Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 30c/? Brown Cortina, by Sytaxia

[sytaxia]

Sam leaned slowly back into the pillows, and then felt something hard and cold against his back, damp seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt and vest, causing them to cling to his skin with a sickening, clammy feeling that seemed to grope downwards and fuse into his bones.  He slowly opened his eyes, and found himself sitting on the floor of the monitor room; the eight screens that lined the damp, musty concrete walls all flashing blurry, hazing black and white static at him, their light dancing across the exposed skin of his hands and wrists, making them look inhuman and mottled.  He shook his head and gritted his teeth, feeling anger flowing through him in deep, tumultuous rivers as he realized that he’d been dragged back down into the world of his nightmares.

“I know you’re there, you damned bastard, and all I’ve got to say is this: I’ve got it all down, now.  Everything.  I’ve got you pigeonholed for sure now,” Sam heard an odd, echoing quality in his voice as he stated the words, hard and menacing, into the empty air of the small room, and suddenly one of the monitors flashed to life.

“Why, Sam, please tell me that you’ve finally made a breakthrough.  You could really use one, you know,” the double was leaning back on his king sized 2006 mattress, lazily draping one arm over a raised and crooked knee, giving Sam a look of malice and contempt, but underneath that, underneath that Sam saw something else, something that he could read on his own face just like he could read it on the faces of a dozen suspects and witnesses: fear.

Sam crossed his arms and walked towards the monitor, jabbing a finger at it, “I’m injured and ill in 1973 because of problems caused by the accident, and by the bloody damned tumor that they found in 2006, and that tumor is pressing down and trying to destroy a gland in my head, yeah?  That’s the same gland that the killer is going for, isn’t it?  The sick bastard wants to take it, because he’s the tumor, the thing that’s keeping me here, locked into this damned dream.  I find the killer, I stop him, and that’s the surgeons cutting out the tumor.  Cutting out the thing keeping me in this fucking prison.  No bringing down Gene or hurting him or any of his department, just banging up one sick, perverted bastard that’s nothing more than a mental projection of everything that’s happened to me in reality.”

The double shook his head, “You’ve put together the easy pieces at the edge, you daft twat, but you’ve left out the most important pieces!  Tell me that that’s not what you’re going on about?  That’s your great revelation?  So tell me what reality is, Sam.  Tell me now.  Because you have to know.  When the storm comes, you’ll have to be ready.”

“What the bloody hell do you mean, reality?  Reality is 2006!  The world that I was in before the accident!  What else do you want from me?  That’s all there is to it!”

“And the accident, Sam?  What can you tell me about the accident?”  The double leaned forward, as if he was pressing his face down and into the lens of a camera, but the image remained flat, Sam’s own features, contorted by that angry, frightened, leering contortion of a face was completely unbent.  There was no lens…  There was no screen…

“This is just a damned dream!  A dream inside of another useless dream!  And if I can’t control what’s out there, what about here?  What about this?”  Sam drew back his fist and pounded it into the screen, and felt a strange, hard thud, cartilage and bone and flesh giving under the impact of his knuckles, despite the fact that all that he was pounding on was a screen…  Sam pounded again, and again, and then drew back, shaking his hand and grimacing at the pain that was running through it.   He stared ahead, and saw that the double was there, still in his bedroom in his 2006 flat, but this time, the little girl was curled up in his lap, and the two of them were laughing, the little girl’s laughter a hollow, tinkling sound that sent shivers up his spine and made him think of the old death bells of history, ringing throughout the land to send notice of death and decay.  The double’s laughter was even worse, far different from his own laughter, despite the fact that it was being chuckled out in his own voice, and Sam backed away from the monitor, watching with horror as their faces suddenly straightened and grew stony, the laughter quickly dying away and fading into looks of angry, determined fury and frustration.

“You want another clue?  Try searching your own damned memories, you selfish bastard!  Everything that we’ve given you, and you’ve just taken it all for granted, never looked past the end of your own damned nose.  You want more information?  Try this on for size…”  The double pointed across the room, and suddenly the screen behind Sam flashed to life with the snapping clip of strained audio equipment.  Sam whirled around on his heels, and suddenly found himself looking into Maya’s face…

“Maya!”  Sam rushed towards the screen and started to press against it, but this time, he only felt cold, hard electronics behind his hand, the smooth, rippling surface of a television screen, pliant, glassy and ultra-modern, slippery beneath his fingers in a dry, static way.  “Maya!  I’m alive in here!  Can you hear me?  Are you with my mum?  Maya!”  Sam was pounding on the wall next to the screen, shaking the edges of it as if to dislodge it from the wall, screaming at the top of his lungs and receiving no response.

The room started to spin, a maddening, twisting lurch, dissolving and cascading downwards as if it were water cycling down a drainpipe, colors blurring into a dark haze that covered everything in his vision, leaving him cold and dark and falling, falling down into nothingness until eventually he felt himself hit bottom.  The abrupt end to his fall wasn’t rough or hard, wasn’t like an actual fall at all, and suddenly Sam realized that there was another world around him, not the screaming, clawing sounds of the woods, and not the still, heavy feeling of the empty house, but something else…   He slowly opened his eyes and realized that he could hear as well as see the familiar sensations of his own A Division CID, the department bustling with the sounds of dozens of well trained detectives typing rapidly upon keyboards and chattering endlessly about forms and regulations, about chains of evidence or even about the world around them, the war and the tsunami and what was Sadie Frost wearing at some daft awards show…

Sam found himself standing by his desk, the glare of his PC terminal cold and antiseptic, the spotless surfaces gleaming with a harsh, brilliant light that stung his eyes as he cast his gaze upon them.  He turned when he realized that someone was speaking to him; that Maya was speaking to him, describing her thoughts on a recent string of armed robberies.  “Sam?  Are you listening to me?  Sam?”

Sam turned and stared at her, seeing her cock her head slightly to the side, a perturbed look on her face as she realized that he hadn’t paid attention to a single word that she’d said to him.  “Sam?  Earth to DCI Tyler…”  She gave him a frustrated grin and tapped the side of his head.  “You haven’t heard a single word that I’ve said about the Strickland robberies.  I don’t think that they were working alone; the description of all three men is different for the four different jobs, so there has to be at least one other perpetrator out there…”

Sam shook his head, trying to clear it, remembering the job well: four robberies at knife point, four perpetrators, only three of whom had been cornered and caught in a heist gone wrong, and the fourth…  They’d brought in the fourth two weeks later, after tracing the fenced goods through and finding a fingerprint that led them to…  “Jeffrey Wilding,” Sam said, astonished that he was capable of remembering the details on such a trivial case.  He turned and looked at Maya, confusion and elation tripping madly in a race across his face as he stared at her perplexed reaction to his statement.

“Who?”  Maya continued to give Sam the same confused look as he moved forward and embraced her, wrapping his arms around hers and leaning his head upon her shoulder, taking in the deep, flowery scent of her crème rinse and laundry detergent, the soft, spicy scent of her skin that had always intoxicated him in the strangest way, and feeling tears welling in his eyes as he did so.  “Sam? What are you doing?”  Maya started in his grasp, and then let her own arms wrap around him as she whispered in his ear, “Sam, people are staring.  I thought we agreed that we should keep our relationship separate from our work lives?  It was your idea…”  Maya pushed back and Sam fell into the movement, taking a step back from her and shaking his head again.

“It’s just…  It’s so good to see you…”  Sam’s grin was splitting his entire face, and Maya gave him another confused look.

“You’ve seen me every day for the past year, Sam; are you all right?”  Maya turned and gave a sharp, warning look to the few other officers that had stopped to stare at their exchange, and then glanced at the clock, “It’s just on six… Maybe we should call it a day, not stay late again.  You’ve been staying here until all odd hours anyway, haven’t you?  Why don’t we head back to your flat?”  Sam was still giving her a joyful, dumbfounded stare as she moved towards her own work station and started to pile her things into her bag, watching as the other day shift detectives slowly filtered out of the room.  He remembered this day…

The day played out exactly as Sam remembered it; he’d been complaining of a splitting headache since it had begun, and Maya had eventually forced him to leave on time that night, instead of staying up and poring over the details of the case once again.  They’d gotten a takeaway, and then walked up to his flat, and then…

The details of the day blurred as if they were being played on a video’s fast forward, pushing past Sam as if he were the only person in the world that was moving at normal speed, the details of the old case, the scent of CID and of his flat, the cold, glittering surfaces and the harsh, designer details now seeming so foreign to his eyes, and then suddenly he and Maya were in the bedroom, the sheets slippery against their skin, both of them slowly toying with the buttons on their own shirts, allowing the other to watch as they slowly stripped down to vest and bra, and then down to nothing at all, sliding under the covers together, pushing the sheets back and moving together in unison, their bodies slowly moving along each other.

Sam was still trying to understand what was happening as he lay on his back, his hands reaching upwards to cup the soft flesh of Maya’s breasts, the dark, dimpled skin of her areoles and nipples growing hard under his thumbs as he traced circles over them, her skin soft against his, her hair brushing over his face as she moved upwards and downwards over him, their thighs brushing together as she slowly reached down and grasped his cock, taking him into her, the wet, soft feeling of her engulfing him and sending hot, sharp sensations throughout his legs and belly, the meeting of their bodies radiating outwards as they started to rock back and forth in a rhythmic motion, and she leaned down, allowing him to kiss her breasts, to suckle on them like a feeding infant, his tongue rolling over the stiff tissue of her nipples and his mouth exploring the soft, rolling mounds of flesh, pliant and firm and silky under his lips and tongue; he felt her gasp, felt her move further downwards, their bodies pressed against each other as their rhythm increased in pace.

“Maya…”  Sam gasped it out as he began to move his tongue quickly along her neck, feeling the smooth strands of her hair caressing his shoulder and neck and face as he groped with his mouth for her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking it, flicking at the edge of her jaw with his tongue and then moving his face to the side to meet hers, his mouth locking down on her lips and his tongue pushing back on hers, the soft, smooth feeling of her mouth so much like the soft, smooth feeling of her vagina against his penis, both wet, warm, and welcoming, at once soft and forceful as their love making continued, and Sam lost himself in the comfort of the memory, in the feeling of being wanted, body and soul, by another human being.

“My, my, my, isn’t this interesting?  Darling, you’ll need to close your eyes for this bit, I think,” Sam heard his own voice then, and his eyes slammed open, his head yanking away from Maya with whiplash force as he turned it to the side and stared as the double, who was holding a hand over the test card girl’s eyes, although he could still see a smile on her face.  “Really, Sam, don’t stop for us.  Keep going.  You know you want to.”  Sam felt his heart start to pound inside of him as the high, modern windows of the apartment started to shake and rattle, the air suddenly filled with the wretched screeches of claws against glass, the hissing and snarling sounds filling the room, and a high, wailing wind pushing thickly against the glass, coupled with the sounds of the creature.  It was outside of the windows, outside of the flat, looking in on him, looking in on him and Maya making love…

“No!  You get out of here, you get the bloody fuck out of here, now!”  Sam found himself squirming under Maya’s body, felt the pleasure of her continue to seep down upon him as she continued to buck and rock against him, felt his own swelling organ pulse and pound with impending orgasm, and then the room was not only filled with the sounds of the woods, but with the scent of it as well: rot and decay, flesh long dead and musty, damp earth, blood and excrement and all of the noxious odors that he could have ever thought of mingling in a horrible, gagging cloud over the room, pulsing as one with the howling, scratching sounds that had become so loud that they were deafening, drowning everything out.  The room was starting to shrink, the walls starting to move in on him, the double and the little girl both giving him leering, sickeningly pleased glances as the walls pushed further and further in, the bed and other furniture being forced together, Maya continuing to move over him, oblivious to any of the horrific sights and sounds and smells that were coming down, pressing down with claustrophobic intensity, burying him deep in a well of fear and revulsion.

“You can’t do this!  Not here, not with her!”  Sam screamed it out, and the double cocked his head to the side with a questioning glance.

“But this is when you first noticed it, Sam.  That’s what you do, isn’t it?  Good little copper, always notices the details, always knows what’s going on.  Only you didn’t, did you?  Were you too happy to be getting your rocks off with your gorgeous girlfriend to let it bother you?  It bothered Maya, didn’t it?”  The double’s expression had grown hard and cold, his face a mirror of Sam’s in weathered marble, and he pressed his hands down on the bed, the far wall of the flat’s large master bedroom now directly behind him, the ceiling starting to lower, crushing down over them, coming nearer and nearer and condensing the sounds and smells around them.

“This is where you first noticed it, Sam, but you were too caught up in everything to give a damn, weren’t you?  Did you think that if you never mentioned it, it would just go away?  Is that what you thought?  You arrogant, selfish prick!  You uncaring, idiotic little shit!  Think, damn it, think!  You bloody imbecile…”  The double reached out a hand and started to press down on Sam’s shoulder then, his fingers vice-like and pressing down with inscrutable force, the flesh and bone and tendons snapping and giving way under the pressure of his grip.  Sam felt his entire body go rigid with pain and with the overwhelming sensation, closed his eyes and suddenly felt a scream swelling inside of his throat, just like the impending release that he felt swelling in his groin…

Sam felt himself give the sharp, painful cry of anguish, a reaction to the horrible barrage of sounds and sights and smells.  He came at the same time, hot semen erupting out and into Maya, but the sensation wasn’t one of release, it was one of being captured, and his entire body had gone stiff and rigid, tensing and clenching madly for what seemed like an eternity before he opened his eyes, Maya’s voice the only sound, the musky, heavy scent of sex coupled with her own scents, spice and flowers and soft, girlish strength around him; there were no other sounds, no other scents…  Sam’s eyes flew open and his body suddenly relaxed, and he took in the appearance of the room around him: everything was exactly where it should be, everything was exactly as it had been on that day in 2005, and Maya was climbing off of him, his spunk and her own fluids still dripping down one of her thighs, completely forgotten as she crawled forward on her hands and knees and started to slap at his face.

“Sam!  Sam!  What’s happening?  Sam?”  Sam bolted upright then, shaking his head, and stared at her, still not sure of what had happened.  He grabbed at her wrist, trying to stop the stinging procession of slaps that she was driving into his cheek, and gave her a confused look.  What had happened?  He stared at her with his eyes widening in his face as he realized that this was exactly what had happened on that day, and that they had both written it off as stress related, and then showered and slept; there had been no hallucinations, but there had been sounds, and smells, and everything had gone dark and rigid.  Sam looked up, trying to remember what Maya had said next, and knowing that she certainly hadn’t laughed, as she was doing now.  But it wasn’t the sound of her own laughter that was spilling forth from her, it was the sound of the double’s laughter, loud and raucous and altogether unlike his own laughter, despite the fact that it was tumbling forth in his own voice.

“Think, Sam, use that tiny little brain of yours,” Sam heard his own voice, jeering and sharp, come forth from Maya’s mouth, and then there was a horrible splintering sound as the windows of the room shattered, exploding inwards as if forced out by a bomb blast, pieces of glass streaming over and around him, spinning madly with the force of the explosion as they flew into the room.  The wind had forced with windows in, howling and pulsating and writhing like a living thing in agony, streaming around him with rapid motions, so thick with moisture and movement that he felt as if he were swimming in it, but instead he was being thrown, being tossed upon the wind like a leaf in a gale, like a small bird in a rainstorm, frantically flapping for some semblance of freedom and finding none…

Gene was awakened by frantic scrambling tossing next to him, and he took a moment to register the fact that he was stretched out, still in his trousers and vest, underneath Chris’ spare blanket and on the empty side of the bed that Sam was resting on, or rather not resting on, at the moment.  He shook his head for a moment and then reached over, grabbing Sam’s wildly twisting form by the shoulders and shaking him, trying hard to be as gentle as possible as he forced the smaller man awake.  “Sam.  Sam.  Tyler!  Come on, Sammy boy, wake the hell up, come on.”

Sam’s eyes flew open, his face a mask of fear and the twisting and turning of his body suddenly giving way to a much more subdued trembling.  He glanced rapidly around the darkened room, his breath hitching inside of him, and he felt strong arms lifting him back up into a sitting position and clutching him against a thick, sturdy chest.  “Sam!  Calm the bloody hell down!”  He looked up into bright green eyes, shining in the darkness with an odd mixture of commanding strength and saddened fright, and then leaned back, the feeling of wakefulness slowly dredging him out of the horrific maelstrom of his nightmare.

“I was having another dream,” he rasped out, his throat feeling raw and dry, his voice flat and quiet compared to Gene’s commanding tone.

“’Dream’ my aunt’s withered fanny, you were having a train wreck of a brutal bloody nightmare, Sam.  It’s over with,” Gene’s voice softened and he released Sam slightly from his grip, moving one hand upwards to stroke Sam’s hair.  “Calm down.  It’s over and done with.”

Sam felt himself nodding in the dark, squirming around slightly as coughs started to pound their way through his aching ribcage.  He felt Gene shift, the motion hard and rough against his still healing body, and then felt something soft pressed into his hand and realized that Gene had handed him a wad of tissues, which he pressed against his mouth as the coughs continued to seize him.  Gene was silent as the fit subsided and Sam gasped, his breathing evening but still rattling madly in his throat, and then Sam felt himself being shifted again, Gene pushing him forward with one hand and rubbing at his back with the other, tracing out wide circles against the fabric of his pajama jacket.  “I’m all right,” Sam whispered, and he felt Gene’s shoulders move, knowing that the larger man was nodding.

“You don’t need a minder like I don’t need a case of bloody whiskey, Sam,” Gene’s voice was soft as he admonished him, and Sam felt himself being lowered back against Gene’s chest, taking in the fact that he could feel smooth flesh against his jaw and cheek, softer than any of the normally exposed skin on Gene’s body.  He blinked a few times and realized that Gene was sleeping in the same room as him, albeit on top of the covers, and he pressed himself down against Gene’s chest, reveling in the smooth warmth of Gene’s flesh against his, trying to hide from the shivers that were threatening to overtake him and feeling his body tremble once more.

“You cold?”  Sam nodded slightly in response to Gene’s query, and then felt another blanket being drawn up and over his shoulders, cutting him off from the feeling of Gene’s skin but wrapping him in warmth at the same time, the feeling of Gene’s own chest rising and falling with perfect rhythm, steady and silent, filling him with a strange jealousy despite the comfort that it gave to him.  “That better?”  Sam nodded again, pressing down and snuggling against Gene’s form, trying to relax himself as he did so.  “Just a dream, Sam.  Just a bit of shell-shock.  You’ll get over it soon enough,” Gene’s voice was low and soothing, and Sam nodded again in response, wondering if Gene could feel him doing so, or see him in the near blackness of the room.

“Could I have a glass of water?”  Sam didn’t want Gene to leave, wanted to curl up inside of him and hide forever, but the pain in his throat was almost too much for him to bear, and he felt himself being drawn up and pressed against the pillows, Gene’s bulk disappearing and fading into the blackness.  There was a soft creak of door hinges, and then Sam was left alone in the room, clutching the blanket tighter around himself, breathing in the scent of cigarettes and booze that still clung to it slightly, Gene having impressed himself onto it in only a few hours, just as he could impress his personality onto another person with only a few words.  An eternity seemed to pass before Gene finally returned, shifting him further upright with one arm and pressing a cold, slick glass into one of his hands.

“There you go, Sammy boy,” Gene’s eyes were aching as they readjusted to the low level of light in the room after the harshness of the light that he’d turned on in the kitchen, but he could soon make out Sam’s silhouette, and then some of the details of his features as he slowly drained the glass.  Gene took it from him and set it on the night table nearest his own side of the bed, and then shook his head.  “If you’re going to steal my only blanket, I’m gonna have to come under the damned duvet and sheets with you,” there was a joking, almost taunting tone to his voice, a heavy façade over an obvious flicker of anxiety, and then he lifted the bedclothes and slid under them, his leg pressing against Sam’s and his arms encircling Sam once again, pulling him sideways so that he was once again resting against his chest.  “And you’re okay like this?”  Sam felt the blanket being tightened around his shoulders, one of Gene’s arms encircling him, the other hand pulling the covers up and over him.

“I don’t want to go to sleep again.  I’ll have another dream,” Sam’s own honesty frightened him; even for a man who’d gone through countless hours of sensitivity training, that was far too much of an admission of weakness for a police officer to make, especially to a man like Gene Hunt.  He shook his head, angry at himself for saying it, and then felt Gene’s arm tighten around him.

“It’s just a soddin’ nightmare, Sam, can’t do you any harm.  Give yourself a bit of time, and you’ll be right as ruddy rain.”

Sam shivered and pressed himself into Gene again, “I don’t want to.  I want to be fine now.”  Sam paused and took in the petulant, whinging tone of his words, “Shit, I sound pathetic…”

“Par for the course.  You always sound pathetic, you do.  Going on about procedure and bloody process until you’ve done my nut in,” Sam felt Gene chuckle slightly underneath him, and knew that he was trying to lighten the mood.  Several moments of silence passed, and then Sam felt Gene swallow, hard, and felt the arm that wasn’t wrapped around his shoulders move under the covers.  “Figure I’ve got a plan to give you better dreams,” Gene’s voice betrayed his anxiety more than Sam had thought possible, and then he felt his pajama bottoms being slowly pressed open, the drawstring loosened and a wide, strong palm with uncharacteristically graceful fingers sliding inside of them.  “You just picture me as Diana Dors.  Or maybe Brit Ecklund.  Hell, picture it’s that Paki bird you were so head over arse about, all right?”

Gene’s hand slowly started to play at his genitals, his fingertips slowly sliding over the sensitive skin of Sam’s balls, lightly playing over the retracted skin of his cock, which was starting to swell and stiffen under just that brief touch.  His movements were hesitant, wary, and clumsy in their inexperience, and Sam realized that Gene was moving with his left hand, his right arm still wrapped tightly around his shoulders.  The fingers softly pressed into the thin skin that surrounded his scrotum, eliciting a sharp intake of breath and a spasm of pleasure from Sam, and then the movement stopped.  “You tell me if you want me to stop.  If this is, well…” Gene’s voice trailed off, and Sam tried to shake his head.

“What if I just want to picture you?” Sam hazarded the question without much thought, hoping that Gene would take the hint, and then he felt Gene pull away, and move out from under the covers, standing and walking towards the door.  He cursed himself silently as he heard this, but the creak of the door hinges never came, and his ears were met with a soft click and twist sound that told him Gene had locked the door to the room, followed by the comforting sight of Gene’s bulk moving back towards the bed, and then lifting the covers and sliding back under them, except that this time, he wasn’t reaching an arm around Sam; this time, he was sliding in with his entire body, and Sam suddenly felt the tip of a rough, wet tongue gliding along his erection.

Gene’s movements were clumsier still as he slowly slid Sam’s organ into his mouth, although he was more than well aware of how to cover his teeth, a skill that was usually lacking in equally inexperienced women.  His tongue flickered in and out as his mouth moved up and down Sam’s shaft, lightly teasing at the shuddering flesh underneath Sam’s scrotum, causing further thrills of pleasure to ripple through Sam, a physical joy that was so long displaced from his life it seemed almost foreign to him.  He continued to rock slowly up and down, taking his time, easing each long stroke of his lips down and onto Sam’s cock, pulling up and down with such drawn out and laborious movements that Sam’s own jaw ached in sympathy as he felt himself pulled down and into the sheer exaltation of the sensation that was thrumming through him, drawing his mind away from the pain and fatigue that had previously been his body’s constant companions.

Gene’s hands moved forward, giving his mouth a much needed rest, fingers wrapping around Sam’s shaft, fingertips playing at the head of his penis, running softly along the edge of his cock and up and into the flesh above, toying with the rough thatch of hair between Sam’s legs as Gene leaned down and softly ran his tongue along his thighs, the deep, hot, smooth sensations somehow heightened and made more intense by the same fever that dulled all the rest of his senses, every touch like lightning through his body as he started to roll with the motions, feeling his cock twitch and jerk in response to Gene’s touch.  Sam gasped slightly as Gene’s mouth closed back over him, his hands now reaching around to probe at Sam’s buttocks, grasping at the flesh there with a stronger, more forceful intensity as he started to move more quickly, more assuredly, his motions validated by each spasm of delight from Sam’s body, until Gene finally felt a strange, hot sensation flood his mouth, felt the salty, bittersweet wash of liquid pouring down his throat, unexpectedly hot and flowing like water as Sam spasmed and jerked beneath him, moaning in pleasure as he sucked, hard, and then withdrew, his eyes widened with shock over what he had just done, and over the odd, spinning joy that it had caused him.

Gene bolted upright, finally registering what he had just done, what his own desires had just forced him to do, and then he pushed back on the feelings of shame, beating them into submission and kicking them down, a smile forming on his lips as he swallowed several times against the sticky, hot taste in his mouth.  He’d half expected it to be awful, to taste of a bitter destruction of his own manhood, but instead it was pleasant and fine, every detail of the taste and scent lingering with generous pleasure as he slowly looked down at Sam and then pulled the pajama pants up and over him again, covering his still quivering genitals.  He pulled himself up right under the covers, still dazed with the burgeoning knowledge of what had just occurred, what he had just done, and he instinctively pulled Sam onto his chest again, moving so that Sam was stretched out on his lap, his legs spilling out onto either side of the smaller man’s body.

Sam’s own mind was reeling with the sensations, spinning dizzily with pleasure and shock as the pain slowly started to seep back into him, softened and muted by the warm, soothing sensation that still lingered inside of his flesh.  He felt Gene straddle him, pulling him up against his chest, and then felt Gene’s arms wrapping him in the spare blanket and pulling the other covers over him, and then engulfing him in a tight embrace.

Minutes of silence passed before Gene finally spoke, “So that’s that, then.  Point of no return, isn’t it?”  He leaned down and nestled his face into Sam’s hair, his arms drawing ever tighter around Sam, and he felt Sam stir in his grasp.

“Point of no return?” Sam asked, and he felt Gene’s head lift away from his, knew that it had to be looking upwards at the dark, blank ceiling.

“Bloody great shirt lifter and all, aren’t I?”  Sam searched for bitterness in Gene’s voice, and found none.

“No.  Bloody hell, the damned Kinsey report’s been out for nearly two decades at this point, hasn’t it?”

“That the damned sex science shite that’s got Mary Whitehouse’s knickers in a twist?”

“It’s a study.  You don’t have to be just homosexual, or heterosexual; not that there’s anything wrong with either.  But you can like both.  You can mostly prefer women, and still be attracted to men sometimes, or vice versa…”  Sam’s voice trailed off as realization flooded through him, “You wouldn’t have done that, ever, if I hadn’t been hurt, would you?”

“Never in a million bloody years.  The number of times that I’ve wanted to flip you over and pound into you, force you down onto my cock like some two quid prozzie in an alleyway, hell, just bloody kiss you, if only just to get you to stop running your smug gob…  No.  Never.  Wanted to, yes, but never would’ve.”

“And if I’d’ve asked you to, you’d’ve smashed in my nose, wouldn’t you?”

“According to the DCI handbook under dealing with insubordinate tossers, any suggestion made from one of your officers that you are a poofter, or even have mild fudge-packing inclinations, is to be met with a swift jab to the kidneys followed by a prompt public castration.”

Sam felt himself grinning as he twisted slightly leaning into Gene’s weight, “Didn’t know they had a chapter on that.”

“That’s why you’re not a DCI, boy wonder,” Gene reached one hand up and started running it through Sam’s hair again, gently massaging his scalp.

“And once I’m better?  Once I’m well enough for you to ‘flip me over and pound into me?’”  Sam felt himself holding his breath as he waited for the answer.

Gene paused for a moment, inhaling slowly, and then ran his hand along Sam’s cheek, “Like I said, point of no return.  Although if you dare tell anyone, and I do mean anyone, it’s your scrotum on a platter and your transfer orders for the bloody Isle of Wight.”

Sam started to chuckle at this, and then felt his chest seize again, and his hand fumbled blindly along the rumpled covers until he found the pile of tissues that Gene had handed him earlier, pressing them to his face and twisting about, throwing Gene’s arm off as the fit overcame him.  He felt Gene’s hands on his back again, rubbing against the pain that shuddered through him, and finally caught his breath, leaning back and gasping, feeling as if every ounce of strength had been drained out of him, although this time, the fatigue had an odd, sensual tinge to it.  He reached out and dropped the tissues into the bin beside the bed, and then curled into Gene’s chest again, one hand drowsily reaching between Gene’s legs.  “Want to return the favor,” he whispered, hoarse and breathless, and he felt Gene’s hand reach down and clasp over his, drawing it away from him.

“Plenty of time for that later, you daft git.  Or didn’t you listen to me?”  Gene laughed softly, “What am I bloody thinking?  Not like you’d bloody start now, is it?”  Gene’s arms wrapped around him again, and Sam tried to curl up onto his side, finding that the pain in his ribs had dulled somewhat, allowing him to do so with only a few twinges of extra pain.  “You can pay me back with interest once you feel up to it,” Gene whispered, and Sam felt a smile slide onto his face.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Sam whispered again, and Gene shook his head.

“You know, you’re like a broken bloody record with all the endless whinging, Sammy boy.  I’ll wake you up if it’s another bad one, all right?  Maybe they’ll stop, decide you’re not to be messed about with and bugger off to some kiddy’s closet with the other bogeymen.”

“No.  They’ll keep coming until we make the collar,” Sam said, shivering in Gene’s arms, and Gene tightened his grip again.

“Getting near enough, aren’t we?  We’ll draw him out soon, then I can beat him harder than a French egg.”

“We need to draw him out.  Make him slip up,” Sam’s thoughts were becoming harder to hold onto, and he racked his brain for an idea, and then turned his head, trying to look up at Gene in the darkness.  “What if I died?”

“Ex-bloody-scuse me?  What if you what?”

“What if we make him think that I died?  The papers have been all over this, and you haven’t given them much, have you?  They don’t even know my name, they just know that a police officer is the only surviving victim.  We could call the Gazette, offer them an exclusive interview with me once the killer is caught, to be run with a retraction of their fake story.  A story that says I’ve died.  The killer wants me, sees me as his property, needs to finish the job and kill me properly.  We take that away from him, we tangle his entire plan,” Sam was breathing hard by the time that he’d finished his statement, and he closed his eyes and leaned heavily against Gene.

“You really think that’ll rile the bastard up, make him sloppy?”

“That’s exactly what I think.  We need to draw him out, catch him now.  We can’t let this one wait.  You call George Bates and Jackie Queen, offer them the story, and we’ll see where we go from there.”

“Great.  Old no-balls and the shrieking harpy print a few lies, interview you, and then get to go on about how they single-handedly led the killer directly into our hands, get medals the size of Litton’s.  Just what I bloody need,” Gene scoffed, and then he felt Sam start to shiver again.  “Sam?”

“’m just cold, is all.  Listen, Gene, we need to do this.  We can’t wait on this.  We can’t,” Sam’s words were starting to slur lazily together, and Gene pulled the blankets up further onto him, starting to feel stifled under the weight of the covers and the heat radiating from Sam, and not daring to move and prevent Sam from falling asleep again.

“Mind games with the bastard, is that it?  Mind games and surveillance and lurking about in the shadows.  Guess it’s the proper time for me to finally become a bender, if police work is becoming that girly.”

“It’s not girly, it’s a way to catch a criminal.  There’s nothing wrong about it if it works, and if this is the right thing to do,” Sam’s voice was fading quickly as sleep overtook him again, and Gene ruffled his hair once again.

Gene gave a dejected sigh, “It is the right thing to do, bloody new wave poncey shit and all,” he drew his arms around Sam again, a small grin on his face, “And it’s all the right thing to do, no bloody question.   Every last bit.”

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