(AKA, Five Times Sam Got Off On [Mostly] Inanimate Objects.)
Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 1,226 words.
Notes: This is really, really smutty and slightly cracky. Sam/Stationery & Sam/Furniture, plus unrequited Sam/Gene and Gene/Annie. There are sexual acts in here that are not advocated. And an "IT Crowd" reference. For dakfinv by way of culf.
The first time - The Pen.
(The time Sam got worked up by allusion.)
Sam watched intently, eyes fixed and breath coming in steady, short gasps as Gene's fingers slid up and down, up and down the shaft. Gene was working quickly and Sam imagined he could feel the friction of Gene's fingerprints gliding with just the right rough texture. Sam licked his lips as Gene made a low, indecent growl and sped up, gaze burning. Sam could feel himself getting hotter, his cock painfully hard and his muscles twitching as he tried desperately to hold it all in. Gene finally fisted the rod and threw it on the table with force. When he erupted, Sam was never more glad he kept spare clothes in his locker and tried to calm down as he watched ink dribble out the top of Gene's biro.
The second time - The Novelty Pencil.
(The time Sam did something potentially hazardous to his health.)
He couldn't help it, he kept telling himself he was going barmy but he was desperate for something unavailable. He was tingling all over, his toes curling with possibility. He wanted to feel Gene hot and thick inside him --- he wanted anything inside him, was aching for it. He stroked his cock and got the lube, slowly working two fingers in and around his hole, but it wasn't enough. He looked around his flat, hating that he didn't have his collection of dildos (stored in order of size and vibrating function) here in 1973 and vowing to change that at the next available opportunity. Finally, his eyes alighted upon the giant novelty pencil Chris had brought him back from Blackpool.
Sam crawled over and grabbed it, running to the kitchenette and getting the cling-film. He wrapped the plastic around, lubed the pencil up and settled back on the cot, knees bent, weight resting on his shoulders. He worked two fingers in again and loosened himself up further, moaning and getting excited. He readied the tip of the inch thick pencil at his hole and slowly eased it in, hushing out a deep breath. His eyes closed as he finally got most of the object in, with enough left over for control and movement.
He fantasised about Gene above him, lock of hair falling onto his forehead and shoulders gleaming with sweat as he slowly pumped in and out. He imagined filthy words and digging fingers, his legs arched towards the ceiling and his chest tightening. It took a while, but he found the right angle so that the pencil would be brushing his prostate on every stroke. He pretended it was Gene, clutching under his thighs, grunting and panting.
He came with a choked off cry and knew this was unlikely to remain a singular event.
The third time - The Filing Cabinet.
(The time vital paperwork became smudged for reasons other than bacon butties.)
He wasn't spying so much as 'watching Gene's back', which, granted, looked a lot like spying when he was holed up in the far reaches of the collator's den, eyes wide as he watched Gene stumble in with... Annie?
He'd heard Gene mutter, "later in the collator's den" on the phone, and had visualised all kinds of things, but not this. To be honest, he'd assumed it was illicit corruption, not wanton abandon.
Gene had one hand gliding up Annie's thigh, his lips firmly fixed on her neck. He was saying something, Sam couldn't hear the words, could only hear the tone - low and throaty. Annie keened, her brunette head dipping back as Gene lifted her leg.
Sam's mouth opened in shock and he nervously brushed his thumb over his lower lip, aware he was bordering on perversion and surprised he felt nothing like jealous and everything like turned on. Gene was now undoing the buttons of Annie's shirt with one hand as his other moved under the material of her skirt. Annie's eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks as she pushed into his touch.
Gene stepped back a moment and Annie's sound of discontent mirrored Sam's feelings, but all Gene was doing was removing his belt.
Sam's jeans were tenting dramatically and he couldn't take it anymore as he watched Gene yank down his trousers.
The filing cabinet Sam was hiding behind became less of an obstruction and more an opportunity, as Sam steadied his hands along the sides and ground his cock against the corner. Frotting as quietly as possible, Sam remained intent on the scene before him, Annie's arms around Gene's neck as he thrust into her repeatedly, a banging from the shelves behind Gene and their voices mingling in the air.
Sam breathed harshly as he writhed against the cool, impersonal metal, but dreamed he was writhing against the objects of his affection.
The fourth time - The Stationery Supply Order.
(The time Sam braved a paper cut that would be hard to explain.)
He guessed it was a trigger. That had to be it, surely? He couldn't really be horny because of paperclips, envelopes, notepads, pens, pencils, and rubbers. Not the objects in and of themselves. It was a flashback to his dalliances with the best present Chris had ever bought anyone ever.
Either way, he was hot, as his eyes perused the list Ray had drawn up of items missing from the stationery cupboard. Hot and gagging for it. He eased himself out of the tight confines of his jeans and wrapped his fingers around his cock as he read through the details.
52 HB pencils. Oh, yeah.
Pencil sharpeners. He really needed to pump harder.
5 new staplers, differing in size. Damn, this was good.
Masking tape. Shit, he was on the edge.
A holepunch. YES! He was spent.
The fifth time - The Mobile Phone.
(The time that happened before all others, but that Sam had previously rationalised and excused.)
It was a practical joke. A joke that went horribly right, as far as Sam was concerned.
Noticing Sam's obsession with his newfound Motorola toy, Tony got his technical friend Roy to 'up the motor'. Apparently, he was hoping to cause Sam embarrassment, because Sam had a stick up his arse a mile long and Tony hadn't seen him blush or heard him laugh going on two years. That's what Tony had said afterwards, and Sam believed him, but didn't much care.
The vibrating feature of Sam's phone was increased, until it was like a miniature washing machine on the spin cycle. One of the really old ones that practically hopped around the room.
Now, Sam, he kept his phone in his pocket. And Tony, well, he had Sam's number on speed dial.
Sam was in a meeting when it first happened. He leapt up, his brow creasing, as the phone jiggled and wiggled in an infuriatingly tempting way. He did his best and managed to remain relatively sane and calm.
The second time he was on a flight of stairs.
The third time he was in a cubicle of the men's toilets, hands splayed on the door in front of him, a bead of sweat edging down his nose. The phone kept vibrating and Sam didn't answer, didn't even come close to answering. He moaned as it shuddered next to him in the best way.
It stopped, suddenly. Sam gave a guttural howl. But then it picked up again, and Sam came, blindingly, mouthing the word, "mobile", over and over.