Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 670 words
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. This is not one of those fics I want to be working on. It's something I really wanted to write, though. So sorry!
The first time Gene touched him in a way that didn't signal threat, Sam hardly noticed, although it sparked something in the back of his mind. It seemed natural, comfortable, an arm slung around his shoulder and Gene breathing heavily by his side. Sam wrapped his own arm around Gene's back and leaned into it. And they were drunk, of course they were, lots of scotch, some beer, Sam'd even had some wine earlier in the evening. That was the justification for the touch, they needed to prop each other up. So, no, there was nothing odd about it, it was natural, comfortable.
The second time Gene touched him in a way that didn't signal threat, they'd only just started drinking. Sitting in a corner of the Arms, jukebox playing Clapton and crisp packet lying open on the table. Gene placed his hand on Sam's knee and gave it a squeeze and this Sam did notice, because it was familiar and warm and he liked it. He looked down, looked up, smiled, asked Gene if he wanted another drink, even though their glasses were three quarters full.
The third time Gene touched him in a way that didn't signal threat, the television was crackling to attention. Sam was sitting on his cot, staring blankly, trying not to think thoughts he'd thought he'd buried. Gene walked over, mug of tea perched precariously in the crook of his arm and paper-wrapped chips in his hand. Words were exchanged, Sam didn't really register them. Gene's leg settled next to Sam's and he let out a deep, contented sigh that Sam thought was probably meant to be about the gulp of tea newly swallowed, but that he secretly hoped indicated something else.
The fourth time Sam made a note of the touch, it didn't just signal threat - it was threat, warning, danger all at once. Gene had his fingers laced in Sam's hair, was yanking his head back and snarling. Sam stopped moving, standing stock still, deciding struggle would be a mistake he wasn't up to. Gene let go and thumped him, forceful fist against his cheekbone. Sam rubbed at where Gene's fingers had been and missed their absence, muttering an apology he didn't feel. Sam realised, not without a small measure of concern, that few people had touched him the way Gene did, skin against skin, cloth against cloth. Hands-on, all the time. And he realised that few people made him react this way; heart pulsing, mind racing.
The fifth time Gene touched him in a way that wasn't supposed to signal threat, but somehow managed to anyway, Sam jerked his arm away and shook his head. Gene stared at him, confused, mouthing a multitude of unspoken questions. Sam stepped back, forcing space between them.
"Don't what? I was just gonna ask if you'd finished that report you were blathering on about."
Sam didn't immediately respond and Gene moved in closer, purposefully intimidating, though not for the reasons Sam felt he thought.
"Touch me," Sam said.
Gene pushed his lips together, the crease in his forehead deepening. "Do or don't?"
Sam could barely breathe. "I don't know."
Gene tilted his head to the side and set his fingertips against Sam's neck, stroking his thumb up and down gently. Sam swallowed deeply.
"Was wondering when you'd notice," Gene murmured, voice rich, mouth by Sam's ear.
"Been noticing for a while," Sam replied, thoughts whirling in confusion.
He arched forward as Gene placed a hand on his lower back. Gene brushed his cheek against Sam's, kissed softly at the corner of his mouth, adjusted his position, pressed insistently.
The sixth time Gene touched him, Sam came alive. He never wanted it to end. He wanted to feel Gene against him for as long as he could, for as long as would be allowed. He mirrored Gene's actions slowly, let his fingers search and roam. And he marvelled at how this felt so intense, so natural, so comfortable. He could touch and be touched.