karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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"Honeymoon" Life On Mars Sam/Gene/Annie NC17 Wordcount-2870

Title: Honeymoon
Fandom: Life on Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene/Annie
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 2870
Notes: Written to celebrate the 6 Year Anniverary of lifein1973 and our fabulous moderator Lozenger8. Sequel to Comfort and Joy. Yes, two and half years in the making. It took me that long to convince Gene to go along with it.
Beta: The exceptionally speedy and thorough book_junkie007.
Warnings: Internalized homophobia, boundary disrespect, dubious consent issues. Read at your own risk.
Summary: Gene is a stubborn bastard, but Sam knows how to get around him.

The call came in just around half one.

Robbery in progress at an off-licence on Bradford Road. Not much of a robbery, to be fair. Sounded like the bloke behind the till had produced a cricket bat and proceeded to pummel the two would-be criminal masterminds until they dropped the zip guns and begged for mercy.

Still in all, a police detail had to show up and take a report and Gene was glad of the distraction. If he were lucky one of the snot-nosed punks would try to resist arrest or just look at him funny, giving Gene all the excuse he needed to work off some of the frustration he’d been feeling lately. His fist was itchy for the satisfying slide of blood against his knuckles.

“Want me to ride with you, Guv?” said Tyler, almost as soon as Gene opened his office door looking for someone, almost anyone else, to take along on this particular call.

“Not this one, Cinderella. You’re tying the knot in less than five hours and Cartwright’ll have me bollocks for earrings if I deliver you in anything less than mint condition. You shouldn’t even be here.”

Brilliant. The one thing he didn’t want to think about.

“I told you. I just want to make sure I’ve got everything wrapped up before Annie and I leave on our…”

“Yeah, the honeymoon. I heard you. Then stay here and do your wrapping. You can put pretty pink bows on it for all I care, but you ain’t leaving this station until it’s time for your wedding. “

“Come on, Gene. I’m going stir crazy. Besides who’s gonna keep you safe from the blaggards, and vice versa.”

That was Tyler all over. Never could take “no” for an answer, accept things the way they were. He’d get them all killed that way, and then he’d somehow manage to save them all. Except some things were beyond saving.

“I’m tired of arguing, Tyler.”

He was. Bone tired. As long as Sam was around, he’d never have any peace. It seemed as though they’d both made that choice.

“Then don’t argue. I’ll stay in the car. I just want a chance to talk.”

Gene took a darting look around the squad room. Chris and Ray appeared to be engrossed in something in the paper, and not paying the slightest bit of attention to a typical row between Gene and his DI, but Gene knew that Skelton and Carling weren’t as thick as they looked. They could be listening to every word, in which case any further conversation was best kept to the safety of the Cortina.

“Fine,” he growled, striding out of the station, and repeated it, when the engine of the car had roared fiercely to life. “What is it?” As if he didn’t know. As if this wasn’t the argument he’d been most sick of.

“I’ve talked to Annie. About…well, you know. She’s fine, about us, I mean. And she wants you with us. “

“For fuck's sake, Tyler,” Gene bellowed, barely managing to hit the brake at a stoplight. “What part of ‘no’ is so bloody hard for you to understand? I may be a pervert, but I’m not that kind of pervert.”

After Christmas, after what happened in Gene’s office, wonderful and horrible and disgusting as it was, Gene had thought that would be the end of it. Sam had Annie; Gene had the Missus. Full stop.

Turned out Tyler wasn’t just a poofy freak, he was a greedy, poofy freak. Sex-crazed he was, dragging Gene into increasingly compromising positions and somehow making him like each and every one. What was worse was making him need it, like some kind of pathetic junkie.

Him, Gene Hunt, lying face down on a filthy bed in some flophouse, with Sam Tyler balls deep in his arse, pumping like a piston, shooting jizz into Gene, while Gene moaned his passion into a pillow.

Absolutely disgusting, he thought, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. Months it had gone on before he twigged that Cartwright was getting the same treatment, only hers came with proper dates and the right to be seen holding hands in public before the shagging occurred. Not that Gene wouldn’t headbutt Sam into another concussion if he so much as tried to touch his hand on the street.

Gene wasn’t a man who liked sharing, but he’d made his peace, just as he had with his own nature. It was a curse that needed to kept hidden in the darkness and anybody who tried to drag it into the light of day deserved what he had coming, whether it was a beating or time at hard labour.

Naturally, Tyler didn’t seem to see it that way. He said it was exactly the same to him. He wanted Gene and he wanted Annie. Gene wasn’t sure where he got the energy, much less the brass balls, especially when Tyler finally revealed how big those balls really were.

He would have decked Sam there and then, except he had a mouthful of Sam’s cock at the time and the most logical punishment didn’t occur to him until it was too late. He’d finished and then wiped his mouth and then told Sam in no uncertain terms that he would never do that, that Sam was a twat for even suggesting it, and was he out of his fucking mind?

Sam just sat there naked and smug, like a man who doesn’t believe any of the rules apply to him. Gene knew a few things about breaking rules. Sure, he bent the law every day of his life. He made the rules do his bidding, but he always respected the need for them. He knew what the traffic would bear. He knew what an acceptable level of deviance was. He knew people. He knew himself.

“No!” he said, and kept on saying it, while Sam spent weeks and months, making Gene both the happiest and most miserable man in all of Manchester.

Gene tried reason, thinking maybe he could actually try to talk to Sam in his own Hyde-based language. It was too dangerous. What they were doing, yes doing right now, was enough to ruin their careers as it was. The more people who knew, such as WPC Cartwright, the more danger. And besides, what sort of woman would actually put up with knowing that her man needed more than she could give him? They could barely stand knowing their husbands cheated with whores. Did he really think his Annie wanted to know that he enjoyed taking it up the jacksie, not to mention all the other stuff? He and the Missus were still together because she never asked questions and if she had suspicions she kept them to herself. Annie? She’d raise the bloody roof, call the press and have both of them run out of town on a rail. The idea of two men kissing would probably have her tossing her cookies on the sidewalk, just like any right- thinking woman, or man for that matter.

“Oh Gene,” Sam would sigh, almost mournfully. “If only you knew.”

“Well, I don’t know, Tyler. And I don’t want to. I want you to shut up and suck my dick and make sure that no one but me ever knows you’ve done it.”

He thought that the official engagement announcement would change something, mostly likely cut into the time that Sam could spend skulking around, finding uses for official safe houses that the department would most definitely not approve of. Instead, Sam seemed to grow even more brazen, as if having put the engagement ring on Cartwright’s finger gave him some kind of magic power to get away with anything. Tyler had always been different, but now he was out of control and Gene felt like he was fighting to keep his job, his life and his sanity. He’d drawn a line and this was it.

“No,” he repeated with a calm clarity. “Maybe it’s you who needs to make a decision. What do you really want?”

“Both of you.”

“Exactly the same? It’s really no difference to you whether it’s a cock or a cunt?”

“It’s no difference when it’s two people I….”

At that moment the two morons came running out of the off-licence with bottles in their hands and the manager in hot pursuit and Gene took great pleasure in gunning the engine and ramming the lot of them up against a pile of conveniently piled boxes before calling for back-up to haul them all in on charges of pissing him off.

Sam showed up at the wedding with a bruise on his left cheekbone. Both Cartwright and Phyllis gave Gene him a good dose of the evil eye, but it was well worth it as far as he was concerned.


He was drunk.

The wedding was at the Britannia and Gene had taken full advantage of the open bar.

Not raging or roaring mind you, not face down on the table or maudlin. Gene Hunt could hold his liquor and right now he was holding enough of it to have got through the wedding, the dancing, the tiff with the Missus, the cake and the sight of Carling with a ukulele attempting to entertain the waning crowd with a rendition of “Leaning on a Lamp,” which would no doubt have the great George Formby spinning in his grave.

So here came the newly minted Mrs. Tyler to say something that probably shouldn’t be said. He didn’t know if she was actually tip toeing through the tulips or that was the booze. Maybe Carling was still singing.

“Guv,” she said, softly, as if afraid she was waking him up, or just afraid to stir a sleeping giant.

“Did Sammy send you over?”

“No. I sent myself. We’re going upstairs now.”

“Then go.”

“Guv,” she said again, then shook her head. “Gene.” Oh hell. Now she was serious.

“Look. I’m not taking Sam away from you.”

He didn’t bother answering that.

“He wants….we both want…look, I’m not even saying I understand all of it, but…”

“Sit down, Cartwright!” he hissed, and she obeyed like the good WPC she’d always be. “Do you have the slightest idea what Sam is asking you to do? You’re a nice girl, Cartwright. Men who do that…it’s….you’d gag a maggot if you knew. You’ll never look at Sam the same way. You’ll never look at me the same way and I can’t have that.”

Gene honestly expected her to burst into tears and go scurrying away to leave him in inebriated peace.

“Sam’s told me enough and I do have an imagination, you know. All I want to say is that we’ll be in room 322 and you don’t have to touch me if you don’t want to.”

Suddenly Gene wished he were a little less drunk. He wanted to make sure he understood what was being said. Was she saying that he couldn’t perform with her? Was his masculinity being challenged? Gene Hunt was still a man, after all, no matter who he’d been choosing to shag lately. He might be three sheets to the wind, but he could still outfight and out-fuck the rest of CID and the fire department combined.

Annie’s wedding outfit was virginal white and still short enough in the skirt to make Gene wonder how she’d gotten down the aisle without flashing her panties at the Police Chaplin. Cartwright had a nice set of legs on her, no question about that. He remembered that glimpse of her with the flogger when they’d taken down Roger Twilling. He could just imagine the sort of nasties she and Tyler got up to, especially if what Tyler did with Gene was anything to go by.

“Oh I’ll be touching you all right, Missy. Neither you or Tyler will know what hit you.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Gene felt himself smiling, even though he hadn’t meant to. Booze would do that to a man, along with the feeling of something rising, both in his chest and parts lower.

“You gonna take on both of us, Cartwright?” he leered at Annie, wondering what it would take to frighten her off this madness.

“Might do,” she replied with a saucy wink before walking away with some hip action that would make a Moss Side hooker proud.


He gave them ten minutes and then another five. Had another shot, circled the lobby twice. Wrong. So wrong. Nothing had changed. Whatever Sam had convinced Annie of might evaporate in the cold light of day. Who knew how much liquor it would take to sustain his own bravado and the resurgent throb in his groin?

Since when did he ask himself those kinds of questions? The hell with this. Time to get down to some honeymoon business.

Sam and Annie must have had the same idea. He found them standing in the middle of their Bridal Suite. Sam was down to his undershirt, and Annie’s skirt was halfway down her legs. There were candles lit, “Sunshine of Your Love” playing somewhere, and the smell of something like orchids. Gene stood slack-jawed, eyes wide and had a sense that he was walking into Wonderland.

“Starting the party without me, I see.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Guv,” Sam said, his smile a quirky thing that said he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. That makes two of us, Sammy boy, he thought.

“Just getting things warmed up for you,” Annie chimed in. Cheeky wench.

Gene closed the door firmly behind him, and leant against it, crossing his arms.

“Well, since I’ve caught you two in the act, maybe you’d better keep going. See what kids think they know about this sort of thing.”

He had to give them credit. Sam and Annie knew how to put on a show, complete with sound effects. Gene would never get tired of the little choking grunts and sobs that Sam made when his knob was being polished, and he didn’t mind at all that the new bride seemed to having a bit of trouble taking it all in. He could teach her a thing or two about that. I’ll show you how to suck that cock, he thought, rubbing himself through his trousers, and closing his eyes to focus on the delicious sounds. He got so lost in his own image of what was happening that he missed the point when the sounds got much closer, followed by hands undoing his trousers and uncovering his now hard and aching prick.

“Shit,” he half gasped, half sighed at the realisation that there was a mouth on him, two mouths actually, and despite all his fussing, he honestly didn’t know which was which, and whose fingers were going where as long as they were both suitably enthusiastic.

Gene wondered if he should at least suggest a move to the bed, if only for convenience and safety, but Sam and Annie both seemed perfectly content to do what they were, where they were. On their knees, at his feet, and that was really just fine with him. Together they worked his shaft and balls, making him shudder and groan like a mad man, the friction at the head and a tongue flutter like crazy. It was certainly like nothing he’d ever experienced before and the blinding intensity when he shot his wad had him thinking that maybe he’d been foolish to fight so hard and with that his knees buckled and he slid down the door, ending up on the floor, breathing hard, shocked at his own acquiescence and very happy.

The first face he actually focused on was Sam’s of course, looking like the smug bastard he was.

He tried to put on a suitable scowl and found nothing but a drunken, happy grin.

“Shame on you two,” he managed to growl. “Taking advantage of a drunken old man. “

They both failed to look remotely chastened, although Sam did offer him a hand to get up and finally move to the bed, helping to remove the rest of clothing along the way.

“Looks like you’re managing all right there, grandpa.”

That was Cartwright. Or Mrs. Tyler. Gene decided he’d stick to Annie. And he remembered the last thing he’d said to her downstairs.

“Both of us?” he repeated. It would be a while before that could happen, what with the booze and all, and it being a hell of a long day, but he thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad. After he’d had a nap and maybe another drink.

He caught Sam’s expression and had a feeling he was going to bring up the one thing that Gene absolutely did not want to hear from Sam. He’d let himself live with this additional step into madness, but only as long as Sam understood it couldn’t be more than that. Not between two men.

“Shut it, Tyler.”

He could see just enough hurt on Sam’s face to remind him how dangerous this was, but he decided to let it go and pretend that this thing could actually work.

At least for tonight.
Tags: fanfic, gene hunt, life on mars, nc17, sam tyler, sam/annie, sam/gene, sam/gene/annie, slash

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