[fic] Roundabout
TITLE: Roundabout
AUTHOR: Janni
EMAIL: jantalaimon@livejournal.com
WORD COUNT: 1300-ish
STYLE/WARNINGS: Red Cortina for psychological horror and slash. Sam/Chris, not in the way you'd expect. Continuation from (but not part of) The Psycho!Samatic Cycle as written by m31andy and myself. An intermission, if you will...;)
SUMMARY: Believe it or not, Sam's life has taken a bit of a turn since the events of The Psycho!Samatic Cycle...
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'd say it was something in the water, except a) I'd be lying, and b) an awfully large portion of the world's water supply clearly must be affected if that were true. Special thanks, cookies, pints, and clown-painted cakes to the fantabulous m31andy for crack and beta-ing. And more crack. And more beta-ing. XD
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is all the property of Kudos and the BBC. No infringement is implied, no money is being made, and they certainly aren't responsible for what we've done with their characters...;)
ROUNDABOUT
All around, the world had gone sort of cream-coloured.
On occasion, Sam awoke from his semi-permanently sedated state and had a look round his new living space. Thick, padded cushions which had once been white but were now stained a sort of off-white from years of use were everywhere, along with a distinctly omnipresent smell of disinfectants of some sort. Dettol, maybe, mixed with something even harsher and more clinical. Straight bleach, perhaps? Sam wasn't sure.
But then, he wasn't really sure of much anymore. Someone had the good grace to impersonally set his nose after Chris had broken it and, after it was deemed he was unlikely to do harm to himself (well, physically, anyway), they'd even taken him out of the straitjacket. He still wasn't allowed shoes with laces, though. Nor was he allowed sheets, the fact of which rankled mightily. His socks were even kept rather short, for fear he might take them off and use them to strangle himself. For some reason though, no-one had thought the same about his trousers, a fact which made Sam smirk cynically to himself whenever he chanced to think about it.
Sam had tried to contact his former colleagues in CID, but he couldn't get through. No-one would take his calls. Even if they had, he mused, why should they believe him? He'd not just burnt every bridge he'd ever had; he'd blown them sky-high and shat on the places they'd once stood.
In his saner moments, he was genuinely sorry for what he'd done. He'd never truly meant to hurt anyone, particularly Gene. As with the rest of CID, Gene was probably the one whose opinion mattered most to him. Even despite the momentary bits of deep interpersonal connection he'd thought he'd shared with Chris, he really was mostly worried about what Gene thought of him.
Because, for all his faults, Gene was genuinely a good copper. He was trying to do what he thought best for his city and his men, and while sometimes his methodologies were questionable, deep down Sam respected that. And grew to like him for it. Because whatever else Gene Hunt may have been, he was usually one to stand by his beliefs. Something which Sam could respect in any time, and in most states of mind.
In his less-than-sane moments, of course, he liked to spend time thinking on what he'd do if he ever got out. But then his mind usually went blank about there, because he just didn't know. Can't really go asking Annie for advice now, can we? Sam banged his head quietly against the wall. But even that wasn't terribly effective as, of course, the padding got in the way of the hurting.
Evening meds were delivered. Once again, Sam started to drift in and out of consciousness on his bare, thin mattress. He'd once thought it would be impossible for him to sleep in such a place, since there was so much light around and he was freezing all the time...but eventually, exhaustion and soul-deep weariness overtook him and he found ways to sleep, despite waking up with joints locked in place from being cold and stiff the whole night through. That was why he'd been given a sedative lately in the evenings, initially. Now he'd gotten used to it, and the hospital administrators seemed to be leaving him on it indefinitely.
Time passed, and Sam drifted...in, out, in, out. He didn't have dreams now so much as he had blurs. Impressions. Visions-that-weren't. At first, before the sedatives, he'd been having all sorts of visions of how things could have changed. How he could have done them differently. How life would have been different if he hadn't wrung the life out of that first creepy little girl. And especially, how life would have been different if he hadn't read that stupid note.
The next time he awoke, he found he couldn't quite breathe. At first, he thought his sinuses were getting congested from being stuck in the cold so long, that perhaps he was becoming ill. Then he realised a pillow was sitting on his face. Not pressed down---merely lying across his face, blocking his breathing slightly and blocking his vision completely. How odd...they haven't been allowing me pillows, Sam thought for a moment. And then stopped dead in his tracks as he realised with horror that he wasn't alone.
Instantly, he both sat straight up on his mattress and flung the pillow to the floor. He was right.
Kneeling in the dark next to his bed, lit only by the small shaft of light coming in from the hallway through the slot in his door was Chris.
Dressed like one of those bloody clowns. Shoes, green jumpsuit, wig of yarn hair, makeup...every detail perfectly in place. With one hand down Sam's trousers, yanking away and grinning lasciviously.
To Sam's sheer and abject terror, he realised he was aroused beyond belief. Steel now had nothing on how hard his cock had become.
He screamed. Or tried, but no sound managed to come out at all.
"You like that, don't you, Boss?" Chris whispered as he closed his mouth round Sam's tip and bit down. Hard.
There. Sam managed to scream successfully, rousing the nurse down the hall who came barrelling into Sam's room, flooding it with a light that instantly blinded Sam as he laid moaning, weeping, and gasping for breath with an obviously raging erection unhappily confined in his trousers.
"What's going on here, then?" Nurse Williams looked round suspiciously. "Are we having nightmares, then? Shouldn't surprise me, after what you've done." She clucked her tongue. "You've been a naughty, naughty boy, haven't you, Mr. Tyler? I'd almost feel sorry for you. Almost."
Sam howled and shoved his fist in his mouth to try to quell it. Blood and snot ran back down his throat as the salt from his tears stung his eyes and made him slap at them angrily with his free hand. His hardened cock, thankfully, began to lie back down and behave in the presence of his nurse.
"Don't...don't go," Sam moaned after her as she turned to shut off the light and exit the room.
"What, do you think I'm going to sit and play Snap with you or something? This isn't some sort of pleasure camp, Mr. Tyler." With that, Nurse Williams stomped out of the room in her no-nonsense orthopaedic nursing shoes, locking the door as she went.
"Oh, I tend to disagree with that..." And once more, Chris was knelt at Sam's bedside, preparing to continue where he'd left off. "Now, before we were so rudely interrupted, where was I?"
"I think you left some teeth marks," the small blonde girl in red said, her face covered over by her hands. "At least, that's what I heard."
"YOU! What the hell are YOU doing here?" Sam forgot his pain and terror for the moment as a sense of sheer outrage overtook him. "You're not real. None of this is real." he gibbered, not sounding sure of himself at all.
"No, of course not. I'm unreal, and I'm ageless, and regardless of any of that, you and I are going to be together for a long, long time," she chanced to peek from behind her fingers, smiling a small smile at Sam as she did so. "Peekaboo...I see you," she said in sing-song.
"And she can't go anywhere without me, Boss. We're both your friends now. Your only friends." Chris smiled, his eye makeup by now smeared most unbecomingly down his cheeks.
"Don't even think of trying anything funny. Isn't that how you met us in the first place?" the girl's voice was suddenly commanding as Sam began to whimper and howl furiously.
AUTHOR: Janni
EMAIL: jantalaimon@livejournal.com
WORD COUNT: 1300-ish
STYLE/WARNINGS: Red Cortina for psychological horror and slash. Sam/Chris, not in the way you'd expect. Continuation from (but not part of) The Psycho!Samatic Cycle as written by m31andy and myself. An intermission, if you will...;)
SUMMARY: Believe it or not, Sam's life has taken a bit of a turn since the events of The Psycho!Samatic Cycle...
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I'd say it was something in the water, except a) I'd be lying, and b) an awfully large portion of the world's water supply clearly must be affected if that were true. Special thanks, cookies, pints, and clown-painted cakes to the fantabulous m31andy for crack and beta-ing. And more crack. And more beta-ing. XD
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is all the property of Kudos and the BBC. No infringement is implied, no money is being made, and they certainly aren't responsible for what we've done with their characters...;)
ROUNDABOUT
All around, the world had gone sort of cream-coloured.
On occasion, Sam awoke from his semi-permanently sedated state and had a look round his new living space. Thick, padded cushions which had once been white but were now stained a sort of off-white from years of use were everywhere, along with a distinctly omnipresent smell of disinfectants of some sort. Dettol, maybe, mixed with something even harsher and more clinical. Straight bleach, perhaps? Sam wasn't sure.
But then, he wasn't really sure of much anymore. Someone had the good grace to impersonally set his nose after Chris had broken it and, after it was deemed he was unlikely to do harm to himself (well, physically, anyway), they'd even taken him out of the straitjacket. He still wasn't allowed shoes with laces, though. Nor was he allowed sheets, the fact of which rankled mightily. His socks were even kept rather short, for fear he might take them off and use them to strangle himself. For some reason though, no-one had thought the same about his trousers, a fact which made Sam smirk cynically to himself whenever he chanced to think about it.
Sam had tried to contact his former colleagues in CID, but he couldn't get through. No-one would take his calls. Even if they had, he mused, why should they believe him? He'd not just burnt every bridge he'd ever had; he'd blown them sky-high and shat on the places they'd once stood.
In his saner moments, he was genuinely sorry for what he'd done. He'd never truly meant to hurt anyone, particularly Gene. As with the rest of CID, Gene was probably the one whose opinion mattered most to him. Even despite the momentary bits of deep interpersonal connection he'd thought he'd shared with Chris, he really was mostly worried about what Gene thought of him.
Because, for all his faults, Gene was genuinely a good copper. He was trying to do what he thought best for his city and his men, and while sometimes his methodologies were questionable, deep down Sam respected that. And grew to like him for it. Because whatever else Gene Hunt may have been, he was usually one to stand by his beliefs. Something which Sam could respect in any time, and in most states of mind.
In his less-than-sane moments, of course, he liked to spend time thinking on what he'd do if he ever got out. But then his mind usually went blank about there, because he just didn't know. Can't really go asking Annie for advice now, can we? Sam banged his head quietly against the wall. But even that wasn't terribly effective as, of course, the padding got in the way of the hurting.
Evening meds were delivered. Once again, Sam started to drift in and out of consciousness on his bare, thin mattress. He'd once thought it would be impossible for him to sleep in such a place, since there was so much light around and he was freezing all the time...but eventually, exhaustion and soul-deep weariness overtook him and he found ways to sleep, despite waking up with joints locked in place from being cold and stiff the whole night through. That was why he'd been given a sedative lately in the evenings, initially. Now he'd gotten used to it, and the hospital administrators seemed to be leaving him on it indefinitely.
Time passed, and Sam drifted...in, out, in, out. He didn't have dreams now so much as he had blurs. Impressions. Visions-that-weren't. At first, before the sedatives, he'd been having all sorts of visions of how things could have changed. How he could have done them differently. How life would have been different if he hadn't wrung the life out of that first creepy little girl. And especially, how life would have been different if he hadn't read that stupid note.
The next time he awoke, he found he couldn't quite breathe. At first, he thought his sinuses were getting congested from being stuck in the cold so long, that perhaps he was becoming ill. Then he realised a pillow was sitting on his face. Not pressed down---merely lying across his face, blocking his breathing slightly and blocking his vision completely. How odd...they haven't been allowing me pillows, Sam thought for a moment. And then stopped dead in his tracks as he realised with horror that he wasn't alone.
Instantly, he both sat straight up on his mattress and flung the pillow to the floor. He was right.
Kneeling in the dark next to his bed, lit only by the small shaft of light coming in from the hallway through the slot in his door was Chris.
Dressed like one of those bloody clowns. Shoes, green jumpsuit, wig of yarn hair, makeup...every detail perfectly in place. With one hand down Sam's trousers, yanking away and grinning lasciviously.
To Sam's sheer and abject terror, he realised he was aroused beyond belief. Steel now had nothing on how hard his cock had become.
He screamed. Or tried, but no sound managed to come out at all.
"You like that, don't you, Boss?" Chris whispered as he closed his mouth round Sam's tip and bit down. Hard.
There. Sam managed to scream successfully, rousing the nurse down the hall who came barrelling into Sam's room, flooding it with a light that instantly blinded Sam as he laid moaning, weeping, and gasping for breath with an obviously raging erection unhappily confined in his trousers.
"What's going on here, then?" Nurse Williams looked round suspiciously. "Are we having nightmares, then? Shouldn't surprise me, after what you've done." She clucked her tongue. "You've been a naughty, naughty boy, haven't you, Mr. Tyler? I'd almost feel sorry for you. Almost."
Sam howled and shoved his fist in his mouth to try to quell it. Blood and snot ran back down his throat as the salt from his tears stung his eyes and made him slap at them angrily with his free hand. His hardened cock, thankfully, began to lie back down and behave in the presence of his nurse.
"Don't...don't go," Sam moaned after her as she turned to shut off the light and exit the room.
"What, do you think I'm going to sit and play Snap with you or something? This isn't some sort of pleasure camp, Mr. Tyler." With that, Nurse Williams stomped out of the room in her no-nonsense orthopaedic nursing shoes, locking the door as she went.
"Oh, I tend to disagree with that..." And once more, Chris was knelt at Sam's bedside, preparing to continue where he'd left off. "Now, before we were so rudely interrupted, where was I?"
"I think you left some teeth marks," the small blonde girl in red said, her face covered over by her hands. "At least, that's what I heard."
"YOU! What the hell are YOU doing here?" Sam forgot his pain and terror for the moment as a sense of sheer outrage overtook him. "You're not real. None of this is real." he gibbered, not sounding sure of himself at all.
"No, of course not. I'm unreal, and I'm ageless, and regardless of any of that, you and I are going to be together for a long, long time," she chanced to peek from behind her fingers, smiling a small smile at Sam as she did so. "Peekaboo...I see you," she said in sing-song.
"And she can't go anywhere without me, Boss. We're both your friends now. Your only friends." Chris smiled, his eye makeup by now smeared most unbecomingly down his cheeks.
"Don't even think of trying anything funny. Isn't that how you met us in the first place?" the girl's voice was suddenly commanding as Sam began to whimper and howl furiously.