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Fic: A Perfect Saturday Night (LoM)

Posted on 2008.07.08 at 02:58
Current Mood: sleepysleepy
Tags: , , ,
You'd think I'd learn not to leave things to the last minute, but I never ever do! This is a Challenge Fic for rounds_of_kink, due 7th July so I'm shamelessly borrowing a random US timezone. Prompt was - hurt/comfort, "You're just trying to get your poof hands on me".

Words:4091
Rating: Beige Cortina. No hang on, whatever you get between blue and brown.
Pairing: Sam/Gene - light slash.


Sam sighed as he gazed round the dusty cluttered store room, checking instinctively for escape routes even though in his current predicament he was in no position to use one. Even if the door had been standing wide open with a neon sign glaring ‘Exit This Way’, the fact that he was handcuffed securely to the heating pipes – with his own handcuffs, just to put the cap on it – would have served as a pretty insurmountable restriction. He shifted his weight, trying without success to get more comfortable, his attention drawn back to the immobile figure slumped on the floor nearby.

This was his main area of concern right now, actually. Gene hadn’t moved at all since the crack to the back of the head which had laid him out cold, shortly before they had both been dumped in this makeshift prison. Mind you, Hunt had nobody to blame but himself, a fact which Sam had every intention of making abundantly clear at the first opportunity. Assuming such an opportunity should arise – right now it wasn’t looking too good.

Funny how quickly things could change. Two hours ago, he’d been bored senseless, mildly hung over, flicking desultorily through old case files for no other reason than to set a good example to the rest of the squad, who seemed to be under the impression that the best use of a quiet morning was chain-smoking and sharing unlikely tales of female conquests they had known. Then Gene had flung the office door open, striding through to pause framed by the doorway, tie askew, stubble darkening his chin. Sam suppressed an involuntary shiver as he awaited whatever grand pronouncement the Guv had in store.

“Tyler.” Gene’s voice was gravelly, his tone curt. “With me.”

Sam glanced pointedly at the files he was pretending to read. “Look, Guv, I’m a bit busy…”

“Bloody hell, Tyler, is there something in the Hyde Handbook that says you have to argue the toss about every single little thing I say? Just for once, button it and get your arse in gear. Do the world a favour.”

Sam rolled his eyes ostentatiously, hiding the inner smirk. Pulling his jacket off the back of his chair, he hoisted it over one shoulder, striding to catch up with Gene who had headed for the door without a backward glance.

Settled in the Cortina, Sam had fastened his belt and gripped onto the door as Gene pulled off a spectacular piece of reversing that left rubber smoking in their wake.

“So, is there any chance that you’re about to clue me in on where we’re off to? Please tell me it’s not the Arms.”

Gene bestowed a flash of teeth and a raised eyebrow briefly in Sam’s direction, before concentrating on swerving to avoid a mother with a pram who had had the temerity to step onto the zebra crossing at the wrong moment.

“Now there’s a thought,” he said. “Tragically, we’ve not got time for that right now. Just got a call from a snout, tells me there’s a load of dodgy electrical stuff stashed in a warehouse near the canal. Says it’s going to be shipped out later today, so we need to go and suss it out now. Is that enough information for you, or do I need to write a memo first?”

“Chance’d be a fine thing,” Sam muttered not quite under his breath, earning the expected glare for his trouble. “So, do you not think back-up might be a plan?”

“Nope. I’m not turning out the squad till I’m sure this gear is where my bloke says it is.”

“Does anyone know where we are?”

Gene sighed, exasperated. “Ray was there when I got the call. That good enough for you, or do you want me to stop off so you can phone your mum?”

Sam subsided into an offended silence, which lasted until they pulled up outside the warehouse. The area was grim and deserted, a fine mist of drizzle coating them as they cautiously approached the door. Sam pressed his ear against the damp wood.

“Guv?” he whispered, turning. “I can hear something moving in there.”

Gene moved in, pressing against Sam as he strained to listen. There was a pause, Gene concentrating, Sam trying not to think about the warmth radiating from the DCI.

“Can’t hear anything. Probably a rat.”

“A rat?”

“Yeah. You know. Small furry bastards, sharp teeth. Grow to the size of cats round here.”

“That one’d have to be the size of a bloody elephant to be making that much racket.”

“God, Tyler, you’re never happy unless you’re fussing, are you?” Gene took a couple of steps away from the door, bracing himself as he glared at Sam. “Now, I’m going through there and you’re coming with me. So get your nancy arse out of my way before I use it as a battering ram. And if you like your teeth the way they are, don’t you dare use the word warrant.”

Sam briefly considered standing his ground, decided against it as he saw Gene squaring up for a charge. He side-stepped just in time, Gene’s shoulder slamming into the door with enough force to splinter the rotting frame and burst the lock. Sam took a deep breath, meeting Gene’s smug grin with a scowl.

He was a few steps behind as Gene entered the crepuscular interior of the warehouse, too far away to see what happened next. He heard it clearly enough, though – a scuffling, a sickening crack, followed by a grunt and a heavy thud as his DCI presumably hit the deck. Sam, all rational thought processes temporarily suspended, let out an inarticulate yell and hurtled through the doorway, casting frantically around for a glimpse of his DCI.

“Don’t move, copper.”

Sam froze, blinking as his eyes struggled to accustom themselves to the gloom. Two hazy shadows gradually coalesced into the form of a couple of rough-looking men, one standing over Gene’s motionless body, a length of wood dangling from one hand. The other – the one who had spoken – was a couple of yards away, and had both hands wrapped around a sawn-off shotgun, the twin barrels gaping evilly towards Sam’s head.

With infinite caution, eyes locked on the face of his captor rather than have to face down the cavernous shotgun barrels, Sam moved his arms away from his body, palms open and outwards in a gesture he hoped would be recognised as placatory. The man gazed implacably back, and Sam decided to risk movement, taking a slow step towards Gene. The shotgun lifted slightly.

“I said, don’t move. You deaf?”

Sam cleared his throat. “But it’s…he’s hurt.”

“Yeah. He is. Like you’ll be if you don’t do what you’re told. Serves you right for going round sticking your bastard noses in other people’s business.”

“I’m a police officer,” San responded stiffly. “It’s my job to stick my bastard nose into criminal activities.”

The man took a menacing step forward. “You always this lippy? Cos I’m warning you, mouthy coppers make my trigger finger itchy.”

Sam grimaced. Great – just his luck to get caught by some idiot wannabe gangster. He took a breath. “Sorry. Is it OK if I take a look at my colleague? Please?”

The simple request appeared to require deep thought, and there were a few moments of charged silence before the other man spoke up for the first time, his voice soft and purposeful, causing Sam’s skin to prickle. This was clearly the one in charge, and definitely more dangerous than his companion.

“Might as well. We can’t leave them here, anyway. We’ll have to get rid of them.”

Gangster Boy looked alarmingly pleased at the prospect. “Righto, boss. Shall I do it now?”

Boss stared at him. “What are you on about? We’re not going to kill them, you muppet. This gear’ll be picked up in a couple of hours, and by tonight we’ll be nowhere near here. We just need them out of the way till it’s done.”

He turned his attention to Sam. “Get over here, then. Have a good look at your mate. Then you can help me shift him.”

“Thanks.” Trying to avoid looking at the gun, not to mention the disappointed face on the other end of it, Sam edged across to Gene, crouching down to take a proper look. What he saw reassured and worried him in roughly equal measure. The Guv was out for the count, completely unresponsive. His pulse and breathing were strong enough, if slightly rapid, but his skin was disturbingly clammy, and there was a wickedly deep gash on the back of his head, through which rich dark blood oozed to pool beside him on the dusty concrete.

Sam looked up. “He’s unconscious, and it looks like he’s in shock. And I wouldn’t bet against a fractured skull. He needs medical attention soon or he could slip into a full-on coma.” The irony made him wince. “You need to let us go. Unless you want the death of a police officer on your hands.”

Boss half-smiled with a nonchalance that chilled Sam’s blood. “I’ll take my chances. Right, grab his legs. Dodge, keep this one covered. Shoot him if he tries anything.”

Sam moved round to lift Gene’s legs as Boss took the top end, and together they hefted him to the back of the warehouse, Dodge following with a gleam in his eye that spoke volumes. Boss gestured with his head towards a solid-looking door in the back wall, and they awkwardly manoeuvred through into the store room beyond.

“Right, that’ll do,” Boss said, dropping his cargo without preamble. Sam gently put down Gene’s legs, taking a moment to roll him onto his side before stepping away. Boss followed him in.

“Cuffs,” he said curtly.

“What?” Sam’s tone was glacial. Boss was unperturbed.

“You’re a copper. You’ve got handcuffs, yeah? Hand them over, and sit down there.”

Wordlessly, Sam dug his cuffs out of his jacket pocket, passing them across before moving away to sit against the wall, back propped against a solid metal pipe. He glanced towards the door as Boss was securing him, but Dodge and his shotgun had the exit more than adequately covered.

Boss made as if to get up, but suddenly turned back and leant in, so close that Sam could smell the stale tang of cigarette smoke on his breath.

“Oh, just one thing.” His tone was light and conversational, and Sam swallowed, anticipating trouble. “How did you know to come here today? If someone’s been grassing me up, I want to know about it.”

Sam took refuge in professional coolness. “I’m sorry, that information is strictly confidential.”

The other man regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then drew his hand back with deliberation, delivering a powerful open-handed slap to Sam’s face that made his ears ring. The backhand was worse.

“Try again,” Boss snarled. “Who’s the grass?”

“I don’t know. Honestly,” he added quickly as Boss pulled his hand back again. “The information came to my Guv. He’s the one who knows the source. And…” Sam realised sarcasm was probably unwise at this juncture, but couldn’t resist a dig, “…thanks to you, he’s not in a position to answer questions, is he?”

The hand, fist clenched now, flashed towards his face again. Sam tensed, preparing to ride the blow as best he could, eyes widening as Boss pulled the punch at the last possible second, delivering the lightest of slaps to his cheek before standing up to look over him.

“Fair enough,” he said dismissively. “Doesn’t matter anyway. Only a handful of people were in on this. Won’t take me long to get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, can’t stand around here all day. Things to do.”

And that was that. The two men left the room, Sam heard the metallic rasp of a bolt being slid into place, the dry click of a key, and then nothing. For an hour now, nothing at all. Nothing to do but sit and watch Gene, willing him to wake up, to show some signs of life.

And, to be fair, things had started to look up. The clammy pallor had faded as some much-needed colour had gradually returned to Gene’s cheeks. His breathing had evened out, and he looked altogether healthier, although he had not stirred an inch so far. At least…

Sam suddenly realised what had drawn his attention back to Gene. He stared intently, his whole being riveted to the still form on the floor. Yes – there. A twitch, nothing more, but definitely a start. And another.

“Gene!” At first Sam was hissing, keen not to arouse the suspicions of anyone who might be close by on the other side of the door. “Gene. Guv!” The volume increased along with his desperation. “Guv. Guv, can you hear me? Gene, come on!”

Little by little, the signs of life became more definite. A jerk, a sort of hoarse moan. Long periods of nothing in between, becoming progressively shorter, so gradually that Sam would have been pulling at his hair in frustration if his hands weren’t safely out of harm’s way behind his back. “Come on, Gene. For fuck’s sake. Wake up!”

Minutes ticked by, excruciatingly slowly, and Sam continued to hurl words of frantic encouragement. After an eternity, Gene began to mumble incoherently, then to make clumsy efforts to push himself up. As he collapsed back onto the concrete, Sam at last, and with an overwhelming surge of relief, saw blue eyes flicker open for a few crucial seconds, saw the clarity of awareness in them, before they fell closed again.

“GENE! Come on, Guv, you can do it. Wake up now.”

“Shut up.” Little more than a mumble, but it was the most powerfully welcome sound that Sam could ever remember hearing. He waited with more patience, as Gene, ponderously and with a fair amount of groaning, pushed himself into something resembling a sitting position.

“How’re you doing?” Sam asked, when he finally judged the Guv capable of forming a coherent response.

“Shit, thanks for asking. Feel like I’ve gone twelve rounds with Big ‘Enry.” He looked round him, wincing and clasping a shaking hand to his head as the movement set off what Sam guessed would be the headache from hell. “Nice place you’ve got yourself.”

“Yeah. I’ve become quite attached to it.” Sam rattled the handcuffs as emphasis of his point. Gene groaned.

“Oh bloody marvellous. Locked in a poky little room with a comedian. My world is now complete.” Gene glared at Sam as sternly as his still semi-focused vision would allow. “If you’ve got nothing more useful to say than that, Gladys, keep it buttoned.”

Sam met the glare head-on. “Right. Oh – does ‘I’ve got the handcuff keys in my pocket’ count as a useful thing? Or should I just keep quiet about that?”

“Well, why didn’t you say so in the bloody first place? Hang on a mo.”

He tried to push himself to his feet, and Sam watched with mounting alarm as the blood drained from Gene’s face, leaving him paper white and shockingly frail-looking.

“Hang on, Guv. Just – take it slowly, yeah? Sit down a minute.” Redundant advice, as it went. Gene half-sat, half-lay stretched out on the floor, taking deep gulping breaths as he tried valiantly not to be sick. Sam forced himself to stay calm, closing his eyes and listening intently for any sign of movement beyond the door. Nothing – so far.

“Right then.” Gene broke into the tense silence after a few more precious minutes had passed. Sam opened his eyes, relieved at the sight that met him. Definite improvement there. Once again, Gene took on the arduous climb up from the floor, swaying slightly as he stood up but looking altogether steadier.

“Good,” he said, moving over to sit by Sam. “Right, these keys. Which pocket?” His hands moved to search through Sam’s jacket.

Ah. “Not in there, Guv. Jeans – right hand side.”

Gene’s eyes narrowed as he contemplated the snug-fitting jeans. “Hmm,” was his only response. Sam, expecting something considerably more caustic, was rather taken aback. Perhaps Gene hadn’t recovered as much as he had thought.

His concern was driven from his mind as Gene’s hand dipped below the leather jacket to slide deep into the pocket of his jeans. Through the thin cotton lining he could feel questing fingers trying to prise out the key, which had inevitably retreated to the furthest corner it could find. His body’s response was immediate, utterly inappropriate, and horribly apparent. Gene’s hand stilled instantly, his eyes meeting Sam’s with a gleam of mischief edged with – something. Sam couldn’t place it, and right now he was too busy trying to get himself under control to indulge in mind-reading.

“Tricky little buggers, these keys.” Gene drawled the words, his hand tracking slowly further into the pocket, grazing so lightly against Sam’s ever-hardening cock that there was no way of telling if it was deliberate or accidental. “Must be in here somewhere.” Sam realised he had stopped breathing at some point. He swallowed, widened eyes locked on Gene as he continued his search. Finally, with a reluctance that was probably just a product of Sam’s by now pretty feverish imagination, the hand withdrew, and Gene held up the small key with a triumphant smile that could have meant just about anything.

“Here we go. Lean forward, then, Tyler. Let the dog see the rabbit.”

Sam bent forwards, pulling the cuffs as far to the side as he could. Gene made quick work of the lock, and within moments Sam was standing up, rubbing his wrists and flexing his fingers to ease the pins and needles which had set in.

“About bloody time too,” Gene said briskly. “Okey-doke, to business. How the hell are we going to get out of this dump in one piece?” He strode over to the door with a purposefulness that didn’t quite hide the slight falter. Sam matched his brisk tone.

“We’re not. Not till I’ve had a chance to check you over. Come over here and sit down for a minute.”

“Are you fussing again, Dorothy? I thought I’d warned you about that.”

“I’m serious, Guv. You’ve had a vicious blow to the head, you’ve lost a fair bit of blood, you’ve got all the symptoms of a pretty hefty concussion. I’m not taking on the Great Escape with you until I’m satisfied that you’re not going to pass out or die.
Now come here.”

Gene fixed him with such a furious glare that Sam instinctively braced himself for an explosion. It never came. Instead, after a few seconds the anger was replaced by resigned exasperation, and with nothing more belligerent that an unintelligible grumble Gene moved over to settle himself on the floor.

Sam, feeling strongly that nothing he said would actually be helpful, opted for silence, kneeling on the hard floor at Gene’s side and taking hold of his wrist, fingers expertly seeking out the pulse point there. “OK, good,” he said after a second, his own pulse rather faster than he would have liked as he counted along with the rhythm of Gene’s heart. “Now, let’s see your eyes.”

Obediently Gene turned his face towards Sam, their eyes locking as Sam tried to concentrate on checking the pupils. Gene raised his eyebrows.

“This is just an excuse to get your poof hands on my irresistible body, isn’t it, Sammy-boy?”

You could say what you liked about DCI Hunt’s methods of policing, he was an expert at interrogation. Sam laughed off the comment, but the slight tightening of the fingers against Gene’s wrist, the uncontrollable widening of his own pupils, told their own damning story. He looked away hurriedly.

“Yeah, Guv. How did you guess? I set this whole thing up, got you here, arranged for you to be half-killed by some maniac with a club, just so I could run my hands all over your beautiful curves.” Realising he was still gripping Gene’s wrist, Sam withdrew his hand. “Okay. I think you’re going to live. For the time being, anyway.”

“Well thank you Florence Nightingale. How long was I out for, anyway?”

Sam thought about it. “I don’t know, maybe two hours. Bit less.”

“Did I miss anything good?”

Sam grinned at him. “Oh, you know. Guns, handcuffs, a bit of gratuitous violence. The usual.”

“Hmm.” Gene stood up, bending over the still-kneeling Sam to speak softly into his ear. “Sounds like the perfect Saturday night to me.” He moved to the door, leaving Sam gaping after him. “Now, like I said. How are…shhh!”

The playful glint left his eyes as he held up a hand, pressing his ear close to the door. Sam was immediately at his side, and the two strained to listen. The voices were instantly recognisable.

“That’s them.” He kept his voice low, leaning in close to Gene. “There’s a kid who might be called Dodge – that’s him now. The other one’s in charge. I didn’t catch his name. Wait, hang on…”

The voices outside the door grew louder, calling to each other across the warehouse, the sound accompanied by scrapes and thuds. Moments later, more voices joined the first two.

“Must’ve come to collect the gear,” Sam hissed. “You realise we could have had the lot of them if you’d set this up properly rather than gone charging in.”

“Thank you for sharing, Inspector Tyler. And you being a sanctimonious little prick is helping how exactly?”

“I’m not…”

The incipient quarrel was cut off in its prime by the sudden, incredible overlay of new voices, one in particular they would both have recognised in their sleep.

“Armed police! You’re surrounded. Put your hands up and come out where we can see you.”

“Bloody hell, that’s Ray!” Sam’s exclamation was pure astonishment. Gene could barely contain his glee, openly smirking.

“There you are, Tyler. Told you I’d sorted back-up, didn’t I? You should have a bit more faith in our Raymondo. Let this be a lesson to you.” He forestalled any response, turning away to hammer on the door as the shouts began to indicate that the forces of law and order had got control of the situation. “Oi! Someone come and unlock this bloody door!”

Ten minutes later, the six members of the gang were arranged neatly along one wall, cuffed and awaiting transport. Gene had been all for having a go at the one who had seen fit to open his head for him, and Sam had prepared himself to drag him off. In the event, Gene took one look, spat out, “Eddie bloody Mason. Might have guessed,” in disgusted tones and stalked off. The name meant nothing to Sam, and Chris and Ray seemed equally perplexed.

Sam had one more thing to take care of. “Okay, Guv,” he said with what he hoped was don’t-mess-with-me conviction. “At the risk of fussing, you need to be checked over by a doctor. At the hospital. I can keep an eye on things here – it’s pretty much all sorted anyway.”

Gene agreed rather more easily than Sam was expecting, although in fairness his head must have been splitting by this point so presumably his resistance was down. “Fair enough. I’ll get the plonk to run me down there.”

“I hope you don’t mean Annie. She’s a DC, not a plonk.”

Gene rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask Detective Constable Cartwright if she could possibly drag herself away from her knitting long enough to give me a lift to the hospital. Better?”

Sam smiled benevolently – having got his way so easily, he could afford to offer a bit of leeway. “Perfect, Guv. You are now the epitome of political correctness. They should give you a prize.”

Gene’s answering smile was more a baring of teeth. He turned away, took a few steps towards where Annie was checking the stolen goods with one of the uniformed officers. Stopped, turned back.

“Nearly forgot. Just one thing.” He closed in on Sam, their bodies brushing into a fleeting, fit-for-public-view contact that nevertheless sent a tremor through Sam as Gene spoke softly.

“I’d keep Saturday night free if I were you, Tyler. I think we have plans.”

He turned again, walking over to talk to Annie. Sam, regaining the power of movement several seconds later, took a deep calming breath, adjusted his jacket to preserve his modesty and set off on suddenly slightly unsteady legs to join the others.

Comments:


GRITS in Misery
gritsinmisery at 2008-07-08 02:39 (UTC) (Link)
Ooh. Ooh. Me likey those kinda plans, Guv.

This was so well done. Good plot, good interaction, nice bit o' foreplay.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 08:46 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! Glad you enjoyed - and also you've helped me classify this. I couldn't decide whether it was pre-slash or slash, but it's neither - it's foreplay!fic! Yay! :D
Strike while the irony is hot
draycevixen at 2008-07-08 03:25 (UTC) (Link)

“I’m a police officer,” San responded stiffly. “It’s my job to stick my bastard nose into criminal activities.” Ah, that's our Sam!

Loved the hands in the pocket bit and Sam's description of events and Gene calling it a perfect Saturday night.

Thanks! D
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 08:51 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you - and thanks for the advice, which gave me the push I needed to get the damn thing finished (still not sure how h/c it is, but it'll have to do, cos that's how the story went.)
severinne at 2008-07-08 04:35 (UTC) (Link)
Oh, wow, but this is such a great read, with so much great banter and business-as-usual wrapped around such a deliciously promising bit of foreplay. Gene's a better person than I am for having actually unlocked those cuffs, though I guess the concussion's to blame for that lack of judgement :)
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 08:57 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you!

I guess the concussion's to blame for that lack of judgement :)
Yes, unfortunately. I was hoping they'd follow through on it, but I'd given Gene such a pasting that I couldn't realistically see him being in a fit state for teh secksing. I've decided that The World's Best Hangover Cure stands pretty well as a sequel (guns, handcuffs, gratuitous violence - all boxes ticked! :D
severinne at 2008-07-08 14:25 (UTC) (Link)
Works for me! The World's Best Hangover Cure is jaw-droppingly hot, loved it to pieces.

In fact, think I'll scurry off to re-read it now... for continuity, you understand... *cough*
Alex
dragonlit at 2008-07-08 05:09 (UTC) (Link)
I really enjoyed this. Great dialogue and banter between Sam and Gene and all sorts of hot, the hand in pocket and the reaction. Yes, foreplay is definitely the word for it and you ended it perfectly with the promise of more. And oh dear, the picture of Sam in handcuffs. Like that very much. Well done!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 09:02 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks! :D Sam in handcuffs is my most favouritest kink (and I have a fair few! XD) Glad you enjoyed this.
Loz
lozenger8 at 2008-07-08 08:12 (UTC) (Link)
I am eternally amused that you have decided your Gene has blue eyes.

But mostly I am amused because you write awesome, awesome blokey Sam/Gene slash with great banter. You nail their interactions, every time, and fill me with glee. I will never tire of reading it.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 09:06 (UTC) (Link)
*headdesk* I really have, haven't I? The odd thing is, when someone (DG, maybe, or possibly Wicca) pointed out that Gene's eyes were green, I was totally convinced. I even wrote a mini!semi!meta!fic conceding the point. The're green. I know that. But in my fic they are remaining determinedly blue.

Glad you enjoyed the banter, and that you felt it sounded right - I found it a bit harder than usual this time. Too much watching Who and not enough LoM. Ah well, time for another marathon. Oh the hardship! :D
GRITS in Misery
gritsinmisery at 2008-07-08 15:00 (UTC) (Link)
Don't fash y'self about the eyes. I bloody well know Phil says they're green. but they look blue to me, too.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 16:27 (UTC) (Link)
They do, don't they? :D Have to admit, though, it's more dippiness than any kind of conviction. I find myself in the middle of rambling thought processes - "Now, did we used to think they were green and then decide they were blue, or was it the other way round?" - and then just randomly put whichever feels best at the time!
dorsetgirl
dorsetgirl at 2008-07-28 14:35 (UTC) (Link)
They were the most amazing hypnotic silver-grey when I fell into them at the HMV signing recently. However, even amongst those of us who were there - staring into those eyes at the same time in the same place - there are differing opinions on the matter.
dorsetgirl
dorsetgirl at 2008-07-28 14:37 (UTC) (Link)
Love the fic, by the way, if I haven't already said so elsewhere!
Mrs Tufty
fawsley at 2008-07-08 08:15 (UTC) (Link)
Gene bestowed a flash of teeth and a raised eyebrow briefly in Sam’s direction

And because it's the sort of image that makes the girly bits of me go even girlier, that's when I made a rather loud squeeey noise in the privacy of an empty office over a choccy muffin, only to find my Senior Manager peering around the door to ask if I was all right.

Very much all right, thanks to you missus! Bantering boys, Sam in handcuffs, Gene's hand down Sam's trousers, eyes meeting eyes and saying so much, promises promises for next Saturday night. I'm sure those cuffs will be coming into play again soon! Fabby fun - thank you so much!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 13:37 (UTC) (Link)
Hee! I hope you explained what the squeeing was all about - I'd have liked to hear thatconversation!

Glad you enjoyed it! I've no doubt the handcuffs will feature again at some point. :D
vic
saintvic at 2008-07-08 08:47 (UTC) (Link)
Oh yes loved that. Great dialogue and spot on interaction *cough* between the boys. Also love the mix of humour and serious something I adore in the show itself and shows through here brilliantly. I was going to point to some of my fav bits but I realised I was listing pretty much everything! Anyway I'll just be sitting here at work imagining Sam handcuffed again on the promised Saturday night.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 13:40 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! :D

love the mix of humour and serious something I adore in the show itself

Me too! And I'm delighted you enjoyed this aspect - it's something I try whenever I can to incorportate into LoM fic. (It's also why I seldom write angst - whenever these two are together, they're inclined to start bickering! :D)
keep calm and carry on
nebula99 at 2008-07-08 08:53 (UTC) (Link)
This was great - I loved the banter and the sparks of tension.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 13:41 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks for commenting! I'm really pleased you enjoyed it. :D
kiwisue
kiwisue at 2008-07-08 10:41 (UTC) (Link)
Mmmm... very, very nice. And kinky enough with the handcuffs and being hit on the head. Although I hope you don't mind if this was my favourite exchange:

“I hope you don’t mean Annie. She’s a DC, not a plonk.”

Gene rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll ask Detective Constable Cartwright if she could possibly drag herself away from her knitting long enough to give me a lift to the hospital. Better?”


Ah, Gene. *socks 'im where the eyebrows meet*

BTW, how the hell does this comm work?
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 13:47 (UTC) (Link)
Of course I don't mind! :D I'm just thrilled people have a favourite bit. (And I was quite pleased with that little exchange myself).

Which comm - you mean lifein1973? Or the rounds_of_kink one? If it's the first, I'm not sure what your issue is but I'm more than happy to explain any problems. The second, I'm as much in the dark as anyone else!
kiwisue
kiwisue at 2008-07-08 13:52 (UTC) (Link)
Oh, li73 is fine - I just couldn't figure out how the rounds_of_kink works - what fandoms are included.
Strike while the irony is hot
draycevixen at 2008-07-08 13:59 (UTC) (Link)

Excuse me for interrupting, but my understanding is that there aren't "set" fandoms it's just a matter of what form the prompts take. So IF you want to post a prompt you can choose a particular fandom to place the prompt in... or not. For instance, the LoM prompts -- one of which BK answered -- were made by a member of LI'73.

So, when prompt tables are open a prompt is made. Then there is a certain date by which someone else can claim the prompt and then a date by which they have to deliver the story.

Hope this helps! :D
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 15:03 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks for the interruption! *thumbs up*

I just followed the link and clicked on the days ladygray99 had identified as having unclaimed LoM prompts. So you've enlightened me, at any rate! :D

(Incidentally, I believe there are still unclaimed prompts for today, tomorrow and the next day *whistles innocently in the hearing of anyone who might be passing*)
Strike while the irony is hot
draycevixen at 2008-07-08 15:14 (UTC) (Link)

I could probably only manage PWP in that amount of time and my PWP legs are feeling somewhat shaky. The crickets never lie!

I'm debating whether to pick up a prompt for the new DIALJ challenge... or not. Generally pratting about! *g*
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 16:32 (UTC) (Link)
I'm debating whether to pick up a prompt for the new DIALJ challenge... or not.

Well, no prizes for guessing what I reckon! (doitdoitdoit...)

I'll pick one up, but I haven't yet because I want the decks clear before I do. Or at least a bit clearer than they are at the moment. (Which means finishing off my two half-done ones, and possibly writing a bit of PWP involving Sam chained to something while Gene has a rootle around in his pockets again! :D)
Strike while the irony is hot
draycevixen at 2008-07-08 16:47 (UTC) (Link)

Ah well, IF you feel a profound need to write pocket!pron I guess we can endure and make polite noises in response. *whistles*
duckyone
duckyone at 2008-07-08 10:57 (UTC) (Link)
Oh I absolutely adored that. You gave me banter, h/c, Sam in handcuffs and sexy, subtle, slashy leanings. And it's not even my birthday.

I love it when Sam gets all confuzzled about his unexpected reactions to Gene.

Now if you will excuse me I must go and ponder what is on the agenda Saturday night.

I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 14:53 (UTC) (Link)
And it's not even my birthday.
Yeah, but I didn't do birthday!fic for you, so this can stand as what should have happened then. I'm glad you liked the h/c aspect, especially, after my flat-spin panic on the subject last night! XD

Thanks, Ducky. ♥
culf
culf at 2008-07-08 11:46 (UTC) (Link)
Gene is such a tease! I love how he spent as much time as possible on finding that key. I would too, both to fondle him and to keep those cuffs on as long as possible.

Great story, I hope there's a sequel currently being written.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 15:17 (UTC) (Link)
Thanks! :D I've been generally offering The World's Best Hangover Cure as a sort of sequel - not that it was ever planned that way, and it's not set on a Saturday night. But other than that it ticks all the boxes pretty well - which just goes to show that I'm consistent in my kinks! XD

(Mind you, I'm strangely drawn to that image of Sam chained to a pipe with Gene feeling him up! Maybe...)
constance_b
constance_b at 2008-07-08 12:55 (UTC) (Link)
Oooh, pocket porn. ::Loves::
I like that you ended it with all that lovely anticipation, but I hope for Sam's sake this fic is set on a Friday.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 15:24 (UTC) (Link)
Pocket porn - hee! That's a fab description!

Nah, it's about Wednesday-ish. I want Gene to be fully recovered from his concussion and stuff so he's (ahem) up for anything. Also, Sam gets off on the anticipation!

Thanks - glad you liked. :D
Jen
candesgirl at 2008-07-08 13:55 (UTC) (Link)
Gene sighed, exasperated. “Ray was there when I got the call. That good enough for you, or do you want me to stop off so you can phone your mum?”

I could quote the whole thing really, but this line in particular rang so true as Gene, I could hear him saying it in my head, along with everything else that you put in there! And Sam too, really, your dialogue and banter were so smooth and so true to character that it reads like an actual episode (well you know, save for the part where Gene fishes around in Sam's pocket for the key, though we of course know that happens of screen ;))

Excellent job!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 16:20 (UTC) (Link)
so true to character that it reads like an actual episode

Thank you!! :DD It's the most important aspect by miles for me, that they should actually sound like themselves, and I found it a bit tougher than usual this time (which I suppose is what you get if you try to write a 4000-word fic in a day and end up finishing at 2.30a.m.!) So I'm really delighted the voices sounded right.

(I like to think of it as like a canon ep with the deleted scenes re-inserted - one of these days maybe Kudos will have the bottle to release the real out-takes!)
Cooper West
mikes_grrl at 2008-07-08 14:51 (UTC) (Link)
Awesome! I love Gene the Tease, he is so sexy. Him leaning over Sam with "Sounds like a perfect Sunday" just made me swoon. *gasps for air*

Enjoyed this a lot! Especially the banter, you really nailed their back-and-forth bitchiness. <3 Which, as we all know, is just how they say "I love you." heh.

Thanks for this!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-08 16:23 (UTC) (Link)
Gene the Tease is best - and Sam is so hot for him! (And who the hell wouldn't be?)

Thanks, glad you liked the snark, it's such fun to write! (And yes, of course it's their way of flirting! :D)
Tina
tinadoll at 2008-07-08 17:30 (UTC) (Link)
WHOA. Gene you sly and dirty dawg

Nice little fic! Part 2 is in the works i hope!
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-10 13:02 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! :D We'll have to see re. Part 2, but Sam and handcuffs is a topic I find it difficult to leave for too long!
nepthys_uk
nepthys_uk at 2008-07-08 17:45 (UTC) (Link)
This is brilliant! I absolutely loved it - hot, funny, and overlaid with Sam's concern and confusion - fantastic combination. The banter was spot-on, and the pocket!porn was deliciously teasing *g*.

It really *does* feel like it was lifted from a canon ep - very nicely done. Thanks so much for this :)
norfolkdumpling
norfolkdumpling at 2008-07-09 15:17 (UTC) (Link)
Dangit! I thought I'd commented on this, but when I came to reread it today, for *cough* research purposes, I found I hadn't.

Soooo...I loved it! Handcuffs, banter, groping, h/c, cheeky!Gene...all lead to a very happy Dumpling. Thank you! :D

BTW - in ref to the previous comments about Phil's eyes, I've sort of decided that for me he has magical colour-changing ones. Green, grey or blue depending on what I most want to see looking into mine what he's wearing at the time. Any way you cut it, they are gorgeous though ;)
nightporters at 2008-07-10 13:11 (UTC) (Link)
I am grinning from ear to ear. Lovely interaction.
karaokegal
karaokegal at 2008-07-21 20:54 (UTC) (Link)
Yummy! Hot and very plausible.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2008-07-24 10:12 (UTC) (Link)
Great! :D Glad you liked, and thanks for commenting.
Petra
petronelle at 2010-05-31 11:40 (UTC) (Link)
I love the tension all through this, and the way Sam deals with it by pretending it's not there as hard as he can until the facade falls apart.
I, being poor, have only my dreams.
bistokids at 2010-06-26 14:21 (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! I'm pleased the tension worked for you. Also, I'm sorry it's taken me so long to respond - I've been a bit in and out recently.
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