Ficathon 2008: To The Future; count_nickula, Blue Cortina, slash
Title: To The Future
LoM Ficathon 2008 Prompt: Sam/Other, the '76 Sex Pistols gig at the Manchester Free Trade Hall, Sam neck porn
Author: count_nickula
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warnings: Bit of mild M/M
Summary: On the week when The Wurzels' were poised to top the charts, Sam needs a snotty bomb blast to clear away the sludge.
Word Count:1874 words.
Disclaimer:Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. I'm just playing dress-up with them.
Sam Tyler flicked through his notepad and poised his pen before fixing the suspect with a steady gaze. The scruffy bloke sat opposite him, slack-jawed and bored. Next to Sam, Gene Hunt leaned back in his chair and lit his fag, sending a billowing stream of smoke to join the days' old smoke already wafting about the small room - The Silent Treatment.
Trouble was, it wasn't working. The toe-rag shuffled in his seat and farted, earning him a glowering look from Hunt, "You smell like a bog in the Black Hole of Calcutta, Simmons. Don't make me flush you."
Sam sighed, "Look, just make this easier on yourself. We have the evidence. We have the witnesses. Put simply, we have you," he allowed himself a small smile, "Bang to rights."
Gene rolled his eyes, Sam must have been watching too much telly.
Simmons scratched himself, "Think you'll find it weren't me."
The silence was broken by a hesitant knocking on the door, Sam and Gene turned as Chris entered the room, "Sorry Boss, Guv. Important info."
Sam spoke into the habitual tape-recorder, "DC Skelton has entered the room. DI Tyler leaves the room to confer."
As Sam walked out, Gene nodded to Simmons, "Wonderful things, tape-recorders. They can keep your lovely confession preserved for our entertainment for years to come."
Simmons sneered, "Confession is for Catholics."
At that point, Sam hastily came back and showed Gene the file he was holding. Gene muttered under breath as he read it.
"DI Tyler returns and this interview is terminated. DC Skelton will escort the suspect back to the custody area for processing." Sam tried to keep his voice free of the frustration and confusion that was going through his mind. Bloody hell, I checked. Double checked. How could I get it wrong?
As Sam stalked out the door, Gene growled into the tape, "DI Tyler leaves the room. Reason: he's being a mardy-arsed git."
Sitting in the canteen, Sam stirred his tea, "Have you ever felt like you're just driving on empty?"
Annie tilted her head, "You need to recharge your batteries. Take a holiday."
Sam shook his head, "I've got three court cases coming up."
"Okay, how about seeing a show, or the pictures? But also book some proper time off for next month. You need some Summer," Annie urged.
Sam nodded, "Yeah, something needs to change before I go doo-lally."
The next few days moved like sludge. Chasing up snouts and anyone else he could think of, Sam had made little progress fixing his stuff-up. Things started to look up when he questioned the young men of questionable virtue down Laycock Lane.
Sam jotted down some notes, "Thanks. It's not much, but it should help."
The lads started to drift away, except for one. He was leaning against a wall and had been staring at Sam, "You know, I could help you out with your problems..."
Sam sighed, "That obvious is it? I've felt like my head's been in a vice this last week."
"The name's Stephen. This Friday, gig upstairs at Free Trade Hall. Meet me in the loos before and I'll give you exactly what you need. Tatty-bye"
Stephen ambled off, leaving a slightly stunned Sam to ponder his luck.
By Pub O'Clock, Sam had cheered up considerably. Smiling, he opened the door for Ray to go in first. Ray looked back at him, then muttered his thanks. As he approached Chris, Ray pulled a what's he on? face.
With the mood lifted by a few rounds, Sam smiled and announced, "Annie, there's this band playing on Friday. You need to be there. It'll go down in history."
Annie blinked, "Oh, well. Actually Nelson's invited me to see an old mate's band play that night. What's his name again? Zak?"
Nelson balanced glasses and ashtrays, "Zok. The band's Solstice. Upstairs at the Free Trades. Supporting some London band."
Sam gulped his drink, "That's the Sex Pistols!"
Chris spluttered his drink, "Eh?"
Annie raised an eyebrow sardonically, "Oh aye?"
Gene crossed his arms and stared at Sam, "Just when I get used to you talking complete bollocks, you go and do it again. You just made that name up!"
**********************
The week was winding down. People were making plans. Pub night. A band. Football to look forward to. A week-end drive for the lucky few. For Ray and Chris, it was another pub.
Chris checked his watch as he and Ray followed Rollo Rawlinson inside. Ray sat at a table with a good vantage point and pointed to the bar. Chris sighed, "We gonna nab him soon? I was hoping to get off and see that band Sam was talking about."
Ray glowered at him and pointed again.
Chris reluctantly went over to the bar. He nodded at Sam, who was still trying to get the barmaid's attention.
Sam nodded back, "What you doing here?"
Chris tilted his head over at Ray, "We were following Rollo. We're gonna follow him and catch him in the act."
Sam arched an eyebrow, "You'll have to be quick, they don't call him The Rat because of his good looks."
Chris scrunched his face in confusion, "But he's an ugly sod. Oh...uh, right."
Sam smiled and tried to wave over the barmaid again, she was waiting as a young blond man sorted out his coins. He turned as another man came up behind him, "Barney! Never say I never give you anything!", handing over a few more coins.
The bloke deadpanned a reply, "You never give me anything.", as he picked up the beers.
Chris frowned and nudged Sam, "Hey Boss, you got a younger brother? That bloke's a dead spit for you."
As the barmaid finally came over, Sam looked round, "Eh? Looks nothing like me...."
Drinks sorted out, Chris started to carefully carry them back to the table Ray had snagged. He paused to let one man go by, then stopped and gawped at the man who'd just entered. Tall, reddish hair and wearing a rather odd pair of trousers. The man languidly drawled to him, "Coming to the gig across the road, then?"
Chris looked over at Ray and opened and closed his mouth, gold-fish style before he finally muttered, "Uh, um, yeah, maybe. Er, dunno..."
The man stared at Chris in bored amusement, "Yeah, well we might be coming back up in a few months. Enough time for you to make yer mind up."
Ray shook his head and looked heaven-ward as Chris eventually moved away.
After drinking up, Sam checked his watch. Time to see what Stephen had for him...
Several empty pints later, Ray and Chris hustled after Rollo. The man moved with rattish ways and they started to run to catch up. Halfway down an alley, Ray dragged them back, "No, he must've gone the other way!"
They found themselves on a side street, deserted and quiet. Ray pointed towards the High Street, "Try that way."
Turning the corner, Chris groaned as he saw Rollo being manhandled out of a phone box by two Plods, "But Officers, I thought it was a public convenience!", Rollo slurred.
"Great. No point in trying to call them off now. He's pissed as a fart. Be in for the night.", Ray growled.
Chris coughed, "Er, so we can go see Sam's band then? Hey, they might have a couple of nice dolly bird backing singers!"
Ray sighed.
Sam stood in the doorway of the grimy bog stall, as the young man walked over to stand before him.
Sam felt Stephen's breath on his neck, leaning in close. Sam felt uncomfortably warm in the close, dank space.
Stephen smiled sweetly, "Do you make a habit of meeting young men in public lavatories, copper?"
Sam tried to focus his mind, "I just need the information. I'm not after anything else, okay?"
The lad moved his hand down Sam's body, "Just you keep telling yourself that, you might end up believing it."
Struggling to stay professional and detached, Sam fixed Stephen with a steady gaze, "This is not a good idea. How old are you, anyway?"
"Old enough.", came the tart reply, as Stephen moved his lips over Sam's neck.
Sam closed his eyes and took a step back, only to be blocked by the door frame, Stay in control, Sam.., he thought to himself.
Stephen closed in, one hand caressing one side of Sam's neck, nibbling the other side. Sam snapped his eyes open as he felt a hand moving inside his trousers. With a shaking hand, he stopped Stephen. They stood together in silence - Stephen staring at him with now undisguised contempt.
Sam took a deep breath, "This was just a wind-up from the start, wasn't it?"
The lad sneered at him, "I can't help it if you misinterpret my words. I did only offer to help you out. I may have simply meant help you out of your trousers."
"I could arrest you, you know.", Sam warned.
"I'd love to see what your pig friends make of you cottaging with young men," Stephen smirked, "Band'll be on in a minute. Tatty-bye, then."
Sam clenched his jaw as Stephen ambled away. He stood there for a minute or two feeling like a prat, then shook his head and went over to the sink. The cold tap banged as the water trickled out into Sam's cupped hand. He splashed his face and neck, letting himself calm down.
A series of strangled sounds reverberated and clashed with each other. Sam followed the sounds and walked into the hall. This was it. The Sex Pistols making history in a perfectly dull little hall with a small group of ordinary punters watching.
Sam soaked it all in - the utter youth of the band, John Lydon's blue laser glare, Nelson and Annie sitting together, the young bloke at the front attempting to pogo, Rollo the Rat scratching himself, Phyllis. Phyllis?
Sam blinked in confusion as Phyllis barrelled down the side aisle. She grabbed a young lad, "Home now, young man!"
The kid moaned in protest, "Aunt Phyllis!"
Phyllis pulled him along by his ear as he howled over the music,"Owwwwwwwww!"
As she passed Sam, she winked, "This one's always trying it on. Never got away from me yet!" She glanced back at the stage, "Sound like a pack of tom-cats on the town, don't they?"
Standing at the back of the room, Ray stared in horror at the sounds being tortured from the instruments by the grotty young men. "This is shite.", he declared.
Chris shook his head in wonder, "No. It's...amazing."
Ray boggled at him, "You need your head examined, Chris."
Sam found himself grinning as he watched the room. As a figure appeared at his side, he turned - it was Gene,
Well, why not? Everyone else is here..., Sam thought to himself wryly.
Gene looked at the band, then Sam. He opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing.
Sam waited, still smiling. Speechless, Gene folded his arms, still trying to take in the sight before him.
Laughter escaped from Sam's lips. He couldn't explain it, but he felt rejuvenated, refreshed. This was the future.
LoM Ficathon 2008 Prompt: Sam/Other, the '76 Sex Pistols gig at the Manchester Free Trade Hall, Sam neck porn
Author: count_nickula
Rating: Blue Cortina
Warnings: Bit of mild M/M
Summary: On the week when The Wurzels' were poised to top the charts, Sam needs a snotty bomb blast to clear away the sludge.
Word Count:1874 words.
Disclaimer:Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made. I'm just playing dress-up with them.
Sam Tyler flicked through his notepad and poised his pen before fixing the suspect with a steady gaze. The scruffy bloke sat opposite him, slack-jawed and bored. Next to Sam, Gene Hunt leaned back in his chair and lit his fag, sending a billowing stream of smoke to join the days' old smoke already wafting about the small room - The Silent Treatment.
Trouble was, it wasn't working. The toe-rag shuffled in his seat and farted, earning him a glowering look from Hunt, "You smell like a bog in the Black Hole of Calcutta, Simmons. Don't make me flush you."
Sam sighed, "Look, just make this easier on yourself. We have the evidence. We have the witnesses. Put simply, we have you," he allowed himself a small smile, "Bang to rights."
Gene rolled his eyes, Sam must have been watching too much telly.
Simmons scratched himself, "Think you'll find it weren't me."
The silence was broken by a hesitant knocking on the door, Sam and Gene turned as Chris entered the room, "Sorry Boss, Guv. Important info."
Sam spoke into the habitual tape-recorder, "DC Skelton has entered the room. DI Tyler leaves the room to confer."
As Sam walked out, Gene nodded to Simmons, "Wonderful things, tape-recorders. They can keep your lovely confession preserved for our entertainment for years to come."
Simmons sneered, "Confession is for Catholics."
At that point, Sam hastily came back and showed Gene the file he was holding. Gene muttered under breath as he read it.
"DI Tyler returns and this interview is terminated. DC Skelton will escort the suspect back to the custody area for processing." Sam tried to keep his voice free of the frustration and confusion that was going through his mind. Bloody hell, I checked. Double checked. How could I get it wrong?
As Sam stalked out the door, Gene growled into the tape, "DI Tyler leaves the room. Reason: he's being a mardy-arsed git."
Sitting in the canteen, Sam stirred his tea, "Have you ever felt like you're just driving on empty?"
Annie tilted her head, "You need to recharge your batteries. Take a holiday."
Sam shook his head, "I've got three court cases coming up."
"Okay, how about seeing a show, or the pictures? But also book some proper time off for next month. You need some Summer," Annie urged.
Sam nodded, "Yeah, something needs to change before I go doo-lally."
The next few days moved like sludge. Chasing up snouts and anyone else he could think of, Sam had made little progress fixing his stuff-up. Things started to look up when he questioned the young men of questionable virtue down Laycock Lane.
Sam jotted down some notes, "Thanks. It's not much, but it should help."
The lads started to drift away, except for one. He was leaning against a wall and had been staring at Sam, "You know, I could help you out with your problems..."
Sam sighed, "That obvious is it? I've felt like my head's been in a vice this last week."
"The name's Stephen. This Friday, gig upstairs at Free Trade Hall. Meet me in the loos before and I'll give you exactly what you need. Tatty-bye"
Stephen ambled off, leaving a slightly stunned Sam to ponder his luck.
By Pub O'Clock, Sam had cheered up considerably. Smiling, he opened the door for Ray to go in first. Ray looked back at him, then muttered his thanks. As he approached Chris, Ray pulled a what's he on? face.
With the mood lifted by a few rounds, Sam smiled and announced, "Annie, there's this band playing on Friday. You need to be there. It'll go down in history."
Annie blinked, "Oh, well. Actually Nelson's invited me to see an old mate's band play that night. What's his name again? Zak?"
Nelson balanced glasses and ashtrays, "Zok. The band's Solstice. Upstairs at the Free Trades. Supporting some London band."
Sam gulped his drink, "That's the Sex Pistols!"
Chris spluttered his drink, "Eh?"
Annie raised an eyebrow sardonically, "Oh aye?"
Gene crossed his arms and stared at Sam, "Just when I get used to you talking complete bollocks, you go and do it again. You just made that name up!"
**********************
The week was winding down. People were making plans. Pub night. A band. Football to look forward to. A week-end drive for the lucky few. For Ray and Chris, it was another pub.
Chris checked his watch as he and Ray followed Rollo Rawlinson inside. Ray sat at a table with a good vantage point and pointed to the bar. Chris sighed, "We gonna nab him soon? I was hoping to get off and see that band Sam was talking about."
Ray glowered at him and pointed again.
Chris reluctantly went over to the bar. He nodded at Sam, who was still trying to get the barmaid's attention.
Sam nodded back, "What you doing here?"
Chris tilted his head over at Ray, "We were following Rollo. We're gonna follow him and catch him in the act."
Sam arched an eyebrow, "You'll have to be quick, they don't call him The Rat because of his good looks."
Chris scrunched his face in confusion, "But he's an ugly sod. Oh...uh, right."
Sam smiled and tried to wave over the barmaid again, she was waiting as a young blond man sorted out his coins. He turned as another man came up behind him, "Barney! Never say I never give you anything!", handing over a few more coins.
The bloke deadpanned a reply, "You never give me anything.", as he picked up the beers.
Chris frowned and nudged Sam, "Hey Boss, you got a younger brother? That bloke's a dead spit for you."
As the barmaid finally came over, Sam looked round, "Eh? Looks nothing like me...."
Drinks sorted out, Chris started to carefully carry them back to the table Ray had snagged. He paused to let one man go by, then stopped and gawped at the man who'd just entered. Tall, reddish hair and wearing a rather odd pair of trousers. The man languidly drawled to him, "Coming to the gig across the road, then?"
Chris looked over at Ray and opened and closed his mouth, gold-fish style before he finally muttered, "Uh, um, yeah, maybe. Er, dunno..."
The man stared at Chris in bored amusement, "Yeah, well we might be coming back up in a few months. Enough time for you to make yer mind up."
Ray shook his head and looked heaven-ward as Chris eventually moved away.
After drinking up, Sam checked his watch. Time to see what Stephen had for him...
Several empty pints later, Ray and Chris hustled after Rollo. The man moved with rattish ways and they started to run to catch up. Halfway down an alley, Ray dragged them back, "No, he must've gone the other way!"
They found themselves on a side street, deserted and quiet. Ray pointed towards the High Street, "Try that way."
Turning the corner, Chris groaned as he saw Rollo being manhandled out of a phone box by two Plods, "But Officers, I thought it was a public convenience!", Rollo slurred.
"Great. No point in trying to call them off now. He's pissed as a fart. Be in for the night.", Ray growled.
Chris coughed, "Er, so we can go see Sam's band then? Hey, they might have a couple of nice dolly bird backing singers!"
Ray sighed.
Sam stood in the doorway of the grimy bog stall, as the young man walked over to stand before him.
Sam felt Stephen's breath on his neck, leaning in close. Sam felt uncomfortably warm in the close, dank space.
Stephen smiled sweetly, "Do you make a habit of meeting young men in public lavatories, copper?"
Sam tried to focus his mind, "I just need the information. I'm not after anything else, okay?"
The lad moved his hand down Sam's body, "Just you keep telling yourself that, you might end up believing it."
Struggling to stay professional and detached, Sam fixed Stephen with a steady gaze, "This is not a good idea. How old are you, anyway?"
"Old enough.", came the tart reply, as Stephen moved his lips over Sam's neck.
Sam closed his eyes and took a step back, only to be blocked by the door frame, Stay in control, Sam.., he thought to himself.
Stephen closed in, one hand caressing one side of Sam's neck, nibbling the other side. Sam snapped his eyes open as he felt a hand moving inside his trousers. With a shaking hand, he stopped Stephen. They stood together in silence - Stephen staring at him with now undisguised contempt.
Sam took a deep breath, "This was just a wind-up from the start, wasn't it?"
The lad sneered at him, "I can't help it if you misinterpret my words. I did only offer to help you out. I may have simply meant help you out of your trousers."
"I could arrest you, you know.", Sam warned.
"I'd love to see what your pig friends make of you cottaging with young men," Stephen smirked, "Band'll be on in a minute. Tatty-bye, then."
Sam clenched his jaw as Stephen ambled away. He stood there for a minute or two feeling like a prat, then shook his head and went over to the sink. The cold tap banged as the water trickled out into Sam's cupped hand. He splashed his face and neck, letting himself calm down.
A series of strangled sounds reverberated and clashed with each other. Sam followed the sounds and walked into the hall. This was it. The Sex Pistols making history in a perfectly dull little hall with a small group of ordinary punters watching.
Sam soaked it all in - the utter youth of the band, John Lydon's blue laser glare, Nelson and Annie sitting together, the young bloke at the front attempting to pogo, Rollo the Rat scratching himself, Phyllis. Phyllis?
Sam blinked in confusion as Phyllis barrelled down the side aisle. She grabbed a young lad, "Home now, young man!"
The kid moaned in protest, "Aunt Phyllis!"
Phyllis pulled him along by his ear as he howled over the music,"Owwwwwwwww!"
As she passed Sam, she winked, "This one's always trying it on. Never got away from me yet!" She glanced back at the stage, "Sound like a pack of tom-cats on the town, don't they?"
Standing at the back of the room, Ray stared in horror at the sounds being tortured from the instruments by the grotty young men. "This is shite.", he declared.
Chris shook his head in wonder, "No. It's...amazing."
Ray boggled at him, "You need your head examined, Chris."
Sam found himself grinning as he watched the room. As a figure appeared at his side, he turned - it was Gene,
Well, why not? Everyone else is here..., Sam thought to himself wryly.
Gene looked at the band, then Sam. He opened his mouth to speak.
Nothing.
Sam waited, still smiling. Speechless, Gene folded his arms, still trying to take in the sight before him.
Laughter escaped from Sam's lips. He couldn't explain it, but he felt rejuvenated, refreshed. This was the future.