'Cos I'm A Man

More Porn of The Dead! And a songfic, god help us! My attempt to get away from the ANGST of writing a Dead fic and bring a little joy into Pete & Rog’s lives. In no way affiliated with the relationship of Down To The Line or the angst of Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, (or indeed with the original film, they aren’t mine blah blah…)
But I hope you like it.
The song is ‘Cos I’m a Man’ by The Pretty Things, on the soundtrack of the Director’s cut.

Warning: Slash. Starts ok, descends into total smut. A treat for me after the chasteness of previous fic…

Disclaimer: I am totally in love with this film, and have huge respect for it, but dammit! Peter & Roger are so in love! If you don’t like it, all I can say is that I enjoyed writing it- sorry!

And a quick pimp-If you enjoy this, you might like to visit the livejournal community:

http://www.livejournal.com/community/peter_roger/

‘Cos I’m A Man

“I never wake up early in the morning
Don’t get home ‘till late at night.
Don’t believe in overworking
And I never treat a woman right…
Cos I’m a man…
Cos I’m a man”

Peter had never really thought about what it meant to be a man. He’d joined the force because where he came from something suitably masculine was expected and he didn’t fancy jail. He looked good, kept himself nice. He smoked, drank, went with a lot of women. A LOT of women. They liked a guy in uniform after all, and Peter liked the attention it brought, didn’t really think about it too much. It wasn’t complicated- the money came in, the money went out, the women came and went, a nice steady life.
And now this shit comes along, and suddenly everything goes straight outta the window.
The cultivated numbness he’d grown like a shell all these years, eating, sleeping, screwing, killing, suddenly it had all evaporated. The sudden burning zealousness, the righteous anger he’d felt when he saw all those people…people not infected…callously herded, shot for no reason other than efficiency and bad luck, this was what he was born for. In the middle of all that death he’d felt alive.
And Roger…well he was a part of it all, this important moment, and he’d seen this…electricity, this waking up and coming alive…in Roger too.
Through the clouds of gas and the chaos Peter had seen this small guy go for a man twice his size, with no care for himself. Then the cool anger Peter had felt, how good it had been to bring down that bastard redneck Wooley…
Right then he’d felt an unexpected rush, an almost physical excitement,
Him and Roger. The both of them refusing to play the game…
Then in the basement he’d seen him again, unsure whether he was right, he’d gone in gun raised, ready to scare him off. But the kid didn’t scare easy, lowered his gun first even though he’d seen Peter shoot another cop in the back.
Peter had taken the cigarette offered to him, though he preferred a cigar.
“D’you think it’s right to run?”
His gut instinct about Roger had been spot on. And who cared what was right any more? No-one else seemed to. It sure *felt* right. And he knew he’d gone too far to get back. Putting a bullet through Wooley, he’d put a bullet right through his career as a cop anyhow. And when he’d seen those creatures in all that filth in the basement, he’d felt sick to his stomach, known that there was nothing left that they could do here anyway. He’d swallowed his nausea, begun putting bullets in those things mechanically, then the barrel clicked empty and he’d felt Roger at his side, gun raised and bringing down the one grabbing hungrily for his foot. Peter’d looked at him, looked into the somehow hopeful eyes, and when he looked away to reload, still felt those baby blue eyes on him for a moment too long. Roger hadn’t asked him to run, didn’t need to, that one look had said it all. As he shakily reloaded Peter told himself that it was cool, they were buddies baby, kindred spirits, it was us against the world, and what a world! But at the back of it all he’d felt a nagging feeling that it was something unacceptably more, something, some connection he’d never felt for all the countless women who’d hauled themselves in and out of his bed… And now he didn’t have a clue how he was meant to think or feel. No-one had ever taught him about *this*. Certainly not his father.


“I like to be the centre of attraction
Let the people know just who I am
Like my movie shows with lots of action
Take my beer straight from the can
Cos I’m a man
Cos I’m a man…”

He looked over at Roger as they sped away from the scene of the crime. They were outside the law now baby, they were thieves and bad guys. And Peter liked the rush he was getting. He settled back in his seat, gun resting against his thigh.
“Where’s this chopper?”
“The docks…we got less than ten minutes man”
Roger briefly took a hand off the wheel to light another cigarette
“Wasn’t sure whether I’d do it…”
He caught Peter’s eye, grinned.
“Better put the lights on ”
Roger hit the switch. The siren wailed into life
Yes, Peter was in love. He was totally in love with the sheer life in this man, this willingness to go against order, to say fuck you to authority, to do what had to be done.

“I’m not the type for settling down
Or raising a family
Just give me a room with music and dice
That’s the place for me…”

Roger had always preferred the company of men. That had been, on reflection, the problem. The ex hadn’t been all that keen on being a part time wife; wanted kids, wanted quiet nights in, the whole shebang. She never liked his job either, though he knew the respectability had impressed the in-laws. And the job had presented plenty of opportunity for escape. Now he had time to think, Roger reflected that maybe that’s why he liked it so much. Plus the fact that no one had believed he’d ever make it, being so small and slight. But he had. And he’d done well, at least until tonight. The one rule was you never broke ranks, but he’d seen red when Wooley started playing it like a game. He’d never liked the bastard anyway, and when he’d started with all that racist shit Roger had seen something like this coming. They were all on edge, but Wooley took it too far, man. And Roger felt no regrets; Wooley had certainly got what was coming to him.
As he’d stumbled into the musty basement Roger had sensed that there was someone else down there. Maybe he’d known all along that Peter would be there, maybe it was a coincidence. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking to tell the truth. Since he’d seen that kid, no more than eighteen, put a gun to his own head he’d been running blind.
He wasn’t surprised when Peter appeared; he wasn’t surprised when he lowered his own gun. Honestly he didn’t care any more whether the guy shot him, at least he’d be out of all the madness. But somehow he’d known he wouldn’t do it.
“D’you think it’s right to run?”
But he had been surprised when he found those words coming from his own mouth, a question he’d been chewing over since he got the call from Stephen, a question he hadn’t shared with anyone. But really, who else was there to ask?
There had been a silence, and Roger felt a chill on his back- suddenly wondered if he’d said too much. Peter had looked like he’d been about to answer when they’d been interrupted, and by the time they’d seen to the old priest and sorted out the things in the basement Roger had known the answer without Peter saying a word.
They’d made it onto the street and in the confusion Roger had managed to get them into a car. The keys were still in the ignition. Typical cops, Roger thought with a wan smile as he started the engine. Peter had hesitated for a moment at the open door, watching the chaos, the screams of the few who had been rounded up outside the project, and Roger felt a sudden unexplained pang.
“Peter?”
In a sudden movement Peter swung himself into the car and slammed the door
“Go”
And with that, they were off.

“Shit man, we got company”
Peter leaned forward and peered through the windscreen. There was the chopper. The car’s headlights picked out a bunch of men, all armed. He grimaced.
“Cops”
“I make four, no five. No sweat, we can handle ‘em easy”
Roger stubbed out his cigarette, swung the wheel and the car screeched to a stop, lights still flashing. Roger sure knew how to make an entrance. Peter made out a man and woman standing uneasily at the dock doorway. Roger nodded in their direction
“There’s Stephen…he better not be fucking this up”
Roger swung the door open and casually stepped out, swinging his rifle easily over his shoulder
“What’s the problem officer?”
“We caught your friends here trying to steal company gasoline”
“What d’you mean, friends?”
“They know, Rog”
Roger looked at them all with an easy winning smile
“Now, it’d be crazy to start shootin’ at one another…”
By now Peter had gotten out of the car and was leaning against the door. You had to admire Roger’s nerve. He even shouted a friendly warning to the cops as they left on their boat to god knew what island they believed was out there. Good luck to em, thought Peter grimly as he settled in next to Fran.
The chopper ride hadn’t been a bundle of laughs. Flyboy was tense and seemed like he had something to prove, and Peter knew he wasn’t keen on the unexpected company. Fran was mostly quiet but it had been a kick in the guts when she’d asked him about his family. He didn’t like to think about it. His kid brother, he’d probably be ok, he was most likely out of the country with the team, but his brother in jail…well he didn’t care to think about that too much. He sensed that Fran had felt like asking Roger more about his wife, his ex-wife, for conversation as much as anything else, but it seemed that Rog didn’t care to think about that too much either so she’d kept quiet. Peter couldn’t quite figure out what the deal was with these people. Fair enough Fran had been a little off with him- hell, she didn’t know Peter and with all the crazy shit people were doing, who could blame her? He’d seen enough to know that in this situation even a uniform was no guarantee you were on the same side. But he felt a friction between Fran and Roger that he couldn’t quite pin down, felt already that allegiances were being drawn up, sides taken. And with this already shaky setup…Peter knew that Rog had taken a big risk bringing him into the equation. So why had he done it?
And there had been some argument about where they should go, Roger trying to be diplomatic, you couldn’t blame him for that. And you couldn’t really blame Stephen for feeling a bit useless. He couldn’t shoot straight for a start. If it wasn’t so important Peter would’ve found his ineptness funny. Lucky Rog was there to step in at the refuelling stop. Yeah…Peter remembered the moment in the basement when Rog had gone in to shoot that thing that was grasping at his leg, remembered the look...That was twice the kid had saved his life, three if you counted the offer of the place on the chopper. As he dozed in the back seat Peter wondered where he would’ve been now, what the hell he would’ve done if he hadn’t run…

As he drifted in and out of sleep, the thrumming of the ‘copter lulling him, Roger knew Peter was still awake behind him. He could feel it.
“you awake man?”
Silence
Roger gave up and let himself drift
“Yeah, I’m here”
Roger shifted in his seat so he could look round
“You ok? “
“Yeah”
Roger could see Fran was dead asleep, even Flyboy was beginning to nod. He spoke softly, hand almost covering his mouth
“glad you came?”
“wouldn’t miss it, baby”
Peter grinned sadly, a flash of white teeth in the dark.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world”
Roger quickly reached back and touched Peter’s shoulder, just for a second. He felt the muscle tense under his hand.
“I’m glad you’re here, man”
Peter looked at him for a long moment before replying.
“So am I”

“I never like to lose a nickel
Although I am a gambling man
Smoke the cigarettes until my throat is raw
Don’t believe in living to a plan
Cos I’m a man
Cos I’m a man…”

“What is it?”
“Looks like a shopping centre, one of those big indoor malls”
Stephen expertly brought the bird into land, pleased that he could do something right at last, landing neatly, bang on the H of the landing pad.
To tell the truth he was more than a bit pissed at Roger. Not only had been late for the rendezvous he’d brought along some strange guy who Stephen didn’t completely trust. He was too quiet for a start. A watcher. Stephen had come across men like Peter before. They sat quiet and waited for you to screw up then they rubbed your noses in it for the rest of your life. That’s one consolation, Stephen thought grimly as he helped Fran jump awkwardly out of the chopper- there might not be too much of the rest of his life left.
Stephen had a bad feeling about the place. He was no tactician (and god didn’t Rog and Peter let him know this) but even he could tell that they could be in some serious shit if they got down inside the mall and couldn’t get out again. Peter, gung-ho to the last, had smashed a window and the next thing Stephen knew Fran had woken him up and told him those maniacs were down there with the creatures trying to nick stuff. Stephen, who’d never got so much as a parking ticket, wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole breaking the law thing, though he could see the gleam in Roger’s eyes that had made him uneasy. And he hadn’t liked the way Peter implied he was a thief for taking the chopper. Peter was a bad influence, and maybe Fran was right- maybe they should have just got the hell out of there and made a run for Canada.
But then Fran had also made it clear that she wasn’t keen on Rog coming along, and she’d been wrong about that. Much as he hated to admit it Stephen knew he and Fran were way out of their depths when there was any killing to be done. He wished he could see those…things as the others did- as just another enemy to be dealt with. And he knew it was ridiculously illogical given the situation but he hated the way that Roger, his oldest friend, seemed to be palling up with this new guy who he’d known for, what…all of three hours? He’d even felt a pang of jealousy when he heard about their hit-and-run, which was stupid.
They were so easy with each other, just like they’d known each other all their lives. And they were having fun. Fun!
But hadn’t he felt a rush when Rog had slapped his hand in delight at finding the duct on the map?
Hadn’t it felt great when Peter had turned to him and grinned “You found it, Flyboy!”? Stephen had never had a nickname before. He turned it over in his mind, tasting the sound of it, and smiled to himself. ‘Flyboy’- he liked it.
He just wished he hadn’t told them about Fran’s pregnancy
He’d seen Rog and Peter’s quick look at each other and felt someway ashamed that he’d given them all something else to worry about. The moment felt somehow ruined- now it was Peter and Roger, Stephen and Fran again. Excitement versus domesticity. Of course Fran must come first, of course he had to patch it up, but as he sat in the dark with his arm around his sleeping girlfriend Stephen was just a little jealous of the guys in the other room, drinking whisky and talking manfully about dealing with the situation…the real men…
Fly-boy, yeah, not Fly-man.
Stephen quietly got up and shut the door with a sigh…

“Cos I’m a man…
Yes I’m a man…”

“Someone better sit watch all the time”
Roger knew that ‘someone’ was going to have to be them. Fran was out of it, in more ways than one, and Stephen…Rog loved Steve dearly but if he hadn’t known it already then today’s fiasco had convinced Roger than Flyboy was going to be no use whatsoever in the gun department.
So Roger had volunteered first watch. He was still too high from the hit to sleep anyway, could still feel the adrenaline pulsing through him as he paced the small anteroom.
It had felt so good to let loose all that energy, to stop thinking, start doing, to get some action after all those hours cramped in the chopper…The nervous energy tingling in his arms, his legs, all from the thrill of the kill…
At least that’s what Roger told himself
And man, Roger really *had* needed to stop thinking.
To stop thinking about the buzz he’d got when he landed that hand on Peter’s shoulder in the chopper, felt the sudden kick off that strange strong body, the unsettling flooding back of all those feelings, the uneasiness he’d always been able to bury under the easy laughter, the masculine bonhomie shit of late night stakeouts, drunken nights in bars, poker games. Being one of the guys. Oh, he’d managed it before, got so good at it he hardly realised he was doing it. But now…now he had time to think again…and yet, this time the kick was still there.
He was so absorbed that it wasn’t until half an hour later that he realised with a jolt that Peter was still awake, watching him pace. He paused.
“What’s up man?”
Peter lifted his head
“Can’t you hear them?”
Roger could. Those things were milling about outside and through the smashed skylight it sounded like there were more than before
“They know we’re in here”

Peter picked up the bottle of whisky from by his feet, unscrewed it and took a thoughtful gulp
Roger perched himself on a stack of boxes, tried to concentrate on the matter in hand.
“I know”
Peter swallowed and tossed the bottle to Roger, who fumbled, catching it awkwardly
“Shit!”
“What’s up man?”
Roger rubbed his arm and looked over dolefully at Peter
“You hurt?”
Peter’s large brow furrowed with concern
“Nah, just a knock, from…y’know”
Peter knew. He remembered too clearly how Roger had been whacked against the wall by that hulking cop.
“Nothing this won’t fix, right?”
Roger grinned and took a gulp himself, but even in the darkening room Peter could see that the look on his face was strained.
After a second, Peter pushed himself up and strode purposefully over to where Roger was sat, knelt down in front of him.
“let me see man”
“No, s’ok”
In a quick movement, before Roger could protest, Peter had grabbed his arm and silently pushed up the rough material of Roger’s sleeve. Roger, startled by the sudden gentle movement, didn’t resist, could find nothing to say.
“Doesn’t look too bad”
Peter gently turned Roger’s arm over and examined the bruises. His cool hand hesitantly touched on the purplish skin so delicately that Roger involuntarily shivered.
Peter’s hand paused
“That hurt?”
Roger bit his lip and shook his head.
Peter gently traced the path of the bruise to the edge of the material, and back down again.
Without moving his head, Roger glanced down at the dark concerned face. Peter seemed thoroughly absorbed.
“Let me see the other one”
This time Roger unhesitatingly pushed up his own sleeve.
“Rog, man, this one’s worse”
Now Peter had a cool hand on both of his arms.
It had been so long since someone, anyone, had touched him, and so gently…
Roger gulped quietly, no longer thinking about the pain
“You ok, man?”
Roger realised Peter was looking up at him, cool eyes meeting his gaze. How long had they’d been sitting like that?
Looking at each other...
“I know, I got healing hands, man…must be a voodoo thing”
Peter smiled up at him slowly, Roger grinned, relieved
“Yeah…”

It wasn’t until Peter had got himself over to Roger’s side and had Rog’s arm in his hands that he’d thought about what he was doing.
As soon as he’d pushed up the coarse sleeve, felt the touch of his skin moving against Roger’s it had somehow felt different to all the other times he’d methodically checked an injured buddy. He mentally rebuked himself- his touch was too hesitant, too soft. But the guy was so fragile-looking it had seemed right to be more gentle. As he ran a light hand over the bruising, which wasn’t too bad, he’d felt the sudden shiver of goosebumps under his fingertips.
It wasn’t until he’d felt Roger shaking slightly, felt it vibrating through the floorboards under his legs that he’d thought about how close they were…
Too close…
Crack a joke, he thought, this is getting too…
The crack about voodoo
He’d seen the flood of relief on Roger’s face, but as they laughed quietly in the dark he felt, with his own relief, a strange disappointment. The moment, whatever it meant, was gone.
“You’ll live, man”
He pulled down the sleeves with a perfunctory tug.
“You’ll live”
Yeah man, but who lives?

Out of the corner of his eye Roger watched as Peter sat down heavily next to him, felt for the bottle, scooped it up to his lips and drained it determinedly. Roger let himself breathe out slowly, still feeling the heavy tingle of those fingers against his skin. What the hell had just happened?
In the silence he could hear the faint regular breathing from next door. Without turning to look at Peter he whispered
“They’re out of it, huh?”
Peter was silent
Then a heavy sigh
“Yeah…lucky them”
Lucky them. In a quick movement Peter tossed the empty bottle aside and it clattered too loudly, the sound echoing against the high ceiling.
A hollow sound.
Roger winced.
He didn’t know what to say.

Peter suddenly felt beat, exhausted from all the death, from all the running, heavy with worry about all the people he’d had to leave behind.
And above it all he felt a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that the heat of the whisky couldn’t douse, a nagging feeling that he’d somehow blown this too, broken some vital human connection. The buzz he’d been high on since he’d first laid eyes on Roger in that seedy tenement had kept him going through all the shit, and now it was ruined.
He closed his eyes.
Man, what did he expect…
Then a lurch
His eyes flicked open…
Peter felt a hesitant hand on his shoulder.
Roger’s hand.

Roger didn’t know why it felt so strange. It seemed the right thing to do, a comradely gesture, a quick touch that said I understand.
I’m here man.
But as soon as his fingers had touched on Peter’s arm, felt the hard curve of Peter’s muscle through the fabric, he’d felt it again, that buzz, and hesitated a little. The rough sound of fabric moving over skin, the unexpected heat of Peter’s body under it made Roger catch his breath sharply in his throat. Instead of the manly pat he’d intended he found himself unsurely brushing over the sleeve in a way that seemed almost too sensual.
Then he felt Peter tense under his palm. Suddenly uncertain his hand paused.
He was about to draw away, all ready to crack a joke of his own…

Peter didn’t have time to think. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what he was doing and he didn’t care. He’d felt a sudden rush of blood thrumming through him at the first touch, his whole body concentrated on the unexpected gentle pressure on his arm, this human warmth brushing against him, moving over him.
Warm life after all the death. It felt so good. His mind raced but his body instinctively relaxed, leant into it willingly.
Then he felt Roger hesitate, and all he knew was that he couldn’t bear it to stop.
Suddenly, automatically, he found himself reaching up, grasping for Roger’s small hand, grabbing for that piece of warmth. An awkward moment when their fingers rubbed clumsily then slipped easily together, then he felt Roger’s rapid breath at the abrupt contact. and a sudden electricity surprised him, pulsed between them, something Peter hadn’t felt for such a long time…

Roger felt the cool hand slide easily over his. The words he’d hastily planned died in his throat.
Surprised, strangely thrilled at the unexpected touch he gripped Peter’s shoulder, felt the beat of Peter’s heart pulsing fast under his hand.

Then their hands were moving together, circling down slowly, rhythmically, over Peter’s arm. Roger felt the light pressure of Peter’s arm rubbing against his thigh as they moved together, Peter’s shoulder rising and falling more rapidly as their hands ran down, down…
Their twined hands had moved down to Peter’s leg.
Roger bit down on his lip hard, instinctively gripped Peter’s hand in his
Without thinking he moved his other hand slowly down to his own lap, touched the tightening fabric, the hardness underneath.

Peter heard the change in breath, felt the leg pressing against his arm…

Then Peter turned, looked straight into his face, dark eyes impassive, heavy lidded. Roger froze guiltily. Slowly the gaze moved down Roger’s body. Paused on the hard bulge at Roger’s groin.
At Roger’s hand pressed against it.
Roger was suddenly aware of his own erection pressing against the tight uniform.
Shit.
Roger gulped
Then Peter slowly took his hand from Roger’s.
This is it, thought Roger. Oh, shit. He’s going to…
Slowly, holding Roger’s gaze, Peter reached across.
Roger shut his eyes.
This was it. He swallowed, waiting for the punch.
The only sound the buzz of the TV static in the background, louder and louder
After a long moment Roger dared to open his eyes.
And Peter’s face was so close Roger could feel his own breath against the smooth dark cheek. So close their lips were almost…
and then Peter’s lips were moving against his, softly, barely touching, his warm rapid breath in Roger’s open mouth, the bitter taste of whisky and tobacco.
Then Peter’s hand was on his cheek, pulling him in, their mouths coming together hard.
Roger gasped, felt the hand slide down over his chest. Touching him lightly. And suddenly his hand was pushed aside and the cool palm was pressing firmly against his dick,
Roger’s eyes opened wide
The hand was rubbing against him so easily, so confidently, that Roger gasped, arched his back, almost came right then.
Shifting under the touch he felt Peter’s breath catch in his throat, his mouth suddenly still against Roger’s. He felt Peter hard against his leg, pressing up against his thigh.
“Peter?”
Roger barely breathed the question into Peter’s mouth
His hand slipped gently down Peter’s body, over the taught curve of his muscles, down to his hip, rested there. Peter’s breath quickened.
Slowly, hesitantly, Roger let his hand drag across the rough material until it rested on the rigid swell under Peter’s uniform, felt Peter stiffen under his hand, straining against his tentative touch. Then sudden harsh breath against his lips, and he was pushing himself hard into Roger’s palm, the coarse fabric rasping, the hand on Roger moving faster. Peter’s wet lips moved against his as he half-kissed, half moaned
“Oh, fuck!”
The roughness in his voice…
“Oh…fu…”
Unthinkingly Roger pressed his lips forcefully against Peter’s, the words lost in the kiss.
Then he felt Peter’s fingers fumble, somewhere heard buttons popping, felt a hand slip clumsily inside his uniform, grasp him, and then…
Roger gasped

Peter had never seen another man come before. But the feel of Roger moving under him, the taste of another man’s scent on his lips…

Roger’s hips lifted. The touch of skin, the way Roger keened under his hand excited Peter too. Roger felt Peter’s lip curl against his. The pressure on his cock increased, he pressed back hard. The rapid breath against his mouth, the strong body pressed against his. And Roger knew he was too close. Suddenly he felt the heat as Peter jerked powerfully against him, the dampness as Peter thrust roughly into Roger’s hand as he came, Peter’s tongue roughly pushing against his, Roger was gone.
Roger came hard over Peter’s hand.
“fuck!”
Roger felt a strong arm slip around his waist as he came, drawing him in close, lifting his hips, pulling him in, the mouth swallowing his cry.

No, Peter had never really thought about what it meant to be a man.
But as he lay quietly in the dark, the warm gentle pressure on his chest as Roger slept soundly against him, their hands still clasped together, he felt a sudden inexplicable pride. Fuck the rules. Fuck them all. They’d got this far on their own.
In a world of death, what was wrong with a little love?
Tomorrow was another day…
And he’d sure as hell figure the rest out for himself.
END!