Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 1190 words
Notes: Sam/Gene slash PWP for hambelandjemima, who’s kind of evil.
So sometimes Sam says things just to get Gene riled up. And sometimes his purpose is considerably more devious than a simple power play. And sometimes Gene’s response is to throw him over a nearby desk, sofa or filing cabinet and fuck him until he’s aching and agonisingly ecstatic.
Sam has come to accept this from himself, from Gene, from life and doesn’t exactly come close to complaining. The only problem really is that Sam has a habit of saying things when they’re in the full public glare, and whilst Gene’s kind of an exhibitionist, his inhibitions don’t actually extend that far.
“I think we should be following procedure on this, Guv,” Sam says with a pompous head wobble designed to send Gene off his rocker and Gene just glares with an ‘I hate you’ intensity that’s ninety times hotter than anything anyone else could ever achieve. This makes Sam irrationally, passionately happy.
Only, Ray’s on the left side, and Chris is on the right, and Lytts is standing not too far ahead, so what Sam would like to happen is not going to and he’s resigned himself to the realisation that this time it’ll just be a punch.
“I think you’re right,” Gene says and Sam about dies from shock.
“Procedure all the way. Procedure and its pal paperwork. Snap to it, Angela, I wanna see this by the book.”
Sam opens his mouth a couple hundred times and narrows his eyes at Gene, who’s surprisingly blank-faced and infuriatingly rock steady. He’s a little bit totally lost in a sea of random confusion.
“Isn’t the first port of call the collator’s office?” Gene asks, pushing his head forward just a tiny bit and suddenly it starts to make terrifying, exciting sense to Sam, who nods his head and says, “yeah, yeah it is, Guv, I’ll get to it.”
“Need help?” comes Chris’ voice, but Sam waves a hand and gives him and everyone else detailed directions that lead them as far away from the files section of the police station as possible. He makes his way there and waits.
Sam fiddles with manila folders and metal edgings and opens a drawer or two, damn near bouncing on the balls of his feet. He coughs at the dust and sneers at the grime and becomes acutely aware of smoke in the air, acrid but enticing. There’s the sound of a door shutting and a scuffle of loafers against the ground and then two hands on his hips, fingers digging lightly.
“There’s more than one kind of procedure,” Gene murmurs, mouth by Sam’s ear. He’s thick and warm against Sam’s back, body-heat and the smell of him combining to get Sam’s blood flow pumping south.
“Medical procedures, police procedures…” Sam starts, but doesn’t finish, because Gene cups his hand against his crotch and steals away his voice.
“You will live to rue the day you ever crossed me,” Gene says and it should be menacing, Sam knows it should be menacing, but it’s really a complete turn on and Sam’s arching back, throwing his pelvis forward, almost begging Gene to get on with it.
Gene takes the hint and works on Sam’s zip slowly, ever so slowly, fingers brushing against denim. Sam lets him support his body weight as he leans into him and his breath is coming out in short, sharp bursts, and he’s straining so hard he thinks he might bust something, and never before has he ever wanted Gene’s hand on his cock as much as he does right now, right this second, right in every single way.
He’s so turned on he’s already leaking precome, creating discomfort that he doesn’t really give a bollocks about, although a minute voice in his mind reminds him that it’s going to be tricky getting to his locker for his spare set of clothes before someone notices that he’s just engaged in some backroom fumbling. And Gene is being his usual self, a cruel bastard with a crueler heart, because he’s sliding his fingers up Sam’s cock with the kind of patience he shows in absolutely nothing else in his life, ever. It’s a ridiculously slow action, fingertips skimming over skin. Sam wants to groan, but he knows that it’ll most likely be a noise that’ll send the roof down and whilst the potential’s sure as hell adding to the thrill of it, something tells him being found would make life very difficult indeed.
He can feel Gene’s cock against his lower back, hard and hot and he wants to touch it, but he wants Gene to touch him more and his heart’s beating against his ribcage when Gene finally, delightfully, fists his cock and starts to stroke up, flicking his thumb over the tip and then giving extra attention to the underside. Sam almost squeaks, he’s that tormented. And this, this is somehow like every other time and nothing like them too, like he’s never wanted anything more than to be here with Gene, like he’s never wanted anything ever but to be here with Gene always, wrapped up in need and necessity and nagging and negotiation and everything there is between them; fight and fury and fucking.
He’s helping Gene along now, rocking with him, the movement increasing the pressure on his own cock and causing friction for Gene’s and that is the best thing in the entire world. Gene’s moving, fondling his balls as they draw tight, then resuming his rhythmic pumping and Sam’s chest is constricted and there’s a low but unmistakable sound deep in his throat and his eyes are squeezed shut and he thinks he might die now, happy and helpless all at once. The sensation in his body rockets up and out, tearing him apart into broken fragments and he comes, his legs weak, his mind uncaring.
“Sam,” Gene says and it’s such a choked off sound Sam can hardly stand it. He collapses to his knees, swivels, has Gene’s cock in his mouth quicker than most would call humanly possible and Gene’s been just as teased as he has, if not more; it only takes a few short moments before he’s coming in Sam’s mouth, the taste bitter, but the feeling hot.
Gene reclines against the cabinet behind him, his head thrown back. Sam rests his own head against the flesh of Gene’s hip. And they grin, unknown to each other. Gene eventually helps Sam up, hands strong on strong arms and Sam presses close into him, kissing fervently, letting Gene taste himself on his lips.
“Better get back to work,” Gene says after a time; reluctance and command.
“I’ve forgotten what I was doing in here, now,” Sam responds, not even being sarcastic this time, just genuinely struck down by a full-bodied blow of ignorance.
Gene pushes his lips forward, contemplative, then sets his shoulders. “Collins case.”
“Oh, right.” Sam tries to cover up his moment of idiocy with his usual attitude. “And it was by the book, wasn’t it?”
“By the chapter, verse and sodding paragraph,” Gene replies. He licks his finger and drags it against Sam’s lower lip. “Just for you.”