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One Hothouse Flower, Slightly Bruised

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It had been a long, difficult, and uglier than usual case, one that had spent quite a while getting worse before it got better and ended in a brawl that was epic even by CID standards, but all eight members of Manchester's latest gang of murdering bastards were finally nicked, and there was enough evidence against them to satisfy even the most forgiving judge and jury to happily lock the lot of 'em up for life. By a stroke of luck, none of the team had been beaten up enough to need to go to hospital, and most of the important paperwork that couldn't wait had been taken care of at record speed while Gene made a triumphant statement to the press. Therefore, it was high time to go out and live it up. Or, at least, it should have been.

Everyone else had already headed off to the Railway Arms, even Phillis and Annie. Hell, even most of the cleaning staff had caught the festive spirit and taken off early for a celebratory drink, leaving the building all but deserted. Sam had stayed behind to get the last of the paperwork out of the way and was just doing the final check that everything was in the right order and properly signed and dated when he heard the dreaded call.

It was Gene Hunt's voice, saying, "Oi, Tyler, my office. Now."

"I thought you'd have been down at the pub by now," Sam said, closing the folder in front of him and adding it to the neat stack in his 'out' box before looking up.

"My hearing must be going, because that sounded nothing like, 'Yes, Guv, right away.'"

Sam sighed. "Yes, Guv, right away," he said without much enthusiasm and pushed away from his desk. Heading into Gene's office was always like going into the lion's den, and not just because Gene liked to think of his hair as a majestic blond mane; stepping through that door, Sam never knew when he was going to get mauled, or merely be snarled at, or be smacked on the back with a heavy paw and growled at in approving tones like he was a wayward cub who had finally managed to do something right for a change. And sometimes it was a little bit of all three, and those were the best days of all. Which one was it going to be this time?

As it turned out, today was Sam's lucky day, far more so than he ever would have expected, and not just because he had narrowly avoided death by application of an iron pipe to the head a few hours earlier. Gene didn't even wait for the door to close behind Sam before grabbing him by the shoulders, spinning him around to keep him off balance, and then slamming his back into the filing cabinet, which was always Gene's favorite target for first impact due to it being the one of only two vertical places in the office to throw someone without danger of cracking window glass or sending paperwork or knickknacks flying. The other vertical option was the support pillar behind Gene's desk, but that required more complicated maneuvering to throw an unwilling body at it and did not make a viscerally satisfying 'thunk!' noise to punctuate the action like the filing cabinet did. Gene usually avoided the horizontal option because there was not enough floor space in the office for a proper throw-down.

"You almost got yourself killed today," Gene said, leaning in close and hissing it into Sam's ear before the shock of the impact had had a chance to stop vibrating through his bones.

"So did you," Sam countered. The top handle of the filing cabinet was digging into his left shoulder blade, and the next one down was poking into the probably still-purpling bruise over his kidney where the aforementioned iron pipe had caught him and brought him to his knees in preparation for the killing blow that never had a chance to fall. It hurt. Oh yes, unquestionably, it hurt, all sharp and bright and sudden again after spending the past few hours fading into a dull, ignorable background ache, but it was a good hurt now, one Sam wouldn't trade for the world. Even as tears of pain prickled and blurred his vision, he also found himself starting to get hard. He bit back a grin and wondered when he had turned into such a masochist.

"But I didn't," Gene said, leaning in so their breath mingled, his hands still on Sam's shoulders and his mind seemingly oblivious to Sam's beginning arousal. Gene's breath already smelled of scotch; Sam was not surprised.

"Neither did I," Sam said.

"You could've, Sammy boy, and that would have left me up shite creek without a DI." Gene gave Sam's shoulders a shake for emphasis, causing both the filing cabinet and Sam's teeth to rattle. "And just when I've finally turned you into a proper team player, too."

Gene was not showing any sign of letting go of Sam any time soon, so Sam calculated where and how hard to hit him for the best chance of breaking away but chose to hold that plan in reserve for when the heat pooling in his groin threatened to become too much to bear. Instead, he gave a token struggle, just to see how much leeway Gene was willing to give him, and was promptly knocked against the filing cabinet again with exactly as much force as he had used on Gene. Pain blossomed in Sam's back again, and he rapidly found himself going from half hard to a full erection straining against the confines of his Y-fronts. In his mind, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Annie's chided him about little boys fighting as an excuse to touch each other, in an echo of a lecture she had given him a few months ago. If the real Annie thought that was as far as it went, then she didn’t know the half of it. If she did know, well, hopefully she would keep it to herself.

"You're mixing metaphors again," Sam said, trying to keep his voice light and his breathing even. "You're also comparing me to a canoe paddle."

Gene leaned in even closer yet, with his whole weight now, practically plastering himself across Sam's front, and now there was definitely no way for Gene to miss what Sam's cock was doing just out of sight. Yup, even as Sam had that thought, Gene's eyes flicked downward then back to Sam's, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Well, there's certainly something about you that's comparable to wood right now," he said. Gene slid his right hand off Sam's shoulder, down his arm, and into the tight, already sweaty space between them.

Sam let him do it. A quick fumble got Sam's fly open, and Gene immediately plunged his hand in without asking. He didn't go far enough for Sam's tastes though, stopping outside the underwear and cupping Sam's confined cock and balls through the fabric. Sam's hips bucked once before he could get them under control and resist the urge to rub himself off against whatever friction he could get. Gene's left hand was still gripping Sam's shoulder like a vice, but Sam barely noticed as Gene lightly flexed his right hand against Sam's crotch and Sam's pelvic muscles involuntarily jerked in response. Sam did not even try to suppress his frustrated groan when Gene did not immediately repeat the action. At least they had the whole floor to themselves at the moment, so there was no need to worry about who might be overhearing any of this.

"You're actually getting off on this, aren't you, you twisted little sod?" Gene said, the tone of his voice at odds with his words. He almost sounded... approving? Relieved? Sam probably would have been able to analyze the situation more easily if most of the blood had not already rushed out of his brain to find gainful employment in more southerly organs.

"Observant as always, Guv," Sam said with nonchalance they both knew was faker than a three pound note but was a damn good show all the same, and he could feel Gene's muscles relax by the tiniest fraction. He could also feel that both their hearts were racing.

"Of course I am." Gene stroked Sam through his underwear again. The answering buck Sam gave with his hips was wholly intentional this time, meant as a challenge to Gene to see how far he would go. Then Sam thrust again just because it felt so good and was slightly more dignified than humping Gene's leg like a dog, which was what he worried he might need to resort to doing to get off if Gene did not cut to the chase soon. Gene still had his brows furrowed in his usual confrontational glower, but now his lips were pulling into a wild grin. "And you're an eager little thing tonight," Gene said. "If I had known you'd be this easy, I could have saved some time and effort and skipped to this part a half hour ago."

"Oh yeah, because you've put so much time and effort into this seduction so far," Sam said. He gave yet another thrust of his hips, this time going up on his toes and twisting to one side as much as he could from his pinned position as he ground against the seemingly immovable object that was Gene's hand. The change in angle helped, but it was still not even close to being enough. He still could not achieve a long enough distance of travel to give him the stimulation he craved, not like this.

"I put in loads of effort!" Gene said. He pulled his hand away from Sam's cock and, apparently oblivious to his DI's growing frustration, gestured toward his desk. "Look at all that paperwork! I dotted every i, crossed every t, minded my p's and q's, and all that nonsense before doing anything else, tonight instead of letting it go 'til morning, because I figured that you, picky pain that you are, wouldn't be able to get off knowing that there were half-finished reports staring at you."

Sam looked at Gene's desk, and now that he mentioned it, it did look a lot neater than usual. "You really thought that?" Sam said. He was not sure whether he should be offended or flattered. His only consolation was the fact that, with Gene's hand no longer on his crotch, he could now feel that Gene's cock was just as hard as his was. It was not much of a surprise, but it was nice to have confirmation.

Gene shrugged. "What can I say, Tyler? Sexually speaking, from what I've seen of you, you're like a delicate hothouse flower that needs the exact fiddly conditions to survive."

"I'll show you delicate!" Sam pushed off of the filing cabinet with his full strength, fully intending to give Gene a taste of his own medicine and with any luck maybe knock him into one of the walls hard enough to make his beloved movie posters fall down. What actually happened was that Sam found himself staggering forward as Gene declined to put up any direct resistance and instead sidestepped the charge, caught Sam by the elbow, and spun him off in another direction. In the split second that Sam had to process what was happening, he fully expected Gene to complete the move by twisting his arm behind him while knocking him down with a kick to the back of his knees, so he was surprised to find himself coming to rest half propped against and half sitting on Gene's desk while Gene laughed and started reaching for Sam's crotch again.

"No, no, no," Gene said, now fumbling with Sam's belt buckle, suddenly all thumbs mere moments after his perfect impression of a semi-drunken matador fending off a bull who could not decide if it wanted to make love or war. "Keep this up, and I might decide to send you home without your treat."

"Wait," Sam said. "Seriously, what are we even doing right now?"

Gene froze. "I thought we were celebrating the closing of a nasty case full of nastier people," he said, stepping back and crossing his arms across his chest, laughter instantly gone and replaced by wariness. "Because, aside from the part where you almost got yourself killed, you did good today, and I thought you deserved a reward. Are you saying I was mistaken?"

Several seconds ticked by while neither man said anything. Sam stared at Gene and wondered how long it had taken him to work up the nerve to offer this (well, not exactly offer, more like throw it and shout, "Incoming!" and hope nothing ended up getting broken) and whether he would need to wait for hell to freeze over before Gene made a second such offer if Sam turned down this one. Not that Sam had any intention of refusing. Even without the immediate matter of his throbbing erection, Sam had been having daydreams about this exact sort of occurrence more often than he cared to admit.

"I don't think you were mistaken if you don't think you were mistaken," Sam ventured. He undid his belt buckle and the button on his trousers before Gene could make another attempt at them. The zipper was still open from before.

"Of course I wasn't mistaken, because Gene Hunt doesn't make mistakes," Gene said, all bravado once more, as if he had never let that moment of uncertainty show. "Now, where were we before you so rudely interrupted?" Not waiting for an answer, Gene stepped forward and took hold of the waistband of Sam's trousers and underwear, and Sam obligingly lifted himself off the desk just enough for Gene to yank the offending articles of clothing down past Sam's knees, leaving Sam's cock, which had long ago reached the state of painful hardness, finally free to stand at full erect attention. "And now just sit back and think of someday being as good a copper as I am."

Gene spat into his hand and then reached for Sam's cock, only to pause and retract the hand to spit into it once again just for good measure, before finally taking a firm hold of Sam's even firmer shaft. Sinking to his knees, he started stroking, slowly and methodically at first, twisting his hand around to make certain that the entire length was slicked with the saliva. He started rubbing circles around the tip with his thumb. Then Gene brought his other hand up so that it could be used to continue the circles while the first hand began making longer and more forceful strokes all the way up and down the shaft. He continued like this for half a minute or so, and then, while still maintaining his rhythmic stroking, leaned in for a tiny lick, just the tip of his tongue brushing against the tip of Sam's cock.

Sam shivered with pleasure, but it was not enough.

Gene glanced up from his ministrations just long enough to make eye contact and give a smug and far too toothy grin before licking his lips and wrapping them around Sam's cock. He started small, at first only taking the tip into his mouth, while his hand continued to work the shaft, but he soon began taking more and more, sucking Sam in deeper and making Sam realize that he had been perfectly justified in the jealousy he had felt every time he had watched Gene eat a candy bar. Why should a Curly Wurly be the only thing to enjoy the attention of such a talented mouth?

But even this was not enough. Sam's pleasure was laced with frustration, because even as Gene worked his oral magic on him, something was still missing. The tension in his body had been ratcheted almost to the breaking point, but nothing seemed able to push it past that final hurdle to release. Sam tried to take hold of Gene's head in an attempt to somehow steer him in his efforts even though he himself could not identify the missing element, but Gene batted Sam's hands away with a muffled grunt of irritation at the distraction and a graze of teeth as a warning not to try it again. Sam finally settled for using his hands to brace himself against the edge of Gene's desk.

Gene seemed a little at a loss for what to do with his hands as well, now that he was doing most of the work with his mouth. He tried fondling Sam's testicles some but gave up when it failed to produce any additional response. Gene tried bracing against the edge of the desk only to find Sam was already doing the same thing. Sam liked the touch of Gene's fingers against his own, but Gene seemed to feel otherwise, snatching his hands away at first touch, as if giving a man a blowjob was fine but holding that same man's hand would be a step over a line which should never be crossed. Sam rolled his eyes at the idea but refrained from commenting, because he was so damn close now that he might die of frustration if he accidentally offended Gene into stopping before he was finished.

Oblivious to Sam's thoughts on archaic definitions of acceptable masculine behavior, Gene was still sucking Sam's cock with a talent born of years spent doing borderline obscene things to chocolate covered caramel and also apparently still looking for somewhere to put his hands. He tried grabbing Sam's arse, but the edge of the desk was in the way. Next, he took hold of Sam by the hips, but that did not seem to be satisfactory either, because his hands continued to wander higher to his waist. Sam squirmed when Gene's questing fingers found a ticklish spot, and in response Gene shifted and tightened his grip to hold him still, hitting the bruise from the pipe and the filing cabinet handle (and now probably fingers as well) and finding the missing piece of stimulation that Sam's libido had been craving without being able to put a name to it.

Sam was not sure if he shouted, "God," "Gene," or just an inarticulate choked out gasp as the point of pain blossomed and mingled with the already overwhelming frustration and tension and pleasure, sending an electric jolt straight through him as he came harder and more suddenly than he ever had before. Only his grip on the edge of the desk kept hid from toppling over backwards as he arched his back and his vision went white while he blew his load into Gene's mouth.

"And that's what I like to call positive reinforcement," Gene said some unknown amount of time later, in between tossing back a drink from his desk drawer stash of bottles and pouring one for Sam. "The next time you close another big case without doing anything too stupid, we can do this again, maybe with handcuffs. For now though, let's get to the pub before anyone starts thinking we forgot about them. That last part's an order, Tyler, so hurry up and get your panties back on."

Sam didn't need any extra incentives to do his job well, but if this was the kind of reward Gene wanted to offer him for doing what he would have done anyway, then who was he to refuse it? With that in mind, Sam grinned and raised his glass in a salute, saying "Yes, Guv, right away!"

The End