. Edwards brought to my attention?”
“And which items would those be?” Gene snarled. If somehow they were referring to two different things, Gene didn’t want to accidentally reveal the existence of the damning photos.
Morgan studied him for a moment, before reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a manila envelope. He stared at it, then handed it over. Gene ripped it out of Morgan’s grasp, opened it, and allowed the black and white photographs to fall into his hands. Well, at least now he knew they were referring to the same thing.
“Sam had told me he’d been working at Stephen Warren’s club, after his RTA. That...work...is not what I was expecting.”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Gene muttered, slowly flipping through the photos. He didn’t want to, but he had to because he knew Morgan would have. He had to know everything Morgan knew. Warren’s face was carefully concealed in each of the shots, though Gene knew it was him. Sam, however, it was clear as day that it was Sam.
“Sam is an intelligent officer, Hunt. I find it hard to believe that he could be forced into such a situation.”
“He woke up in a wasteland, with no memory, and interrupted Edwards dumping a body. They convinced him he was the killer. They took advantage of him.” Gene had the photos in his hands. He could rip them up right now. He could pull out his lighter, set them aflame and let the ashes dirty Morgan’s tidy, little office. It was a little office, too. Much smaller than Gene’s.
“Be that as it may, this behavior is not befitting an officer of the Lancashire Constabulary.”
“This ain’t illegal, not in England. Not if it were just the two of ‘em. They could’ve used a tripod to take the pictures.” He didn’t know if there were negatives or not, or if Morgan had already made copies. If he destroyed the ones in his hands, it may not matter at all.
Morgan shifted in his chair. “True. But although the late Stephen Warren’s face is obscured, I think it could be deduced that he is the other man in question. A high ranking police officer having such dalliances with a well known member of the criminal community is completely unacceptable.”
“You’re going to have him decommissioned,” Gene kept flipping through the four photos. Besides the two men photographed, they all had something else in common.
“Buggery with a crime lord, then later, the attempted murder of two Chief Inspectors, in addition to the horrendous shooting of Stephen Warren, himself...Removal from the police force would be the most minor of reprimands for such acts. You must agree, Hunt.”
They all had something else in common. The pained, defeated look on Sam’s face. Gene put them back inside the envelope and set it on Morgan’s desk. He sat up straight, mirroring Morgan’s own posture, and stared him in the eye. “He told me about the operation. What Sam Williams was originally sent to A-Division to do.”
The first flicker of emotion passed across Morgan’s face. Gene couldn’t tell what it was.
“Look, I don’t care if he’s Williams or Tyler or Betty bloody Grable. That man is a damn fine copper and he’s been through more shite in the past four months than anyone should go through in a lifetime. He does not deserve to have his career thrown away because of it.” Sam wasn’t Sam in those photos. He was a thing. A toy. A convenient hole.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, DCI Hunt. These photographs were brought to my attention and I have no choice but to act.”
Gene never wanted to see that look on Sam’s face again. “Yes. You do.”
“Hunt, please--”
“I told you, Sam told me about the operation. You don’t like me. You don’t like how I run my city. Fine. Why keep it a secret? Why go through all that undercover bullshit?”
“What are saying, Mr. Hunt?”
“What I’m saying, Mr. Morgan, is run your investigation. An open, internal investigation into my behavior.”
“And you’d be willing to cooperate?” Morgan scoffed.
“If it meant these,” he slammed his hand onto the envelope, “get tossed in the bin like they deserve? Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern. C’mon Morgan. Me or Sam. Make your choice. Which is the bigger fish in the pond? Which is the better catch?” Gene’s gaze never wavered. He locked his harsh green eyes onto Morgan’s frigid stare, not moving. Not even blinking.
Morgan flinched first, reaching into his desk drawer and tossing a smaller envelope onto his desk. Gene took it and opened it. It contained the negatives of the photos. “Have a pleasant day, DCI Hunt. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”
Gene, negatives in one hand, grabbed the photographs with his other and didn’t breathe until he was back in the Cortina. He drove until he found a metal bin resting on a street corner. Leaving the engine running, he left the car, pulled out his lighter, and lit the corners of both envelopes on fire. He held onto them until he could no longer do so safely, and dropped them in the bin, watching them burn, and staying until they were gone completely.
“Ashes to ashes,” he muttered and began the slow drive back to Manchester.
_______
Part 38
Author: dak
Word Count: 1942 this part; [68,460 overall]
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: angst, sexual situations, swearing
Spoilers: 1.04, 1.05, 1.07, 2.08
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from talcat given via culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
It was dark. He was alone. He thought he was alone. He ran forward, trying to escape the room. Needing to escape the room. His legs hit something soft and he fell forward, unable to maintain his balance. He scrambled to his feet, trying to get some traction, but a heavy hand placed itself on the center of his back, weighing him down.
“There, there pet. You’re safe here,” he cooed, and Sam wanted to scream. It came out a whimper. The hand started stroking his back as the room became brighter. Red. Everything was red. “I’ll protect you.” Two hands were on him now, both running up and down his sides. He wanted to move, to get away, but he couldn’t. “Will you let me protect you, Samuel?”
He was flipped over and wanted to scream again, but could get no power behind his voice. Warren leered at him, raking his eyes up and down every inch of him. Sam couldn’t remove his eyes from the wound in Warren’s forehead. The dead man pressed down on his shoulders, pinning him to the mattress. The mattress with the red, silk sheets. Sam hated that mattress. He hated that mattress because he used to long for that mattress.
Warren ripped open Sam’s shirt, running his cold hands up and down his chest. “Oh, yes. What a good boy.” He bent down, running a swollen tongue over Sam’s nipple. Sam gasped as he saw the gaping hole that had previously been the back of Warren’s head. Blood and brains were dripping out, onto his back, as he continued to nip and suck at Sam’s chest. Warren leaned back and tore off Sam’s trousers and pants, leaving him naked and prostrate before the hungry man.
“No...” Sam breathlessly begged. “I don’t want this.”
“He seems to think differently,” Warren smirked, nodding to Sam’s full erection.
“No...” Warren wasn’t holding him down, but still he could not move.
“What a very good boy you are, Sam,” Warren grinned with lust and wrapped his stiffened lips around Sam’s cock.
“No...I don’t...I don’t...”
“Then why don’t you leave, Sam?” She asked, titling her head quizzically. She was there, standing just behind Warren’s rotting head. “No one’s forcing you to stay. You can leave whenever you want. Don’t you want to leave?”
“Yes. Yes I want to leave!”
“Then why are you still here? Why are you letting this happened?”
Warren moaned around his penis and Sam felt his hips buck instinctively.
“I...I’m not. It’s not my fault.”
“Just go, Sam. Just leave. Everyone’s waiting for you.”
He saw a flash of his mum. Of Maya.
“Everyone wants you to wake up.”
Please, darling. Come back to us.
“Mum?”
Warren took him deeper. He gasped and bucked again. He felt sick.
“All you have to do is take the final step.”
He was on a roof, his foot outstretched over the edge. Warren bit into him. He was back on the mattress. Back in the room.
“Unless you want to stay.”
Warren bit down harder. Sam screamed.
“Do you want to stay here, Sam?”
He screamed and thrashed, desperate to get Warren off him, Warren’s corpse, off him.
“Sam!”
“No! Stop it! I want to go!”
“Sam, calm down!”
He pushed and flailed. He had to get the body off him. “Get away from me. I don’t want you!”
“Sam. Sam, it’s Annie. Annie Cartwright.”
A woman’s voice. Not the little girl’s. He pulled back his arms and tried to focus on the person sitting on the bed beside him. It was Annie.
“It was just a nightmare, Sam. You fell asleep and had a nightmare, is all. Just a dream.”
Sam had curled himself up by the headboard of the bed. He darted his eyes wildly about the room, taking in its dull, beige tones, checking for red. Checking for any sign of red.
“Sam?”
He swallowed and settled his breathing, brushing the back of his hand against his forehead, wiping away the sweat that had begun to bead at his brow. He finally settled his nervous eyes on Annie, blushing from utter embarrassment. “Sorry. Sorry, I’m...”
“It’s alright. We all get nightmares.”
“I...I, uhm...” He lifted himself off the bed and hurried into the bathroom, locking himself inside. Quickly shedding his trousers, he accepted what he had been expecting, though didn’t want. His pants were damp with come. He kicked a shoe-less foot against the side of the tub and paced frantically before stripping completely, and throwing himself into the shower.
*
DCI Hunt was told he needed to wait thirty minutes if he wanted an unscheduled meeting with DCI Morgan. DCI Hunt picked up the twiggy Desk Sergeant, (the boy had nothing on Phyllis), placed him to the side and proceeded up to C-Division’s CID. Morgan had apparently been informed of Hunt’s arrival and appeared entirely unimpressed as the A-Division DCI threw open is office door.
“DCI Hunt,” he stated as he surreptitiously shuffled some papers on his desk. “I was wondering when I’d be seeing you here. Please, take a seat.” Without even looking at Hunt, he waved towards the chair in front of his desk.
Gene slammed the door shut and made as much noise as possible as he slammed his body into the stiff chair. His gruff movements caused a paperweight on Morgan’s desk to wobble and Gene was pleased as the man had to reach out and stop it from falling over. “Charlie Edwards,” Gene announced.
Morgan continued to review the papers in his hands, using his pen to make careful notations.
“Charlie. Edwards.” Gene demanded again, leaning forward.
“I heard you the first time, DCI Hunt. There’s no need to repeat yourself,” Morgan rebuked him, still without sparing him a glance. “You arrived unannounced, so you’ll have to excuse me if there are a few other items that require my attention before we have this conversation.”
Gene waited impatiently as Morgan made some final marks on his papers. Finally, the pen was set down, followed by the papers. Morgan sat up straight, stared at Gene, and folded his hands across the desk.
“Charlie. Edwards.” Gene repeated again, just because he could.
“I’m assuming you’re referring to certain items which Mr. Edwards brought to my attention?”
“And which items would those be?” Gene snarled. If somehow they were referring to two different things, Gene didn’t want to accidentally reveal the existence of the damning photos.
Morgan studied him for a moment, before reaching into his desk drawer and pulling out a manila envelope. He stared at it, then handed it over. Gene ripped it out of Morgan’s grasp, opened it, and allowed the black and white photographs to fall into his hands. Well, at least now he knew they were referring to the same thing.
“Sam had told me he’d been working at Stephen Warren’s club, after his RTA. That...work...is not what I was expecting.”
“He didn’t have a choice,” Gene muttered, slowly flipping through the photos. He didn’t want to, but he had to because he knew Morgan would have. He had to know everything Morgan knew. Warren’s face was carefully concealed in each of the shots, though Gene knew it was him. Sam, however, it was clear as day that it was Sam.
“Sam is an intelligent officer, Hunt. I find it hard to believe that he could be forced into such a situation.”
“He woke up in a wasteland, with no memory, and interrupted Edwards dumping a body. They convinced him he was the killer. They took advantage of him.” Gene had the photos in his hands. He could rip them up right now. He could pull out his lighter, set them aflame and let the ashes dirty Morgan’s tidy, little office. It was a little office, too. Much smaller than Gene’s.
“Be that as it may, this behavior is not befitting an officer of the Lancashire Constabulary.”
“This ain’t illegal, not in England. Not if it were just the two of ‘em. They could’ve used a tripod to take the pictures.” He didn’t know if there were negatives or not, or if Morgan had already made copies. If he destroyed the ones in his hands, it may not matter at all.
Morgan shifted in his chair. “True. But although the late Stephen Warren’s face is obscured, I think it could be deduced that he is the other man in question. A high ranking police officer having such dalliances with a well known member of the criminal community is completely unacceptable.”
“You’re going to have him decommissioned,” Gene kept flipping through the four photos. Besides the two men photographed, they all had something else in common.
“Buggery with a crime lord, then later, the attempted murder of two Chief Inspectors, in addition to the horrendous shooting of Stephen Warren, himself...Removal from the police force would be the most minor of reprimands for such acts. You must agree, Hunt.”
They all had something else in common. The pained, defeated look on Sam’s face. Gene put them back inside the envelope and set it on Morgan’s desk. He sat up straight, mirroring Morgan’s own posture, and stared him in the eye. “He told me about the operation. What Sam Williams was originally sent to A-Division to do.”
The first flicker of emotion passed across Morgan’s face. Gene couldn’t tell what it was.
“Look, I don’t care if he’s Williams or Tyler or Betty bloody Grable. That man is a damn fine copper and he’s been through more shite in the past four months than anyone should go through in a lifetime. He does not deserve to have his career thrown away because of it.” Sam wasn’t Sam in those photos. He was a thing. A toy. A convenient hole.
“Well, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do, DCI Hunt. These photographs were brought to my attention and I have no choice but to act.”
Gene never wanted to see that look on Sam’s face again. “Yes. You do.”
“Hunt, please--”
“I told you, Sam told me about the operation. You don’t like me. You don’t like how I run my city. Fine. Why keep it a secret? Why go through all that undercover bullshit?”
“What are saying, Mr. Hunt?”
“What I’m saying, Mr. Morgan, is run your investigation. An open, internal investigation into my behavior.”
“And you’d be willing to cooperate?” Morgan scoffed.
“If it meant these,” he slammed his hand onto the envelope, “get tossed in the bin like they deserve? Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s not your concern. C’mon Morgan. Me or Sam. Make your choice. Which is the bigger fish in the pond? Which is the better catch?” Gene’s gaze never wavered. He locked his harsh green eyes onto Morgan’s frigid stare, not moving. Not even blinking.
Morgan flinched first, reaching into his desk drawer and tossing a smaller envelope onto his desk. Gene took it and opened it. It contained the negatives of the photos. “Have a pleasant day, DCI Hunt. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other in the future.”
Gene, negatives in one hand, grabbed the photographs with his other and didn’t breathe until he was back in the Cortina. He drove until he found a metal bin resting on a street corner. Leaving the engine running, he left the car, pulled out his lighter, and lit the corners of both envelopes on fire. He held onto them until he could no longer do so safely, and dropped them in the bin, watching them burn, and staying until they were gone completely.
“Ashes to ashes,” he muttered and began the slow drive back to Manchester.
_______
Part 38