Fic: Pieces, red cortina, dak
Title: Pieces
Author: dak
Word Count: 6862
Rating: RED CORTINA
WARNINGS: rape, other sexual situations, ANGST
A/N: This is probably the DARKEST thing I have ever written or ever will write and it's all
mikes_grrl's fault. Blame her. I'll use her prompt as the summary for this story because there's really no other way to describe this: "I would LOVE to see something where Gene is forced to watch Sam being raped, and has to deal with being turn-on by it even as he is horrified and anguished and furious."
So. Yeah. Red cortina's just to be extra safe. After the first scene, the rest is probably more of a brown/blue. Big, big thank you to
culf for being the brave one to read this before I posted it and who said as long as I "post with a big a*se warning" I should be okay. Going to track down some alcohol now and write something cheery and fluffy...
It was supposed to be a simple operation but nothing involving Tyler could ever be bloody simple, could it? The little tart just never knew when to stop. Always pushing. Always twisting. Always turning everything in on itself until it was all one jumbled mess, wound up so tight even Gladys herself couldn’t unravel it.
Which was why they were here now, trapped in this fucking warehouse, at the fucking edge of the city, getting the fucking shit beat out of them by Renton and his gang.
Tyler hadn’t been able to wait for back up. Tyler had seen them turn one too many little boys into one of their drug mules and when he saw Renton himself snag little Timothy Evans from outside the corner shop during the stakeout, Tyler had to go after him alone and Hunt had to follow.
So now here they were, caught in the exact trap Renton had planned for them. Stuck out here, on their own, where no one would be able to track them down, and getting six shades of shite stamped all over their bodies. Gene Hunt was not one to lose a fight but even he had to admit that with eight against two, and no shooter in his back pocket, maybe the Gene Genie would go down. Not without giving a few good bruises of his own, of course.
It seemed like ages, but was probably only ten minutes, when Renton and his crew decided to take a break from the beatings and chain Hunt and Tyler to the pipes, leaving them trapped there so they could go off and bother with God knew what.
"You okay?" Tyler asked. The nerve of the little shite, to ask something like that when it was all his fault to begin with. The first words out of his mouth should’ve been, I’m sorry.
"Well I guess I should be grateful they decided to break for their afternoon tea," Gene spat, pulling at his chains, hoping maybe there was a weak link.
"I couldn’t sit there and watch him take another boy for his own sick purposes," Tyler snarled back.
"No. As usual, you had to play the big damn hero and try to save ‘im on your own without giving a single shit about your team! I told you before, you great, stubborn poof. This job ain’t fucking heroic!"
Tyler didn’t respond.
"Oh, so now you’re going to sulk, you bloody girl. Real handy in a crisis, you are."
If Tyler was going to answer, his retort was cut off as Renton and all seven of his cronies strode back into the room.
"You know, coppers, this could’ve gone much easier if you’d’ve taken the cash we offered. Guess we’ll have to find another way to persuade you, eh?"
The entire group chuckled.
"You can beat us all you want, it won’t change anything."
Oh so now Tyler opens his mouth, right when Gene hoped he could keep it shut.
"Actually DI Tyler," Renton laughed to himself and sauntered slowly over to his captives, to Sam in particular, and whispered very softly. "I’ve thought of another way to break you." The large, but fit, man stroked Tyler’s face with his hand then, quick as lightning, curled his fingers into a fist and slammed them into Sam’s cheek. "Cut ‘im down." Renton ordered with anticipation, flexing his fingers as he returned to the center of the room.
Three of the men came forward and began unwrapping a dazed Sam’s hands from the pipe and chains.
"You see, DI Tyler, I think you really need to learn your place around here. Wouldn’t you agree, DCI Hunt? Well, actually, I think you both do but unfortunately for you, Hunt, you’re not really my type." Sam was dragged in front of the gang leader and held there.
"Let ‘im go Renton. You’re in charge. We get that. You’ve got nothing to prove." Gene was ignored.
"No, I like my boys a little younger. A little...prettier. You’ll just have to watch."
"Listen to me you son of a bitch. You so much as lay another finger on ‘im an’ soon as I get loose you’ll be beggin’ to get locked up just so you can get away from me!" Gene roared.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt," Renton sighed with false concern, raking his eyes over Sam’s body, "but this is the only way little boys can learn their lessons."
Sam was recovering from the punch and struggled in the arms of his attackers but there were three of them holding him, and all were much, much larger than the slim Inspector. Gene yanked and tugged at his own chains but it was no use. Unless someone took him down, he was stuck where he was.
His arms gripped tightly and twisted behind his back, a separate arm pressing over his chest, holding him tight, there was nothing Sam could do as Renton knelt before him and started undoing his belt. The man moved slowly, taking his time, sliding the belt off slowly. "Joey?" Renton called out and one of his other men came forward, took the belt from Renton and used it to gag Sam, forcing it into Tyler’s mouth and tying it tightly at the back of his head.
No, no this wasn’t happening. Not in front of him. Not to his deputy. "Don’t." It was all Gene could say. He meant it to sound like a warning but knew it came out as a plea. Either way, it went unnoticed.
The belt secure, Renton unbuttoned Sam’s trousers, sliding down the zipper with as much care as he had unbuckled the belt. No, not care. Care was wrong. There was nothing caring about this. Gene struggled against his own restraints. The zipper opened, Renton grabbed the top of Sam’s black trousers and wrenched them down, leaving them around Tyler’s ankles in an effort to restrict him even more.
If Gene couldn’t get free at least he didn’t have to watch. Despite Renton’s threat, none of his goons were standing at Gene’s side, forcing him to keep his eyes open. He could look away. He could shut it out.
His y-fronts were next. A nice, clean, white pair. Gene could hear Sam’s breathing become heavier as Renton licked his lips and stripped Sam of the last of his modesty. Sam’s eyes were closed as his pants were slid down. Gene knew this because his were still open.
"There we are," Renton grinned as he reached out to stroke Sam’s limp cock. "What, not happy to see me?" He chuckled as Sam dangled helplessly in front of his attacker. He tried to twist away as Renton touched him but his captors held the DI firmly.
Gene knew he couldn’t stop this but he could ease Tyler’s humiliation. All he had to do was look away. He couldn’t and as he stood there, seeing Sam restrained and gagged, his flaccid cock at the mercy of the stronger man, Gene realized his own was getting harder. No. No it wasn’t. He was imagining it. He had to get free. There had to be a way to get loose before this went any further.
The simple molestation didn’t last long. Renton tired of it quickly and rose to his feet, hands immediately undoing his own belt. "Get the table," he barked. Joey and one of the others moved quickly, dragging a battered, abandoned work table from the side of the room and positioning it where Renton ordered.
He pet Sam’s face again. Gene wanted to rip off that filthy hand. "Class is in session, DI Tyler. I hope you’re paying attention." He turned his head to Gene, his smile growing as he saw that the DCI was staring at them. "Both of you." He turned back to his men. "Bend him over," he demanded in a low voice.
Sam was spun around and forced down against the table. The men holding him changed their positions, one of them holding an arm each as the third held down his shoulders, splaying his limbs across the splintering table. It was happening. It was going to happen. It shouldn’t be. Gene’s breath quickened. He should be spouting out insults, curses, threats that would make any grown man cry, distracting Renton, but he wasn’t. He was watching. Watching his DI try to press up against the men holding him down, helplessly fighting.
Renton shushed him, caressing Sam’s naked arse with one hand as he pulled his own trousers down with the other. "You’re going to belong to me, DI Tyler. After this, you’ll always be mine. My beautiful boy."
Without warning, Renton slammed his dick into Sam and Gene found himself lurching along with his DI. There was no preparation, not even a teasing finger, and certainly no lubrication. Sam’s muffled, involuntary cry echoed in his head. It was a cry of pain, of need. Needing to get away, yes, but need nonetheless, and to his great shock, Gene found his cock twitching in approval at that sound. No. No. It wasn’t. That would be wrong. Disgusting and wrong.
Renton stilled after the first, raw thrust, his body quivering with excitement. "Fucking hell," he moaned and tightly squeezed Sam’s waist. "Christ, you’re so goddamned tight. Ohh, yes." He started to move his hips, slowly. Sam had stopped struggling after the first thrust. Renton noticed. So did Gene. Gene saw Sam submitting. There was a twinge in his groin, felt himself pressing hard against the zip in his trousers. No. It wasn’t from this. It was from stress. From fear. From pain. From anything but this. No. No. Not this.
Renton increased the speed of his thrusts. Sam’s body shuddered but otherwise stayed still, which was apparently exactly what turned Renton on. One of his hands moved from Sam’s waist to his head and began stroking his hair in time with his thrusts. "That’s it. That’s it. Oh, good boy. Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you Sam? Shit." Renton rested his head on Sam’s back as he pumped his hips more fiercely. "What a good, beautiful boy. You’re relaxing aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel it. You like it. You like getting fucked, don’t you?"
Gene’s breathing matched Renton’s breath for breath, his eyes locked on the joined men in front of him.
"You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you Sam?" Sam moaned in pain after receiving another painful thrust. Gene’s breath hitched. Renton laughed and continued petting Sam’s soft hair. "Yeah, I thought you did. Or..." Renton started pumping harder. Gene could imagine Tyler’s skin ripping. "Or are you just a good, beautiful, obedient boy. Hm? Is that...is that it?" Renton was getting close now, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto Sam’s back. Gene’s hips thrust involuntarily.
"Oh yes. Yes, Sammy, yes."
No. No. No.
Renton lowered a hand to Sam’s cock and started to tug. "Now, Sammy, you be a good boy and come for Daddy. That’s it. Get hard for me, Sammy."
Sam gasped at the sudden touch. Gene was straining in his trousers. He felt ill.
"That’s it...Filthy boy..." Renton was losing his rhythm, pounding into Sam, pulling at Sam. Gene was having trouble controlling his breathing.
"Yeah, oh, shit yeah. Good, good boy. Nice and hard now, aren’t you?" Sam made another gagging sound. Gene looked. He was. Sam was hard. Sam was hard and there were tears streaming down his face. Renton kept fisting him as he pushed in further. Gene saw the tears on Sam’s face and the blood trickling down his legs. "Are you going...to be a...good boy now, Sammy?...Are you going...to listen to Daddy?"
Sam wasn’t fighting it. Sam was lying there, taking it, accepting it, surrendering to it. Gene stifled his own groan.
"Then come...Come for Daddy, Sammy...Come on you...filthy, little boy...learn your lesson...come...come for me."
And Gene did.
*
They let go of Sam’s arms and he instantly slid off the table and collapsed to the dusty floor. Renton tucked himself away then reached down and pet Sam’s cheek one last time before running his finger through the trail of blood on Sam’s bare leg. "Don’t worry, Sammy. All virgins bleed after their first time."
Renton gave the signal and his gang began to file out the door. "We’ll let your mates know where to find you. See you around, detectives." They shut the door, leaving Gene and Sam alone.
Sam wasn’t moving. His body was shuddering, he was clearly breathing, but his back was to Gene and the Guv had no idea if he was conscious or not. He prayed to God, Sam had passed out at some point. It could explain why he hadn’t fought back.
The room was oppressively silent. Gene had tried yanking at his chains again just to get some noise in the space. Another five minutes and Tyler still hadn’t moved. Gene took a deep breath.
"Sam?"
Nothing. Not even a groan of recognition.
"Sam, Ray an’ Chris’ll be here soon. You might want to...put yourself together. No need for them to know about this."
A sob. One choked, pained sob. Sam still didn’t move. Why wasn’t he moving? He wasn’t tied up. Tyler could get up, he could get Gene down. He could at least get his pants and trousers back on. The others, they shouldn’t see him like this. It wasn’t right. Gene tried to ignore the uncomfortable wetness in his crotch. It wasn’t right.
Twenty minutes passed and finally voices could be heard outside. Thank God. Gene’s arms were killing him. Sam still hadn’t moved.
"Guv?" Ray.
"Boss?" Chris.
Gene closed his eyes. What was done, was done. "In here!" The footsteps stamped closer.
"Got a call from Renton sayin’--" Ray cut himself off as soon as he saw Sam. Chris didn’t notice his mate had stopped moving and ran into the back of him.
"Ray what’re..."
Ray turned and pushed Chris in the other direction. "Chris, go outside an’ radio for an ambulance. Make sure plod don’ get in ‘ere."
"What happened? Ray, let me see." Chris shoved him way and caught a clear glimpse of DI Tyler. His face went white.
"Do as your told, DC Skelton," Gene called out.
Without an acknowledgement of the order, Chris ran out of the room. Ray turned back to the body on the floor. "Shit..." He whispered.
"Goin’ to leave me here all day Carling?" Hunt found his calm resolve, only because his long jacket was hiding the stain on his trousers.
"Sorry Guv." Ray rushed over and after a few moments, Gene was finally free. He flexed and rubbed his sore arms as Ray ran to Tyler’s side. Gene buttoned up his coat, just to be sure.
Ray knelt behind Sam and removed the belt then didn’t know what else to do. He stood and walked around him, crouching down again in front of his Inspector. "DI Tyler?" He went to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder, when Sam violently pulled back.
"Don’t touch me!" He screamed, his voice hoarse.
Ray froze, his hand still outstretched, and looked to his Guv for guidance. Gene was looking away, lighting a cigarette. He knew Ray was waiting. He just didn’t know what to say. "Guv?" He finally asked out loud.
Sam was shaking, still lying on the floor, but had wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Gene felt like doing the same. "He’s in shock. Saw it in National Service. Bloke’s gun accidently discharged on a routine exercise. Shot ‘is mate. Both of ‘em were out of it for awhile." Gene finished his fag in record time and lit another one. It was hard with his hands shaking. "He’ll be alright by tomorrow." Gene stormed towards the exit. The cavernous warehouse was claustrophobic. "Stay with ‘im. I’ll send the plonk in." He was out the door without a second glance back.
*
He’d gone home and changed. The missus was out, no one around to ask questions. Well of course she was "out." She’d been "out" for about two months now, if the date on the expired milk in the fridge was anything to go buy. The first thing he shed was his coat, tossing it across the banister on the way up the stairs.
He sat on the bed to remove his shoes. Usually, if this were any other night, (but it wasn’t even night; it was the middle of the day), his suit jacket would be next. Not this time. Shoes off, he stood up and started removing his belt, becoming infuriated as the buckle refused to come undone. Sam’s belt had come off so easily.
Gene finally ripped it off and chucked it across the room. His fingers tore furiously at his zip. He had to get these off. He had to change his trousers. His trousers and his pants. He yanked his trousers off and as he went to set them on the bed, his eyes locked on the dried stain. It was barely noticeable. You’d have to be looking for it to see it but Gene knew it was there. He saw it. He dropped the trousers to the floor. Sam’s had been stuck around his ankles.
He needed a shower. He had originally planned on only a change of clothes. There was work to be done at the station. He needed to get back, find a way to track down that bastard Renton. Sam was probably at hospital by now. He’d probably need stitches. Cartwright would be there. She’d watch out for him. Gene couldn’t think about Sam right now. He needed a shower.
The water was turned on full blast. He didn’t even wash but stood there, letting the burning sensation coat his skin, as if he could burn the dirt off of him. After ten minutes, he still felt disgusting. He grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed it all over him. He winced as his hands pressed over the bruises forming over his body. Bruises from Renton’s men, from being strung up like slaughtered cattle for a good half hour. Sam’s would be worse. Gene pressed harder as his hands passed over the bruises.
After another twenty minutes he’d used all the hot water and finally emerged from the shower. He grabbed the closest towel, who knew how clean it was but it was cleaner than he was, and rubbed it vigorously over his body, erasing any last remnants of dirt. He dropped it to the floor and stepped over it and back into his bedroom.
A clean pair of y-fronts. A clean vest. A clean pair of trousers. A clean shirt. A clean tie. Gene felt filthy. He grabbed the clothes he’d been wearing before. All of it. Everything. Crumpled all into a ball, he found an empty bin bag in the kitchen and tossed them inside, tied the bag tight and set it with the other rubbish that needed to go out.
He snatched his coat off the banister and headed to the door. He should go to hospital. Sam was probably in a bad state. Sam was his DI. He was Sam’s DCI. He should go to hospital and get a report on his condition, sit with him if he was allowed to. Tell him it was going to be alright. Gene went to the station.
*
There were so many bloody cases to wrap up. How did they let themselves get so focused on Renton that they forgot about that blag on Deansgate or the string of assaults on early morning joggers? Hunt had a desk piled high with unfinished reports so what the bloody hell had they been doing chasing after that stupid nonce? If Tyler hadn’t...
Gene ripped open his bottom right desk drawer and withdrew the half-full bottle of whisky, pouring a healthy amount into the dirty tumbler already sitting on his desk. He downed it as there was a knock at the door.
"What?"
Ray slowly entered, chewing his gum, looking at his feet, as he kept his hands in his pockets.
"Where’ve you been?" Gene barked.
"We were, uh, waitin’ for you at hospital, Guv."
They’d sent Ray because he’d known Gene the longest. They thought they were clever.
"Well it doesn’t look I’m goin’ to hospital, does it? Bloody..." Gene normally would have said ‘poof.’ He couldn’t. "Tyler doesn’t need a whole bleedin’ brigade there, does he?" More whisky into the glass.
"Cartwright’s with ‘im now an’--"
"Good for her," he sneered and polished off another drink.
"Docs thought maybe you should go in, too. Get checked out." Ray scuffed his feet.
"I’m fine. Gotten worse from the Missus."
"Right." Ray looked everywhere around the room except at Gene. "So, uhm, they’re keepin’ ‘im overnight, just a precaution, like. Got a few bruises and...things. Said ‘e could probably go home tomorrow."
"Brilliant. Thank you for the update Sergeant, now are you done wasting my time or can I get back to business that actually matters?"
"Right Guv. Sorry Guv." Ray left without another word.
No one else entered his office for the rest of the day. Gene would have chosen to remain in his office for the rest of the night had he not run out of whisky. He needed more drink, though. It was only when he felt the alcohol burn down his throat that he didn’t feel repugnant.
*
He had slept that first night only because he drank himself into oblivion. No room for dreams when your brain’s filled with alcohol. No room for nightmares, either. In fact, over the next few days it was easy to ignore the whole bloody situation, not that there even was a situation anyhow.
According to Cartwright, who felt the need to mention it as she brought him his morning tea, Tyler had been released from hospital the next day as the doctors had expected. According to Phyllis, who didn’t give a dog’s arse about what the Guv said he did or did not want to hear, he found out the DI called in and would be taking the next week off.
Fine. Good. Perfect. A bit of rest would do Tyler some good. A bit of rest from Tyler would do the station some good. So for that first week, like that first night, it was all so easy to ignore, not that Gene could pinpoint exactly what "it" was supposed to be. Everyone wondered if the Guv had seen the Boss since the assault and somehow everyone just knew that he hadn’t.
Though the true nature of Tyler’s injuries were miraculously kept a secret, only Carling, Skelton, and Cartwright aware of the mess which had actually occurred, no one could figure out why the Guv was avoiding his DI. Gene knew that’s what they were thinking. He could hear the whispers in the corridors, saw the sideways glances.
It was all rubbish though, wasn’t it? He wasn’t avoiding Tyler. Tyler was on holiday. A medical leave of absence, as it was officially documented in the books. He mostly saw Tyler at work. If Tyler wasn’t working why would Gene bother to see him? When would Gene see him?
The week was passed in comfortable denial.
Then Tyler came back.
Gene had planned to be in his office when the moment arrived but Skelton had been scratching his head over some complicated report he was meant to fill out and as his DCI, Gene was forced to stand there and point out everything the div had done wrong and how he was supposed to fix it and suddenly there he was. Standing in the doorway, pale skin, blank expression. The bruises on his face as dark and yellow as the one’s on Gene’s chest.
Sam said nothing, made no grand pronouncement about his return, just kept his head low and skulked over to his desk, hoping no one would notice him. Hoping no one would notice how he was limping. Chris, amongst others, tried to say hello or some sort of welcome back, but Sam ignored them, sitting at his desk with a noticeable wince and going through the papers left for him during his absence.
Gene noted the bags under his eyes, the stiffness in his arms as he reached for a pen, the hollow stare with which he regarded everything around him. Gene remembered Renton’s voice.
"I’ve thought of another way to break you."
Gene felt his stomach twist. Well, that was the last time he’d eat curry for dinner. He told Chris to shove off and finish it himself, he was a DCI and he had enough work of his own to finish, and stormed across the room and into the office, not even sparing Tyler a look as he passed his desk and disappeared back into the bottle.
*
Not having to speak with Tyler worked well for about three hours or so until they got a shout about a robbery at some Paki shop on Withy Grove and suddenly they were sitting side by side in the Cortina with Ray and Chris babbling in the backseat so that the silence wouldn’t overwhelm them all. Gene knew he should say something. Tyler was still his officer after all. He made sure to keep his eyes on the road.
"Alright?"
"Fine."
They reached the crime scene and Tyler leapt out of the car before it had even stopped, barking orders at plod before the rest of them were even out of their seats. He started pushing the lackadaisical officers around like pieces on a board game as he fretted about the scene, demanding this, demanding that. Christ, but he was acting like a child.
"But this is the only way little boys can learn their lessons."
Gene let Sam run the investigation. Hell, what did he care about sixty missing pounds from some goddamned foreigner’s hole-in-the-wall shit shop anyhow?
*
The night after Sam came back to work, Gene couldn’t sleep at all. Even the tried and true drink whisky until he was unconscious method had failed him. Instead, he laid on his bed, covering himself in the sheets that hadn’t been washed in months. Didn’t matter. He was too drunk to care. It was just his bed now after all. He could change the sheets whenever he damn well pleased or he could leave them on for as long he damn well pleased.
As he forced thoughts of Tyler to the back of his mind, he noticed his hand trailing downwards. What the hell. He was pissed but not that pissed and he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent shag. Nothing like a good wank to relieve the day’s stress.
Gene slipped his hand underneath the elastic band in his pyjamas, encasing his cock in the warm grip of his rough skin. Which Bond girl would it be tonight? No, he wanted to try something different. What was her name? That bird in A Fistful of Dollars? Marisol. That was it. Those high cheekbones. That long, brown hair you could just slip your fingers through.
One hand stroking himself just the way he liked it, Gene used his other to pull down his pyjama bottoms, give himself the space he needed. The woman’s image had been enough to get him going and now in his drunken haze, he cleared his mind, focusing on the sensation at hand. He felt himself getting harder with each stroke, each merciless tug. That’s it. That’s it.
"That’s it. That’s it. Oh, good boy. Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you Sam?"
It was in his head before he could stop it, Renton’s voice, but his body was too intoxicated, drunk on whisky and sensation, to stop. He should stop this.
"You’re relaxing aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel it. You like it. You like getting fucked, don’t you?"
He pumped harder, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. He couldn’t stop what he started but he could end it quickly because with the words were coming the images. Sam sprawled out on that dusty table. Legs parted. Will gone. Renton pounding into him, over and over and over again. Only it wasn’t Renton now. It was Gene.
"You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you Sam?"
The words were Gene’s now. He whispered them into Sam’s ear. Sam moaned. It was low and deep and filled with lust. Gene pumped harder.
"Yeah, I thought you did."
There were no men restraining Sam now. Sam accepted this. Sam wanted this. Sam needed this. Gene needed this.
"Now, Sammy, you be a good boy and come for Daddy. That’s it. Get hard for me, Sammy."
Gene was no longer wanking himself, he was stroking Sam’s cock and Sam liked it. More than liked it. He was gasping for it, the little tart. Begging for it and so Gene gave it to him. From both ends. In and out. Up and down. Gene couldn’t hold on much longer. He needed the release. He was dying to feel some release.
"Come for Daddy, Sammy...Come on you...filthy, little boy...learn your lesson...come...come for me."
Gene came with a shout, his semen spilling into his sweating palm, coating his hand, coating the sheets.
He barely made it to the toilet in time to vomit and his body kept shaking even after his stomach was emptied. He knew he should get another shower but couldn’t trust himself not to drown.
When he found the strength to leave the bathroom, Gene headed downstairs to the sofa, throwing himself on top of the uncomfortable lump. It was supposed to have been a simple operation but nothing involving Tyler could ever be bloody simple, could it? The little tart just never knew when to stop. Always pushing. Always twisting. He could have stopped it. He should have stopped it. Gene didn’t know if "he" meant Tyler or himself.
He could burn the sheets tomorrow.
*
Gene had no problem over Sam picking fights with Ray. That was only natural. Same with the other boys. Hell, Gene usually needed to send up a shout or throw a punch or two to get their arthritic arses in gear. Even a few near violent spats with Phyllis wasn’t that unusual. Not that Gene was for hitting birds but this was Desk Sergeant Dobbs. She barely qualified as human let alone female. However, when the skinny sod started throwing Chris up against the filing cabinets, Gene knew he had to act.
The day had begun innocuously enough. Gene had been in his office with his morning drink and a day’s old newspaper. The boys were messing about in the bullpen, sleeping, smoking, maybe working, when there was the distinct sound of a body being tossed against the wobbly Staff Forms cabinet.
He heard Tyler shouting, a sound he’d simply become accustomed to over the last two weeks. Then he heard Ray and the others shouting from the other side of the room and it had become a question of who was Tyler railing against this time? He didn’t leave his office right away but strolled over to the blinds, parted them with one hand, and saw Sam with his fingers clenched tightly onto Chris’ sweater vest, nearly ripping the bloody ugly thing.
Chris had his eyes shut and his head turned away. Ray had his arms thrown over Sam’s shoulders, trying to pull him off, but Tyler was giving him no heed. The others were standing about flabbergasted, cigarettes hanging loosely on their lower lips. Even then Gene didn’t want to move. Ray could sort this. Then Gene saw Sam release one hand, not because he was giving up, but because he was going to throw a punch. At Chris.
Gene wasn’t sure how but he had never moved that fast in his life. Suddenly it had gone from Ray trying to pull Sam off to Gene successfully completing the task. Holding him back, restraining him, it was the most contact he’d had with his DI in two weeks and the most violent anyone had been with him since...
"Don’t touch me!"
Sam hadn’t screamed the words this time, they echoed from inside Gene’s head, resurfacing from shallowly buried memories, and Gene released Sam as if burned. If Gene would have had it his way, he would have vanished back inside his office, let everyone else sort this out, and he was the Guv anyhow. Of course he should be able to have it his way.
Yet as Ray stood protectively in front of his partner and the others gazed at Hunt and Tyler with confused glances that had traces of concern, Gene knew he had to sort this out himself.
"Get your coat," he ordered Tyler and made sure his deputy followed him out the door.
*
He pulled up to Sam’s flat after a drive made heavy from things left unsaid. Gene would have normally left straightaway. Something told him to at least make sure Tyler made it to his flat, so he followed him up. Sam had said nothing, absolutely nothing, since he was ripped off Chris. Even now, as pent up rage threatened to cause him to self-implode, Sam was silent.
He opened his door and walked inside. If he had meant to slam the door in Gene’s face it didn’t work. Gene caught the door with his gloved hand and followed him inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Tyler walked a few steps inside, tossing his keys where ever they might land, and Gene had never seen a flat in so much disarray.
Dirty clothes were strewn everywhere. Rubbish, if it was lucky enough to be in bags, was piling up in the corner. Grease coated plates stacked high in the sink. The TV set to static.
"Blimey Tyler. You’d think a girl like you’d be able to keep up with a little housekeeping." The words trickled out of Gene’s mouth before he had a chance to catch them. It was just something he normally would have said. Not to be cruel, just a friendly jab between mates.
Like a match near petrol, they sparked something in Tyler and the DI launched himself at Gene, throwing him against the wall and holding him there with a strength in his body and a fury in his eyes Gene hadn’t even realized was there. No wonder Chris was frightened.
"I am not a girl!" He screamed it with every ounce of force he possessed, then kept on going. "I am not a poof! A fairy! A queen! A...a fudge-packing, uphill gardening, fruit picking sodomite!" With another heavy push he let Gene go and backed up slowly, eyes glassy and voice cracking. "I," he pointed at himself with each exclamation, "I am a DCI! I am a...professional police officer. I can handle myself. I can take care of myself. I’m trained to take care of myself. To be in control. To be always in control. I. Am not. Weak!"
The last cry stole the last of Sam’s hard resolve. When the back of his knees hit the bed, he allowed them to bend and collapsed to the mattress, wincing and shuddering involuntarily as his backside sustained the sudden jolt. Sam sat there on the bed shuddering but not crying. Instead he was staring into space again, hosting that same hollow gaze that had been his constant companion for the last two weeks.
Gene couldn’t move from the spot where Sam had left him. Completely paralyzed by the outburst, Gene was surprised to hear himself respond, "I know."
"Then why are you ashamed of me?" Sam asked with no emotion but still the words hit like a knife to the gut.
"What?" Gene still couldn’t move.
"Ever since the..." Sam couldn’t say the word. "You’ve been avoiding me. You barely look at me let alone speak to me. Ray’s been the same. Chris. And Annie..." Sam shook his head. "You’re all ashamed of me."
Gene swallowed hard but it didn’t ease his dry throat. "Why? Why would we--"
"Because I let it happen!" He screamed and this time the tears were there.
The words Gene had been thinking in his head, used to cast away his own guilt, now sounded so utterly ridiculous when spoken by the victim. The victim. That’s what Sam was. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not anything to deserve what he had received.
Gene had to sit down. Nothing with Tyler could ever be simple, could it? Always pushing. Always twisting. Always turning everything in on itself until it was all one jumbled mess, wound up so tight even Sam himself couldn’t unravel it.
"No you didn’t. I did," Gene admitted. And I enjoyed it, he thought to himself and immediately felt like he was going to be sick.
"You were chained up," Sam shook his head. "There’s no way--"
"I’m your DCI! I’m in charge. I’m supposed to look out for my men." Not sit back and watch while they get buggered and get off on it. He scrambled in his pockets for a cigarette though he knew even nicotine wouldn’t be able to calm him now. "The others’ve been avoidin’ yeh cos you’ve been stormin’ round the station like a lion hopped up on smack ever since you came back. They’re afraid to set you off. They’re not ashamed of yeh." No, the nicotine was not helping but at least it was giving him something to do.
"I am," he whispered.
"Because you couldn’t stop it?"
"Because I...became aroused," Sam closed his eyes as he spoke the words. Trust Tyler to put it delicately. "I’m not gay," he whispered. "I’ve never...and I didn’t want but..."
Gene wished anyone else could be having this conversation with Sam but no one else would be. This would stay between Sheriff and Deputy, as much as the Sheriff would rather throw himself out the window then sit and listen and discuss it because Sam was speaking the exact thoughts Gene himself had been feeling since it happened and Gene did not want to go there. He did not want to delve that deep into himself but he was Sam’s DCI and if the lad was going to throw himself down the dark hole of introspection dammit if Gene didn’t have to follow him down, if only to bring him back out.
"In...Hyde, I’d only ever seen two cases of adult male...rape." The word hung in the air, the unseen ghost between them suddenly visible.
"One, the victim was already unconscious while being assaulted by the other man. The other...it was a woman who..."
"Was the perpetrator?" Gene asked in disbelief. He had never heard of anything like that. What kind of bleeding place was Hyde anyhow?
Sam nodded. "I couldn’t understand it myself, at first. I...the doctors explained it. The science made sense. How the body can respond to certain triggers even if the victim was consciously resisting them..." Sam trailed off, all his earlier fight gone. "I haven’t stopped thinking about it."
"Has it made it easier?"
"No."
Gene let the silence build back up between them as he watched Sam sitting there tired, defeated. He was broken, just the way Renton said he would be, and if Gene left the conversation there, if he walked out now like he desperately wanted to, Sam would only crack further until the pieces were too small to fit back together properly. He couldn’t let that happen, not to one of his men, not even if it meant delving into places of his own self that Gene had never wanted to confront.
"Knocking Chris about isn’t goin’ to help."
"I know." Sam dropped his head in his hands. "He’ll never forgive me will he?"
"Give it time. And be really, really nice to the boy." Gene stubbed out the ciggie in a used mug by his feet. "We all need a little time, Sam."
Sam didn’t respond, just sat there hunched over, his face buried under masses of shame. It didn’t matter then how much Gene was hurting, how much pain was tearing him up inside, because one of DCI Hunt’s men was in worse shape and DCI Hunt couldn’t rest until he fixed him and whatever Gene was going through, well that would have to wait.
"Fancy summit to eat? I’m starving."
"What about the station?" Sam asked, slightly lifting his head.
"Think they can do without us for an hour or three," Hunt stood, smoothing out his coat. "C’mon. I know this great little Italian place. Garlic bread to die for."
Sam finally nodded and the faintest whisper of a smile might have passed across his face. "Sounds...sounds really good, Guv."
Hunt followed him out the door and deep inside felt a twinge as he remembered that smile which may or may not have been on Sam’s face moments before. That would all have to be ignored until Sam was better, until Sam was mended. Maybe somewhere along the way, Gene would start to heal, too.
Author: dak
Word Count: 6862
Rating: RED CORTINA
WARNINGS: rape, other sexual situations, ANGST
A/N: This is probably the DARKEST thing I have ever written or ever will write and it's all
mikes_grrl's fault. Blame her. I'll use her prompt as the summary for this story because there's really no other way to describe this: "I would LOVE to see something where Gene is forced to watch Sam being raped, and has to deal with being turn-on by it even as he is horrified and anguished and furious."
So. Yeah. Red cortina's just to be extra safe. After the first scene, the rest is probably more of a brown/blue. Big, big thank you to
culf for being the brave one to read this before I posted it and who said as long as I "post with a big a*se warning" I should be okay. Going to track down some alcohol now and write something cheery and fluffy...
It was supposed to be a simple operation but nothing involving Tyler could ever be bloody simple, could it? The little tart just never knew when to stop. Always pushing. Always twisting. Always turning everything in on itself until it was all one jumbled mess, wound up so tight even Gladys herself couldn’t unravel it.
Which was why they were here now, trapped in this fucking warehouse, at the fucking edge of the city, getting the fucking shit beat out of them by Renton and his gang.
Tyler hadn’t been able to wait for back up. Tyler had seen them turn one too many little boys into one of their drug mules and when he saw Renton himself snag little Timothy Evans from outside the corner shop during the stakeout, Tyler had to go after him alone and Hunt had to follow.
So now here they were, caught in the exact trap Renton had planned for them. Stuck out here, on their own, where no one would be able to track them down, and getting six shades of shite stamped all over their bodies. Gene Hunt was not one to lose a fight but even he had to admit that with eight against two, and no shooter in his back pocket, maybe the Gene Genie would go down. Not without giving a few good bruises of his own, of course.
It seemed like ages, but was probably only ten minutes, when Renton and his crew decided to take a break from the beatings and chain Hunt and Tyler to the pipes, leaving them trapped there so they could go off and bother with God knew what.
"You okay?" Tyler asked. The nerve of the little shite, to ask something like that when it was all his fault to begin with. The first words out of his mouth should’ve been, I’m sorry.
"Well I guess I should be grateful they decided to break for their afternoon tea," Gene spat, pulling at his chains, hoping maybe there was a weak link.
"I couldn’t sit there and watch him take another boy for his own sick purposes," Tyler snarled back.
"No. As usual, you had to play the big damn hero and try to save ‘im on your own without giving a single shit about your team! I told you before, you great, stubborn poof. This job ain’t fucking heroic!"
Tyler didn’t respond.
"Oh, so now you’re going to sulk, you bloody girl. Real handy in a crisis, you are."
If Tyler was going to answer, his retort was cut off as Renton and all seven of his cronies strode back into the room.
"You know, coppers, this could’ve gone much easier if you’d’ve taken the cash we offered. Guess we’ll have to find another way to persuade you, eh?"
The entire group chuckled.
"You can beat us all you want, it won’t change anything."
Oh so now Tyler opens his mouth, right when Gene hoped he could keep it shut.
"Actually DI Tyler," Renton laughed to himself and sauntered slowly over to his captives, to Sam in particular, and whispered very softly. "I’ve thought of another way to break you." The large, but fit, man stroked Tyler’s face with his hand then, quick as lightning, curled his fingers into a fist and slammed them into Sam’s cheek. "Cut ‘im down." Renton ordered with anticipation, flexing his fingers as he returned to the center of the room.
Three of the men came forward and began unwrapping a dazed Sam’s hands from the pipe and chains.
"You see, DI Tyler, I think you really need to learn your place around here. Wouldn’t you agree, DCI Hunt? Well, actually, I think you both do but unfortunately for you, Hunt, you’re not really my type." Sam was dragged in front of the gang leader and held there.
"Let ‘im go Renton. You’re in charge. We get that. You’ve got nothing to prove." Gene was ignored.
"No, I like my boys a little younger. A little...prettier. You’ll just have to watch."
"Listen to me you son of a bitch. You so much as lay another finger on ‘im an’ soon as I get loose you’ll be beggin’ to get locked up just so you can get away from me!" Gene roared.
"I’m sorry, Mr. Hunt," Renton sighed with false concern, raking his eyes over Sam’s body, "but this is the only way little boys can learn their lessons."
Sam was recovering from the punch and struggled in the arms of his attackers but there were three of them holding him, and all were much, much larger than the slim Inspector. Gene yanked and tugged at his own chains but it was no use. Unless someone took him down, he was stuck where he was.
His arms gripped tightly and twisted behind his back, a separate arm pressing over his chest, holding him tight, there was nothing Sam could do as Renton knelt before him and started undoing his belt. The man moved slowly, taking his time, sliding the belt off slowly. "Joey?" Renton called out and one of his other men came forward, took the belt from Renton and used it to gag Sam, forcing it into Tyler’s mouth and tying it tightly at the back of his head.
No, no this wasn’t happening. Not in front of him. Not to his deputy. "Don’t." It was all Gene could say. He meant it to sound like a warning but knew it came out as a plea. Either way, it went unnoticed.
The belt secure, Renton unbuttoned Sam’s trousers, sliding down the zipper with as much care as he had unbuckled the belt. No, not care. Care was wrong. There was nothing caring about this. Gene struggled against his own restraints. The zipper opened, Renton grabbed the top of Sam’s black trousers and wrenched them down, leaving them around Tyler’s ankles in an effort to restrict him even more.
If Gene couldn’t get free at least he didn’t have to watch. Despite Renton’s threat, none of his goons were standing at Gene’s side, forcing him to keep his eyes open. He could look away. He could shut it out.
His y-fronts were next. A nice, clean, white pair. Gene could hear Sam’s breathing become heavier as Renton licked his lips and stripped Sam of the last of his modesty. Sam’s eyes were closed as his pants were slid down. Gene knew this because his were still open.
"There we are," Renton grinned as he reached out to stroke Sam’s limp cock. "What, not happy to see me?" He chuckled as Sam dangled helplessly in front of his attacker. He tried to twist away as Renton touched him but his captors held the DI firmly.
Gene knew he couldn’t stop this but he could ease Tyler’s humiliation. All he had to do was look away. He couldn’t and as he stood there, seeing Sam restrained and gagged, his flaccid cock at the mercy of the stronger man, Gene realized his own was getting harder. No. No it wasn’t. He was imagining it. He had to get free. There had to be a way to get loose before this went any further.
The simple molestation didn’t last long. Renton tired of it quickly and rose to his feet, hands immediately undoing his own belt. "Get the table," he barked. Joey and one of the others moved quickly, dragging a battered, abandoned work table from the side of the room and positioning it where Renton ordered.
He pet Sam’s face again. Gene wanted to rip off that filthy hand. "Class is in session, DI Tyler. I hope you’re paying attention." He turned his head to Gene, his smile growing as he saw that the DCI was staring at them. "Both of you." He turned back to his men. "Bend him over," he demanded in a low voice.
Sam was spun around and forced down against the table. The men holding him changed their positions, one of them holding an arm each as the third held down his shoulders, splaying his limbs across the splintering table. It was happening. It was going to happen. It shouldn’t be. Gene’s breath quickened. He should be spouting out insults, curses, threats that would make any grown man cry, distracting Renton, but he wasn’t. He was watching. Watching his DI try to press up against the men holding him down, helplessly fighting.
Renton shushed him, caressing Sam’s naked arse with one hand as he pulled his own trousers down with the other. "You’re going to belong to me, DI Tyler. After this, you’ll always be mine. My beautiful boy."
Without warning, Renton slammed his dick into Sam and Gene found himself lurching along with his DI. There was no preparation, not even a teasing finger, and certainly no lubrication. Sam’s muffled, involuntary cry echoed in his head. It was a cry of pain, of need. Needing to get away, yes, but need nonetheless, and to his great shock, Gene found his cock twitching in approval at that sound. No. No. It wasn’t. That would be wrong. Disgusting and wrong.
Renton stilled after the first, raw thrust, his body quivering with excitement. "Fucking hell," he moaned and tightly squeezed Sam’s waist. "Christ, you’re so goddamned tight. Ohh, yes." He started to move his hips, slowly. Sam had stopped struggling after the first thrust. Renton noticed. So did Gene. Gene saw Sam submitting. There was a twinge in his groin, felt himself pressing hard against the zip in his trousers. No. It wasn’t from this. It was from stress. From fear. From pain. From anything but this. No. No. Not this.
Renton increased the speed of his thrusts. Sam’s body shuddered but otherwise stayed still, which was apparently exactly what turned Renton on. One of his hands moved from Sam’s waist to his head and began stroking his hair in time with his thrusts. "That’s it. That’s it. Oh, good boy. Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you Sam? Shit." Renton rested his head on Sam’s back as he pumped his hips more fiercely. "What a good, beautiful boy. You’re relaxing aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel it. You like it. You like getting fucked, don’t you?"
Gene’s breathing matched Renton’s breath for breath, his eyes locked on the joined men in front of him.
"You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you Sam?" Sam moaned in pain after receiving another painful thrust. Gene’s breath hitched. Renton laughed and continued petting Sam’s soft hair. "Yeah, I thought you did. Or..." Renton started pumping harder. Gene could imagine Tyler’s skin ripping. "Or are you just a good, beautiful, obedient boy. Hm? Is that...is that it?" Renton was getting close now, sweat dripping off his forehead and onto Sam’s back. Gene’s hips thrust involuntarily.
"Oh yes. Yes, Sammy, yes."
No. No. No.
Renton lowered a hand to Sam’s cock and started to tug. "Now, Sammy, you be a good boy and come for Daddy. That’s it. Get hard for me, Sammy."
Sam gasped at the sudden touch. Gene was straining in his trousers. He felt ill.
"That’s it...Filthy boy..." Renton was losing his rhythm, pounding into Sam, pulling at Sam. Gene was having trouble controlling his breathing.
"Yeah, oh, shit yeah. Good, good boy. Nice and hard now, aren’t you?" Sam made another gagging sound. Gene looked. He was. Sam was hard. Sam was hard and there were tears streaming down his face. Renton kept fisting him as he pushed in further. Gene saw the tears on Sam’s face and the blood trickling down his legs. "Are you going...to be a...good boy now, Sammy?...Are you going...to listen to Daddy?"
Sam wasn’t fighting it. Sam was lying there, taking it, accepting it, surrendering to it. Gene stifled his own groan.
"Then come...Come for Daddy, Sammy...Come on you...filthy, little boy...learn your lesson...come...come for me."
And Gene did.
*
They let go of Sam’s arms and he instantly slid off the table and collapsed to the dusty floor. Renton tucked himself away then reached down and pet Sam’s cheek one last time before running his finger through the trail of blood on Sam’s bare leg. "Don’t worry, Sammy. All virgins bleed after their first time."
Renton gave the signal and his gang began to file out the door. "We’ll let your mates know where to find you. See you around, detectives." They shut the door, leaving Gene and Sam alone.
Sam wasn’t moving. His body was shuddering, he was clearly breathing, but his back was to Gene and the Guv had no idea if he was conscious or not. He prayed to God, Sam had passed out at some point. It could explain why he hadn’t fought back.
The room was oppressively silent. Gene had tried yanking at his chains again just to get some noise in the space. Another five minutes and Tyler still hadn’t moved. Gene took a deep breath.
"Sam?"
Nothing. Not even a groan of recognition.
"Sam, Ray an’ Chris’ll be here soon. You might want to...put yourself together. No need for them to know about this."
A sob. One choked, pained sob. Sam still didn’t move. Why wasn’t he moving? He wasn’t tied up. Tyler could get up, he could get Gene down. He could at least get his pants and trousers back on. The others, they shouldn’t see him like this. It wasn’t right. Gene tried to ignore the uncomfortable wetness in his crotch. It wasn’t right.
Twenty minutes passed and finally voices could be heard outside. Thank God. Gene’s arms were killing him. Sam still hadn’t moved.
"Guv?" Ray.
"Boss?" Chris.
Gene closed his eyes. What was done, was done. "In here!" The footsteps stamped closer.
"Got a call from Renton sayin’--" Ray cut himself off as soon as he saw Sam. Chris didn’t notice his mate had stopped moving and ran into the back of him.
"Ray what’re..."
Ray turned and pushed Chris in the other direction. "Chris, go outside an’ radio for an ambulance. Make sure plod don’ get in ‘ere."
"What happened? Ray, let me see." Chris shoved him way and caught a clear glimpse of DI Tyler. His face went white.
"Do as your told, DC Skelton," Gene called out.
Without an acknowledgement of the order, Chris ran out of the room. Ray turned back to the body on the floor. "Shit..." He whispered.
"Goin’ to leave me here all day Carling?" Hunt found his calm resolve, only because his long jacket was hiding the stain on his trousers.
"Sorry Guv." Ray rushed over and after a few moments, Gene was finally free. He flexed and rubbed his sore arms as Ray ran to Tyler’s side. Gene buttoned up his coat, just to be sure.
Ray knelt behind Sam and removed the belt then didn’t know what else to do. He stood and walked around him, crouching down again in front of his Inspector. "DI Tyler?" He went to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder, when Sam violently pulled back.
"Don’t touch me!" He screamed, his voice hoarse.
Ray froze, his hand still outstretched, and looked to his Guv for guidance. Gene was looking away, lighting a cigarette. He knew Ray was waiting. He just didn’t know what to say. "Guv?" He finally asked out loud.
Sam was shaking, still lying on the floor, but had wrapped his arms around himself and squeezed his eyes shut. Gene felt like doing the same. "He’s in shock. Saw it in National Service. Bloke’s gun accidently discharged on a routine exercise. Shot ‘is mate. Both of ‘em were out of it for awhile." Gene finished his fag in record time and lit another one. It was hard with his hands shaking. "He’ll be alright by tomorrow." Gene stormed towards the exit. The cavernous warehouse was claustrophobic. "Stay with ‘im. I’ll send the plonk in." He was out the door without a second glance back.
*
He’d gone home and changed. The missus was out, no one around to ask questions. Well of course she was "out." She’d been "out" for about two months now, if the date on the expired milk in the fridge was anything to go buy. The first thing he shed was his coat, tossing it across the banister on the way up the stairs.
He sat on the bed to remove his shoes. Usually, if this were any other night, (but it wasn’t even night; it was the middle of the day), his suit jacket would be next. Not this time. Shoes off, he stood up and started removing his belt, becoming infuriated as the buckle refused to come undone. Sam’s belt had come off so easily.
Gene finally ripped it off and chucked it across the room. His fingers tore furiously at his zip. He had to get these off. He had to change his trousers. His trousers and his pants. He yanked his trousers off and as he went to set them on the bed, his eyes locked on the dried stain. It was barely noticeable. You’d have to be looking for it to see it but Gene knew it was there. He saw it. He dropped the trousers to the floor. Sam’s had been stuck around his ankles.
He needed a shower. He had originally planned on only a change of clothes. There was work to be done at the station. He needed to get back, find a way to track down that bastard Renton. Sam was probably at hospital by now. He’d probably need stitches. Cartwright would be there. She’d watch out for him. Gene couldn’t think about Sam right now. He needed a shower.
The water was turned on full blast. He didn’t even wash but stood there, letting the burning sensation coat his skin, as if he could burn the dirt off of him. After ten minutes, he still felt disgusting. He grabbed the bar of soap and scrubbed it all over him. He winced as his hands pressed over the bruises forming over his body. Bruises from Renton’s men, from being strung up like slaughtered cattle for a good half hour. Sam’s would be worse. Gene pressed harder as his hands passed over the bruises.
After another twenty minutes he’d used all the hot water and finally emerged from the shower. He grabbed the closest towel, who knew how clean it was but it was cleaner than he was, and rubbed it vigorously over his body, erasing any last remnants of dirt. He dropped it to the floor and stepped over it and back into his bedroom.
A clean pair of y-fronts. A clean vest. A clean pair of trousers. A clean shirt. A clean tie. Gene felt filthy. He grabbed the clothes he’d been wearing before. All of it. Everything. Crumpled all into a ball, he found an empty bin bag in the kitchen and tossed them inside, tied the bag tight and set it with the other rubbish that needed to go out.
He snatched his coat off the banister and headed to the door. He should go to hospital. Sam was probably in a bad state. Sam was his DI. He was Sam’s DCI. He should go to hospital and get a report on his condition, sit with him if he was allowed to. Tell him it was going to be alright. Gene went to the station.
*
There were so many bloody cases to wrap up. How did they let themselves get so focused on Renton that they forgot about that blag on Deansgate or the string of assaults on early morning joggers? Hunt had a desk piled high with unfinished reports so what the bloody hell had they been doing chasing after that stupid nonce? If Tyler hadn’t...
Gene ripped open his bottom right desk drawer and withdrew the half-full bottle of whisky, pouring a healthy amount into the dirty tumbler already sitting on his desk. He downed it as there was a knock at the door.
"What?"
Ray slowly entered, chewing his gum, looking at his feet, as he kept his hands in his pockets.
"Where’ve you been?" Gene barked.
"We were, uh, waitin’ for you at hospital, Guv."
They’d sent Ray because he’d known Gene the longest. They thought they were clever.
"Well it doesn’t look I’m goin’ to hospital, does it? Bloody..." Gene normally would have said ‘poof.’ He couldn’t. "Tyler doesn’t need a whole bleedin’ brigade there, does he?" More whisky into the glass.
"Cartwright’s with ‘im now an’--"
"Good for her," he sneered and polished off another drink.
"Docs thought maybe you should go in, too. Get checked out." Ray scuffed his feet.
"I’m fine. Gotten worse from the Missus."
"Right." Ray looked everywhere around the room except at Gene. "So, uhm, they’re keepin’ ‘im overnight, just a precaution, like. Got a few bruises and...things. Said ‘e could probably go home tomorrow."
"Brilliant. Thank you for the update Sergeant, now are you done wasting my time or can I get back to business that actually matters?"
"Right Guv. Sorry Guv." Ray left without another word.
No one else entered his office for the rest of the day. Gene would have chosen to remain in his office for the rest of the night had he not run out of whisky. He needed more drink, though. It was only when he felt the alcohol burn down his throat that he didn’t feel repugnant.
*
He had slept that first night only because he drank himself into oblivion. No room for dreams when your brain’s filled with alcohol. No room for nightmares, either. In fact, over the next few days it was easy to ignore the whole bloody situation, not that there even was a situation anyhow.
According to Cartwright, who felt the need to mention it as she brought him his morning tea, Tyler had been released from hospital the next day as the doctors had expected. According to Phyllis, who didn’t give a dog’s arse about what the Guv said he did or did not want to hear, he found out the DI called in and would be taking the next week off.
Fine. Good. Perfect. A bit of rest would do Tyler some good. A bit of rest from Tyler would do the station some good. So for that first week, like that first night, it was all so easy to ignore, not that Gene could pinpoint exactly what "it" was supposed to be. Everyone wondered if the Guv had seen the Boss since the assault and somehow everyone just knew that he hadn’t.
Though the true nature of Tyler’s injuries were miraculously kept a secret, only Carling, Skelton, and Cartwright aware of the mess which had actually occurred, no one could figure out why the Guv was avoiding his DI. Gene knew that’s what they were thinking. He could hear the whispers in the corridors, saw the sideways glances.
It was all rubbish though, wasn’t it? He wasn’t avoiding Tyler. Tyler was on holiday. A medical leave of absence, as it was officially documented in the books. He mostly saw Tyler at work. If Tyler wasn’t working why would Gene bother to see him? When would Gene see him?
The week was passed in comfortable denial.
Then Tyler came back.
Gene had planned to be in his office when the moment arrived but Skelton had been scratching his head over some complicated report he was meant to fill out and as his DCI, Gene was forced to stand there and point out everything the div had done wrong and how he was supposed to fix it and suddenly there he was. Standing in the doorway, pale skin, blank expression. The bruises on his face as dark and yellow as the one’s on Gene’s chest.
Sam said nothing, made no grand pronouncement about his return, just kept his head low and skulked over to his desk, hoping no one would notice him. Hoping no one would notice how he was limping. Chris, amongst others, tried to say hello or some sort of welcome back, but Sam ignored them, sitting at his desk with a noticeable wince and going through the papers left for him during his absence.
Gene noted the bags under his eyes, the stiffness in his arms as he reached for a pen, the hollow stare with which he regarded everything around him. Gene remembered Renton’s voice.
"I’ve thought of another way to break you."
Gene felt his stomach twist. Well, that was the last time he’d eat curry for dinner. He told Chris to shove off and finish it himself, he was a DCI and he had enough work of his own to finish, and stormed across the room and into the office, not even sparing Tyler a look as he passed his desk and disappeared back into the bottle.
*
Not having to speak with Tyler worked well for about three hours or so until they got a shout about a robbery at some Paki shop on Withy Grove and suddenly they were sitting side by side in the Cortina with Ray and Chris babbling in the backseat so that the silence wouldn’t overwhelm them all. Gene knew he should say something. Tyler was still his officer after all. He made sure to keep his eyes on the road.
"Alright?"
"Fine."
They reached the crime scene and Tyler leapt out of the car before it had even stopped, barking orders at plod before the rest of them were even out of their seats. He started pushing the lackadaisical officers around like pieces on a board game as he fretted about the scene, demanding this, demanding that. Christ, but he was acting like a child.
"But this is the only way little boys can learn their lessons."
Gene let Sam run the investigation. Hell, what did he care about sixty missing pounds from some goddamned foreigner’s hole-in-the-wall shit shop anyhow?
*
The night after Sam came back to work, Gene couldn’t sleep at all. Even the tried and true drink whisky until he was unconscious method had failed him. Instead, he laid on his bed, covering himself in the sheets that hadn’t been washed in months. Didn’t matter. He was too drunk to care. It was just his bed now after all. He could change the sheets whenever he damn well pleased or he could leave them on for as long he damn well pleased.
As he forced thoughts of Tyler to the back of his mind, he noticed his hand trailing downwards. What the hell. He was pissed but not that pissed and he couldn’t remember the last time he had a decent shag. Nothing like a good wank to relieve the day’s stress.
Gene slipped his hand underneath the elastic band in his pyjamas, encasing his cock in the warm grip of his rough skin. Which Bond girl would it be tonight? No, he wanted to try something different. What was her name? That bird in A Fistful of Dollars? Marisol. That was it. Those high cheekbones. That long, brown hair you could just slip your fingers through.
One hand stroking himself just the way he liked it, Gene used his other to pull down his pyjama bottoms, give himself the space he needed. The woman’s image had been enough to get him going and now in his drunken haze, he cleared his mind, focusing on the sensation at hand. He felt himself getting harder with each stroke, each merciless tug. That’s it. That’s it.
"That’s it. That’s it. Oh, good boy. Yeah, you’re a good boy, aren’t you Sam?"
It was in his head before he could stop it, Renton’s voice, but his body was too intoxicated, drunk on whisky and sensation, to stop. He should stop this.
"You’re relaxing aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel it. You like it. You like getting fucked, don’t you?"
He pumped harder, wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. He couldn’t stop what he started but he could end it quickly because with the words were coming the images. Sam sprawled out on that dusty table. Legs parted. Will gone. Renton pounding into him, over and over and over again. Only it wasn’t Renton now. It was Gene.
"You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you Sam?"
The words were Gene’s now. He whispered them into Sam’s ear. Sam moaned. It was low and deep and filled with lust. Gene pumped harder.
"Yeah, I thought you did."
There were no men restraining Sam now. Sam accepted this. Sam wanted this. Sam needed this. Gene needed this.
"Now, Sammy, you be a good boy and come for Daddy. That’s it. Get hard for me, Sammy."
Gene was no longer wanking himself, he was stroking Sam’s cock and Sam liked it. More than liked it. He was gasping for it, the little tart. Begging for it and so Gene gave it to him. From both ends. In and out. Up and down. Gene couldn’t hold on much longer. He needed the release. He was dying to feel some release.
"Come for Daddy, Sammy...Come on you...filthy, little boy...learn your lesson...come...come for me."
Gene came with a shout, his semen spilling into his sweating palm, coating his hand, coating the sheets.
He barely made it to the toilet in time to vomit and his body kept shaking even after his stomach was emptied. He knew he should get another shower but couldn’t trust himself not to drown.
When he found the strength to leave the bathroom, Gene headed downstairs to the sofa, throwing himself on top of the uncomfortable lump. It was supposed to have been a simple operation but nothing involving Tyler could ever be bloody simple, could it? The little tart just never knew when to stop. Always pushing. Always twisting. He could have stopped it. He should have stopped it. Gene didn’t know if "he" meant Tyler or himself.
He could burn the sheets tomorrow.
*
Gene had no problem over Sam picking fights with Ray. That was only natural. Same with the other boys. Hell, Gene usually needed to send up a shout or throw a punch or two to get their arthritic arses in gear. Even a few near violent spats with Phyllis wasn’t that unusual. Not that Gene was for hitting birds but this was Desk Sergeant Dobbs. She barely qualified as human let alone female. However, when the skinny sod started throwing Chris up against the filing cabinets, Gene knew he had to act.
The day had begun innocuously enough. Gene had been in his office with his morning drink and a day’s old newspaper. The boys were messing about in the bullpen, sleeping, smoking, maybe working, when there was the distinct sound of a body being tossed against the wobbly Staff Forms cabinet.
He heard Tyler shouting, a sound he’d simply become accustomed to over the last two weeks. Then he heard Ray and the others shouting from the other side of the room and it had become a question of who was Tyler railing against this time? He didn’t leave his office right away but strolled over to the blinds, parted them with one hand, and saw Sam with his fingers clenched tightly onto Chris’ sweater vest, nearly ripping the bloody ugly thing.
Chris had his eyes shut and his head turned away. Ray had his arms thrown over Sam’s shoulders, trying to pull him off, but Tyler was giving him no heed. The others were standing about flabbergasted, cigarettes hanging loosely on their lower lips. Even then Gene didn’t want to move. Ray could sort this. Then Gene saw Sam release one hand, not because he was giving up, but because he was going to throw a punch. At Chris.
Gene wasn’t sure how but he had never moved that fast in his life. Suddenly it had gone from Ray trying to pull Sam off to Gene successfully completing the task. Holding him back, restraining him, it was the most contact he’d had with his DI in two weeks and the most violent anyone had been with him since...
"Don’t touch me!"
Sam hadn’t screamed the words this time, they echoed from inside Gene’s head, resurfacing from shallowly buried memories, and Gene released Sam as if burned. If Gene would have had it his way, he would have vanished back inside his office, let everyone else sort this out, and he was the Guv anyhow. Of course he should be able to have it his way.
Yet as Ray stood protectively in front of his partner and the others gazed at Hunt and Tyler with confused glances that had traces of concern, Gene knew he had to sort this out himself.
"Get your coat," he ordered Tyler and made sure his deputy followed him out the door.
*
He pulled up to Sam’s flat after a drive made heavy from things left unsaid. Gene would have normally left straightaway. Something told him to at least make sure Tyler made it to his flat, so he followed him up. Sam had said nothing, absolutely nothing, since he was ripped off Chris. Even now, as pent up rage threatened to cause him to self-implode, Sam was silent.
He opened his door and walked inside. If he had meant to slam the door in Gene’s face it didn’t work. Gene caught the door with his gloved hand and followed him inside, closing the door quietly behind him. Tyler walked a few steps inside, tossing his keys where ever they might land, and Gene had never seen a flat in so much disarray.
Dirty clothes were strewn everywhere. Rubbish, if it was lucky enough to be in bags, was piling up in the corner. Grease coated plates stacked high in the sink. The TV set to static.
"Blimey Tyler. You’d think a girl like you’d be able to keep up with a little housekeeping." The words trickled out of Gene’s mouth before he had a chance to catch them. It was just something he normally would have said. Not to be cruel, just a friendly jab between mates.
Like a match near petrol, they sparked something in Tyler and the DI launched himself at Gene, throwing him against the wall and holding him there with a strength in his body and a fury in his eyes Gene hadn’t even realized was there. No wonder Chris was frightened.
"I am not a girl!" He screamed it with every ounce of force he possessed, then kept on going. "I am not a poof! A fairy! A queen! A...a fudge-packing, uphill gardening, fruit picking sodomite!" With another heavy push he let Gene go and backed up slowly, eyes glassy and voice cracking. "I," he pointed at himself with each exclamation, "I am a DCI! I am a...professional police officer. I can handle myself. I can take care of myself. I’m trained to take care of myself. To be in control. To be always in control. I. Am not. Weak!"
The last cry stole the last of Sam’s hard resolve. When the back of his knees hit the bed, he allowed them to bend and collapsed to the mattress, wincing and shuddering involuntarily as his backside sustained the sudden jolt. Sam sat there on the bed shuddering but not crying. Instead he was staring into space again, hosting that same hollow gaze that had been his constant companion for the last two weeks.
Gene couldn’t move from the spot where Sam had left him. Completely paralyzed by the outburst, Gene was surprised to hear himself respond, "I know."
"Then why are you ashamed of me?" Sam asked with no emotion but still the words hit like a knife to the gut.
"What?" Gene still couldn’t move.
"Ever since the..." Sam couldn’t say the word. "You’ve been avoiding me. You barely look at me let alone speak to me. Ray’s been the same. Chris. And Annie..." Sam shook his head. "You’re all ashamed of me."
Gene swallowed hard but it didn’t ease his dry throat. "Why? Why would we--"
"Because I let it happen!" He screamed and this time the tears were there.
The words Gene had been thinking in his head, used to cast away his own guilt, now sounded so utterly ridiculous when spoken by the victim. The victim. That’s what Sam was. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Not anything to deserve what he had received.
Gene had to sit down. Nothing with Tyler could ever be simple, could it? Always pushing. Always twisting. Always turning everything in on itself until it was all one jumbled mess, wound up so tight even Sam himself couldn’t unravel it.
"No you didn’t. I did," Gene admitted. And I enjoyed it, he thought to himself and immediately felt like he was going to be sick.
"You were chained up," Sam shook his head. "There’s no way--"
"I’m your DCI! I’m in charge. I’m supposed to look out for my men." Not sit back and watch while they get buggered and get off on it. He scrambled in his pockets for a cigarette though he knew even nicotine wouldn’t be able to calm him now. "The others’ve been avoidin’ yeh cos you’ve been stormin’ round the station like a lion hopped up on smack ever since you came back. They’re afraid to set you off. They’re not ashamed of yeh." No, the nicotine was not helping but at least it was giving him something to do.
"I am," he whispered.
"Because you couldn’t stop it?"
"Because I...became aroused," Sam closed his eyes as he spoke the words. Trust Tyler to put it delicately. "I’m not gay," he whispered. "I’ve never...and I didn’t want but..."
Gene wished anyone else could be having this conversation with Sam but no one else would be. This would stay between Sheriff and Deputy, as much as the Sheriff would rather throw himself out the window then sit and listen and discuss it because Sam was speaking the exact thoughts Gene himself had been feeling since it happened and Gene did not want to go there. He did not want to delve that deep into himself but he was Sam’s DCI and if the lad was going to throw himself down the dark hole of introspection dammit if Gene didn’t have to follow him down, if only to bring him back out.
"In...Hyde, I’d only ever seen two cases of adult male...rape." The word hung in the air, the unseen ghost between them suddenly visible.
"One, the victim was already unconscious while being assaulted by the other man. The other...it was a woman who..."
"Was the perpetrator?" Gene asked in disbelief. He had never heard of anything like that. What kind of bleeding place was Hyde anyhow?
Sam nodded. "I couldn’t understand it myself, at first. I...the doctors explained it. The science made sense. How the body can respond to certain triggers even if the victim was consciously resisting them..." Sam trailed off, all his earlier fight gone. "I haven’t stopped thinking about it."
"Has it made it easier?"
"No."
Gene let the silence build back up between them as he watched Sam sitting there tired, defeated. He was broken, just the way Renton said he would be, and if Gene left the conversation there, if he walked out now like he desperately wanted to, Sam would only crack further until the pieces were too small to fit back together properly. He couldn’t let that happen, not to one of his men, not even if it meant delving into places of his own self that Gene had never wanted to confront.
"Knocking Chris about isn’t goin’ to help."
"I know." Sam dropped his head in his hands. "He’ll never forgive me will he?"
"Give it time. And be really, really nice to the boy." Gene stubbed out the ciggie in a used mug by his feet. "We all need a little time, Sam."
Sam didn’t respond, just sat there hunched over, his face buried under masses of shame. It didn’t matter then how much Gene was hurting, how much pain was tearing him up inside, because one of DCI Hunt’s men was in worse shape and DCI Hunt couldn’t rest until he fixed him and whatever Gene was going through, well that would have to wait.
"Fancy summit to eat? I’m starving."
"What about the station?" Sam asked, slightly lifting his head.
"Think they can do without us for an hour or three," Hunt stood, smoothing out his coat. "C’mon. I know this great little Italian place. Garlic bread to die for."
Sam finally nodded and the faintest whisper of a smile might have passed across his face. "Sounds...sounds really good, Guv."
Hunt followed him out the door and deep inside felt a twinge as he remembered that smile which may or may not have been on Sam’s face moments before. That would all have to be ignored until Sam was better, until Sam was mended. Maybe somewhere along the way, Gene would start to heal, too.