I wonder if there's a smutbox workshop or something. I bet there is, but I don't think I want to subscribe. I think I've discovered that I prefer these types of things in my head (and even then - at the very back, filed under "only on rare occasions") as opposed to splayed on the page. It's back to gen and pg writing for me. Hey, at least now I know for sure.
Title: Eddies in the Dust of Rage
Rating: Eh, M15+
Fandom: Life on Mars - Sam/Gene
Word Count: 800 + words.
They stood in Sam’s flat at the end of another argument. Sam railed against another assumption made abruptly and without thought. He was the other side of furious. He wanted to challenge Gene, to show him that he was wrong about something, anything.
With a force and speed Sam usually reserved for chasing after suspects, he pushed Gene back into the wall and pressed mouth on mouth. He thrust his tongue into the warm recess, heartbeat racing, body pulsing. He had an arm wound around Gene’s middle section, a hand at the back of his head, tangling into dark blond hair.
He stepped away. There was a moment’s silence. Sam didn’t apologise and Gene didn’t tell him to. No punches nor kicks. Just a look. One that Sam couldn’t even decipher. A day passed, and a night. They stood as monoliths. Gene slowly advanced, and this was it, Sam knew, he’d be meeting the carpet, doubled over in pain.
Sam was surprised when he felt warm lips caressing his, oddly tender. The kiss continuing through gasps for air. Even more surprised when he allowed his hand to travel down buttons, undoing as it went. Shocked and delighted by two bodies moving, grinding together. This was madness, but it felt sane. More than anything he’d ever encountered so far. Nothing could compare to this. Nothing ever would. It was light and life and fury all at once. This was reality hiding under a veil of surreality.
Sam busily divested Gene of his shirt before shrugging off his own. Hands unsteady but willing, tongue darting, a slow heat travelling through his skin. The kisses were characterised by soft bristles causing friction. He allowed Gene the time to rid him of extra clothing and returned the favour – tracing a line of kisses over firm muscles and a soft paunch. He smiled at a growl of approval. He started another path, kissing and licking, short and sharp, long and slow, eliciting a reaction which pleased him greatly. One of stillness and movement. Temptation, seduction.
They made it onto the floor. Not the most comfortable of places, but infinitely better than the cot, which was too small for the combined movement of two full-grown men. Hands in places they’d never been before. Tongues in places they’d never been before. A slight taste of salt and whiskey. Kisses travelling down the arc of a neck, up past the collarbone, on the other side.
And all the while, they didn’t say anything, because there were no words to say. Only actions, strong and driving. Only desire, impenetrable and encompassing. An equal battle of the wills. They were two bodies entwined. Soft skin on soft skin, warm hands travelling down the back, towards the legs. Sam found himself grinding closer into Gene, hard and full of need.
Sam closed his eyes when he felt Gene’s soft grip, grinned when he reciprocated. They moved rhythmically, perspiration trickling, heat building, joy sailing off to heady heights. Sam opened his eyes again and saw Gene as Gene – power and passion, everything he never knew and everything he never wanted, but somehow, in that moment, everything anyway.
Gene climaxed first, with a louder growl than before, limbs shuddering in waves of calm. Sam followed shortly after, teasing himself into temporary oblivion. The only thing he could hear was two throbbing heartbeats, moving in diminuendo. Quiet but deep breaths. They lay together.
After a while, Sam realised that despite being summer, it was bloody freezing on the floor, so he disentangled his limbs from Gene’s and wrenched the duvet off the cot, long limbs stretching in the half-light creeping through the crack in the curtains. He dragged it over to Gene, who was miraculously sleeping. Well, he did once say he could sleep through an explosion, and this was the next best thing.
Yes, Sam had to admit that a challenge had been presented. Gene Hunt had just been more than a match. And he almost didn't believe it had happened, except there was the undeniable truth that it did.
Sam had always been possessive. He wanted it all and he wouldn’t let go. It was what kept him in check during police-work, a driving desire to do what was right and do it his way. He was possessive and he wanted to possess. In that moment, tucked under covers, looking like a satiated grizzly bear, Gene was his. No-one else’s. And Sam knew that when he woke up, Gene was going to warn him against ever touching him again. The Guv was not a poofter, and neither was he. Whatever just happened occurred to different people in a different time, on a different planet, if at all possible. The planet of the clangers, perhaps. But right now, Gene was Sam’s, and Sam was Gene’s, and they were warm and vulnerable and safe all at once.
Gene awoke with a grunt, creasing up his eyes and clutching a hand to his head.
“Whatever just happened, didn’t. Get it?”