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"I told you this would happen but you didn't believe me, did you?" Gene whispered angrily, a mere nod to secrecy as loud as a freight train in Sam's ear. "'Won't take long, Guv' 'e says, like that's a boast. 'Who's gonna know?'" Gene shifted beside him, bare skin cooler now and clammy, mimicking Sam's clipped voice in an insultingly high tone, and if Sam hadn't known better he might have thought his boss was making air-quotes in the near-dark. The fear that surrounded Sam, filling up the tiny space and making it hard to breath, should have been terror for Gene but if he felt it he hid it behind complaints and heavy sarcasm. "How would anyone ever guess we're fucking like bunnies when you've got the discretion of a particularly randy Labrador?"
Whisper was rapidly climbing to shout and Sam got in before the crescendo with an indignant snort. "This was your idea," he hissed back. "You said-"
"I wouldn't need to be having ideas if you could just wait till bedtime for your nookie! It's all them fancy foreign foods. Have your pecker up and down like a flag at a death-bed. And if-"
"Shh. There's someone on the stairs."
He didn't quite shut Gene up, but lowered the volume enough to hear the creak of footsteps on floorboards get ominously closer.
"Just won't learn that the back of a Cortina in broad daylight is no place for a spot of afternoon delight. Least there's room to hide in here. Better than a tap on the car window. I do not want the last minute of my career to contain the words 'sorry, DCI Hunt, didn't recognise your bare arse flashing in the window there.' Maybe in Hyde they'd give me a medal and a gang bang but-"
"I'd rather come out to the whole squad wearing a fucking dress than face your wife!"
Sam's voice was barely more than a sigh next to Gene's token whisper. There was a second creak on the landing and then a door, not theirs, clicked open.
"You won't have to face her," Gene explained, what passed for patience in his gruff tone. "That's why we're hiding under the bed."
Maybe Gene could feel the cold sweat forming on Sam's bare skin. The bed protested loudly as he moved to put a calming hand on Sam's arm, and Sam winced at the noise. "What if she looks?"
"She won't look."
"I think I left one of my shoes on the stairs."
"She won't look."
"I thought you said she was going to her mother's. You said-"
"Maybe she forgot something. Maybe she missed her train. I don't bleeding well know, do I Tyler? And unless you want me to go out there and ask her I suggest you stop whinging and hide like a man."
"Maybe it's a burglar." He couldn't help but sound hopeful. Sam had a great deal of experience with burglars and almost none with cuckolded spouses. At least none so intimately connected to him.
"Right. Of course. Hand out a spare key to my house to every blagger we pull in, I do."
"What's that noise?"
"The pipes. She must've turned the tap on. Christ, Tyler, I've seen you face down armed nutters with more backbone. Stop fidgeting."
"It's called breathing."
"That usually just involves the in and out for most people. Speaking of which, why don't you wriggle in the other direction and finish me off?"
"Piss off."
"Great barrel of laughs you are in a tight spot." Calming hand on arm shifted to persuasive hand on the back of Sam's neck and he jerked away, scraping his ear against the wire mattress support. "C'mon Tyler, get your mouth round my cock. Time's a dragging here. And the carpet is chafing. Get down there and take my mind off it."
"Why are you even hiding? This is your house. I'm the one who's not supposed to be here."
"And tell the wife I popped home for some naked private time? She sees me in this state she'll know there's someone else here."
Sam gave Gene an incredulous look, presumably wasted even on those cat eyes. The thick floral counterpane blocked most of the light; Sam could only see Gene as black against dark.
"We left a bloody trail through the house! My shoe is out there somewhere. How is she not going to notice that?" Sam wasn't in the habit of hyperventilating but he thought that must be what he was doing now. A terror of being caught that took him right back to childhood and generated a very childish panic. "She's gonna know."
"Course she bloody well knows. Point is not to shove it down her throat. Stay on the side of the blind eye."
"Your wife's blind?"
Gene cuffed him as hard as he could without room to swing. It had a calming effect on Sam - a worrying thought, when he had time to dwell on it later - he ran the last few sentences back though his head at a slower pace and went for a reply not quite as ridiculously mindless. The best he could manage was stupidly echoing Gene.
"She... knows?"
"Bin married 24 years, and weren't exactly dewy-eyed in love back then. Reckon she's got a fair idea of what goes on. She don't ask. Same as I don't ask why we get the milk delivered twice a day."
"But she doesn't know about me?"
Gene shrugged. The space was so confined that this small movement shifted both Sam and the bed above them. "I didn't marry me an idiot. Who knows what she knows. But she finds me in the altogether in the middle of the day she's gonna know there's someone stashed under the bed, and that's... a lot to ask someone to ignore. She's... Don't want to embarrass the old girl."
Sam's double-take probably went unnoticed in the dark. "Do you mean to say we're hiding under the bed to be polite? You don't even have manners."
Gene sniffed. "Marriage is a compromise," he said loftily. "You need to put the effort in."
A door down the landing opened and closed, and Sam held his breath until footsteps tapped back down the stairs.
"Reckon she does know," Gene confessed quietly into the silence. "All me other DIs got invited over for dinner."
Sam pondered that, grappling with the part of his brain that insisted Mrs Hunt did not exist. He could hear her footsteps and see evidence of her existence in Gene's pressed shirt collars and well-kept home but the woman herself was so impossible to picture that Sam suspected he would never meet her. That his apparently boundless imagination would meet its limits with that scenario.
"See no evil. Right. You realise that's the most fucked up thing I've ever heard. That's no way to live your life."
Another sniff. "Works very nicely thank you. Apart from you and your 'just a quickie'."
"It's messed up. Why don't you just get a divorce?"
Gene went absolutely still beside him. Fearing the volume at which he might answer Sam added: "I'm not asking you to, or- I just don't understand why you don't."
"Because I promised 'til death do us part." That answer came easily enough. There was a long pause. "And because I love her," Gene added, and that sounded like a confession too. "Didn't. Not back then. Married her because she was pregnant and a sharp lass and she'd've made a good wife for anyone."
The front door sounded, a loud, final slam, but Gene gave no indication that he'd heard and uncomfortable as he was Sam didn't move. He couldn't claim that what he was hearing was pleasant but he was mesmerized by the rare glimpse into Gene's home-life, usually such a no-go area in their rambling conversations.
"Lost that one 'fore she were barely showing. And three more, after. She nearly died with the last, bled so bad... We had to get a new carpet. Didn't try again after that."
There was a long pause in which Sam struggled to find words of sympathy that wouldn't rile Gene, wouldn't break the spell, but in the end Gene carried on without encouragement.
"Don't know how it is you grew up the way you did. Like the real world never touched you. When I were young it were a fight. To get a start in life, to get anything other than the pile of shit you were born with. Were bleak years. Hard. For all that 'you never had it so good' bollocks. And we made a home and we survived and it makes something you can't walk away from so easy."
Sam heard the rustle of clothing, hastily pulled under the bed with them, and the clink of metal against teeth. He didn't need his finely honed detective instincts to assume the hip flask.
"The day I realised she'd fallen in love I couldn't say a bloody word 'cause she were happier than I'd ever bothered to make her and she'd never said a thing about all my bits of skirt. Never said a thing first time it weren't a skirt, neither. And I didn't want to come home to an empty house every night for the rest of my life so on we went. And why the bleeding hell am I explaining myself to you?"
"Don't know, Guv."
"Hmph."
Another glug and the flask was pressed into his hand but Sam passed it back untasted. Gene's words had stung the possessive streak in Sam and the claustrophobia was starting to feel unbearable.
"Guess we shouldn't really be here." He wriggled backwards but the leg of the bed brought him up short and Gene followed on the other side.
"Don't think so, Sammy-boy. Your grabby hands go getting me into undignified positions, the least I expect is a shag for my trouble."
"Mood's gone," said Sam briefly, straining to keep his voice neutral and conceal his sudden bad temper. He knew the intimacy of what Gene had told him but couldn't help but wonder where he stood in such a relationship - it was hard to beat down the jealousy. If Gene noticed the shortness in his voice he paid it no mind, shuffling closer.
"I'm starting to think it's my Cortina that revs your motor. One day you're going to have to explain why the thought of doing it 'round a gear stick rings your bell. Speaking as the one of us that couldn't fold themselves into an empty pint glass I'll take the bed every time."
That feeling of being trapped was growing, for all it was Gene's familiar bulk hemming him in. The bed-springs made an oppressively close ceiling that seemed to move nearer with Gene, who'd found enough manoeuvrability in the tight space to get his other hand free and grasp Sam's wilted erection.
"Or it it only the car, hmm Sammy? Would you be happier taking her somewhere private?"
"Gloves!" In his head that confession had been a sentence, snarled and dismissive, impersonal. But Gene tightened his grip at just the wrong moment, massaging Sam back to hardness, and a squeak of a word was all he could manage.
"What was that, Tyler? Some kind of bat language?"
"I said it's the gloves," Sam repeated, almost reaching a snarl this time around. "I just like leather, okay? Won't happen again."
If Gene noticed the note of petulance he ignored it. "You finally admitting you're a kinky little bastard?"
"I... Uh..." The leg of the bed was digging into Sam's back and Gene was flush against him now, far-from-gentle fingers working between them, his arousal digging into Sam's stomach. His warm breath taking all the oxygen out of the air.
"'Cause I could find a use or two for that titbit."
"Uhh... Can we... go somewhere else?"
"You don't like it here, my pervy little deputy? Trapped in the dark with a policeman breathing down your neck?"
Sam felt like he wasn't breathing, despite the air rushing in and out of his lungs, and he found he was liking it altogether too much. Still, he sighed his relief as Gene backed up. The tiny distance was enough to allow his to keep his control at the sound of the feral grin in Gene's voice as he continued.
"But you're quite right, Sammy-boy. We're on the wrong side of the mattress for me to pound you into it."
Gene found his way out from under the bed with surprising ease for a man of his size, leaving Sam free to follow. Outside was a different world from their dark hidey-hole, daylight and floral patterns. And Gene, relaxed in his nudity, rummaging through the pockets of his coat. At home where Sam was an intruder. He dug behind the counterpane for his own clothes but Gene brought him up short with a barked order.
"On the bed, Tyler."
Sam carefully straightened his crumpled trousers, not looking up at his boss. Tried to ignore the way his cock twitched at the tone.
"I think we should get back to work, Guv. I don't feel comfortable-"
"You wanna think, you can do it before you're crawling all over me in the middle of a bleeding shift. Now get on the bed."
Fingers working at creases, Sam didn't look up. It was another sound that got his attention, tight leather gloves snapping into place. Involuntarily his eyes were drawn back to Gene. He gulped. Gene grinned.
"You don't want to have to make the bed after your bit of skirt, do you?"
But Sam's slightly bitter sarcasm was weak defence. He couldn't hide the flush in his cheeks, the way his eyes followed Gene's hands, and Gene grinned wider.
“If ever there was a bloke qualified to wear a skirt, it's you. But it'll have to wait for another day - scum won't lock themselves up and you'd drown in my Missus' frocks. Now stop pouting, you tart."
Indignation joined lust and Sam flushed harder. But Gene could be a manipulative bastard when he chose and cut all protest off at the root, wrapping one leather-clad hand around Sam's cock and walking him backwards until his legs hit the mattress. One tiny scrap of clothing between two fully grown men and it should have looked ridiculous but Sam couldn't tear his eyes away from the head of his cock protruding from the tight leather sheath of Gene's hand. He would never have allowed someone to lead him around by his dick - particularly not his overbearing boss - but somehow he failed to notice it happening.
"I'm not a tart," he protested weakly, but Gene contradicted by squeezing harder and Sam whimpered.
"Oh you are for me."
"Gene-"
His Guv's free hand pushed Sam back on the bed, gripping him by the shoulder and slamming him into the mattress, hard enough to knock the wind out of Sam. Gene trailed the leather down over Sam's chest and stomach until he was pinning his hips as he worked his cock, slow and excruciatingly tight.
"Aren't you, Tyler?"
There was a triumphant glimmer in Gene's eye that reminded Sam he did have pride. He roused himself for a very definite 'no' but couldn't push Gene's hands away or find breath for further protest.
"Are so. Sulk like a bird an' all, Gladys."
He straddled Sam's thighs, controlling the conversation by effectively silencing the other man.
"Suppose you're going to hold out on me till I tell you I love you too? That it?"
Sam's eyes widened. Gene leaned forward until they were nose to nose. "You're a complete fucking div, you know that? No bleeding brain in that overwired head of yours."
Gene loosened his grip on Sam's manhood long enough to slide his own cock alongside. Sam writhed against the touch of silky skin next to the leather.
"Yes Guv," he gasped out meekly. "No brain. No taste, either."
"That'll be me gloves," said Gene, twisting around them both, the leather binding their thrusts together. "What kinky, girly, Man united-supporting poof could resist?"
"Must be that."
Gene was panting too now, his knees tightening on Sam's hips. Glove growing slippery with sweat and precum. A change of venue was off the cards but Sam found he no longer cared. His hands pulled Gene down against him as his hips struggled to move, tugging at his hair, biting at his jaw as Gene thrust, moving in and out of reach. They were both too close to keep up the banter, in to the serious business of mutual gratification, and only grunts and stifled names were heard until there was silence.
When Sam floated down there was two men's cum cooling on his stomach, and one black glove landed in the puddle with a little splash. He turned his head slightly to where Gene was flopped out on the bed beside him, gingerly pinching the fingers of his other, sodden, driving glove.
"Leather's ruined," he said sadly.
"You don't mind," said Sam confidently, sated smile firmly in place.
"Course I don't bloody well mind. Know you'll be buying me a new pair, just to keep yourself entertained on those long, dull stakeouts." He worked off the second glove with some difficulty and chucked it after the first. The resulting splatter got them both and Gene grimaced.
"I think I need a shower," commented Sam mildly.
"Shower? What do you think this is, the bleeding Ritz? It's a bath or a flannel, Sunshine." Gene checked the heavy watch on his wrist. "You think two hours is a long time to be questioning the one witness?"
"It pays to be thorough. There are still questions that need answering." It was a nothing case, a time-filler until the next serious crime. Sam knew half the station would assume they'd bunked off to the pub, and didn't care. "Questions like - how big is your bathtub?"
He rolled over onto Gene, trapping the mess of their coupling between them as he leant forward to kiss him. "Because we're both very dirty."
"Eyuch. You'll be paying for that, filthy little ponce."
"Promises, promises."
"Kinky bastard."
"Mmm."