Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 3000 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene slash, with rimming. Title from Radiohead's "Life in a Glasshouse".
Summary: Angst-laden sex. Lack of verbal communication.
Fucking Sam was easy in ways it shouldn't have been.
Sam lay supine, legs splayed, fingers knotting into the sheets. His feet were flat against the bed and his thighs tight against Gene's body. Sweat sheened over his forehead and Gene thought he could almost taste it, though he hadn't put his lips to Sam's skin yet; never would, if he could avoid it. Sam arched up, closer into Gene, jaw tensed and arm muscles cording.
Gene wanted to be able to close his eyes, to tell himself he wasn't doing this here, in this bed that had once been a place of perfectly ordinary matrimonial bliss and was now the place he came apart in ways he'd always promised himself he never would. But Gene couldn't stop staring at Sam's expression, at the rise of his chest as Gene surged in again; short breaths hitching out in rhythm.
Sam was loving this. His eyes were bright and he was making low, breathy noises that filled the silence of Gene's bedroom as Gene used slow, measured motions with his hips to thrust in and out. Sam's knuckles whitened as he clutched tightly at pale blue linen and Gene sucked in a breath as he watched Sam's fingers clench and unclench just as he decreased pace and eased into him with deeper, longer strokes.
Every time they did this, Gene wanted to make it last, because he kept saying it would be the last time. Never really believed it, when just watching Sam's flushed face made him want to come and he could never completely swallow the grunts at the back of his throat.
Sam's back arched higher and his eyelids fluttered as Gene's grip tightened, leaving white spots in already pale skin that would later darken and bruise. He was so tight around Gene, so hot, to the point that Gene couldn't really say if he'd ever have the willpower to stop doing this right at this moment, let alone refrain from future encounters. Sam's muscles clenched and he bucked up, nothing controlled and everything animalistic in his responses. His cock was leaking between their bodies, leaving a sticky trail that was warm now but would cool once Gene rolled to the side, reminding him of every last action and sensation.
Gene began to stutter forward more quickly, to drive against and into Sam with more force and was wholly focussed on taking this to the end.
Sam's voice, coarse and needy, cut into Gene's concentration. "Gene --- it's so good."
Gene held still, harsh breaths tearing through the tension in his chest. He gazed into the confusion of Sam's eyes and choked back a groan, rolling his hips forward shallowly. He gritted his teeth and wished to hell Sam hadn't uttered a word, because he could almost nearly forget what this was a few seconds before coming, but now Sam's desperation would be all he'd be able to think about.
And if that was the way it was going to be, Gene wasn't going to hold back. He bent his head and started kissing the flesh between Sam's neck and shoulder. He made Sam support some of his own weight and dragged a hand up, tangling his fingers into his hair and pulling it back. He took several shuddering breaths before kissing Sam on the lips, propelling his lower body with renewed rigour. Sam's tongue against his was something he had never experienced before. But it was what had haunted his dreams since they had started whatever this was and he was intensely aware that kissing Sam was every bit as horribly perfect as he'd suspected it would be.
Being entangled with Sam like this was painful. His calves had long since stiffened and the one arm holding Sam's leg up was aching, but the physical pain didn't hurt as much as the realisation that he was going back on his words again. Didn't stop him from hating that he not only needed this, but wanted it so much. He lifted Sam's leg higher and gave himself added leverage, adjusting the angle. The new position made it even easier for him to piston in and he did so to a steady chorus of Sam's hushed breaths and his own staggered huffing.
Sam came with a strangled gasp, his eyes closing, his forehead creasing, and his hands flexing. He contracted around Gene in fluttering motions that were too much and Gene felt himself uncoiling, his last grips on restraint snapping as he joined Sam, shaking through the aftershocks.
They didn't speak. They never did in the lull afterwards. Sam was always smart enough to keep his thoughts to himself and Gene just felt ashamed. Didn't think he was the type who ever could feel shame, but Sam always did have a knack of challenging his thoughts.
Sam arrived on his doorstep looking close to apologetic, acknowledging Gene with a nod. Gene let him in casually as if it was the most normal thing in the world. And it was, because all that happened was two colleagues conferring on a case. In Gene's house. At night time. With the curtains drawn and sounds muffled and never talking about it, ever.
Gene offered Sam a drink and was unsurprised when Sam accepted in a manner bordering on enthusiasm. They sat on opposite sides of the room, Sam on the sofa and Gene in the armchair, barely looking at each other as time ticked slowly by. The looking would come later and they both knew it.
Eventually, Gene got sick of waiting and he stepped forward, taking the glass from Sam's hand. Sam reached up and tugged at Gene's tie. They clambered quietly up the stairs, no words --- condemnation, insults or excuses. Just actions; slow and methodical, or quick and reckless, depending upon the day and the mood underlying the pervading sense of immorality.
Gene sat on the bed as Sam divested him of his shirt and tried not to feel triumph as Sam's eyes raked over him in possession and lust. When Sam first looked at him this way he had felt immediate revulsion. He had recoiled from the thought, pressing space between them, even though he'd had his hand around Sam's cock not a minute before. But now he drank it in, every glint in Sam's eye that signified activities he wanted to conduct before the night was through.
Before long, Gene was free of clothing and was working on getting Sam in a similar state. Their clothes landed on the floor in a heap and wouldn't be considered for at least another hour.
The mattress dipped under their combined weight when Sam straddled Gene's thighs, hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Gene instinctively wound his arms around Sam's sides to his back, his thumbs pressing against Sam's spine. Sam's eyes flickered to Gene's own, and Gene couldn't take it, so he let his gaze wander over Sam's torso instead. The only problem was, it merely served to further remind him he had his arms around another man.
"It shouldn't matter," Sam had said once, but never said it again, because Gene had practically murdered him with a single glare. There had been volumes of things Gene hadn't said that day. Some of them cruel, many of them offensive, and all of them true. He hadn't said them, because despite wishing he'd never met him, he didn't want to hurt Sam. Not in any way that Sam couldn't recover. And something told him what they did and the way they did it was bad enough.
Sam kissed him. It came as a shock, although it probably shouldn't have been completely unexpected, given that he had kissed him first. Gene was even more shocked by his response, pushing up into it, tightening his arms around Sam and revelling in Sam's hand curling into his hair. Sam's lips were dry against his own and his movement slightly tentative, but Gene smoothed his thumbs in concentric circles and edged closer until Sam pulled away.
"I want---" Sam said, then stopped. He searched Gene's face to check if he was paying attention to his words. "... to fuck you."
Gene squinted, initially unsure of what Sam meant, but his face cleared as he realised, and he shook his head decisively.
"I can't," he said, simply, and hoped Sam understood that he was lucky he was getting that much. Sam let out a gentle sigh and went to lie on the bed, focus fixed on the ceiling.
Gene couldn't articulate to himself why he regretted a sensible and sanity-preserving measure. At least when he was the one doing the fucking he could tell himself this was a relatively conventional relationship; if by conventional he meant 'fucked up' and relationship he meant 'situation'. But he did regret it as he followed the width of Sam's back around the office and remembered what it felt like sweat-slick underneath him. He regretted it as he caught Sam mid-smile whilst he chatted with the plonks.
He didn't know what made him feel like this. He missed a time when they could talk; antagonistic as it invariably was. When he wasn't dwelling on the accidental words that might spill from his lips. He could push Sam away forever with either a well-timed insult or a sign of affection.
That night he opened his door and shoved the drink into Sam's hand before they even made it to the lounge. He had already had six of his own and didn't relish the thought of being the only one off his face, even though he usually wouldn't give a shit. He glanced at Sam cagily out of the corner of his eye, seeing a new form of dispassion in his features. Sam's mouth was a tight, thin line and he looked tired around the edges, every bit his age instead of the boyish youth he could sometimes appear to be. Gene strengthened his hand against his glass and pretended not to care. He sat down on the sofa next to Sam and rocked forward until he was balancing his elbows on his knees.
"Just once," he said, and expected Sam to get the gist. Sam did, because he nodded in agreement and then lead the way upstairs.
Once they had rid themselves of clothes, Sam's hands mapped Gene's body and Gene swallowed thickly as Sam's expression softened. Sam's fingers were like brands against his skin; Gene was acutely aware of every path they traced. Sam tilted his head to the side, as if deciding what he'd do next. He nudged Gene towards the bed and bit his lower lip as Gene collapsed back, sitting. One hand gripped onto Gene's shoulder and the other held him at the waist. Sam studied him for several moments, then pushed him onto his side insistently and Gene followed through because he realised there was no resisting now.
It felt strange to be lying on his own bed with Sam implicitly telling him what to do. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he was equally as unsure of whether he hated it. He clamped his tongue to the roof of his mouth to prevent himself from gasping when Sam slid a hand up his thigh and further rolled him over, until he was lying on his stomach, prone to Sam's ministrations. Sam eased his legs apart, fingertips skating against his skin maddeningly. Gene was encouraged into a kneeling position and he had mental flashes of being tight against Sam's back in this arrangement, one hand reaching forward as they heaved and rocked together.
One of Sam's hands kneaded his arse and Gene tensed his jaw further. He couldn't quite contain a grunt of surprise as Sam spread his cheeks and he felt Sam's tongue glide up between them, gliding over his hole. It was slick, and warm, and nothing like anything he knew. Every muscle in his body seemed to contract, until the next moment, when Sam's tongue slid down again and he relaxed, suddenly loose and at ease.
He could hear his heart thundering in his ears as Sam licked and probed, hands holding him open. Within seconds his forehead was against the sheet and he shuddered through Sam pointing his tongue and easing it past the ring of muscle. His face felt hot and he wouldn't be at all surprised to find it red, as Sam continued to swipe against and within him.
His thighs bunched as he stopped himself from pushing back onto Sam's licking and he muffled the moan settling low in his chest. Everything Sam was doing was thoroughly indecent and felt too good to be true. For the briefest of moments he had no idea why he'd ever had a problem with the concept of Sam fucking him, but the fear returned as soon as he heard the snap of a plastic cap and felt a slick finger at his entrance alongside the tongue.
Sam coaxed him with muted murmurs, gently and capably pressing into him. Gene twitched as he felt a part of Sam within him and could only imagine what he'd be like with more. Sam had risen behind him and he could feel one hand steadying on his back and huffs of breath over his flanks as Sam curved his finger around. Sam prepared him the way he had shown Gene after their third or fourth fuck, applying pressure where he knew Gene needed it most.
Gene let out a low rumble when Sam added another finger, reaching up and brushing against what Gene supposed had to be his prostate, given his body's response to the action. His teeth were aching from how rigidly he was biting down, trying so hard not to make all the noise in the world. Sam added another finger before long and he found himself writhing, eyes squeezed shut and hands fisting the sheets.
Sam wasn't showing as much patience as Gene had expected. He was always less reserved than Gene thought he would be during sex, but it was hardly time at all before Gene felt Sam's cock nudging at his hole. He was sure he stopped breathing as Sam worked slowly into him, no hesitation at all --- just calculated, precise movements. It burned more than it hurt, and Gene was surprised, but thankful. It seemed to take a long time before Sam halted, thighs flush against the cheeks of his arse. Gene drank it in, because he had told Sam once only, and currently he was hoping he actually meant it.
Sam began to rock in small increments, fingertips caressing feather-light over Gene's back. It occurred to Gene that for such a physical aspect of life, it carried with it a whole lot of psychological and emotional baggage. With Sam slick inside him, he didn't think he understood why he was so quick to condemn them --- what they had --- as wrong. It felt natural to have Sam stroking in and out, touching parts of him that had never been touched before. It seemed like pointless cowardice to hide from their deeds and suggest it was perverse behaviour.
But it was. He knew it was. He couldn't help himself, that was all. He was too weak to resist, even though he had no idea why and had tried so many times.
Sam's pumping became more jagged. His fingers dug into Gene's sides and Gene knew he'd be left with marks, but felt it was most likely just retribution. Gene's stomach muscles contracted as Sam repeatedly brushed against his prostate, hitting just the right way at just the right time.
Sam began to make the same noises he did when beneath Gene, but this time they were more guttural. The sounds echoed through the room, combining with that of skin on skin and harsh breaths. Sam thrust harder, with an urgent snapping of his hips, and Gene did his best to raise himself up onto his elbows again, but failed miserably.
Gene hissed as he felt Sam's hand reaching forward and grasping his cock. He shook his head, wanting to say that it was too much, too soon, but instead he surged forward into Sam's fist and then back onto his cock. He was taut and stretched out and needed Sam like he never had before. He panted and almost begged as they moved in tandem, heat and friction ratcheting up until he was grating out a litany of what may have been words and may have only been sounds.
He came before he expected to, Sam pushing in at an angle that had him giving a deep, low noise that was the least-human sound ever to emanate from his body. He continued to feel Sam pushing in and out, until Sam came too, hot and wet inside him.
Sam slumped over his body, Gene's knees weakened, and they lay pressed together for a long time, nothing but deep breaths mingling, jets of air brushing against the back of Gene's neck.
"Stay," Gene said, when he felt Sam shifting up and away. He rolled over and peered up at Sam, knowing it would never be a convincing argument, but unable to give anything more. Sam paused.
"You mean it?"
Gene wasn't entirely positive he did. Hundreds of perfectly reasonable excuses as to why it was a bad idea came quickly stalking through his mind, but he shrugged them off.
"I need you to."
Sam's eyes widened and he appeared to take a moment considering, sucked-in cheeks highlighting the flush across his cheekbones. He stretched up tall, but then settled on the bed beside but not touching Gene.
Gene rolled onto his side and pulled Sam close, closing his eyes and resolving to be appropriately mortified in the morning. For the time being, he had Sam next to him and that was all that mattered.
Holding Sam was easy in ways it shouldn't have been.