Prompt: tie quandary direct home
There had never really been a choice, Sam realised. Staring closely at Gene’s tie, simply to stop himself licking the neck above it, he swallowed carefully and tried again.
“I ... I want to stay. If you’ll...” ...fuck me... “...have me.“
“That depends, Tyler.”
“On what, Guv?”
“On whether I can ever trust you again. And I don’t think I can.” He took a step closer, his own intoxicating scent wafting over Sam as he fought the urge to step back, step forward; to crush Gene in a hold that would betray all of his need.
He remained silent for a moment more then spoke, softly and evenly. “You can trust me. Gene. You can trust me to be here for you, for the team, for as long as you...” ...want me... “ ...er, need me.”
“Is that so? Prove it.” Gene’s face was expressionless as he gazed into Sam’s eyes even more directly than usual. Sam had never known anyone like Gene for contradictory and intimidating use of personal space and body language. The man could step up, full of menace and stand intimately close with no apparent discomfort or – unfortunately – arousal.
Unlike Sam, who realised that he would have to move back at any moment before his own excitement became evident. He closed his eyes for a moment, praying for control or perhaps a sudden collapse of the ceiling, anything, provided it brought either cold water or enlightenment. Just give me a sign, he thought, one way or the other. He stands closer to me than anyone at home ever did - that I wasn’t shagging, anyway - yet never a single sign. What am I supposed to do?
Biting his lip in his quandary, he opened his eyes and spoke again. “What do you want me to do, Gene? How would you like me to prove to you that I’m... “ He took a deep breath “... here for you?”
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Prompt: punishment freak inevitable pathway
Sam knew years before he took the inevitable pathway his history had laid out for him. Knew how it would be, when it would be. He just didn’t know why.
He knew, of course, that with a father like his there was always the chance of him ending up a glutton for punishment, and taking a career in law enforcement was one way of deflecting that need onto the people he dealt with, the people who deserved that punishment.
So it wasn’t often nowadays that he felt like the freak he undoubtedly still was, but Carling was the one who would bring it out every time.
That bastard only had to look at him with that shitty little curl to the lip, that supercilious twist to the mouth as he blew insolent smoke rings in Sam’s face, and Sam was seething impotently. Turning away as Gene watched, unwilling to let his new boss see how much the man got to him.
Nowadays his only way of dealing with it was to ignore it. In his own time he could give as good as he got with the sneers and the curl to the lip, but he’d only tried it once here, and had been utterly shocked when Carling had floored him while Gene looked on. He’d stared at Gene from the ground, opened his mouth to protest and shut it again swiftly when he realised just how it would look, how it would weaken him in Carling’s eyes to be asking Gene for help that no “real man” of 1973 would even need, and would never dream of asking for.
So day after day he ignored the Neanderthal and concentrated on Chris, who was still capable of salvation. Sam was convinced that under the div exterior was a halfway adequate brain, that could still be trained to a decent level of forensic thought and clear-headed analysis.
He certainly hoped so, because if not, he was going to spend a long time alone here in 1973.
Although he was beginning to notice that the Guv wasn’t quite as stupid and unthinking as he liked to make out. Definitely room for progress there, too.