Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 2,000 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash, with some mild kink thrown in.
Summary: "Please isn't good enough, Hunt. I want more than 'please'."
There's a song playing loudly over the stereo system, stomping feet over the ground, and they have their guns out, waving them around for show. Gene's only got one bullet left, no more ammunition, and he figures Sam must be the same - they've fired off enough rounds between them to make it obvious to all and sundry that they've run out. But, they're cops, and this is their job, and Gene's not gonna get all airy-fairy about it. He's warned Sam to be mindful already, and even though it's probably fallen on deaf ears, at least the warning's been uttered.
Micklehurst and Jameson appear amongst the cacophony of rock n' roll, arrogant and cocky combined, their own guns trained directly at Gene and Sam's heads, and isn't that just typical? Gene can see Sam edging forward, just a small amount, just enough and he wants to launch himself sideways to stop him, but instead he makes a low, guttural sound. Sam rolls his left hand over, slowly, and Gene knows he's planning something, but doesn't know what it is, just knows it's a movement only a pillock would make.
Don't do it, Sam. Don't do it, please. Stay still. Don't try to negotiate. Don't let them see a shred of weakness. Don't do it.
Sam steps forward, the peal of a death knoll fills the air, and all is silence.
The coffee in this place is used dishwater and chicory. Gene sips it down with deep distaste and looks for a potted plant to poison. There are ferns in the corner. They take his offering without complaint. He wanders down the corridor, up the corridor, off towards the canteen again. It's no good. Walking doesn't do much but make him feel what other people'd call light-headed, but that he thinks of as 'pissed off'. He hasn't left the hospital, and he hasn't had a cig going on seven hours. And he knows he's annoying everyone, but it's not in his nature to care.
He sits down outside the door and wonders when they're gonna let him in, if they're gonna let him in, and they better be prepared for some world-class shouting if they don't. He can imagine what Sam looks like, wrapped in white, pale skin and ashen lips, gaunt cheeks. He already looks gone, he did back at the bleeding nightclub, and Gene doesn't want that to be the last he ever thinks of him.
Don't die on me, Sammy-boy. I know you're a git with a persecution complex, but don't let it make a martyr of you. You're stronger than that, I know you are. Please don't die, Sam. Please don't die.
"Can you make him see sense, Mr Hunt? He won't listen to any of us."
"I'll make him see sense, alright."
Gene stamps into the room and glowers. Sam's propped up against the pillows, looking tired and weak, but otherwise not too bad. There's colour in his cheeks, life in his eyes, and a sour expression that's right at home.
"What's this I hear about you refusing medication?"
Sam rolls his eyes. "They're trying to gimme drugs I don't need."
"From what I hear, they're trying to give you painkillers."
"Yeah, and I don't need them." Sam raises his arm and pokes at his side without a wince. "See?"
Gene sits himself down next to Sam and gives him his most intimidating look. Normally it would work, but Sam's stood up to almost getting shot in the head and isn't looking all that scared. "They say it's just adrenaline, keeping you from feeling it - but your brain's still processing the pain, whatever that means."
"It's not. I haven't been harmed in the real world, so I'm unharmed here. Relatively speaking."
Gene flexes his fingers, willing himself not to wrap them around Sam's scrawny, yet attractively bared neck. "Utter bollocks. You're telling me you don't need pain meds and yet you're completely delirious."
Sam practically bursts out laughing. "I'm not."
"Take the damn drugs, Sam."
"I'll punch you."
"It'll cost you."
Gene levels Sam with a stare. "What?"
"I don't know yet. We'll call it an IOU."
He's supposed to still be weak, closely monitored, and that's why he's here instead of his dingy flat, but Sam's not acting weak, he's acting with remarkable strength. He pins Gene's hands to the back of the settee and leans his weight against him. Gene could probably throw Sam off, but not without tearing some stitches, and if he's honest - like he sometimes is with himself - he likes the feeling of Sam above him - warm and solid.
"I'm cashing in, Gene."
"Don't know what you're talking about."
"In the hospital. I took the medication like a good little boy and now you've got to pay the price."
"Did they teach you this kind of melodrama in school or is it natural?"
"All natural. D'you wanna hear my terms?"
"Alright. What're you gonna throw at me?" Gene asks, faking nonchalance. Sam leans closer and moves his legs, rearranging himself until he's straddling Gene. There's a raise of eyebrows, a small frown. "You're high, aren't you?"
"Haven't taken anything."
"I stopped as soon as we left the hospital."
"Then no deal. You haven't done as told and I'm under absolutely no obligation to fulfil your wishes."
"You will, though."
"Because I'm gonna make you."
Sam lets Gene's wrists go and wraps his arms over his shoulders, twining his hands into his hair. Gene places his hands steadily on Sam's sides, careful to avoid where he once bled out from an open wound.
"I really don't think this is a good idea."
"Your words say one thing, but your body says something else entirely."
"When you're better, Sam. I'll let you do whatever you want. But for the moment, no."
Gene huffs out a deep breath and looks into Sam's eyes. "You're not of your right mind and we might bust something. Now, just, shift it, okay?"
"I don't wanna."
Gene pushes Sam backwards, as delicately as he can. "Well, you're gonna."
"You're a spoilsport."
"And you need some bloody sleep. Listen to me, for once in your life. C'mon, get off, go to bed, and we'll sort this out at a later date."
Stop hovering above me, making me lose my mind, or we'll end up doing something we'll both regret.
There's a song playing, the smell of burning wick in the air, and Gene's bloody knackered, but too curious to shout about it. He sits down and waits for Sam to appear, because he's bound to at some point, he wouldn't leave candles going without proper attendance, and Gene would be very surprised if there wasn't a fire bucket ready in waiting.
It's been three weeks and Sam's stopped acting loopy, at least most of the time. Sometimes he has an odd glint in his eye, but Gene likes to ignore and dismiss it - it's one of his finest qualities.
Sam walks into the room. He pulls his shirt up with little ceremony, displaying a thin, red line that looks completely harmless.
"I'm better and I've decided tonight is the night, Hunt," he says. He bites his lip and makes a none-too-secret appraisal of Gene, sprawled out on the settee. "D'you wanna commence here, or upstairs?"
Gene thinks he should probably say nowhere, but it's been over a month and he's horny as hell, and wanking off in the room adjacent to Sam's isn't the same as fucking him senseless.
"Upstairs," he says quickly - too quickly, and the smile on Sam's face confirms it. "I've shown a great deal of restraint, Tyler, it has to be said."
Sam laughs, low and throaty. "And you're gonna be showing more."
Gene clambers up the stairs, lacking a certain amount of co-ordination, and is already halfway through removing all of his clothes.
"On the bed," Sam orders, and Gene does so, because he wants to see what happens next. Sam must have picked up Gene's tie on the way, because he holds it stretched taut between his hands. "Arms up."
Gene puts his arms up with no question, licking his lip as Sam ties it around his wrists and then up through the headboard. It's not particularly tight, he could pull loose if he really wanted to, but he has no inclination.
Gene expects Sam to remove his own clothes, but he doesn't. He settles himself over Gene's thighs instead, dragging his fingers lightly over Gene's torso. He dips his head down and starts kissing, soft brushes of his lips that travel over Gene's collarbone, down the centre of his chest, nuzzling into the chest-hair there. Sam veers to the left and licks at his nipple, moving in concentric circles. As he torments, he starts to grind his hips slowly, creating a small, but unmistakable friction just where Gene needs it most.
Gene expects he's doing very well, all things considered. He hasn't yet moaned, has stifled a groan, and hasn't used words at all. Sam continues kissing him and then begins stroking his cock with barely-there touches and maddening accuracy for every movement that drives him up the wall. It goes on and on until Gene can't stand it anymore and starts arching upwards, only for Sam to remove his hand entirely.
Sam shakes his head, resumes kissing, nipping at his flesh. He only returns his hand to Gene's cock when Gene's silent and shuddering, but involuntarily, not rising and reaching up, just unable to control his body's reactions to Sam's ministrations.
Sam is too slow, too gentle and Gene can't help himself at all when he murmurs out a quiet, "please, please, please."
"Please isn't good enough, Hunt. I want more than 'please'."
"I don't know any other way."
Sam moves off Gene entirely, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow. "Try some."
Gene half-heartedly struggles against his tie. "More?"
Sam teasingly undoes his shirt buttons and zip. He strokes a hand down his body and idles around his cock, tilting his head to one side. "Maybe I'll make you come without touching you."
Gene can hardly get the words out. "That'd be cruel and unusual punishment."
Sam nods and begins to stroke his own cock. The sound and the vision make Gene harden further, and he didn't think that was possible. Sam resettles himself over Gene, aiming towards his torso, tugging with precise rhythm. Every slide of his hand is mesmerising, every small grunt that he makes intoxicating.
"How much do you want it?"
"A hell of a lot."
"Master of understatement, you."
"Right, then, more than the earth and moon and wind and stars. Happy?"
Sam's breathing becomes irregular and a flush creeps up his neck and over his cheeks. "Oh yeah," he says in reply. Gene struggles against his bonds again, but this time finds he's not sure he can escape. All he can think about is the heat building under his skin, the look of Sam right there, the smell of latent sex in the air.
"Come for me, Gene," Sam says, voice syrupy. "You know you wanna. Come for me."
That's all it takes. He didn't think it was possible, but it is. Gene comes, his mind whirling. Sam's come splatters over his chest and he collapses on top of him, and that's it, that's all he knows.
When he manages to regain some composure, he opens his eyes to see Sam dragging a finger over his chest and licking it.
He hisses in a breath. "You're downright pornographic."
Sam grins devilishly. "All for you."
"But only if I beg."
"Well, yeah. Can't let you have all the fun."
"Something tells me that's not happening any time soon."
Sam lets his hands free and Gene doesn't object when he wraps his arms around him. "You have begged for me, haven't you? I remember, after the shot. You kept begging me to stay."
Gene doesn't say anything, just holds on even tighter.