Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 880 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene. Set in the same vein as Eddies in the Dust of Rage, and written at the same time, but the tone of these differed significantly, so I separated them.
It had seemed natural at the time. It had started with idle chat and escalated into no words and rapid thrusting. Limbs entangled and senses tingling. Slow movements, fast movements, soft and hard. A kiss here, a lick there. Muffled sounds of consummated joy. Several weeks had gone by and they’d ended up like this several times.
Now they were lying, having moved to the cot, squashed together like well-oiled sardines. Gene was sleeping, breathing heavily. Sam gently traced patterns on his forehead, following lines and indents, looking at thick, long lashes which concealed persuasive eyes. He mused to himself quietly.
“If you’re all in my mind…” he started, but never finished. There was a soft moan as Gene scrunched up his eyes and then looked at Sam.
“Sorry? If I’m all in your mind? What in the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”
Sam didn’t answer. He continued tracing, shifting his body weight lower, enjoying this moment of peace. He could stay here forever, wrapped up in a new world. Until Gene started to move. He slid off the cot, seemingly unwilling to wait for an answer that would never come.
“I best be off. The missus will be wondering where I am.” Gene started dressing, covering up a body that wasn’t overwhelmingly attractive but felt so under Sam’s hands.
“You don’t talk about her much.” Sam stretched slightly, trying to decide whether he should move to clothe himself as well, or just enjoy the spectacle.
“Doesn’t seem polite, does it?” Gene frowned, reaching down to put on his shoes. Sam didn’t know how to respond. Gene straightened back up. “She’s a good woman.” There were fierce touches in blue eyes, now. “She just… married me, is all.”
“You’re a good man,” Sam replied, absent-mindedly. If he’d been paying attention he would have noticed the tone.
“No, I’m not. Pull one over.” There was fury in Gene’s words. “I’ve loose morals and even looser ethics. I’m violent, hard and a complete degenerate. There’s no such thing as a good man, Tyler, and if there was, you certainly wouldn’t find a photo of Gene Hunt attached to the description.”
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Sam asked, but he knew the answer was probably closer to yes than no.
“It’s not right, Sam. I’m not right. I’m… wrong.”
Sam wasn’t going to argue, even if he wanted to. Gene wasn’t coming straight out and saying that he thought that their relationship was sick, but he clearly felt that way. And maybe that was fair, depending on how real or unreal Gene Hunt really was.
He felt real. Perhaps that was why this always felt right to Sam, even if it wasn’t. In those moments between fumble and ecstacy, everything felt real. He couldn’t be in a coma if he was having sex with Gene, could he? Gene couldn’t be a figment of a deranged imagination, because he kept doing things that Sam would never expect, and Sam kept reacting in ways he didn’t understand.
Before this, Sam had been relatively sure about a few small but significant things. His favourite fruit was mango, he hated Blankety Blank reruns, and he was straight. He hadn’t even really questioned these, just accepted them unerringly. And now. Now he was enjoying other fruits in lieu of mango, and wishing Blankety Blank was airing currently, instead of beginning in four years time, because he kind of missed seeing Wogan and Dawson and mindless competition.
All things were relative, some more so than others.
How long could this last? How long should it last? Did he want it to last, or did he want to go home? How could he go back, after all of this? What did going back entail?
Sam became aware Gene was staring at him. He didn’t look especially angry, more quizzical than anything. Like he’d been conducting a whole conversation and Sam hadn’t listened to a word he’d said. In fact, this was likely the case. Sam hoisted himself off the cot and dressed, feeling a mixture of confusion, contentment, dissatisfaction. He simply didn’t know where he was anymore. 1973, yes, but what about everything else? He wasn’t entirely sure he knew who he was anymore. It had started with him wanting to challenge ideals, and he had, most definitely. His own.
“Don’t tell me. This never happened,” Sam said, ruefully, once he was dressed and handing Gene his camel-hair.
“And it will never happen again.”
“You didn’t enjoy the other times, nor this time, so I shouldn’t even think that you did.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
Gene stepped forward tentatively and kissed Sam on the cheek. Another unexpected movement. But he quickly slapped Sam too, which felt more his style. He left the flat and Sam knew he’d be seeing him the next day, knew they’d eventually wind up sparking this kind of interaction again. It didn’t stop him from feeling alone.
Because that was one thing he never was when Gene was around. Alone. Gene was too strong a life-force to fade into nothingness. When he was there, he was there, and when they were together, they were together. Life made a strange sort of sense and was real.
But it wouldn’t last.