sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-12 10:25 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-12 10:25 am
Entry tags:
Absolute Beginners (Life on Mars, R)
Title: Absolute Beginners
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: R for sex, language
Summary: Sam is starving for sex, any sex he can get -- but only with a limited number of options, and only when the time is right. Sam/Annie, Sam/Hunt.
Warnings: Some content in this could be read as Intimate Partner Violence.
Originally Posted 7.1.07
Now available at AO3.
Sam found himself thinking about sex far more than usual, in 1973.
Not in the same way he had always done, of course, not in terms of covertly checking out a girl on the street or a night with some bloke he met in the pub or with Maya. No, he was thinking about it in a more abstract sense than that.
If he was really in 1973, then it'd be all right, he thought. In fact if he was really in 1973 he'd be bloody starving for some.
But if he wasn't really, then he was in a coma, and it'd all be some kind of electrical masturbation in his brain. He didn't know if people in comas could -- well, he didn't fancy thinking about his Aunt Heather or his mates on the force coming in to say hello to poor comatose Sam and finding him pitching a tent in the hospital sheets. The nurses would giggle; he knew nurses.
So he thought a lot about it and tried to fit it all into the life he had here, because real or not he did have a life here and he was starving for it. And he woke up all the time starving for it anyway so if he was in a coma and getting a hard-on it hardly mattered if it was with someone or not.
Except it did matter to him if it was with someone. With some someones, it mattered a lot.
Of course, with some it didn't. He was the police, he ended up in all kinds of places. The gay clubs with the pretty long-haired boys, some of them would just love to be pushed about a bit by a bent copper. Or the red light district, the girls who didn't even wait to be asked, they saw his eyes and knew he was a copper and offered him whatever he wanted not to bring them in. And he hadn't had sex with any of them. He hadn't had sex in a year. Or thirty-three, depending on your count.
Because he didn't know where he really was. If he faced up to the facts, he didn't know what he really wanted, either.
Annie was sweet and strong and she knew his secrets and didn't turn him over to what passed for psychiatry in '73. He fancied her senseless, he really did, but what kind of future did either of them have with the other? If he vanished one day it'd be unfair to her, and it'd break his damn heart. No harm in looking, though. When she thought he wasn't, because he didn't want to be one of the boys to her. He wanted to be her boy.
Better not to get into it.
Fighting with Gene Hunt made him feel alive. Most folk feared for their lives in a car with DCI Hunt, but Sam trusted Hunt's reflexes implicitly and there was the most freeing sense of exhiliration, riding along next to his Guv. He respected him, sort of, and Hunt was big and broad-shouldered. Sam was pretty sure Hunt could pick him up and pin him to the wall with one hand and he wasn't exactly averse to the idea. If he tried to offer Hunt a quick feel-up in his office he'd be in the hospital and off the force in two licks, but they'd be such a nice two licks. And the idea of fucking his Guv under the eyes of John Wayne --
Definitely better not to get into that.
So after all was said and done, especially after that horrible sex party where he realised he didn't want to sleep with this blonde woman, this woman who'd made herself into a plaything for her husband and then made herself a killer...
Annie. Annie.
The pictures. A quiet table at the pub, just the two of them, while the others watched and made jokes about Mrs. Tyler (meaning him, not her, which they explained after he had a punch up with Chris about it). Dinner. Dinner at his place. Dinner at her place, though he cooked. Wine. Wooing Annie was almost like sex in itself. It was like this dance. It was like an investigation. God, he was fucked in the head.
And there they were in her nice flat with a bed that didn't fold down from the wall (he'd seen it), on the couch, a little bit drunk. Annie laughing while he kissed her, but a nervous laugh. A laugh that made him stop kissing her before he'd even got her shirt untucked.
"You all right?" he asked, shifting a bit, propping himself up.
"Course. Why wouldn't I be all right?" she replied, tilting her head back.
"Annie, we don't -- "
"No, it's fine," she said. "You're -- " she laughed again. "Guv'd call it downstairs inside, wouldn't he?"
"Christ, Annie, don't let's bring Guv into this." Please don't let's. He was hard enough already.
"I want to," she said, turning her head to look at him. "I like you, Sam."
"I like you too, but..."
"But what?"
"You have done this before, haven't you? Is that why you're nervous?"
She ran a hand through her hair and licked her lips, a sign that she was on the verge of being annoyed with him. "If I say yes, does that make me a slut? And if I say no, does that make me a prude?"
He frowned. "You think I'd think about you like that? Really?"
"No." She looked down, straightened her skirt where it had ridden up on one side. Because he'd been sliding his hand along her thigh, her very perfect thigh.
"Then what is it?"
"D'you really want the truth?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. "We're honest with each other, aren't we?"
"To the point where when I tell you the truth I risk being put in an asylum, yeah," he said, annoyed now. If she didn't want to make love, that was one thing and he'd respect it, though he'd hate himself in the morning. If she was choosing now to tell him she was married or something, he might kill himself. (If he could.)
"It's just...it's a bit of a bother, isn't it? Sex?" she said, all in a rush. "I mean, when I like a bloke I want him to be happy and that means sex sooner or later and I do like you, tremendously, Sam, but it's all just, a bit of a moan and some sweat and then it's done. So for me it's just like...a present I can give you, but do you really enjoy it all that much? Do you?"
Yes. Yes I do, Annie, I really really do, oh god, how I enjoy it --
But what came out of his mouth was, "Oh. Annie. And you with a Psychology degree and all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Annie, if you don't like sex, you've been having sex with the wrong person."
It crossed his mind that she might be a lesbian and not even know it, but it also crossed his mind that it was nineteen seventy three and women were probably still being told to close their eyes and think of England.
"So you think you can do better, copper?" she asked, with a hint of a smile. He traced a line from her temple to her lips with one finger, smiling back.
"Women and men come from the same basic form," he said, finger lingering on her lips. "Chemicals tell what we'll be. Women have the same capacity men do for pleasure, for pain. Where I come from, men know that. Well, some do. I do."
"Let's not talk about where you come from," she murmured.
"Oh, but Annie. We are about to reap the benefits of a twenty-first century education in sex," he replied, drawing the same finger down her chin, into the hollow of her throat. He followed it with his lips. "Relax," he said against her skin. "Trust me."
"Says the madman," she replied, stroking his hair.
"Yes," he agreed.
If he were an undereducated flatfoot feeling up Annie Cartwright, he'd go for her tits first, so instead he slid down off the couch and smiled up at her. He kissed her leg and she laughed.
"What're you on about?" she asked. He kissed it again, a little higher. "Sam, stop playing silly buggers."
"This is not silly buggers," he answered, placing a kiss just above her knee and then rising, leaning over her to kiss her on the lips again. Slow. One hand on the cushions, holding him up, the other cupping her face. He nipped her earlobe and was, finally, rewarded with a soft noise.
"Liked that, did you?" he asked, and was fairly sure she shivered. He kissed behind her ear and then lower, feeling her hands rise and grope blindly until they found his shirt. He caught one of her wrists in his free hand and slid it down slowly, over soft fabric and the cool metal of his belt buckle and down to cup his erection through his trousers. He could probably die happy right now, except that Annie still needed seeing-to. He wanted to hear her moan.
"Feel that, Annie?" he asked, his hand covering hers. "You do that to me. You."
He could feel the heat in her cheeks. Progress. Very much progress.
"What do you want, Sam?" she asked. Her voice was low and confused.
"You," he answered, kissing her ear. "I want you, Annie. I want to undress you..." her fingers twitched and he moaned. "I want to touch you, everywhere. I want to hear you say my name."
"You are a bit of a slut," she said breathlessly. "Where'd you learn all this, then?"
Being called a slut by Annie was a new experience. He kissed her lips and straightened, offering a hand to help her up off the couch and, incidentally, pull her very close. Close enough to feel her breasts press against him.
"Can I take you to bed, Annie?" he asked, very courteous, perfect policeman.
"You can," she answered. He wrapped one arm around her waist and walked her slowly towards the door. On the way her hands drifted to his shirt, undoing the buttons. She touched him, warm hand on warm skin, just above his navel. He cautiously slid his hand down from waist to backside. Annie had a tremendously nice backside.
Her bedroom was small, mostly taken up by the bed, and very tidy. He only saw glimpses of it, slices of light and dark, as he kissed her again and helped her shrug out of her white blouse, hooked his hands in the waist of her skirt and tugged gently. Not quite all the way off, that would be crass, just low enough.
"Legs again?" she asked, amused, as he dropped to his knees. Instead he kissed her belly and she gasped. He nuzzled the skin there, hands splayed on her hips. He had thought that if they did get this far he might actually go mad, but this slow seduction in pieces was turning out to be...enjoyable. He could devour her slowly. So slowly.
Her hips moved, swayed against him, body responding in ways she probably wasn't aware she could. He looked up to see her head tilted back again, the line of her neck pale in the dim light.
"I -- " she started, then swallowed. "That feels -- "
"Good?" he asked. Then he began to laugh when her bra tumbled down, brushing his ear and shoulder as it went past. That was more like Annie, really. He got to his feet and finally slid a hand up her waist to her breast, tracing the nipple with his thumb. She gasped again and he kissed her there, sucked the skin just above it. Tasted Annie.
"Sam, I don't know," she murmured. He kissed her other breast, felt one of her legs hook around his.
"Want me to stop?" he asked.
"No. No. I've never..."
"Told you," he said smugly. Any other time she would have given him a scornful look and a roll of the eyes, but right now she was too busy feeling -- his breath on her skin, his cock against her thigh, his hands supporting her, caressing her.
She pushed his shirt off and pulled off his belt as they fumbled their way to the bed, shedding shoes and socks and her panties and his trousers (well, halfway) in the process. She lay back on the bed, naked and flushed, and he wondered how often she'd actually had sex in a bed, properly, with someone who loved her.
"Here we are then," she said.
"Not quite yet," he replied, crawling over her, nipping at her thigh. Honestly, she really must still have a fairly low opinion of his prowess.
That could change.
He ran his fingers up her thigh and slipped them inside her and was rewarded with a jolt of reaction. Her back arched, hips nearly lifting off the bed, and she did, finally, moan. An involuntary moan, half-surprise, but certainly it beat the idea that this was...some kind of transaction. A gift she gave and he took. That wasn't how he wanted this to work.
He curled his fingers and she moaned again. He found his left hand, which he thought was safely resting on his thigh, inside his pants and tugging at his cock. He didn't remember deciding to do that, but these things had a way of taking over.
"Annie," he said, swaying forward, almost losing his balance. "Annie, do you like that?"
"Yes," she said, perfect chest heaving. "But I don't know how you did it."
"Nothing nicer," he murmured.
"Please kiss me," she said. He twitched his fingers with a grin and she said, "Sam!" in a voice that very nearly made him come right there. "Don't -- not again -- not until you kiss me."
So he did, sliding his body against hers, finding the way they fit together and feeling real for the first time in a long time. They kissed for ages, until her breathing was a little calmer. Between his hands and hers, he'd got rid of the pants at some point and was just lying there, naked, in bed with Annie.
"Still think it's a bit of a bother?" he asked. "Because I could still stop if you wanted."
"I might have to shoot you," she moaned.
"Thought you'd say that." His hands found her thighs and tugged slightly and her body went, relaxed and open, legs wrapping around his hips so that he could move just so --
God, he'd forgot how good sex could be. How had he forgotten this? This feeling of being actually joined to another person at the point where all those nerve endings were so close to the skin, so close that when he moved she moved and actually cried out his name. Every time he thrust his hips she arched up into him, an instinctive movement. He pressed his face to her neck and tried to keep a slow pace but he hadn't had sex in a year and Annie's response was like all that tamped-down passion she kept hidden, lashing out and pulling him in closer and closer. And still mindful that no woman was ever going to think sex with him was anything like a bother, he ran his thumb down her stomach and found the place where they were joined and that one...sensitive...spot...
She arched once more and whimpered and tightened and he came so fast he didn't have time to breathe.
And in that second, for just a second, he crashed through this amazing moment of pleasure into bright light, the sound of the heart monitor, the smell of antiseptic. It didn't even matter, though; he could still feel Annie's body, slick with sweat, in his arms. And when he drew his next breath he was back in her bed with her, his entire body wrapped in fast-approaching afterglow.
He let his head slide slowly down to rest on her shoulder, nipping the skin there.
"Is that what this is supposed to be like?" she asked.
"No," he said, and felt her hands tense on his shoulders. "This was much better."
"Good." She paused. "Just one thing..."
Insecurity welled up in him, because those words never meant anything good.
"...you're a bit heavy."
He smiled and rolled, lying on his side and studying her. Annie Cartwright. His girlfriend. His lover, now.
It flitted through his brain that he hadn't used a condom, didn't even know where to get them in 1973. He didn't think the odds of any kind of disease were very high, but he idly hoped he hadn't got her pregnant because god knew he would never be able to look that child in the face without thinking of the fact that its conception was one of the greatest sexual moments of his entire life. So he tried not to think about it.
"Better?" he asked.
"You're definitely not a bother," she said.
"Glad to hear it."
"Think we could go again?"
"I'm not Superman, luv. Give us a few minutes," he answered, all that biting insecurity totally destroyed by a deep, smug sense of satisfaction. "On the other hand...you can."
"I what?"
He ran his hand up her thigh and touched her again, stroking, rubbing little circles and kissing her while she moaned and bucked and mumbled his name against his lips until she came again. She was wonderful, skin bright against the blankets, eyes closed. He thought she might have fallen asleep until she breathed deep and moved closer, curling against his body.
"You don't even have to put it in," she said.
"Annie, my own," he said, "Please don't ever say that again."
And they laughed. It had been a long time since he'd laughed like that.
***
He should have known that it'd be trouble.
He should have known that even if he could hide the fact that he'd made passionate love to Annie the night before (and that morning, and was seriously considering abducting her somewhere during tea) -- even if he could hide that, which he couldn't really, she definitely couldn't. She glowed. His unit might not be exactly the brightest bulbs, but they were still coppers and they noticed things. When they walked in together, Chris whistled low as they passed his desk. Ray punched his shoulder and sotto voce told him "Good work, Tyler." Phyllis gave Annie a warning look you could see from space.
Hunt, on the other hand, began to glower when he saw her and glowered more when he saw Sam and was generally the most unpleasant bastard who ever lived until about ten o'clock, when he found Sam and Annie talking quietly in a corner of the office. Not even touching, just talking about where they could get dinner if they didn't get any calls and whether he'd cook that Mexican thing he'd told her about.
"Right," he said, shoving past them and grabbing Sam as he went, pulling him away from Annie and along the wall. Sam staggered like a kid, banged his elbow painfully on a filing cabinet, and tried to regain his footing as Hunt yanked him along and threw him through the door into his office. He landed against the desk, which would raise an embarrassing bruise on his arse, and watched warily as Hunt followed him in, throwing the lock on the door behind him.
"This is my station," he said through gritted teeth, leaning over Sam and putting a finger in his face. "The people in it are mine. I didn't give you permission to look sideways at a whore, let alone give Cartwright permission to spread her legs for my DI."
Sam punched him before he knew what he was doing. Right in the head. Punched his DCI in the head.
Hunt reeled and grabbed Sam's shirt, slamming his fist into his gut. Sam groped wildly and they ended up each with a fistful of the other's clothing, grappling around the office like a pair of idiots.
"You do not fuck one of mine without my permission," Hunt said.
"Jealous?" Sam asked, kicking him in the shin. Hunt headbutted him and Sam briefly saw stars.
"I control what goes on in this office. D'you want word to get out that my men keep a police slut -- " Hunt never got the rest out because Sam hooked his thumb in his mouth and tugged. Hunt bit down. Sam swore and pulled free.
"Annie Cartwright wouldn't fuck you if you were dying of a hard-on," he hissed. "If Chris or Ray tried to get a leg over she'd end them. She wanted me. She chose me."
"Keep your dick in your trous, Gladys," Hunt retorted.
"Worried it's bigger than yours?" Sam said, pulling free of Hunt's grasp. Both men were breathing hard, and Sam's thumb was bleeding. "Or is it just that -- "
He'd meant to say something about Hunt and his missus, but before he could he found himself slammed into a wall. And it was then that he realised two things.
One, Hunt was jealous. Not that he'd spent the night with Annie and Hunt hadn't. That Annie had spent the night with him.
Two, Hunt had an erection, probably from their fight. And if Sam thought he was fucked in the head, he clearly had nothing on his boss.
"Ah," Sam said, grinning wildly.
"What the hell's that mean, "ah"?" Hunt asked. Sure enough, Sam was pinned to the wall with one hand.
"If I'm going to fuck someone in the department it had better be you, is that it?" he asked. Hunt pushed forward.
"What did you say?"
Sam kissed him. Kissed his DCI. Right on the mouth.
He wasn't sure if Hunt was going to strangle him or shoot him, but as it turned out what Hunt was going to do was lift him up (stuff of dreams, this, though he could do without the bruises) and hold him there against the wall while they kissed. Oh, and also bite his lip. Just to show who was boss.
Fine, Gene Genie. You're the boss.
Sam got his arms around Hunt's shoulders and managed one leg up over his hip before Hunt's hand was between them, unbuckling his own belt and opening the flies. Sam would give him this, Hunt could multitask when he really put his mind to it. He let his head thud back against the wall as the other (bigger, stronger) man bucked against him roughly, not even doing Sam the courtesy of undressing him at all. Just found the way their bodies fit together and the hell with Sam's comfort.
Sam became vaguely aware that his back was actually pressed against Gene's new Fistful Of Dollars film poster. Between that and the large, thick hand DCI Hunt pressed against his mouth to stop him moaning, it wasn't as if he had a choice. His back arched against the poster and he had his second (third, okay) orgasm in fifteen hours, held up against the wall, fully clothed. Hunt wasn't far behind, grunting quietly as he came all over Sam's trousers.
Sam slid down the wall slowly, managing to keep his footing. By the time he opened his eyes Hunt's belt was already done up again.
"Put me in my place, eh?" he asked Hunt.
"Taught you a lesson," Hunt replied. "You come in making cow's eyes at Cartwright again, I'll teach you another."
"That a promise, Guv?" Sam asked. Hunt glanced sidelong at him. "I mean, frankly, she's an animal. I reckon four, five times a week easy. So if you're going to show me who's boss every time..."
Hunt kissed him roughly, but not quite as angrily as before. When he let him go, Sam bounced back into the wall and stood there, watching.
"Get out of my office," said DCI Hunt.
"Sure thing, Guv. Just one question."
"What the hell d'you want, then? Profession of undying fairy love?"
"Just wondering if you want me to go out there with semen stains all over my trousers," Sam said innocently. Hunt rubbed his eyes.
"You are one fuckin' headache after another," he said, and punched Sam in the nose.
"Jesus, Guv!" Sam said, holding his hand to his viciously bleeding nose. Hunt grabbed him by the neck and forced him to bend so that the blood dripped onto his clothing.
"There. Now they're bloodstains. Next time, bring a change of clothes."
Sam, bleeding and annoyed, glanced up at Hunt. Then at the posters on the walls. Then back at Hunt.
"Yessir. Yessir," he said, and saw Hunt's eyes darken. Gratifying.
As it turned out, Sam Tyler could have it all whether any of it existed or not.
END
I've nothing much to offer
There's nothing much to take
I'm an absolute beginner
And I'm absolutely sane
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: R for sex, language
Summary: Sam is starving for sex, any sex he can get -- but only with a limited number of options, and only when the time is right. Sam/Annie, Sam/Hunt.
Warnings: Some content in this could be read as Intimate Partner Violence.
Originally Posted 7.1.07
Now available at AO3.
Sam found himself thinking about sex far more than usual, in 1973.
Not in the same way he had always done, of course, not in terms of covertly checking out a girl on the street or a night with some bloke he met in the pub or with Maya. No, he was thinking about it in a more abstract sense than that.
If he was really in 1973, then it'd be all right, he thought. In fact if he was really in 1973 he'd be bloody starving for some.
But if he wasn't really, then he was in a coma, and it'd all be some kind of electrical masturbation in his brain. He didn't know if people in comas could -- well, he didn't fancy thinking about his Aunt Heather or his mates on the force coming in to say hello to poor comatose Sam and finding him pitching a tent in the hospital sheets. The nurses would giggle; he knew nurses.
So he thought a lot about it and tried to fit it all into the life he had here, because real or not he did have a life here and he was starving for it. And he woke up all the time starving for it anyway so if he was in a coma and getting a hard-on it hardly mattered if it was with someone or not.
Except it did matter to him if it was with someone. With some someones, it mattered a lot.
Of course, with some it didn't. He was the police, he ended up in all kinds of places. The gay clubs with the pretty long-haired boys, some of them would just love to be pushed about a bit by a bent copper. Or the red light district, the girls who didn't even wait to be asked, they saw his eyes and knew he was a copper and offered him whatever he wanted not to bring them in. And he hadn't had sex with any of them. He hadn't had sex in a year. Or thirty-three, depending on your count.
Because he didn't know where he really was. If he faced up to the facts, he didn't know what he really wanted, either.
Annie was sweet and strong and she knew his secrets and didn't turn him over to what passed for psychiatry in '73. He fancied her senseless, he really did, but what kind of future did either of them have with the other? If he vanished one day it'd be unfair to her, and it'd break his damn heart. No harm in looking, though. When she thought he wasn't, because he didn't want to be one of the boys to her. He wanted to be her boy.
Better not to get into it.
Fighting with Gene Hunt made him feel alive. Most folk feared for their lives in a car with DCI Hunt, but Sam trusted Hunt's reflexes implicitly and there was the most freeing sense of exhiliration, riding along next to his Guv. He respected him, sort of, and Hunt was big and broad-shouldered. Sam was pretty sure Hunt could pick him up and pin him to the wall with one hand and he wasn't exactly averse to the idea. If he tried to offer Hunt a quick feel-up in his office he'd be in the hospital and off the force in two licks, but they'd be such a nice two licks. And the idea of fucking his Guv under the eyes of John Wayne --
Definitely better not to get into that.
So after all was said and done, especially after that horrible sex party where he realised he didn't want to sleep with this blonde woman, this woman who'd made herself into a plaything for her husband and then made herself a killer...
Annie. Annie.
The pictures. A quiet table at the pub, just the two of them, while the others watched and made jokes about Mrs. Tyler (meaning him, not her, which they explained after he had a punch up with Chris about it). Dinner. Dinner at his place. Dinner at her place, though he cooked. Wine. Wooing Annie was almost like sex in itself. It was like this dance. It was like an investigation. God, he was fucked in the head.
And there they were in her nice flat with a bed that didn't fold down from the wall (he'd seen it), on the couch, a little bit drunk. Annie laughing while he kissed her, but a nervous laugh. A laugh that made him stop kissing her before he'd even got her shirt untucked.
"You all right?" he asked, shifting a bit, propping himself up.
"Course. Why wouldn't I be all right?" she replied, tilting her head back.
"Annie, we don't -- "
"No, it's fine," she said. "You're -- " she laughed again. "Guv'd call it downstairs inside, wouldn't he?"
"Christ, Annie, don't let's bring Guv into this." Please don't let's. He was hard enough already.
"I want to," she said, turning her head to look at him. "I like you, Sam."
"I like you too, but..."
"But what?"
"You have done this before, haven't you? Is that why you're nervous?"
She ran a hand through her hair and licked her lips, a sign that she was on the verge of being annoyed with him. "If I say yes, does that make me a slut? And if I say no, does that make me a prude?"
He frowned. "You think I'd think about you like that? Really?"
"No." She looked down, straightened her skirt where it had ridden up on one side. Because he'd been sliding his hand along her thigh, her very perfect thigh.
"Then what is it?"
"D'you really want the truth?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes. "We're honest with each other, aren't we?"
"To the point where when I tell you the truth I risk being put in an asylum, yeah," he said, annoyed now. If she didn't want to make love, that was one thing and he'd respect it, though he'd hate himself in the morning. If she was choosing now to tell him she was married or something, he might kill himself. (If he could.)
"It's just...it's a bit of a bother, isn't it? Sex?" she said, all in a rush. "I mean, when I like a bloke I want him to be happy and that means sex sooner or later and I do like you, tremendously, Sam, but it's all just, a bit of a moan and some sweat and then it's done. So for me it's just like...a present I can give you, but do you really enjoy it all that much? Do you?"
Yes. Yes I do, Annie, I really really do, oh god, how I enjoy it --
But what came out of his mouth was, "Oh. Annie. And you with a Psychology degree and all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Annie, if you don't like sex, you've been having sex with the wrong person."
It crossed his mind that she might be a lesbian and not even know it, but it also crossed his mind that it was nineteen seventy three and women were probably still being told to close their eyes and think of England.
"So you think you can do better, copper?" she asked, with a hint of a smile. He traced a line from her temple to her lips with one finger, smiling back.
"Women and men come from the same basic form," he said, finger lingering on her lips. "Chemicals tell what we'll be. Women have the same capacity men do for pleasure, for pain. Where I come from, men know that. Well, some do. I do."
"Let's not talk about where you come from," she murmured.
"Oh, but Annie. We are about to reap the benefits of a twenty-first century education in sex," he replied, drawing the same finger down her chin, into the hollow of her throat. He followed it with his lips. "Relax," he said against her skin. "Trust me."
"Says the madman," she replied, stroking his hair.
"Yes," he agreed.
If he were an undereducated flatfoot feeling up Annie Cartwright, he'd go for her tits first, so instead he slid down off the couch and smiled up at her. He kissed her leg and she laughed.
"What're you on about?" she asked. He kissed it again, a little higher. "Sam, stop playing silly buggers."
"This is not silly buggers," he answered, placing a kiss just above her knee and then rising, leaning over her to kiss her on the lips again. Slow. One hand on the cushions, holding him up, the other cupping her face. He nipped her earlobe and was, finally, rewarded with a soft noise.
"Liked that, did you?" he asked, and was fairly sure she shivered. He kissed behind her ear and then lower, feeling her hands rise and grope blindly until they found his shirt. He caught one of her wrists in his free hand and slid it down slowly, over soft fabric and the cool metal of his belt buckle and down to cup his erection through his trousers. He could probably die happy right now, except that Annie still needed seeing-to. He wanted to hear her moan.
"Feel that, Annie?" he asked, his hand covering hers. "You do that to me. You."
He could feel the heat in her cheeks. Progress. Very much progress.
"What do you want, Sam?" she asked. Her voice was low and confused.
"You," he answered, kissing her ear. "I want you, Annie. I want to undress you..." her fingers twitched and he moaned. "I want to touch you, everywhere. I want to hear you say my name."
"You are a bit of a slut," she said breathlessly. "Where'd you learn all this, then?"
Being called a slut by Annie was a new experience. He kissed her lips and straightened, offering a hand to help her up off the couch and, incidentally, pull her very close. Close enough to feel her breasts press against him.
"Can I take you to bed, Annie?" he asked, very courteous, perfect policeman.
"You can," she answered. He wrapped one arm around her waist and walked her slowly towards the door. On the way her hands drifted to his shirt, undoing the buttons. She touched him, warm hand on warm skin, just above his navel. He cautiously slid his hand down from waist to backside. Annie had a tremendously nice backside.
Her bedroom was small, mostly taken up by the bed, and very tidy. He only saw glimpses of it, slices of light and dark, as he kissed her again and helped her shrug out of her white blouse, hooked his hands in the waist of her skirt and tugged gently. Not quite all the way off, that would be crass, just low enough.
"Legs again?" she asked, amused, as he dropped to his knees. Instead he kissed her belly and she gasped. He nuzzled the skin there, hands splayed on her hips. He had thought that if they did get this far he might actually go mad, but this slow seduction in pieces was turning out to be...enjoyable. He could devour her slowly. So slowly.
Her hips moved, swayed against him, body responding in ways she probably wasn't aware she could. He looked up to see her head tilted back again, the line of her neck pale in the dim light.
"I -- " she started, then swallowed. "That feels -- "
"Good?" he asked. Then he began to laugh when her bra tumbled down, brushing his ear and shoulder as it went past. That was more like Annie, really. He got to his feet and finally slid a hand up her waist to her breast, tracing the nipple with his thumb. She gasped again and he kissed her there, sucked the skin just above it. Tasted Annie.
"Sam, I don't know," she murmured. He kissed her other breast, felt one of her legs hook around his.
"Want me to stop?" he asked.
"No. No. I've never..."
"Told you," he said smugly. Any other time she would have given him a scornful look and a roll of the eyes, but right now she was too busy feeling -- his breath on her skin, his cock against her thigh, his hands supporting her, caressing her.
She pushed his shirt off and pulled off his belt as they fumbled their way to the bed, shedding shoes and socks and her panties and his trousers (well, halfway) in the process. She lay back on the bed, naked and flushed, and he wondered how often she'd actually had sex in a bed, properly, with someone who loved her.
"Here we are then," she said.
"Not quite yet," he replied, crawling over her, nipping at her thigh. Honestly, she really must still have a fairly low opinion of his prowess.
That could change.
He ran his fingers up her thigh and slipped them inside her and was rewarded with a jolt of reaction. Her back arched, hips nearly lifting off the bed, and she did, finally, moan. An involuntary moan, half-surprise, but certainly it beat the idea that this was...some kind of transaction. A gift she gave and he took. That wasn't how he wanted this to work.
He curled his fingers and she moaned again. He found his left hand, which he thought was safely resting on his thigh, inside his pants and tugging at his cock. He didn't remember deciding to do that, but these things had a way of taking over.
"Annie," he said, swaying forward, almost losing his balance. "Annie, do you like that?"
"Yes," she said, perfect chest heaving. "But I don't know how you did it."
"Nothing nicer," he murmured.
"Please kiss me," she said. He twitched his fingers with a grin and she said, "Sam!" in a voice that very nearly made him come right there. "Don't -- not again -- not until you kiss me."
So he did, sliding his body against hers, finding the way they fit together and feeling real for the first time in a long time. They kissed for ages, until her breathing was a little calmer. Between his hands and hers, he'd got rid of the pants at some point and was just lying there, naked, in bed with Annie.
"Still think it's a bit of a bother?" he asked. "Because I could still stop if you wanted."
"I might have to shoot you," she moaned.
"Thought you'd say that." His hands found her thighs and tugged slightly and her body went, relaxed and open, legs wrapping around his hips so that he could move just so --
God, he'd forgot how good sex could be. How had he forgotten this? This feeling of being actually joined to another person at the point where all those nerve endings were so close to the skin, so close that when he moved she moved and actually cried out his name. Every time he thrust his hips she arched up into him, an instinctive movement. He pressed his face to her neck and tried to keep a slow pace but he hadn't had sex in a year and Annie's response was like all that tamped-down passion she kept hidden, lashing out and pulling him in closer and closer. And still mindful that no woman was ever going to think sex with him was anything like a bother, he ran his thumb down her stomach and found the place where they were joined and that one...sensitive...spot...
She arched once more and whimpered and tightened and he came so fast he didn't have time to breathe.
And in that second, for just a second, he crashed through this amazing moment of pleasure into bright light, the sound of the heart monitor, the smell of antiseptic. It didn't even matter, though; he could still feel Annie's body, slick with sweat, in his arms. And when he drew his next breath he was back in her bed with her, his entire body wrapped in fast-approaching afterglow.
He let his head slide slowly down to rest on her shoulder, nipping the skin there.
"Is that what this is supposed to be like?" she asked.
"No," he said, and felt her hands tense on his shoulders. "This was much better."
"Good." She paused. "Just one thing..."
Insecurity welled up in him, because those words never meant anything good.
"...you're a bit heavy."
He smiled and rolled, lying on his side and studying her. Annie Cartwright. His girlfriend. His lover, now.
It flitted through his brain that he hadn't used a condom, didn't even know where to get them in 1973. He didn't think the odds of any kind of disease were very high, but he idly hoped he hadn't got her pregnant because god knew he would never be able to look that child in the face without thinking of the fact that its conception was one of the greatest sexual moments of his entire life. So he tried not to think about it.
"Better?" he asked.
"You're definitely not a bother," she said.
"Glad to hear it."
"Think we could go again?"
"I'm not Superman, luv. Give us a few minutes," he answered, all that biting insecurity totally destroyed by a deep, smug sense of satisfaction. "On the other hand...you can."
"I what?"
He ran his hand up her thigh and touched her again, stroking, rubbing little circles and kissing her while she moaned and bucked and mumbled his name against his lips until she came again. She was wonderful, skin bright against the blankets, eyes closed. He thought she might have fallen asleep until she breathed deep and moved closer, curling against his body.
"You don't even have to put it in," she said.
"Annie, my own," he said, "Please don't ever say that again."
And they laughed. It had been a long time since he'd laughed like that.
***
He should have known that it'd be trouble.
He should have known that even if he could hide the fact that he'd made passionate love to Annie the night before (and that morning, and was seriously considering abducting her somewhere during tea) -- even if he could hide that, which he couldn't really, she definitely couldn't. She glowed. His unit might not be exactly the brightest bulbs, but they were still coppers and they noticed things. When they walked in together, Chris whistled low as they passed his desk. Ray punched his shoulder and sotto voce told him "Good work, Tyler." Phyllis gave Annie a warning look you could see from space.
Hunt, on the other hand, began to glower when he saw her and glowered more when he saw Sam and was generally the most unpleasant bastard who ever lived until about ten o'clock, when he found Sam and Annie talking quietly in a corner of the office. Not even touching, just talking about where they could get dinner if they didn't get any calls and whether he'd cook that Mexican thing he'd told her about.
"Right," he said, shoving past them and grabbing Sam as he went, pulling him away from Annie and along the wall. Sam staggered like a kid, banged his elbow painfully on a filing cabinet, and tried to regain his footing as Hunt yanked him along and threw him through the door into his office. He landed against the desk, which would raise an embarrassing bruise on his arse, and watched warily as Hunt followed him in, throwing the lock on the door behind him.
"This is my station," he said through gritted teeth, leaning over Sam and putting a finger in his face. "The people in it are mine. I didn't give you permission to look sideways at a whore, let alone give Cartwright permission to spread her legs for my DI."
Sam punched him before he knew what he was doing. Right in the head. Punched his DCI in the head.
Hunt reeled and grabbed Sam's shirt, slamming his fist into his gut. Sam groped wildly and they ended up each with a fistful of the other's clothing, grappling around the office like a pair of idiots.
"You do not fuck one of mine without my permission," Hunt said.
"Jealous?" Sam asked, kicking him in the shin. Hunt headbutted him and Sam briefly saw stars.
"I control what goes on in this office. D'you want word to get out that my men keep a police slut -- " Hunt never got the rest out because Sam hooked his thumb in his mouth and tugged. Hunt bit down. Sam swore and pulled free.
"Annie Cartwright wouldn't fuck you if you were dying of a hard-on," he hissed. "If Chris or Ray tried to get a leg over she'd end them. She wanted me. She chose me."
"Keep your dick in your trous, Gladys," Hunt retorted.
"Worried it's bigger than yours?" Sam said, pulling free of Hunt's grasp. Both men were breathing hard, and Sam's thumb was bleeding. "Or is it just that -- "
He'd meant to say something about Hunt and his missus, but before he could he found himself slammed into a wall. And it was then that he realised two things.
One, Hunt was jealous. Not that he'd spent the night with Annie and Hunt hadn't. That Annie had spent the night with him.
Two, Hunt had an erection, probably from their fight. And if Sam thought he was fucked in the head, he clearly had nothing on his boss.
"Ah," Sam said, grinning wildly.
"What the hell's that mean, "ah"?" Hunt asked. Sure enough, Sam was pinned to the wall with one hand.
"If I'm going to fuck someone in the department it had better be you, is that it?" he asked. Hunt pushed forward.
"What did you say?"
Sam kissed him. Kissed his DCI. Right on the mouth.
He wasn't sure if Hunt was going to strangle him or shoot him, but as it turned out what Hunt was going to do was lift him up (stuff of dreams, this, though he could do without the bruises) and hold him there against the wall while they kissed. Oh, and also bite his lip. Just to show who was boss.
Fine, Gene Genie. You're the boss.
Sam got his arms around Hunt's shoulders and managed one leg up over his hip before Hunt's hand was between them, unbuckling his own belt and opening the flies. Sam would give him this, Hunt could multitask when he really put his mind to it. He let his head thud back against the wall as the other (bigger, stronger) man bucked against him roughly, not even doing Sam the courtesy of undressing him at all. Just found the way their bodies fit together and the hell with Sam's comfort.
Sam became vaguely aware that his back was actually pressed against Gene's new Fistful Of Dollars film poster. Between that and the large, thick hand DCI Hunt pressed against his mouth to stop him moaning, it wasn't as if he had a choice. His back arched against the poster and he had his second (third, okay) orgasm in fifteen hours, held up against the wall, fully clothed. Hunt wasn't far behind, grunting quietly as he came all over Sam's trousers.
Sam slid down the wall slowly, managing to keep his footing. By the time he opened his eyes Hunt's belt was already done up again.
"Put me in my place, eh?" he asked Hunt.
"Taught you a lesson," Hunt replied. "You come in making cow's eyes at Cartwright again, I'll teach you another."
"That a promise, Guv?" Sam asked. Hunt glanced sidelong at him. "I mean, frankly, she's an animal. I reckon four, five times a week easy. So if you're going to show me who's boss every time..."
Hunt kissed him roughly, but not quite as angrily as before. When he let him go, Sam bounced back into the wall and stood there, watching.
"Get out of my office," said DCI Hunt.
"Sure thing, Guv. Just one question."
"What the hell d'you want, then? Profession of undying fairy love?"
"Just wondering if you want me to go out there with semen stains all over my trousers," Sam said innocently. Hunt rubbed his eyes.
"You are one fuckin' headache after another," he said, and punched Sam in the nose.
"Jesus, Guv!" Sam said, holding his hand to his viciously bleeding nose. Hunt grabbed him by the neck and forced him to bend so that the blood dripped onto his clothing.
"There. Now they're bloodstains. Next time, bring a change of clothes."
Sam, bleeding and annoyed, glanced up at Hunt. Then at the posters on the walls. Then back at Hunt.
"Yessir. Yessir," he said, and saw Hunt's eyes darken. Gratifying.
As it turned out, Sam Tyler could have it all whether any of it existed or not.
END
I've nothing much to offer
There's nothing much to take
I'm an absolute beginner
And I'm absolutely sane
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