It had been a bad day. Flashbacks to the morning and the Guv playing with a Cadbury's Flake had haunted Sam constantly, usually at the most inopportune times, leaving him half-hard and more than half-frustrated.
The Guv, too, hadn't helped. Everywhere Sam had turned; it seemed the Guv was there already. Getting up close and personal with no regard to personal space, or licking his thumb slowly and deliberately to turn a page on a file. Even drinking a bottle of pop, and Sam would've sworn Gene only drank beer, whisky and tea; he would've had also sworn that Gene had been watching one of those diet coke adverts that wouldn't be out for another twenty or so years.
But no, Gene was just being Gene and Sam could only blame it on an over-active imagination or violently wishful thinking.
Take now for instance. Sam was, again, nursing an unwanted erection and even Chris was starting to notice that the Boss didn't particularly want to leave the table. The team were playing poker, or so Sam thought; his concentration was more than fully occupied on the man opposite, starting every time Gene took a mouthful of beer, watching him swallow, the muscles in his neck rippling as the liquid went down. And then, after every mouthful, as Gene put down his pint, the casual lick of the lips to catch every stray drop.
Sam was losing badly.
"You alright, Gladys?" Gene's voice broke through Sam's thoughts.
Sam flicked his gaze from where it had been resting; on the undone top button of Gene's shirt. The green one that had a starring role in more than one of Sam's fantasies, Sam had noted; and matched Gene's gaze.
"Yeah. Still feeling a little under the weather, Guv. But it'll pass." Sam unconsciously matched Gene's habitual lick of the lips as the Guv drained yet another pint.
"You seem to be worrying your mush a lot tonight, Gladys."
Sam stared. "Yeah. Um, the cold weather, you know. Chapped lips." And didn't this sound like a surreal conversation to be having.
Gene reached into his pocket and placed something on to the table between them. "You'll be wanting some of this then. The missus swears by it."
Sam's thoughts were shocked into immobility as he stared at the jar of Vaseline. His mind skittered along the precipice of thoughts about what else could be achieved with the small pot of lubricant. Then it gave up and fell in, throwing up lurid images of Gene banging him senseless in full view of the entire pub as the poker cards and change went flying. Sam flushed suddenly and leapt out of his seat, almost toppling the chair as he did so.
"I'm, um, I'm going to get some fresh air. Be right back," he stammered and, grabbing his jacket, bolted out of the door.
Sam was still banging his head against the wall of the pub when Gene sauntered out a couple of minutes later.
"If you're trying to knock some sense back into your head, I think you're a bit late, Tyler," he commented, resting his back against the same wall and reaching into his pocket to take a nip of whisky from one of the multitude of flasks distributed about his person.
"I, er, I'm still not feeling too well, Guv."
"And banging a wall is going to help that?"
No, but banging someone might, Sam thought. "I think I might call it a night and turn in early."
"You standing me up, then?"
"I, er, what?" Sam looked up at Gene, confused.
"Wednesday night. Curry night. Or had you forgotten?"
As a matter of fact, Sam had. All thoughts of food and conviviality having been forced out of his head by increasingly detailed sexual fantasies. Sam was glad that mind-reading was only a fiction, else he knew he would've been charged under the Obscenity Act by now.
"I had forgotten, Guv." Sam confessed. "What with feeling ill and all. Can we skip this week?"
Gene sighed theatrically. "Damn it, and I was really hoping for a good hard shag tonight."
Sam's jaw dropped. Now he was hearing things. "Excuse me?"
Gene paused to light a cigarette for a moment, then fixed his DI with a glare. "Do you honestly think that I usually go around eating chocolate bars like that? Or at all," he added as an afterthought.
Sam just stared, wide-eyed, as Gene turned his body towards him, "I was imagining that it was your John Thomas between my lips, on my tongue. Heavy and pliant." His voice dropped in pitch. "Sweat-slick and salty."
Sam gulped. This conversation was not helping him at all. Then he frowned. "And the 'Hello, lunch' act with the bottle of Tizer? What was that all about?"
Gene drew back, looking confused. "You what?"
"Never mind," Sam sighed.
Gene rubbed his leather-clad hands together. "So, curry and then back to your place for some sweaty shagging. How does that sound?"
Sam pushed himself off the wall. "You know, I'm feeling much better now." Then he turned back to Gene and said, rather petulantly, "What makes you think I'd put out on the first date anyway?"
Gene finished his cigarette and, flicking the butt away, grinned. "So, straight back to yours then?"
Sam grinned back. Thrusting his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, he remarked. "Now, that sounds like a plan."