Fic: The Kept Man (2/40), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: The Kept Man (2/40)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1685 this part; [2447 overall]
Rating: blue cortina, but will go up to brown eventually
Warnings: some sexual situations
Spoilers: 1.04
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Right you tossers, listen up! Geoff, Clive, there’s been a blag over on Oldham Road, just above Monsall. Get there and get it sorted. You two, some bird says she’s been assaulted outside the Polytechnic. Figure out what the bloody hell she’s talkin’ about.” The four officers stumbled over themselves and each other as they rushed out the door.
Gene stormed over to DC Skelton’s desk. “Chris, do you have those reports ready yet?”
Chris dropped a piece of bacon butty on his shoe. “Sorry Guv. Not quite.”
“If they’re not on Rathbone’s desk by three p.m. today, it’s my arse on the firing line, Skelton!”
“Yes Guv.” Chris nodded and quickly settled himself at his desk, pulling out a pen and beginning to hurry through the papers.
“Then do summit about it! Ray!”
“Guv?” DS Carling stood dutifully to the side, chomping his gum with great purpose.
“Some dead junkie was found in Seymour Park. We’re leavin’ in five minutes.”
“Right Guv,” Ray nodded and went for his coat.
“And can someone please tell me why in the name of Raquel Welch’s knickers I’ve not gotten a new DI yet?” Hunt stomped inside his office and slam the door shut, causing the flimsy walls to shake from the effort.
“Are you goin’ to tell ‘im?” Chris whispered over to Ray.
“Tell ‘im what?” The Sergeant shrugged.
“That you put in for the job.”
“ ‘E knows,” Ray mumbled.
“Then why’s ‘e complainin’ ‘e’s not got anyone?” Chris was thoroughly confused.
“How the hell should I know?” Ray snapped as he fixed his jacket collar and disappeared out the door.
Gene watched the entire conversation from his window and shook his head as Ray ran off. Closing the blinds, he sauntered over to his desk and dropped down in his chair. They’d been fine, for a bit, after Reynolds’ departure, but Gene had been a man down for months now and the work was starting to pile up.
He couldn’t find the words to tell Ray the Super had denied his application. Despite his stunning arrest record, Frank apparently didn’t see Carling as “DI material.” In his gut, Hunt had to reluctantly admit he was right, for once. Rathbone had been considering transferring in someone from outside but it simply never happened, at least not yet. Something needed to happen soon though. If crime in his city was going to continue at the rate it was, Gene was going to need all the help he could get.
*
Sam kept his eyes closed. Warren allowed him to keep them closed for this. It made him feel like his boy was actually enjoying it, that he was lost in a moment of pleasure. Sam lost himself, to be sure, but in disassociation rather than release. It was during this, almost always during this, that the noises appeared.
A steady, whispered beeping, emanating from somewhere in the back of his mind. The harder Warren sucked him off, the stronger the beeping became, like a heart monitor. When Warren would fondle his balls, the hiss of a respirator usually joined in the symphony. Sam would let himself disappear into those sounds as he stood stock still, just as he was ordered to.
Sometimes the sounds wouldn’t come and Sam would have to find another way to lose himself. This was one of those days. As much as he pleaded for them, the only sound was of Warren’s lips and tongue against his delicate skin. He tried to relax, it would be over soon, and then he’d be allowed to do what he pleased until tonight.
He tried to let his mind drift, tried to think of happier times but he couldn’t. There was nothing but this. Nothing before. Nothing after. Still, he took a careful breath and tried to forget while he tried to remember. As teeth purposely scraped against him, causing him to wince, a woman’s image formed itself in his mind’s eye.
She was beautiful. Asian, with silky, dark hair and deep soulful eyes. She smiled at him though the smile seemed sad. She wore a pale blue, button-down blouse. A pale, blue blouse. A bloodied, pale, blue blouse.
Sam shouted and came, emptying himself into Warren as the image dissipated, like a dream. His mind certainly had an odd way of coping, he decided as he tucked himself away.
“So, pet,” Warren stood and wiped his mouth, back to business as usual. “Have you ever worked a bar before?”
Sam had no idea. “I don’t think so.”
“Seems Georgie got himself arrested for stealing and Mikey caught that flu that’s been going round. We’re short-handed tonight and I could use another pair behind the bar.” Warren sat down at his desk and began sifting through papers, not evening looking at his ward.
“I don’t know the first thing about bartending,” Sam said. “Sir,” he quickly added.
“It’s easy enough, love,” Warren replied without even looking up. “As long as you only overcharge the customers instead of undercharging them, I think you’ll be alright.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh and Samuel? Wear the new aubergine shirt I bought for you, with the black trousers.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren.”
“Good boy.”
Sam left the office and went back to his own room, curling up in the bed and squeezing his eyes shut, desperate to bring back the memory of that woman. He knew that’s what it was. A memory. It had to be. He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought, for much longer, that this was all his life ever was or all it ever would be.
*
It was dark outside, the other lads long since departed for the pub, as Gene looked over the report through a haze of smoke. That was the third junkie this month they’d found washed up somewhere and they were only halfway through April. It shouldn’t have been that important. Those skinny, drug-addled bodies were always popping up on his patch.
These three though, these three known users, hadn’t overdosed. They’d been murdered, if the coroner’s report was to be believed, and Oswald usually knew what he was talking about when it came to these things.
The first two, the amount of speed in their bodies had been obscenely high. Much too high for even the common overdose of a regular user. The bloods hadn’t come back yet on their newest druggie but all indications were that this was another one. The bruising on the body, the way it was dumped, it was all the same.
This one, though, it concerned him. This one had shown up on Warren’s patch and Warren was very careful about keeping his area drug free. It was one of the few things they could actually agree on if they ever cared to discuss the matter, which they usually didn’t it.
Gene checked his watch. Not even ten o’clock yet. The club would still be open.
*
“Right there you are, two gin and tonics,” Sam smiled at the ladies and charged them what he thought was a reasonable amount and hoped that he wouldn’t get smacked for it later. “And what can I get for you, sir?” Sam asked the newest patron, shouting over the blaring sounds of Slade.
“Haven’t seen you here before.” The man lit up a cigarette and Sam finally recognized him.
“I’m here all the time,” he shrugged.
“I know that you daft git. I mean behind the bar.” The copper rolled his eyes.
“Oh. Right. Georgie got himself nicked so I decided to help out.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was your decision,” he flicked some ash into the crystal tray.
Sam had been able to forget, briefly, what his real life was like. He’d actually enjoyed tending the bar and had been able to pretend he was just a normal barman, earning a decent living. In one, brief sentence this man had shattered that illusion. “What are you drinking?” He asked again, voice more neutral than before.
“Whisky. Make it large.”
Sam nodded and poured the drink, making sure to overcharge him. If he noticed, which he must have, he didn’t say anything.
“So, what do you normally do round here? Wash the dishes? Scrub the floors?”
Sam watched in partial astonishment as the copper threw back half the drink in one go. “Well I do spend a lot of time on my knees.” He already knew, why bother denying it?
“Must be a nice living. Warren’s a decent bloke.”
“Try saying that when he’s got his dick shoved up your arse,” Sam snapped then immediately realized what he said, nervously glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else heard him. “Sorry. I didn’t...please don’t tell him...”
“Calm down, Gladys. I ain’t goin’ to tell on yeh.”
His words failed to reassure Sam. He’d always been very careful concerning what he said about Warren, especially in public. He knew the consequences if he didn’t.
“Oi. What’s your name?” He snapped his fingers in front of Sam, and Sam realized he must have been staring into space for an indecent length of time.
“Hm? Oh, well Mr. Warren usually refers to me as ‘boy’ or ‘pet’.”
“And what do they call you when you’re at home?” He leaned on the bar.
“I am home,” he whispered and it must have been the honest despair he accidentally allowed to creep into his voice that caused the man to reach out his hand.
“Gene Hunt.”
Sam stared at the hand. No one had offered him a decent, real handshake since, well, he couldn’t remember. He accepted it and shook.
“Sam. Tyler. Sam Tyler.”
Edwards appeared at the bottom of the staircase and nodded to Mr. Hunt. Mr. Hunt acknowledged him, then quickly finished the rest of his drink.
“Sure I’ll be seeing you around Sam Tyler.”
“Likewise, Mr. Hunt.”
The copper set the empty tumbler on the bar. “It’s Gene,” he said then swept upstairs to meet Warren. Sam couldn’t help but watch him until he was out of sight before he began collecting the dirty glasses.
____
Part 3
Author: dak
Word Count: 1685 this part; [2447 overall]
Rating: blue cortina, but will go up to brown eventually
Warnings: some sexual situations
Spoilers: 1.04
Pairing: Sam/Warren, Sam/Gene (eventually)
Summary: AU. Sam woke up with amnesia when he landed in 1973, able to only remember his name, and ended up in the grasp of Stephen Warren. When he and Gene Hunt finally cross paths it starts a chain of events that will either save Sam or damn him.
A/N: From an idea from
talcat given via
culf . Please enjoy!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40
“Right you tossers, listen up! Geoff, Clive, there’s been a blag over on Oldham Road, just above Monsall. Get there and get it sorted. You two, some bird says she’s been assaulted outside the Polytechnic. Figure out what the bloody hell she’s talkin’ about.” The four officers stumbled over themselves and each other as they rushed out the door.
Gene stormed over to DC Skelton’s desk. “Chris, do you have those reports ready yet?”
Chris dropped a piece of bacon butty on his shoe. “Sorry Guv. Not quite.”
“If they’re not on Rathbone’s desk by three p.m. today, it’s my arse on the firing line, Skelton!”
“Yes Guv.” Chris nodded and quickly settled himself at his desk, pulling out a pen and beginning to hurry through the papers.
“Then do summit about it! Ray!”
“Guv?” DS Carling stood dutifully to the side, chomping his gum with great purpose.
“Some dead junkie was found in Seymour Park. We’re leavin’ in five minutes.”
“Right Guv,” Ray nodded and went for his coat.
“And can someone please tell me why in the name of Raquel Welch’s knickers I’ve not gotten a new DI yet?” Hunt stomped inside his office and slam the door shut, causing the flimsy walls to shake from the effort.
“Are you goin’ to tell ‘im?” Chris whispered over to Ray.
“Tell ‘im what?” The Sergeant shrugged.
“That you put in for the job.”
“ ‘E knows,” Ray mumbled.
“Then why’s ‘e complainin’ ‘e’s not got anyone?” Chris was thoroughly confused.
“How the hell should I know?” Ray snapped as he fixed his jacket collar and disappeared out the door.
Gene watched the entire conversation from his window and shook his head as Ray ran off. Closing the blinds, he sauntered over to his desk and dropped down in his chair. They’d been fine, for a bit, after Reynolds’ departure, but Gene had been a man down for months now and the work was starting to pile up.
He couldn’t find the words to tell Ray the Super had denied his application. Despite his stunning arrest record, Frank apparently didn’t see Carling as “DI material.” In his gut, Hunt had to reluctantly admit he was right, for once. Rathbone had been considering transferring in someone from outside but it simply never happened, at least not yet. Something needed to happen soon though. If crime in his city was going to continue at the rate it was, Gene was going to need all the help he could get.
*
Sam kept his eyes closed. Warren allowed him to keep them closed for this. It made him feel like his boy was actually enjoying it, that he was lost in a moment of pleasure. Sam lost himself, to be sure, but in disassociation rather than release. It was during this, almost always during this, that the noises appeared.
A steady, whispered beeping, emanating from somewhere in the back of his mind. The harder Warren sucked him off, the stronger the beeping became, like a heart monitor. When Warren would fondle his balls, the hiss of a respirator usually joined in the symphony. Sam would let himself disappear into those sounds as he stood stock still, just as he was ordered to.
Sometimes the sounds wouldn’t come and Sam would have to find another way to lose himself. This was one of those days. As much as he pleaded for them, the only sound was of Warren’s lips and tongue against his delicate skin. He tried to relax, it would be over soon, and then he’d be allowed to do what he pleased until tonight.
He tried to let his mind drift, tried to think of happier times but he couldn’t. There was nothing but this. Nothing before. Nothing after. Still, he took a careful breath and tried to forget while he tried to remember. As teeth purposely scraped against him, causing him to wince, a woman’s image formed itself in his mind’s eye.
She was beautiful. Asian, with silky, dark hair and deep soulful eyes. She smiled at him though the smile seemed sad. She wore a pale blue, button-down blouse. A pale, blue blouse. A bloodied, pale, blue blouse.
Sam shouted and came, emptying himself into Warren as the image dissipated, like a dream. His mind certainly had an odd way of coping, he decided as he tucked himself away.
“So, pet,” Warren stood and wiped his mouth, back to business as usual. “Have you ever worked a bar before?”
Sam had no idea. “I don’t think so.”
“Seems Georgie got himself arrested for stealing and Mikey caught that flu that’s been going round. We’re short-handed tonight and I could use another pair behind the bar.” Warren sat down at his desk and began sifting through papers, not evening looking at his ward.
“I don’t know the first thing about bartending,” Sam said. “Sir,” he quickly added.
“It’s easy enough, love,” Warren replied without even looking up. “As long as you only overcharge the customers instead of undercharging them, I think you’ll be alright.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam nodded and turned to leave.
“Oh and Samuel? Wear the new aubergine shirt I bought for you, with the black trousers.”
“Yes, Mr. Warren.”
“Good boy.”
Sam left the office and went back to his own room, curling up in the bed and squeezing his eyes shut, desperate to bring back the memory of that woman. He knew that’s what it was. A memory. It had to be. He wouldn’t be able to bear the thought, for much longer, that this was all his life ever was or all it ever would be.
*
It was dark outside, the other lads long since departed for the pub, as Gene looked over the report through a haze of smoke. That was the third junkie this month they’d found washed up somewhere and they were only halfway through April. It shouldn’t have been that important. Those skinny, drug-addled bodies were always popping up on his patch.
These three though, these three known users, hadn’t overdosed. They’d been murdered, if the coroner’s report was to be believed, and Oswald usually knew what he was talking about when it came to these things.
The first two, the amount of speed in their bodies had been obscenely high. Much too high for even the common overdose of a regular user. The bloods hadn’t come back yet on their newest druggie but all indications were that this was another one. The bruising on the body, the way it was dumped, it was all the same.
This one, though, it concerned him. This one had shown up on Warren’s patch and Warren was very careful about keeping his area drug free. It was one of the few things they could actually agree on if they ever cared to discuss the matter, which they usually didn’t it.
Gene checked his watch. Not even ten o’clock yet. The club would still be open.
*
“Right there you are, two gin and tonics,” Sam smiled at the ladies and charged them what he thought was a reasonable amount and hoped that he wouldn’t get smacked for it later. “And what can I get for you, sir?” Sam asked the newest patron, shouting over the blaring sounds of Slade.
“Haven’t seen you here before.” The man lit up a cigarette and Sam finally recognized him.
“I’m here all the time,” he shrugged.
“I know that you daft git. I mean behind the bar.” The copper rolled his eyes.
“Oh. Right. Georgie got himself nicked so I decided to help out.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was your decision,” he flicked some ash into the crystal tray.
Sam had been able to forget, briefly, what his real life was like. He’d actually enjoyed tending the bar and had been able to pretend he was just a normal barman, earning a decent living. In one, brief sentence this man had shattered that illusion. “What are you drinking?” He asked again, voice more neutral than before.
“Whisky. Make it large.”
Sam nodded and poured the drink, making sure to overcharge him. If he noticed, which he must have, he didn’t say anything.
“So, what do you normally do round here? Wash the dishes? Scrub the floors?”
Sam watched in partial astonishment as the copper threw back half the drink in one go. “Well I do spend a lot of time on my knees.” He already knew, why bother denying it?
“Must be a nice living. Warren’s a decent bloke.”
“Try saying that when he’s got his dick shoved up your arse,” Sam snapped then immediately realized what he said, nervously glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone else heard him. “Sorry. I didn’t...please don’t tell him...”
“Calm down, Gladys. I ain’t goin’ to tell on yeh.”
His words failed to reassure Sam. He’d always been very careful concerning what he said about Warren, especially in public. He knew the consequences if he didn’t.
“Oi. What’s your name?” He snapped his fingers in front of Sam, and Sam realized he must have been staring into space for an indecent length of time.
“Hm? Oh, well Mr. Warren usually refers to me as ‘boy’ or ‘pet’.”
“And what do they call you when you’re at home?” He leaned on the bar.
“I am home,” he whispered and it must have been the honest despair he accidentally allowed to creep into his voice that caused the man to reach out his hand.
“Gene Hunt.”
Sam stared at the hand. No one had offered him a decent, real handshake since, well, he couldn’t remember. He accepted it and shook.
“Sam. Tyler. Sam Tyler.”
Edwards appeared at the bottom of the staircase and nodded to Mr. Hunt. Mr. Hunt acknowledged him, then quickly finished the rest of his drink.
“Sure I’ll be seeing you around Sam Tyler.”
“Likewise, Mr. Hunt.”
The copper set the empty tumbler on the bar. “It’s Gene,” he said then swept upstairs to meet Warren. Sam couldn’t help but watch him until he was out of sight before he began collecting the dirty glasses.
____
Part 3