TITLE:        The Morning From Hell
AUTHOR:       Claire
RATING:       NC-17, H
PAIRING:      Garfield / Loxton (although I would like to stress that this is
              in George's mind *only*)
DISCLAIMERS:  Nope, don't own.  Thames Television has that honour.  Pity
              though...
SPOILERS:     No
SUMMARY:      Relentless (although empathetic) Garfield-Bashing

Virtual gold stars go (as per usual) to Kel... for putting up with my
doubts.

I hope you enjoy this, and please, feedback is always welcome at Charlton@cobweb.com.au

=================
The Morning From Hell
by Claire
=================

PC George Garfield was a happy man.

The source of this happiness originated from the fact that he had been
assigned with the current man of his dreams for the shift.  In a Panda.
George plastered what he knew was his most winning smile on his face as he
got into the car.  He was confident that no man could resist such a smile.

He was wrong.

The officer on the receiving end of this admittedly leery grin was not a
happy man.  In fact PC Steve Loxton was anything but happy.  He didn't know
who he had wronged in a former life in order to get stuck with Garfield all
day.  In a Panda of all things too.  There were about five thousand other
things Steve would rather be doing.  Topping the list was going
trainspotting with Reg Hollis, in the dead of night during the middle of
winter.  This was followed closely by being on duty outside the Canley Arms
at chucking out time on the night that their pub team had lost the final.
By himself.

And why was the man leering at him?  Steve glared back in return.

Now, to a normal person, coming under Steve Loxton's steely gaze would
immediately annihilate all feelings of good will and they would start to
search for an alibi.  But not George Garfield.  He just broadened his smile
and slowly turned to look out the windscreen.  George loved it when Steve
looked angry and could hardly believe his good fortune because he almost
always looked angry in George's presence.

Steve watched this unsatisfactory response to his glare in silence before
letting out an overly dramatic sigh.  The man was obviously simple, he
thought before starting the car and driving out of the yard.  The next
thought to enter his mind came before the car was even out of sight of the
station, Good Lord, the man stinks!  It seemed to be emanating from
Garfield's every pore.  Eau de Garfield soon filled up the Panda's
interior.

Bloody Mike Jarvis.  It wasn't fair that he got the area car.  The area car
was bigger and thus airier and the front seats were further apart, Steve
thought as he desperately tried to come up with a solution to the smell.
Any solution.  Finally he settled on attempting to combat the breath
problem and scrabbled around in the top pocket of his jacket until he found
what he was searching for.

"Here.  Have a Polo."

He shoved the role of mints at Garfield before the other man had time to
respond.

"Gee, thanks Steve."

George popped a few of the mints into his mouth and settled contentedly
into his seat.  Being offered confectionery, and his favourite too, what
more proof did he need that this was indeed the man for him?

Steve watched this out of the corner of his eye to ensure that the mints
were consumed before he allowed himself the luxury of breathing normally
again.

Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  It wasn't only his breath.  Obviously the deodorant
that Dave Quinnan had thrown at Garfield the other day at refs hadn't done
the trick.

Although it was nearly snowing outside, Steve had no choice but to roll
down his window.  Fresh, albeit chilly air soon displaced Garfield's
peculiar odour.

"Steve...?"

"What?"  Did the man have to talk to him.

"Why did you wind down the window?"

"Because...because I'm hot."

"Oh."

I know you're *hot*, George thought to himself, wisely choosing not to
share his definition of hot with Steve.  It still didn't explain how he
could possibly be hot on a day like this.  Unless... George suddenly had
it!  Being in his presence made Steve hot!  So he does want me!  This
thought made Garfield very, very happy and he stretched, letting the
realisation wash over his entire body.  He then completed his stretch by
lifting both arms over his head and clasping his hands together.  As if in
victory.

Unfortunately Steve chose that exact moment to attempt to look out the
passenger side window.  Bad mistake.  He found himself virtually nose to
armpit.

Oh.  Oh, oh, oh.  Once his breathing had returned to normal (and this
involved nearly hanging his head out the window) Steve wondered idly how it
was possible for an odour such as that to make its way through at least
three layers of clothing.  It defied all logical thought.  Trust Garfield
to be a scientific enigma.

~*~

The morning continued as it had begun for the two officers.

George Garfield remained happy because the morning was surprisingly quiet.
This meant he could indulge in a few of his favourite fantasies.

Steve Loxton continued feeling unhappy for the exact reason Garfield
continued feeling happy.  It was as if all of Sun Hill's criminal element
had decided to take a day off.  There had been no reports of any break-ins,
no muggings and only one case of shoplifting, which the area car had got to
first.  This did not help Steve's rising ire towards Mike Jarvis.

Bored, boring, *bore*, Steve thought to himself, the latter being directed
straight at George.

One of the few positives George had in his life was an extremely active
imagination.  Particularly in regard to sexual fantasies.  It helped in
some way to compensate for the fact that he hadn't had sex with anything
more animate than his right hand in ages.  It was this facet of his
imagination that George was now indulging in as the Panda continued to be
driven aimlessly around Sun Hill.

The majority of George's fantasies involved handcuffs.  If anybody had ever
bothered to inquire as to why he always felt the need for the cuffs he
would have offered a blasi, "Well, it's kinky, innit?".  The truth however
was sadder then that.  As if his physical appearance wasn't enough of a
curse, even his subconscious worked against him.  George's subconscious
insisted on the cuffs because it was aware that that was the only way a
possible conquest would stay with him.

Luckily George never felt the need to analyse himself.

George closed his eyes, settled back into his seat and let his mind
drift...

Drift to a room.  Any room.  Anywhere.  Steve on his knees.  Naked.  Wrists
cuffed behind his back.  George's cock in his mouth...

Drift to a bed.  A specific bed.  A four poster wrought iron bed.
Anywhere.  Steve spread-eagled on the bed.  Naked.  On his stomach.  No.
On his back.  Gagged.  Eyes pleading.  Begging for George to fuck him...

Pause...

Linger on that one for a moment...

Continue...

Drift to a chamber.  A lair.  A dungeon.  Anywhere.  Steve tied up.  Wrists
cuffed high above his head.  Naked.  Every muscle pulled taut.  Every rib
defined.  Covered in melted chocolate...

George's mouth hung open in an unconscious parody of Homer Simpson.  Mmmm
Chocolate.  Simply begging to be licked off.

Just as it was fortunate that Steve didn't know what George was thinking
about, it was just as fortunate that George didn't know what Steve was
thinking about.

Steve's mind had merely moved on to the logical conclusion from his earlier
thought of Garfield being a scientific enigma.  He was positive that
scientists would love to get their hands on George.  They could bottle his
scent and use it for a new form of chemical warfare.  No life form would
stand a chance against it.  George the lab rat.  No, Steve had to admit
that there was nothing rodent- like about the man.  A hamster on the other
hand... George Garfield the Giant Ginger Gerbil.  On a treadmill.  With
electrodes attached.

A smirk washed over Steve's face as he imagined this.  He'd have to
remember to share this lovely image with Dave as he was sure to appreciate
it.

For the want of anything better to do Steve decided to glance over at
Garfield.  Ooops.  Not a wise move.  There had to be only one reason why
the man had his hat and one hand over his crotch.  Particularly in light of
the fact that the hand was surreptitiously moving under the hat and he was
wriggling in his seat.

How revolting.

For a moment Steve could only stare in abject repulsion.  Why did he have
to notice this while the car was stopped at a red light?

The list of  things Steve would rather be doing suddenly leapt in number.
A new number one claiming the top position.  Being called to a hens' night,
again by himself, that had been in full swing for three hours and the
bride-to-be was the president of the local female Rugby Club.  In fact, all
present were involved in Rugby.  And being mistaken for a stripper.

This was not happening.  Not here.  Not in this Panda.  Not ever.  As far
as he was concerned Garfield did not have genitalia.  Period.

There must be something he could do to *stop* it.  Anything.

As luck would have it the traffic lights just turned to green as a car
going the other way ran the red light.

Bingo.

It wasn't much but at least it was something, Steve thought as he quickly
switched the lights and siren on and set off in pursuit of the other car.
A grim sense of satisfaction settled over him as he noted that the sudden
lurch of the car had dislodged the hand.

The hand that was now wiping itself down the side of the seat.

Steve wondered why this didn't surprise him.

The chase was nearly over before it had started.  The other car, a black
late model BMW coming to a stop about five hundred metres from the lights.

Steve parked the Panda and got out of the car.  He had no particular desire
to book the motorist, a well dressed man in his late forties.  Although he
could hardly thank him for providing the much needed diversion either.  He
decided to simply give the driver a warning.

George stayed in the car.  His mind still wasn't functioning at what passed
for its best.  He did however manage to lick his lips as he watched Steve
walk up to the other car.

Out of the blue the radio crackled into life.  Interrupting George's
stupor.

"All units.  Armed robbery at a  service station on Bream Road.  Suspects
likely to have hand guns and they have decamped in a late model, black
Mercedes."

Mercedes'.  BMWs.  They were all pretty much the same to George.  Poncy
European motors.

Suddenly the message caught up with George's brain and he noticed in horror
that Steve was standing next to a black car...and the driver was reaching
into his pocket...

...For a hand gun!

George immediately lurched into action.  Scrabbling out of the car.
Truncheon ready.

As George neared Steve and the other man, his foot slipped on a piece of
ice on the road and as he desperately tried to right himself somehow
managed to hit Steve in the back of the head with his truncheon.

The last things Steve sees before everything goes momentarily black is the
stunned look of amusement on the drivers face, and, as his knees buckle
from beneath him and he nears the ground, George Garfield's open fly.

George was horrified.  This wasn't supposed to happen, nor was the imagined
hand gun supposed to look so like a drivers license.  He knelt down next to
Steve and wondered how inappropriate it would be to administer mouth to
mouth when it was obvious that he was breathing.  He leant down closer.

Unfortunately George leant over him just as Steve came to.

Steve found himself decidedly too close to George's mouth and immediately
wriggled out of its way.  Ripping the right elbow of his jacket in the
process on the bitumen.

Oh dear.  Steve really didn't look happy now.  A tad too unhappy for even
George's liking.

He was about to help him up when the driver of the other car came over and
offered his hand to Steve.

"Sorry mate.  You look like you've done enough damage to him already."

Steve took the proffered hand and hauled himself up.  He looked a mess.
Uniform all ripped, muddy and wet.  Hair all mussed up.  A furious mess.

"Thanks."  Through clenched teeth.  "You can go now."

"Are you sure you want to be left with *him*?"  The other driver found this
whole scenario rather amusing.

"I'll be fine.  All he has to do is drive the car back to the Station.  I
am confident that he can manage that."

"If you're sure.  Bye then."  He got back into his BMW and drove off.

George watched until Steve had made his way gingerly over to the Panda.

"Look Steve.  I'm sorry.  It was a mis..."

"Don't."

"It was an accident."

"I don't want to know.  Just get in the car and drive us back to the nick."

"You don't look too good."

"What a surprise.  Do you want to know something?  I don't feel too good
either."

"I'm sor..."

"Shut it."

The drive back to the station was completed in stony silence.

Once back at station Steve was dismayed to see Mike and Gary arriving back
for refs at the same time.  He knew they'd have something to say.

He was right.

"Hey Gary.  Take a look at Steve.  Not his usual together self is he?"

"Nah.  But it suits him.  What happened?  Did George beat you up?"

Steve didn't bother to answer as he walked as upright as his pounding head
would allow, into the station.  George following a few paces behind.

"Must have had a lover's tiff."  Mike found the whole idea delightfully
entertaining.

~*~

Half an hour later Steve sat in the canteen with a cup of tea and a packet
of Nurofen.  He'd taken two of the little white pills and was feeling
better already.  In fact, for the first time this morning, he was actually
smiling.  Gary had suddenly been called to court and Sergeant Cryer had
decided to reassign George to Mike Jarvis.  In the Panda too.  Tony was now
going to have the area car.

It couldn't have happened to a nicer person.  Steve had heard the lover's
tiff remark.  He hoped Mike would enjoy George's company.

George was momentarily upset about his reassignment.  He had wanted to stay
at the station to ensure that Steve was all right.

He had then taken a good look at Mike and came to the conclusion that he
was basically a slightly taller, bigger and blonder version of Steve.
Maybe the reassignment wasn't so bad after all.

For the second time that morning George plastered his winning smile on his
face and got into a car with a very unimpressed driver.

~end~