Loz (lozenger8) wrote,

We Both Go Down Together

Title: We Both Go Down Together
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2580 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. Title from The Decemberists.

Gene’s breath bursts in jets of warm air against Sam’s neck. His fingers claw at the material at Sam’s shoulder, where droplets of blood converge against scraped skin. Sam raises his eyelids and attempts to stare at Gene through the murk, dust stinging his eyes and making his throat dry. Gene drags his hand up to cradle Sam’s head.

“You alive?” Gene asks, tone falsely blasé.

Sam responds in kind. “The jury’s still out on that one.”

“What is it about you and explosives, Tyler?”

“I have a skill.”

“Clearly more than one.”

Sam’s vision adjusts and he can just make out the line of Gene’s nose, the curl of his lip. At first, he’s dimly aware of Gene’s weight pressing into him, but as he regains more consciousness it’s not so much awareness as acute pressure causing rivers of pain to lick through him. He experimentally rocks to the side, but comes against a barrier on his left and the solid frame of Gene on his right.

“What happened?”

Gene groans. “What makes you think I know? Best I can make out, soon as we arrived something went off, and here we are now, covered in rubble. And tomorrow, I’m gonna have Naughty Nick strung up by his balls for his dodgy facts.”

“Right. You are a veritable fount of information. Was anyone else involved?”

Sam feels more than sees Gene’s head shake. “Didn’t see anyone, before it all went black.”


“You’ve been dozing for an hour or more,” Gene offers. “Dunno how long we were here before then, but I reckon it was a while. Basically, we’re stuffed.”

“That’s not very encouraging.”

“Yeah, well, no one knows we’re here and I’ve not heard anyone scuffling about.”

Sam flexes his shoulder and raises his free hand to his forehead, fingers skimming against sticky residue and grit.

There isn’t much to be said of the area around them. They appear to be boxed in on all sides and there’s very little light. Sam can only see that which is immediately in front of him, which consists most forcefully of Gene’s hair, Gene’s face and Gene’s upper body. The rest is obscured, lost in a world of grime and black.

“Can you move much?”

“No. There’s something sharp and jagged digging into my back, you’ll have to make do.”

Sam sucks in air. “I wasn’t accusing you of crushing me or anything.”

“Even though I am.”

“A bit. But, you know, you get used to it after a while.”

“I always used to say that if it had to happen, I wanted to go out with a bang,” Gene says, quietly contemplative.

“Don’t be morbid,” Sam chastises, his tone slightly more urgent than he’d otherwise prefer to convey.

“Bet you’re more of a whimpering man.”

Sam lowers his lashes against phantom visions of their dead bodies being found, glassy eyes staring, not remembering that the action won’t purge his imagination. His body is aching all over, the pain spiking in the arm trapped under Gene and shooting through his torso at regular intervals.



“Just wanted to tell you I’m glad I met you,” Sam says, voice husky and light.

“God, you’re not getting weepy, are you? Pull yourself together, simple Sue. It’s nothing to cry over.”

“Even if you are a monumental git with the sensitivity levels of King Kong.”

Gene makes a low sound of discontent. “He dies in the end. Not the nicest comparison you could’ve made.”

“I’m not the world’s nicest guy.”

There’s a grunt of agreement. Within another second, Gene’s body is trembling forcefully. Sam frowns in concern, wrapping his hand around what he can reach of Gene’s arm. “Gene, stay with me. Gene? Gene.”

“Found it,” Gene murmurs triumphantly, holding a hipflask up into Sam’s field of vision. “Had to wriggle it loose.”

Sam pokes the fleshy space between Gene’s collarbone and shoulder. “Stupid maniac, I thought you’d gone into shock.”


“When I awoke this morning, I had no idea it was insult Sam day.”

Gene sniffs. “Every day’s insult Sam day, you’re just too thick to realise it.” He wraps his lips around the rim of the flask opening and tilts his head back far as it can go.

“Wonderful. I’m gonna die with a man who loves to use me as both his physical and verbal punching bags.”

“Not a second before you were glad you’d met me.”

“I notice you didn’t return the favour.”

“Well, I’m not, am I,” Gene says caustically, breath rattling through his teeth with a harsh rasp. “Cause nothing but bloody nightmares, you do. Come into my station, perch on your golden throne, expect all to bow down to your majesty. Worse still, make me believe you deserve some of the respect you demand.”

Sam tries to stare into Gene’s eyes, but it’s not an easy manoeuvre, made more difficult by Gene avoiding eye contact. “You respect me?”

“As far as I can throw you.”

Sam rolls his head against the concrete behind him, smiling softly. “Which, let’s face it, is pretty bloody far.”

Sam listens to Gene’s heartbeat for a while, noticing the speed with which it thumps against him. This is the closest they’ve ever been, pressed tight in places they’ve never touched before. Sam’s mind does its best to distract him and swerves from thoughts of death to other thoughts that are considerably more energetic and vigourous. He usually doesn’t allow himself to take notice of the sheer physicality of Gene, the way his blood pumps faster when they’re entwined in entirely different circumstances, but he thinks he’s entitled to some form of luxury. He heaves in breath and watches as Gene takes another swig, accepting the offer made in the next moment. Gene’s mouth is a grim line of discomfort and anguish and Sam half contemplates kissing the expression away as scotch burns down his throat.

“What’s your dying desire, Gene? Something you wish you could’ve done or had or said before the end was nigh?”

Gene’s answer is short and to the point. “A final fuck.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, amused and surprised that they should be reflecting on the same subject. He takes a risk only impending death will afford. “Okay, well, that one’s still possible, long as you open your horizons.”

Sam expects Gene to squirm uncomfortably, attempt to strangle him, assault him with more insults, this time said with anger.

“Oh yes, a lovely sight will greet those who eventually find the bodies. Trousers round the ankles, cocks standing full mast and blissful grins from ear to ear.”’

Sam laughs in shock, the movement causing his chest to ache with more insistence.

“What are the chances of them having a camera, do you think? It’d make worldwide headlines, that.”

“Hopefully slim, like you. You’re bloody bony, you are, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah, you, last time you slammed me into the Cortina door. You did your elbow in, remember?”

Gene sounds rueful. “How could I forget? Damn near killed you, didn’t I?”

“You’ve a habit of doing that, I’ve found.”

“Says he of the infamous gun waving, bastard big bomb blowing fame.”

Sam chuckles again, altering his position minutely so that he’s closer to facing Gene. He goes to assess whether he could shift the slab behind Gene, but his hand comes into contact with something that feels terrifyingly familiar.

“Gene? What is this?” he asks, attempting to regulate the tone of his voice. The question comes out uninterested, like asking if there are any spare folders.

“Blood, I’d say. Been bleeding a while.”

“And you decided to tell me this now?”

“I wasn’t gonna tell you at all. Didn’t wanna worry you.”

“I am worried,” Sam says. “We need to put pressure on the wound.”

“Don’t know how. I don’t actually know where I’m bleeding from.”

Sam feels around, but suspects the damage is hidden against whatever it is keeping Gene in position. He can just make out sweat on Gene’s brow, running down the ridge of the indentation that cleaves it in two and often makes him look so fierce. Less fierce, now. More desperate, if anything. Eyes flicking from Sam’s mouth up to his gaze.

“Are we gonna get on with it, or not?”

“On with…?” Sam starts, but abruptly stops when understanding dawns on him. Sam licks his lower lip, the taste bitter and sharp. “Are you serious?”

“Might as well.”

“If that’s your attitude, why bother?”

Gene bends his head and kisses Sam’s neck, words muffled by skin. “Please, Sam.”

Sam can’t believe it, is sure he’s got concussion and is dreaming everything, but the stubble on Gene’s jaw makes a persuasive argument he doesn’t have the energy to combat and he pushes closer into Gene. He brushes his lips against Gene’s hair, tilts his head to give Gene more access to bared skin.

“Where’s your zip?”

“On my trousers, last I checked.”

Sam hasn’t given much thought to where Gene’s left hand has been, but it comes to settle against Sam’s own and guides it to the material stretched tight over Gene’s crotch. Sam spreads his fingers experimentally and moans as Gene bites into him.

“Vampire now, are you?”

Gene responds by digging his fingers into Sam’s leg. Sam searches for and finds the slider, pulling it down with care. Gene’s underwear gets in the way and Sam pulls forcefully, ripping a hole that ruins the fabric. He doesn’t think Gene especially cares. He wraps his fingers around Gene’s cock and strokes as Gene sighs in satisfaction.

“Ever done anything like this before?” Gene asks suddenly. There’s a trace of fear in the question, further confirming Sam’s belief that he’s nothing but a body for the illicit exchange.

Sam opens his eyes wider. “Can’t say as I have, no.”

“If we do get out of this bloody thing alive, don’t think we’ll be getting up to it in the near future.”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t thinking at all, Guv.”

“Good, because Gene Hunt doesn’t do affection.”

“That’s okay, affection confuses and terrifies me anyway.”

These words appear to console Gene, because he not only continues kissing the juncture between Sam’s neck and shoulder, but he trails his lips over his collarbone as he reciprocates in zip opening. The hard-on Sam hadn’t bothered to conceal springs free and Sam can’t control the sound he makes when Gene’s fist closes over him, warm and tight. Sam pulls Gene’s cock how he usually likes it, but Gene is rougher, faster, more erratic. Sam finds he likes it more, the different sensation and the reality of it being Gene’s touch ratcheting up the pressure of the blood that courses through him.

He swivels his head and captures Gene’s mouth with his own, wanting it all to feel more like passion and less like desperation.

“Always knew you wanted me. When we’re out in full force, there’s a glint in your eye that’s a little left of anger,” Gene murmurs in between breaths, low and throaty. He increases the speed of his movements. “See, you’re not even denying it now.”

“Don’t wanna disillusion a dying man,” Sam replies. He reclaims Gene’s mouth and carries on pumping, quickening the pace incrementally. Gene groans something and Sam pauses, letting Gene talk.

“Why’ve you stopped? Keep going,” Gene says, sounding uncharacteristically like he’s whining.

“You were trying to say something.”

“I was telling you I’m gonna come.”

Sam curves his fingers around once more, is about to recommence, but he can’t help himself. Gene has also stopped, but his hand is still present on Sam’s cock, making it slightly difficult for Sam to get the command that he’d like over his inflection. “Just think, you could’ve been stuck here with Ray. Wouldn’t’ve had your dying desire then, would you?”

“No, but then, I’d also not have you yapping on, Tyler. Can’t be sure which is the bigger price to pay.” Gene presses his forehead against Sam’s. “If I’m to die, it’s good to know it’s beside a man I’ve fantasised about shagging through filing cabinets and floral wallpaper, tease though he may be.”

“Just to clarify – that’s me, yeah?”

“If there wasn’t immediate danger of collapse I’d be shouting your fucking head off,” Gene hisses.

Sam tampers down his grin and strokes up, though it’s less altruism and more need. He twists his hand and slides with a rapid, methodical action, listening intently to the huff of Gene’s breath as he kisses the corner of his lips. Gene matches him, near synchronisation, until Sam’s hot and frantic. He’s surprised when Gene comes before him, realising he’s lost concentration and control and is intent only on his own release.

It comes in a breath-stealing rush a moment later, Sam arching as far as he can into Gene. He cranes his neck and rests his head back, his heart thumping against his ribcage, gradually slowing, until he’s relaxed and uncaring.

“Well, that was fun. How’s about we chat about football for the next couple of hours? You can start gnawing on my arm when I’m gone.” Gene rubs his thumb against Sam’s lower lip. Sam senses he’s not as casual as his words suggest.

“Better get tidied up, first,” Sam says, rearranging them both and doing up zips.

“Never thought my star DI would be the type who’d win awards with the WI.”

“I never thought I’d end up spending my last moments with a sexist, boorish self-styled Sheriff of 1973.”

Gene lowers his head, resting it in the crook of Sam’s shoulder. Sam’s fear rises again and he places his hand over Gene’s chest, to listen for his heartbeat.

“I’m not slipping away yet, I’m just bloody uncomfortable.”

“I am glad I met you,” Sam repeats. “And there’s something I wanted to tell you…”

“If you’re about to declare your love for me, Sammy-boy, I’d start praying if I were you, because I will summon my last vestiges of strength and stab you repeatedly before you even get past the first vowel.”

Sam rolls his eyes, and is about to retort with his own cutting remark, but as if from nowhere he thinks that he can hear, very faint in the distance, a high pitched whirring noise and what sounds like a man speaking.

“Hold it for a second, will you?” Sam says, concentrating.

“…And then I’ll rip one of your legs off and use it to bash at whatever’s behind you.”

“I said shut it, I think I hear voices.”

“From what Cartwright’s told me, this isn’t a new occurrence.”

Sam ignores Gene and continues listening intently. Minutes pass by and he balls his hand up into a fist as his hopes begin to dwindle.

The strong timbre of a voice above his head makes him start. “Hello? Is anyone down there?”

“Yes! Yes, two police officers,” Sam returns, forgetting for a second about fragile structures and projecting as loud as he can.

“DCI Hunt and DI Tyler?”

“That’s right,” Sam confirms.

“We’ll get you out of there soon, sit tight.”

Sam expects Gene to say something, but he doesn’t. Sam peers and sees that Gene’s eyes have closed. He realises the chest rising next to his is slow and shallow.

“Gene? Gene, they’re coming for us. We’re gonna be okay.” Sam grits his teeth, not allowing himself to think the worst. “Guv, come on.”

A strand of light pierces the dark and Sam squints his eyes upwards to imminent rescue.

Next Part: Red Right Ankle
Tags: life on mars, rated nc-17, slash, the decemberists series, writing

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  • Dear Livejournal...

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    Things I have done in June and July: 1. Most of the time I have followed my self-prescribed routine, although lately sleep has been difficult again.…

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