Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 345 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. Written for The International Interfandom Day of Making Out. Set just after Series 2, Episode 2, and therefore spoilerish.
He’s smiling at me, all warm and relaxed and I wonder why he can’t be like that all the time. But for whatever demons that plague him, he’s not, and I’ve got to accept it. So I just enjoy him, quiet and separate from all the others. More than I should, and I know that, but no-one else has to.
We stumble out into the night, a fair few drinks down us. I’m trying not to think about Harry, just as he’s trying not to think about whatever makes him clutch his head, so we don’t do anything about our arms caught around our backs. I lean into him. He’s all soft and pliable. Slow heat. He leans into me.
Before I know it, we’re face to face, arms wrapped around one another. His smile is lazy contentment, mine’s hidden. He moves forward, pressing into me. I know I should stop it, but I don’t. I bring my head down and our lips collide. He tilts his head and I tilt mine, until there’s hardly any space between us. He tastes of scotch and beer, and I think he must have had something sweeter than that. I’m not even aware I’m moaning until the sound echoes back to me.
He draws one of his hands into my hair, grabbing on, taking hold, and all I can think about is his tongue in my mouth, my tongue in his, and how this is quite possibly the most dangerous situation I’ve ever been in, bar none. But if I were to be honest, I’m not really thinking at all.
It takes forever to realise I need to breathe. I pull away. He stares at me. He’s not what I was expecting; fuzzy, confused – he’s precise, exact, like he knows everything.
“Thank you,” he says. I can’t think of anything to say. I just gaze.
Tomorrow we’ll go back to our lives, forget it ever happened. Pretend it was a hazy fantasy, brought on by getting cut. Nothing more. Nothing less.
It’s the nothing less that worries me.