Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 350 words
Notes: Sam/Gene slash. A belated birthday snippet for m31andy.
There are notches in the wood at the head of the bed. Gene stares at them as he rocks into Sam for the first time. He’s waited for this, he shouldn’t be distracted, but he can’t help it. Notches. On one hand, this isn’t a typical Sam thing. Not the kind to kiss and tell, Tyler. Always looks vaguely put out by others revelling in copping a feel. On the other, the snotty-nosed git is all for recording every last detail, often to the point of irritating banality. Gene tries to close his eyes and concentrate on the slick and heat of the lithe body below him, the sound of Sam’s breathing, but he keeps imagining the faces connected to those notches.
He speeds up, drives faster, pounds hard in order to exorcise the thoughts. This shouldn’t bother him. Sam’s not his. He comes with a growl and rolls to the side.
“They yours?” he asks mid-breath. The words come from nowhere, but he’s never wanted to hear any other answer as much as this one. Considering his profession, that’s a loaded statement.
“Yeah, they’re mine,” Sam replies, hoarse and abrupt.
Sam smiles to himself as the door closes behind Gene’s back. Longing gazes and words unspoken have promised a reunion that Sam will capitalise on. In the meantime, Sam has an urge he can’t contain. He gives it half an hour, showers and dresses.
In the cold of night, Sam finds the one. Tall, broad shouldered, good practice. Another notch. Sam follows into a dark alley, careful to keep his footfall as silent as possible. The guy’s taking a slash when he makes his move.
Sam sidles up close, flips out his knife and stabs the common carotid artery. Licking his lips as blood flows over his plastic wrapped hand, Sam contemplates the method he’ll adopt for dumping this body.
If Gene knew. If Gene knew, Sam’d be drawn and quartered. But that’s not going to happen. Sam has a phrase etched into the cards he holds to his chest.
Keep your friends close, but your next mark closer.