Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 565 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. The whole concept of this shamelessly stolen from Hustle.
Sam peeled himself out of his chair and tilted his glass to the side.
“Tell you what, do you a deal. If you can finish three shots before I can finish three pints of beer, you’ll get what you want, and if it’s the other way around, I’ll get what I want.”
Gene raised his eyebrows. “Are you making a bet with me, Dorothy?”
“Yes I am.”
“We’ve corrupted you good and proper. Three shots? Of what?”
“Whisky? Some other spirit of your choice?” Sam put the glass down and extended his hands. He saw the cogs whirring in Gene’s brain, snapping and clicking into position.
“Nothing funny, then?”
“No, ‘course not.”
Gene narrowed his eyes and then rolled his head around. “That’s easy.”
“Oh, you think so?”
“You’re forgetting that I’ve seen you plastered, Sammy-boy. You’re halfway there already.”
Sam smiled. Gene’s face was flushed, a strand of hair against his forehead. He smelt of three different alcoholic beverages.
“You’re hardly one to talk.”
Gene ignored him and set his shoulders. “Alright. You’re on.”
“I’ve the beer in my fridge. Can you get the glasses set up?”
Sam wandered over to his small icebox and got the beer as he heard the chink of glass against the table. He swaggered back and started pouring. Soon, three shot glasses sat between three pints of beer; all ready and waiting. Sam did a mock rehearsal, holding his hands like he was holding a glass and raising it near his lips, pretending to swallow until the last drop was gone. Gene watched him, his eyes mostly trained on the arc of Sam’s neck. Sam satisfied himself that he was able and started proceedings in a professional manner.
“Now, there’s one rule. We’re neither of us allowed to touch each other’s glasses.”
“Sounds fair enough.”
“Great. Let’s start.”
Sam lifted one of the pints and started drinking as Gene raised his first shot glass and downed his whisky in one go. He continued to savour the taste dancing across his tongue as Gene picked up another of his shots and consumed it with more lingering relish than the last.
“Look here, Sam. This’ll teach you to take on the Gene Genie. I don’t take things lying down,” Gene intoned with a cocky grin.
Sam finished the last of his first beer and nodded.
“True. Certainly looks like you’re gonna win, doesn’t it? I’ll have to start preparing myself for defeat.”
Sam paused, his free hand hovering over a new pint. Instead of picking it up, he placed his now empty glass over Gene’s third shot glass. Gene pushed his lips forward and went to move it.
“Hey, hey, hey… I said no touching each other’s glasses.”
Gene looked at the glasses, looked at Sam, and crossed his arms. “You conned me.”
Sam shook his head, slowly. “I convinced you.”
“That’s what con’s short for.” Gene’s words were starting to run together, until a sentence was a slur and pausing the punctuation. It took Sam a moment to decipher between glottal sounds. He continued drinking, finishing the second and starting on the third.
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Sam took a break, three quarters of the way through his final beer. “No.”
“What then?” Gene asked, as Sam finished with a flourish.
Gene grunted. “Fine, then, you get the stuff… I’ll be just here.”
And as a bonus;
Title: Are You In or Out?
Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 285 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. Written for rat_jam in April.
"People are either one way or the other," Gene grunts.
"Not true," Sam retorts, swallowing in a deep breath and changing position.
"That's what we were taught. At school."
"They did not teach you about being gay in school."
Sam twists his hand to the left and bites on his lower lip, smiling at the expression in Gene's hooded eyes. Gene knocks his head back over the top of the car seat.
"Did too. The older kids. Told us it were sick. You were either sick or you were healthy."
"You look pretty healthy right this second."
Gene huffs out a breath and a bead of sweat trickles from his forehead. Sam keeps stroking, speeding up his movements, watching as Gene starts thrusting forward. Sam rubs his thumb over the tip of Gene's cock, spreading precome. His breath is ragged as he grips his own cock, pumping in time.
Sam's voice is hushed when he continues. "You look more than healthy, you look gorgeous."
Gene comes with a low sound, his head bashing with a resounding thump. He looks at Sam lazily, displaying curiosity and sated fascination as Sam keeps working his cock, close to coming himself. "What was it called, then? Wanting birds and blokes? Bicircular?"
Sam manages to answer between breaths. "Bisexuality."
"That's a movement I could get behind."
Sam laughs. "Doesn't surprise me. Strangely."
He comes, hot and sticky, and turns with a grin to see Gene looking off into the far distance.
"Shit. Speaking of movement, there's some at number forty. Better get little Sammy there zipped up. And be careful. We don't want him going through the grinder. He has to be in tip top shape for later on today."