He couldn't help himself; Gene snorted. And loudly. "Sure he does."

The idea of Sam Tyler as some sort of dandy was enough to make Gene honestly consider not finishing his alcohol. Or possibly consuming it faster. He wasn't sure which would serve his constitution better at the thought. Probably being drunk. It would have the added benefit of making their last moments alive go by faster, as well.

"If I hadn't found Tyler cuffed to his bed with his trousers on the floor, I'd think he'd never seen the underside of a bird's skirt, but seeing as he got himself trussed up like a Christmas turkey, he's at least got that going for him." Gene took a swig. "But no. He's certainly not randy, the sod."