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Gene carefully lowers himself to his knees, and while that leaves them almost eye to eye, Sam's still the odd one out. 'Guv...'
'That's sir.' Gene taps Sam's upper lip sharply, and Sam's mouth snaps shut. 'Bloody hell, Tyler – don't sulk. Trying to make a point here – relax.'
Sam's throat aches, gone dry, and his mouth is parched like a desert. Gene frames Sam's face with his fingertips, presses their foreheads together. Gene's only just given his order, and it really isn't difficult to do as he's been told. Sam hesitates a moment, just to make it count.
'Yes, sir.'