Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 2 700 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene PWP. This is, without a doubt, the filthiest thing I've ever written. It's also close to being one of the sketchiest. And I wrote it as a dare to myself. So. Make of that what you will. Title from the song 'Hurt'.
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, knotting, dub-con (heat), size kink, size differential, rimming, dirty talk.
Summary: This isn't how it's supposed to work. See, he's been successfully passing for years.
This isn't how it's supposed to work. See, he's been successfully passing for years. Goes into a little hidey-hole when the heat comes rolling over him in finely tangled tendrils, licking at his skin. Only comes twice a year, any rate, thanks to the herbal tincture that's been in his family for generations. Any other time he'd dismiss the tea as namby pamby hippie bullshit, but it's been saving his bacon his whole adult life. Thanks to his ability to suppress what'd attack him every month, his cover's safe. No one notices he's gone for a week, every May and December, and it's easy to disguise his absences as drunken stupor.
Until. Until, until. Of course it's different when Tyler comes into it. Noticing is his stock in trade. He's about the only one who's come to that conclusion where policing's involved and honed his skills accordingly. He realises, that day, in the biting cold, exactly what Gene's going through. Follows him to his den. And he's --- God, Gene shakes with the thought of it. Sam. The slim one with the wobbly head, pedantic fussiness and ability to get his knickers in a twist. Alpha. Maybe he can smell it on him. How Gene's fucking ripe for him. Sure does seem to be transfixed as he watches Gene spreading his legs apart, lying naked on the bed.
It shouldn't be like this. It's a shout Gene's been ranting with going on twenty years. The entire thing's a mess. He's the big one, the commanding one, the gruff, stern, cocksure one. He's always felt like a leader, the most headstrong, the man. Gets wet every May and December, itching for a full, thick cock to fill him up and make him whole.
It happened once, age nineteen, just come back from National Service, all the brightness of his future blinding him with promise, and he was still young with it, hadn't figured out to take all the precautions not just a couple. Split wide open on a man who'd sooner tear him apart further than put him back together. And he was smaller then, too. Fit the bill more closely. Skinny waist, thin, long legs --- coltish. Unlike now, where he's a bear of a man with a beer gut and shoulders that'd span the Blackpool tunnel, given half the chance. Maybe Outhwaite hadn't been able to live with himself after, but Gene hadn't been able to live as himself. Decided then and there: never again. Never let them take your power.
He's spent twenty years cultivating his image, his strength, and he'd give it all away to Sam for a long, hard fuck. In heat there's been nothing that can satisfy him for going on twenty years. His body aches for it, to be knotted and bred like a common whore. He's three quarters out of his mind with it, one quarter left for rallying against it all, fists bunching into the sheets. He wants, he wants, no, he needs. He needs. He's slick for it, open.
"Gene," Sam murmurs, stepping forward jerkily, like he's a wind-up toy. He places a hand on Gene's feverish skin and hisses an intake of breath. "Omega."
Of course. This'd be different too. In Gene's experience, most Alphas don't know they're Alphas. Don't know the sordid history of the curse. Haven't heard of Omegas and wouldn't know what to do with one except put it away wet. Instinct washes over them just as it does for him and they don't know how to explain the compulsion the next day. It's why he's always leery around abuse cases. Was it abuse or the biological imperative? He and Sam had argued for weeks over that one --- never using these words, mind, never being completely honest. Sam had finally won by talking about free will and choice, and Gene could relate to that. He's been living his life on his own terms.
Sam doesn't look to be up to giving him a choice now. His eyes have blown wide, his teeth are bared in a snarl.
"You're burning up. Don't you know how to take care of yourself?"
The words are out before he can stop them, haze dragging his mind into a fog of desire. "Need you for that, Sammy-boy. You're the domestic one."
It's like a muscle in Sam's jaw snaps and he rears back, catapulting himself into the far wall. And while part of Gene is satisfied by the crunch of his shoulder blades against the bricks, all the other parts are wailing for Sam to come back and touchhimtouchhimtouchhim. A minute of Sam's hand on him felt worthy of a lifetime of waiting. He wants to know what Sam inside him, shoving deep, would feel like.
"D'you even know what you're going through?" Sam asks, throat thick with want. Gene's heart-rate spikes at the knowledge of what he's doing to Sam to make him sound so wrecked.
"Yeah. I know," Gene replies. "Been hiding it, haven't I?"
His hole is in spasm now, slick slipping out of him. He's empty, bereft. His cock is hard against his belly, steadily leaking pre-cum. He gives up his grip on the sheets to curl one hand around his cock, the other free to use fingers to circle his rim.
"Thought it might've been animal instinct."
Gene's breath is harsh "And it is. Doesn't make me any less knowledgeable about the whys and wherefores. I may have spent my life convincing people otherwise, but I've always known who and what I am."
Sam's voice pitches even lower. "Then why deny yourself?"
"Someone's got to. Someone other than you, I mean." Gene arches his back, sliding his fist up to the tip of his cock, swirling his thumb against his slit. "I've never wanted to play by anyone else's rules," he admits. "I am the one who lays down the law."
He's never talked about this with anyone before. Never given himself the opportunity. And perhaps it's the pheromones, maybe it's always been, but Sam's the only one he'd trust with this. Sam, who, with his delicate wrists ready to be held down and ruby red lips ready to be plundered should be the one beneath Gene whimpering for a knot. Sam, who from day one, has been questioning his authority and demanding control. Sam, who's staring at him like he wants to claim Gene all for his own and damn the consequences.
"I won't touch you unless you ask for it," Sam chokes out. "I don't mean the senseless begging you'll be up to in another fifteen minutes. I'll leave right now, lock the door again, shut myself in somewhere else, far away, safe. But you're relatively lucid, so I need to know, Gene, do you want me to ease your pain?"
Sam must be well into his haze now, too. Gene wonders if he's taking advantage by moaning on the press of two fingers into his hole, feet planted against the bed.
"Alright," he says, casual-like, because he's come to realise that this is where his power lies. Sam isn't forcing him to concede defeat, not telling him to submit. He's asking. While Gene isn't an average Omega, Sam isn't an average Alpha either. They're imperfectly perfect together.
"Alright?" Sam asks, hesitant. He takes a tentative step towards the bed.
"Yes, Gladys, yes. Put up or shut up."
That seems to be all the confirmation Sam needs before he's by Gene's side again, sliding his hands down the inside of Gene's thighs. He pushes insistently, fingers gripping just the side of not hard enough, and bares Gene further.
"You're so fucking pretty for me," Sam murmurs, and Gene thinks: no, he's been called many things, but pretty isn't one of them. Then he doesn't think anything at all, because Sam's pulling him forward, nosing at his hole, licking around his rim with full, broad stripes. Snuffling at him like he can't get enough, speaking between licks, around pointing his tongue in and in. "God, have you ever tasted yourself? You're delectable. Knew some sweetness had to be buried in you somewhere."
And this is good, like nothing he's ever had before, never allowed himself to have. But it's not nearly all he needs. Sam's tongue laps at him and reminds him of what he isn't yet getting, but he's no longer capable of finding the words to say this. Can only bunch his fingers into the sheets again and rock, rut against Sam's face.
"Hold still," Sam says; half-command, half-plea. "You're open for me, but I'm big. I don't wanna hurt you."
These words make everything in Gene thrum. He's been wanting this for too long. Not just this week, where hormones have addled his mind, but all the weeks since he became a man. He wants everything Sam has to give. He wants to be filled to the brim, made anew.
"Fuck me," he whines. "I can't stand it anymore. I need it, need you."
"I know, I know you do," Sam croons.
He steps back from the bed and Gene watches, heavy-lidded as Sam undresses. He's all pale angles offset by curves. He's wiry, muscular, not thin enough for his rib cage to be immediately visible, but not soft paunch either. But Gene's seen that before, when Sam was cuffed. His gaze lowers. Gene's eyes widen when they take in Sam's reddened, fat cock, standing straight up. It should be intimidating, and it is, in a way. The sort of way Gene's always thrived on. There's nothing he likes better than danger, the thrill of testing his limits. Sam's knot isn't fully inflated, but the promise is there.
Sam is smug when he takes in Gene's expression. Gene realises that this is because he's been smacking his lips together, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Sam may be slight, smaller than him in build, but he's heavy as he settles over Gene, nudging his legs open even more. He's comforting weight as he licks into Gene's mouth, pushing inwards and up. Gene tastes himself on his tongue before Sam pulls away again, sweet like Sam said, heady. It makes the fever in him ratchet up, until his base instincts are in full control.
"Sam," Gene begs. "Please."
Sam licks and bites into his neck, before grunting, "I'm here."
And then, there it is, the blunt, firm pressure Gene's been itching for, teasing at his hole. Sam's cock is inching in, deeper and deeper, the burn slow and intoxicating. Gene thinks he should be yelling for Sam to hurry it up, but he doesn't want that. He likes that he's taking his time with it, opening him up in increments, so that Gene can feel every little stutter forward. Fuck, but Sam is massive, and he hasn't even pressed in his knot.
"Is this what you've been wanting since we met? 'Cause I've been dreaming of it," Sam says, voice hushed and shaky as he rocks in and in and in. "Been imagining flipping you over 'til you're splayed under me, 'til I'm splitting your tiny hole. Thought I was even more of a freak than usual, wanting to mate with another Alpha, full of fucked-up fantasies beyond my station."
Gene groans, higher than he wants to be, squeezing his eyes shut thinking he could blot out the image, but he can't, he can see everything Sam's saying, can imagine himself on hands and knees for Sam, as he's rutting like a beast. Like this, face to face, there's the illusion of humanity. There's the pretence of it being completely above board and not at all influenced by scent and cycles.
"But you've been playing dress-ups, and now it's time for you to lay yourself bare."
Sam fucks into him with urgent, precise strokes. The sound of their skin slapping together rings out through the darkened room. There's nothing about this that feels wrong or unnatural, and Gene pants as Sam drags in and out, teasing him into a full-bodied shudder.
"D'you like that?" Sam asks. Gene can only nod, hitting into Sam's temple. "Yeah, thought so. You want me to press you wide, don't you? Want me to pump into you."
His balls are drawing high, his skin everywhere tingling, and maybe, if he could gain purchase, he could take Sam all in one go. Sam should be giving him that, giving him everything, what kind of idiot is he?
"You're tight, d'you know that? No matter how you parted for me, slick and easy, you fit around my dick like a glove."
Gene's shoulders are digging into the bed, his thighs are trembling, he can't stop his breaths from coming out like wet sobs. He's full, so full, he's never been this full. It stings, but so beautifully, just on the verge of orgasm. Sam's huge within him and he still hasn't bottomed out, Gene can feel more knocking against him, more that he has to have, right now, has to have it, has to...
Sam eases his knot in by swivelling his hips in a circle, rubbing insistently at Gene's rim with two spit-laced fingers.
"Yeah," Gene says, finally able to find his voice, absolutely greedy for Sam. "Yeah, gimme what we both need."
And maybe it's surrender, perhaps he's submitting after all, but he can't find it within him to care, because Sam is locking into place, sealing in every doubt and misgiving Gene may have had. He's grinding right into Gene's prostate, right where Gene's fingers are never, ever enough. It's insane how hot it makes Gene feel, molten like forging glass, and yeah, that's it, Sam cracked him, broke him down, and is reshaping him.
The pull of Sam's knot against his rim is sick pleasure-pain, picking at a scab or biting his lip strong enough to bleed, and Gene comes, hard, between their sliding bodies. Comes and practically screams on Sam's cock, shivering through the aftershocks. He can feel himself clenching and releasing just beyond the knot, and then there's added heat within him, Sam grunting in short, sharp bursts.
"How many have you had like this?" Sam demands to know, tone ferocious.
"One before you, many moons ago," Gene says, because there's no point in lying, there can be nothing between them now, not with him fat full of Sam's come.
"No one else again," Sam says. He bites into Gene's neck and sucks, marking him. "Never anyone but me."
"Only you," Gene confirms. He hums into the side of Sam's face. "S'all I want, anyway."
"Good," Sam says, laughter in his voice. "Probably just as well, because you're gonna be having me for a while longer yet."
Gene thumps him for his bastardy sense of humour.
A while later, Sam strokes his hand through Gene's hair; possessive, caring. "You know this doesn't change anything about how I'll treat you at the office, don't you? I'll respect you all the same."
"You don't respect me now."
"Yeah, so nothing new," Sam teases, but his eyes open wider from when they'd become sleepy, and he cranes up onto one elbow to look down at Gene.
Gene has never thought he'd want to see the look in Sam's eyes and that holds true. It's not pitying, but it's assessing. Like he thinks Gene's about to become skittish and evasive. Like he needs to settle and allay his fears. Tell him he's no less of a man, of a person, just because he's slutty for his knot. Too late for that.
This isn't how it's supposed to work and Gene can't pass anymore, not with Sam. But he doesn't appear to have to. What they have is their own --- a little conforming, a little not, and everything good. Gene gathers all of his energy and strength and flips them over, straddling Sam's thighs. He fucks himself down onto Sam's still-hard cock. His own natural slick has started again, mixing with Sam's come. Even with the knot buried within, Gene can move half an inch one way and the other, and he does, because there's nothing like action to prove a point. Respect is earned, not inherent, and he's more than proved himself, just as Sam has more than proved he's the Alpha for him.