Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 1,820 words
Notes: Sam/Gene PWP, written for Kink Bingo prompt 'tied down.' Title from "Love Lockdown", by Kanye West.
Warning: Bondage, characters not entirely understanding nor respecting one another's kinks.
Summary: It worries him, that’s what. He isn’t even ashamed to admit that. Gene’s used to worrying about his team. He has a responsibility for them, for their actions and their downfalls.
It scares him. He wouldn’t say that, hopes he never lets it show. But it does. Sam’s desperation to test himself, test them. There’s only so much he can take. Gene’s not sure which ‘he’ he means.
At first it’d been simple. Normal, almost. Except for the fact they’re blokes and blokes aren’t meant to lust after each other. All Sam asked for was to be fucked hard, harder, up against the wall of Lost & Found, among the dusty archives of the Collator’s Den, in Gene’s office when the cleaning crew had just gone. And that was --- well, it wasn’t nice, but it felt good. Pounding into Sam, pushing fast, faster, swivelling his hips so he hit him dead-on every time, at that spot that made him shudder apart.
But then the requests got more and more bizarre.
‘Clutch my wrists, Gene.’
‘Hold me down.’
‘Fuck me ‘til I’m aching. Bruise me. Slap me round. Make me feel.’
It worries him, that’s what. He isn’t even ashamed to admit that. Gene’s used to worrying about his team. He has a responsibility for them, for their actions and their downfalls. Sam’s insistence that he’s numb without Gene’s hands on him, cock driving in and out, voice low and throaty in his ear --- it isn’t right.
“Will you do something for me?” Sam asks, and Gene wants to say no, because, even though it’s dark here in Lost & Found, he’s clocked the thin rope in Sam’s left hand and he’s on his way to figuring out what the request might be.
“I’m not into sadism,” he says. He can hear the tremor edging around the underbelly of the words. They speak of fear and uncertainty. He hates how Sam can make him feel so weak.
“Could’ve fooled me,” Sam intones, all wry smile and mischievous eyes. Like this is a game, a walk in the park, Sunday tea. “C’mon. You know you’ve been imagining it since you saw me handcuffed to my cot.”
It isn’t a lie and Gene’s not proud.
“Where does it end, Sam?”
“Who says it has to?”
Sam slides forward, presses the rope into Gene’s hand as he brushes his lips over his jaw. It’s tender and commanding all at once and Gene doesn’t know how it manages to make him go jelly-limbed, but somehow it always does.
There are four separate pieces of rope in his hands. Gene’s breath catches in his throat at the feel of them. Fibres scratch against his fingers as he examines the rope, a cursory measurement. It’s about a quarter-inch in diameter, more like thick twine in some ways. Gene doesn’t know why he’s starting to harden in his trousers, how his heart-rate has increased to the point where he notices it. The idea of having to physically restrain Sam shouldn’t excite him, but it has done ever since Sam came storming into his station ranting like a madman. The idea of taming that fury is intoxicating. Perhaps insanity is infectious.
Sam notices his reaction, couldn’t not, with his skills in observation, not with his fixed, scrutinising gaze. His lips curve even more, his eyes crinkle at the corners. He looks incongruently sweet considering what he’s asking for. Ordering.
“Okay,” Gene says. His voice is whisper quiet, he isn’t even sure the word was audible until Sam nods.
Sam begins to strip. Gene’s tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth.
He knows the door lock works and that only the skeleton crew and cleaners are in the building --- a total of seven people in the immediate vicinity at most --- but this feels far too intimate for the station.
Sam continues to undo his shirt buttons. “I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge.”
“You haven’t known me that long.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “Like that’s ever stopped either of us before.”
“Quit the chatter and keep going, Tyler. Can’t wait here all night. Some of us have soft, warm beds to go to.”
Gene finds it far easier to keep a lid on his emotions when he’s faking bravado. He’s made a career out of it, pretending he’s not emotionally attached to cases by acting the big man of the department, the bloke with the brass balls. It’s a shame Sam always sees straight through the façade.
Sam’s carefully placed his shirt over the chair back and is pulling his undershirt up over his head. His muscles tense with the action, his ribs start to show, and it doesn’t seem to matter how many times he’s seen this display, Gene’s body responds all of its own accord.
When Sam is naked he doesn’t even have the decency to look mildly embarrassed. He stands there, brazen, waiting. His confidence is alluring in the same way his fighter’s instinct is. It tests any preconceptions one might have owing to his slight build and anally retentive nature.
“How were you thinking this would go?” Gene questions, because this is Lost & Found after all, and some interrogation should occur.
“I’ll lie on my stomach, against the table top. Tie my ankles here,” Sam points at a table leg, “my wrists on the other side. The rope should be long enough.”
“Bet you were in here with a tape measure earlier, weren’t you? Ensuring everything went to plan.”
“Was, as it happens. Good for you to recognise my organisational skills.”
“Recognise. Deplore. One and the same with you, in’t it?”
Sam seems so submissive as he allows Gene to tie him. That’s his act. The one Gene sees through. Sam may be a masochist in many ways, but there is nothing unresisting or obedient about him. He doesn’t want to be controlled, not really, he just wants to be hurt.
Gene doesn’t want to hurt Sam, no matter what his cock is insisting. It’s never been about granting pain. He doesn’t find gratification in causing the types of degradation Sam’s been showing a predilection for. Sam looks beautiful spread before him, all tied up with nowhere to go, but he looks beautiful in the fragile kind of way that Gene couldn’t bear breaking.
He smoothes his hand over the dip of Sam’s pale lower back, rubbing a circle into the paper-thin skin stretched over his spine. He’s almost translucent there, and Gene’s pulse thrums harder as he thinks about that, about delicacy belied by hard bone.
“Feel free to begin at any time,” Sam says, slightly muffled.
“I have,” Gene informs him.
He sweeps his hand up and across, lightly as he can, over the planes of Sam’s back. Watching with avid interest as he strokes over his sides and Sam’s thighs bunch and tense. If Sam wants to feel, he can feel this --- care, tenderness and devotion. Gene will be just as vulnerable as he is, because that’s how they work; they’re equals and they compromise, and Sam may always be trying to tip the balance, but he won’t succeed.
“This isn’t what we agreed,” Sam says after a deliberately slow three minutes. Gene hasn’t kissed him, yet, but he will, soon, he has to.
“All I agreed to was tying you up. I never made any other promises.”
“You knew that.” Gene skims feather-light touches against Sam’s shoulders. “You want to feel, Sam, this is your chance.”
“It’s not enough.”
“That’s not what the rest of you has been saying. Every touch provokes a reaction. See, if I touch you here,” Gene presses gently against the sides of Sam’s neck, “you clench here.” Sam’s buttocks tighten. “And so much more besides.”
Sam lets out a long, low groan. “I know you enjoy ritualistic torture, Gene, but this isn’t fair.”
Gene ignores Sam’s protests. He hasn’t struggled with his bindings, hasn’t asked Gene to let him up. He’s whinging for the love of his own voice.
“It doesn’t always have to hurt.”
There’s an angry ‘harumph’ sound, but Sam goes silent. Gene continues to lightly brush his fingers over the expanse of his stretched out limbs, and bends down to add his lips and tongue to the endeavour.
Sam is salty-sweet. He has several dips and hollows that could entice and attract a man. Where he’s soft, he’s like velvet, where he’s hard, he’s like ice. He’s form and texture and taste and exquisite.
Sam wriggles as Gene paints trails across him with saliva. Does his best to push up when Gene presses sloppy kisses against the creases where his thighs meet his buttocks. Damn near arches when Gene spreads him open and licks. And licks. And licks.
Sam’s shuddering, moving insistently in such a way it’s obvious he’s attempting to gain friction, but his ties are unyielding and there isn’t much leeway. It can’t be comfortable, but Sam probably enjoys that. He’s practically sobbing, all heavy, tight breaths and strangely high-pitched whines.
“Does this feel real, Sam?” Gene asks as he pulls back, away, because that’s what Sam’s always asking for, it’s the thing that scares him the most. “Is it reality for you now?”
“Yeah, Gene, yes. Please, please…”
Sam’s incoherent with lust, and Gene’s afraid he’s going to shatter. Even when he’s being kind, he’s cruel. He slicks his fingers up and works Sam’s hole, sliding in and out just this side of hard. He crooks his fingers so that he continually strokes at the spot that makes Sam go very, very still, before shivering all over. Sam is tight around him, hot, and for a moment Gene wishes it was his cock driving into him. It could be, he knows, he could lose himself that way and Sam would love it. But he wants to finish as he began. He wants to show Sam that there isn’t only one way, so he twists his fingers just so.
Sam doesn’t make a sound when he spasms around Gene’s fingers. His whole body shakes, his come no doubt smears against his belly and the polished table top, but he doesn’t groan, or keen, or vow pledges to God. There’s nothing from him until Gene bends down and unties the ropes holding him in place. There are marks where the ropes were. Not burns, they’ll fade in due course, but reddened marks where the fibres scratched over and over. Gene hasn’t come yet. His body lets him know.
“You’re still a bastard.”
“That’s what you need, isn’t it? That’s what you want?”
Sam rolls over, stands awkwardly. It looks like he may have pulled a leg muscle, he’s favouring his left side.
And for the first time since this whole thing began Sam asks, “And what do you want?”
There aren’t enough words to explain, he’s not even sure he knows how he’d articulate it to himself, so Gene just moves forward, slides one hand up to cradle Sam’s jaw, and kisses him softly.