Work Text:
His tongue tasted like carpet. That was the first thing Sam registered when he blinked his eyes open, the second was that someone appeared to be driving an ice pick through the front of his face. He groaned rolling over to take deep gulping breaths of the muggy warm air in the apartment. He sat up and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea washed over him. He glanced around for the bathroom and blanched. He wasn’t at home...in fact he didn’t know where he was. Dragging himself up to a sitting position Sam felt beads of sweat roll down his bare chest and took a minute to think about why he was stripped to his waist and why his shoes were nowhere to be seen.
It had been a particularly bad day the day before with a case that had come to a surprisingly good end and Gene had seen fit to ensure that they celebrated it properly. Things got hazy after his fifth or maybe sixth drink.
So he was in a stranger’s bedroom. Something either had gone very well, or very very badly.
The bed was made underneath him but not neatly and the side table was scattered with a slightly overflowing ashtray and battered alarm clock. Sam walked to the closet and pulled it open to find male clothing, a familiar scent wafting out at him. His stomach dropped. He span around trying to find his shirt or shoes and spotted the edge of his favourite striped shirt under the bed. Dropping to the floor he grabbed it and buttoned it up as he made for the door.
Whose flat was this?
He stumbled to a small hallway and to the first doorway and pushed it open to find himself in the bathroom, dimly lit and cluttered with another ashtray and several empty whiskey glasses around the edge of the bathtub. He turned on the tap and splashed his face pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes to try and ease the pain boring into his skull. It didn’t help. The smell was stronger in here and Sam sniffed the air trying to force his brain back into action.
He couldn’t place it and so wandered back into the living room. There were no pictures or decorations anywhere except a dusty house plant forgotten high on a bookshelf that took over the entire wall. Sam fingered through the albums neatly lined up and sighed. He vaguely remembered touching those albums the night before, his fingers recalling the soft brush of the cardboard before his hand was slapped away. He frowned and turned back deciding to try and get the hell out of there. He looked at his watch and groaned, he was supposed to be at the office two hours ago, For once he was glad mobiles hadn’t been invented yet. He rushed back into the hall and almost tripped over his shoes on his way to the door.
When he reached the office the other detectives went silent as soon as he walked in. They shared glances and turned back to him like a pack of hungry hyenas.
“What happened to you?”
“You look rough as shit.”
“He always looks like that.”
Sam ignored the jeers and headed directly to what was sure to be a bollocking like he had never received before. He hesitated a little before walking into Genes office. Oddly he spent that brief second thinking about how bad his breath must have been.
Pushing his way inside he found the DCI sat at his desk with one hand wrapped around a glass and the other around a large bottle of whiskey. He was staring into the distance and Sam crossed his arms clearing his throat. Gene jumped and looked at him in surprise. He recovered quickly and frowned at his DI leaning back in his chair. Sam’s skin prickled and he shrugged his shoulders, for some reason he could feel his cheeks hotting up. Gene let out a low rumble and poured a shot lifting it and offering it to Sam.
“Hair of the dog?”
Sam took a step before he thought about it and when Gene pulled his hand back a little he followed the glass until he was leant over the table his face coming close to Genes. He caught whiff of that familiar scent and he knew where he had woken up that morning. They shared a heart stopping stare for what felt like an hour before Sam managed to reach up, take the glass and drag himself away because that particular combination of whiskey, aftershave and smoke hit him like the strongest coffee and he could feel the pounding in his fingertips. He swallowed the whiskey in one gulp pressing his eyes shut tightly as flashes from the night before engulfed him.
A warm arm around his waist, dragging him along and helping him through the cool night air. A low murmur in his ear, rough palms on his bare skin. He remembered that smell and trying to cling to it to drown himself in it and saying as much and his stomach dropped because he couldn’t remember what else he had said.
What else he had told his DCI.
He kept his eyes closed as long as possible. Unfortunately when he opened them Gene was still staring at him. “You’re late.”
“Yeah, I didn’t know how to get here from your place.”
They were both quiet for a minute and Sam cleared his throat. “What happened last night?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Bits and pieces.”
Gene looked almost angry for a second before he poured himself a drink. “You didn’t listen to me. I said you were a lightweight and I was right, only I was the one who had to look after your sorry arse when Nelson chucked you out.”
“Wait a minute, you looked after me?”
If he thought it was possible for Gene Hunt to blush he would have then. The DCI looked away shrugging his shoulder and putting his hands on his knees. “Yeah well, couldn’t have you dying on me. Doesn’t look too good for the department does it.”
“You could have taken me back to mine, why did you take me home?”
He still wasn’t looking. He poured another drink and savoured it before answering. “We had a kid die in the back of Chris’s car last year. He was drunk and chocked on his own puke. Like I said, I couldn’t have you dying on me.”
The next question hung in the air and Sam could taste iron on his tongue. He voice came out lower than he expected. “Why was I half naked?”
“Well I wasn’t letting you walk over my bed in your shoes.”
“Yeah but-“
“And technically you took your shirt off.”
“Technically?”
Gene stared him down. “What do you remember?”
“I remember you walking me back to yours and I think you had to carry me to the bedroom...I said I...I.”
He couldn’t say it. He had always been more honest and more direct with Gene than he had with anybody before but talking about shit like this too much. How was he supposed to say to his blustery alpha male DCI that he hadn’t wanted to let him go? That he wanted him to lie there all night so he could surround himself in that smell and in the warmth of someone he felt attached to.
“You told me you wanted to drown in my skin.”
Okay so the ground could have swallowed Sam up right there. He swallowed hard and reached for the bottle on the table. Unfortunately so did Gene and their hands collided on the bottle neck. Neither released their hold. Sam winced when the DCI tightened his grip.
“Look, I was drunk...I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Gene’s frown deepened. “You just go around saying things like that to everyone then?”
Sam didn’t answer. He slowly peeled his fingers from under the other mans and turned for the door. He couldn’t do this, not back in his real life and not in 1973.
“That’s not all you said Tyler.”
He paused with his hand on the door handle. He couldn’t look. He could hear his own voice in his head. A mumbled confession and Genes low reply.
He turned around.
Gene sighed and got up from his chair striding around the desk and towards the DI. Sam expected him to stop but he didn’t, he just kept on coming under he was mere inches away. He pushed his back against the door to try and put some space between them but Gene reached around him and locked the door. They stared at each other. “You can’t tell the lads.”
He laughed at the absurdity of Gene’s request. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Not about that.” He could smell that scent again and he could feel the heat radiating from the DCI. Gene shifted on his feet and Sam automatically moved with him until they were stood just that bit closer. His breath tasted like whiskey and was bitter on his tongue. His heartbeat rocketed and Sam didn’t know what to do with his hands so he stuffed them in his pockets, making the mistake of letting his eyes drop from Gene’s gaze to his neckline and the silver chain that dipped below his collar. He licked his lips ignoring the impulse to lunge forwards and do something.
His voice was barely working when he finally replied. “About what then?”
“This.”
Gene moved surprisingly slowly pressing forwards and sliding his hand from his hip up to Sam’s waist where he pulled the shorter man close before pressing a slightly sloppy kiss to the corner of his mouth. His stubble scratched Sam’s jaw and he groaned pushing back into him as Genes other hand tugged on his arm. He tasted like the whiskey they had drunk and of the cigarettes he smoked and he couldn’t get enough. As he tried to deepen the kiss Gene pulled back and Sam had to bite back on a whine. Gene blinked down at him and nodded as if deciding something.
“What?”
“Don’t tell the lads.”
“Like I said, not planning on it.” He grinned and Gene stepped back from him heading to the desk to light a smoke. Sam rubbed his arms and glanced out through the office windows. Nobody was paying them the slightest bit of attention. He could feel the tension leave him and let out a relieved bark of laughter. The DCI spun back around with his arms still raised to his face, took a long drag, and gave him a quizzical look.
“If I’d known it would take that stick out of your arse I would have done something sooner.”
“No, I just... back in Hyde I would have actually....”
“Actually what?”
“Nothing.”
“Did this a lot in Hyde did you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“I’m flattered. Now we got a call in about some cocky little dipshits causing trouble in town, making threats, damaging public property, since I know a few of them CID has been asked to deal with the situation. Get your coat.”
“Simple as that?”
“You expecting a proposal? I don’t get down on my knees for anyone. Got it?”
Sam smirked and Gene raised an eyebrow unable to hide the grin on his own lips.
“If you say so.”