Loz (lozenger8) wrote,

Could be Heaven, or Could be Hell

Title: Could be Heaven, or Could be Hell
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,500 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene written for duckyone, who won me during Sweet Charity. Title from the Eagles’ ‘Hotel California’. There’s also a Nine Inch Nails quote in here somewhere.
Summary: All he knew was that this was the catalyst for the ensuing events that led to him being forced to share a motel room with Gene. A motel room with one king-sized bed, and little else.

Sam closed an eye, squinted up at the shadowed ceiling, and tried to ignore the chill of the floorboards against the nubs of his spine. His muscles were aching and there was a draught that exacerbated the pain. He quickly discovered that the quilt he had chosen did little to protect his broken and battered body from fifty years of oak.

“You’re being an idiot,” Gene intoned, voice gravelled from exhaustion and low from trying to keep as quiet as possible.

“One man’s idiot is another man’s Einstein.”

“He helped the Nazis, you know.”

“He did not. He hated the Nazis. But he did have a hand in urging the creation of the atomic bomb.”

“So, as I said. Idiot.”

“That was meant to be a threat.”

There was a pause. Sam thought for one blissful moment that Gene had decided to go to sleep.

“Piss poor threat. Why not threaten to begin pontificating, or warn me about the effects of that curry you chomped down for tea? Or offer a full body massage?”

Sam rolled onto his side and squinted at the dresser. A small but persistent voice within him insisted it was going to be a long night.


When Margaret Shelley first walked into CID, Sam’s thought processes had been the mental equivalent of a series of glottal sounds. She had auburn hair, blue eyes, an hourglass figure finished off with mile-long legs. She was a femme fatale by looks alone, and Sam found himself immediately wishing she would produce in him a little death. He hadn’t had sex for eight months and the last time had been against his will. And there was the little matter of it settling his mind when it came to affairs of the cock --- he was still attracted to women.

But Margaret, with the carefully painted lips and the shockingly tasteful eye-shadow wrapped her arms around Gene instead, and exclaimed that it had been too long. Sam tried not to let his shock show. He tried not to be jealous; telling himself that if he were jealous, it was of Gene, not Margaret. He stared at Gene, willing an introduction, and clattered noisily back to his desk when none was forthcoming.

“Maggie, love, come into my office...” Gene said, holding open the door.

Sam quirked an eyebrow and spoke to the files on his desk, “... said the spider to the fly.”

Sam wasn’t entirely sure about the exact contents of their conversation. The only sound he heard was Gene roaring with laughter, and that sound unsettled him enough that he didn’t ask about specifics later. All he knew was that this was the catalyst for the ensuing events that led to him being forced to share a motel room with Gene. A motel room with one king-sized bed, and little else.


Sam was meditating on the forty second silence when it was interrupted.

“I’ve budged over to the side.”

“Good for you.”

“You’ll catch your death down there.”

Sam refrained from adjusting his pillow. “I’m quite comfortable, thanks.”

“Sod you, then. When you wake up in the morning with a crick in your neck, a cramp in your thighs, and a raging throat infection, Samuel, don’t go blaming me.”

“Wasn’t going to.”

Sam heard a creak of springs and looked up with eyes now used to the dark. He could see Gene’s silhouette perched on bended elbow. “Anyone would think you were removing yourself from temptation.”

Sam spoke with practiced acidity. “Would you like a full body massage?”


“I didn’t realise CID was an organisation set up for the sole purpose of doing favours for family friends,” Sam commented, wrapping his jacket tighter.

“And I didn’t realise you were such a mouthy gobshite,” Gene returned. He frowned, tilting towards Sam. “On second thoughts, yes I did, but I also reckoned you’d more sense than to be it right this second.”

“Maybe if I knew the mission plan...”

“Mission plan,” Gene scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, you know --- objectives, protocol, desired outcomes.”

“Objective number one; shut it. Objective number two; keep it shut. Protocol; go grab the flask of coffee I told you to make. Desired outcome; I don’t kick you up the arse. That good enough for you, Gladys?”

Sam rubbed his forehead, outwardly nodding and inwardly groaning. He pulled off his rucksack and dug within its depths for the thermos, extracting it and handing it over. He was not a fan of stakeouts with Gene. They meant spending a lot of time in close proximity, all alone, and he had recently learnt that this was a very bad thing.

He hadn’t been without sex this long since virginity, and he had been thinking this wasn’t a problem, until his body began reacting in wildly inappropriate ways in response to Gene’s touch. Every hand on his shoulder, every brush of Gene’s fingers against his own, each time Gene shoved him against a wall and growled into his ear; Sam’s heart sped up, his stomach muscles tensed, he felt a surge of adrenaline and a rush of blood. All of his instincts were telling him he wanted to feel Gene from the inside, and that thought terrified him. Gene would surely kill him before he would press his lips against his, draw a hand up his back, nudge his legs apart with his left knee.

Sam watched as Gene drank straight from the flask, the curve of his neck exposed as he rolled his head back, and turned resolutely so that his gaze was fixed on the building opposite. He refused to snatch glances at Gene through his peripheral vision.

Half an hour passed. It grew colder. Sam rubbed his hands together and brought them close to his mouth, exhaling warm breath in an attempt to heat himself up. He was vaguely aware of movement to his side and the sound of swishing liquid, gazing malevolently at the plastic cup shoved unceremoniously beneath his nose. Gene flicked his wrist, nearly sloshing the contents over Sam’s front.

“Here, you have the last bit.”

“Mmm, essence of Gene. Nothing like backwash to embolden the spirit and cheer the heart.”

Gene looked from the cup back to Sam. “I keep thinking I need a prick to burst your bubble, but it turns out that’s you n’all. You’re the swiss army knife of poncy-haired benders.”

“Remind me to print that on my business card.”

“Remind me to remind you of objective number one. Preferably with a knee to the balls.”


Sam stretched his legs out and tried to think of happy places. The first thought was of The Railway Arms, which quickly fast forwarded to his arm tight around Gene’s neck, Gene’s breath hot against his ear as he slurred Roger Whittaker’s ‘The Last Farewell’; a song that included the lyric, “For you are beautiful and I have loved you dearly, more dearly than the spoken word can tell.” And that’s when the nasty little voice that chattered within him started to ask if this would all be so bad if it was only a sexual attraction he held for Gene. Easier to explain, that way, at least. But no, the little voice insisted, the copper didst protest too much --- in direct contradiction with his outward exclamations, Sam enjoyed being alone with Gene on more than merely a physical level.

“You asleep yet?”

“Yeah, dead to the world.”

“Never thought you’d manage it in that state.”

“I love proving you wrong.”

The bedsprings shifted again and Sam couldn’t help but look when an orange glow flared, casting Gene’s face into sharp relief for a second, before his cigarette was lit, the flame extinguished, and darkness prevailed. He listened to the evenly timed puffs, the slow exhalation. He imagined resting his hand on Gene’s chest and feeling it rise and fall.

Sam rolled onto his other side. “Those things will kill you.”

“You’ll get there first.”


Sam stamped his feet in a bid to get his blood recirculating. “What exactly are we doing here?”

“Well, you see, when a tasty crumpet sees a bloke she likes, she gives him a bit of how’s-your-father---“


“My friend Maggie; she’s not always lived what you would call a marvellously virtuous life.”

Sam gave a wearied nod. “She’s a hooker.”

“No. But she was the best damn dancer you ever saw this side of Salford. All that changed when she married Terrence Downing.”

“As in Terrence Downing MP?”

“Yeah, as in Terrence ‘pure as the driven snow’ Downing MP.”

“He didn’t know about her previous life?”

“Course he did, how’d you think he met her? But he didn’t want anyone else to know.”

“And we come into this how?”

Sam could tell that Gene was avoiding looking at him directly. “He used to do a lot for me, back when I thought I needed it. I owe him a debt of honour.”

“Gene Hunt and honour aren’t two notions I’d necessarily put in the same paragraph, let alone sentence.”

“You keep it up and you’ll know what the back of my fist tastes like --- I’m telling you what you wanna know, so shove a sock in it.”

Sam pursed his lips and acceded that perhaps the comment had been unfair.

“We’re here to fit up the blokes who are blackmailing Downing,” Gene continued.

“Fit up?”

“If worse comes to worst and we can’t reveal that they’re up to other nasty deals.”

“I’m always doing this. I’m always letting you drag me into situations that shouldn’t concern me.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“It’s my main talent, though placed only marginally above alphabetisation.”

Gene rolled his eyes. Sam crossed his arms and smirked.


He wanted so desperately to stop his teeth from chattering. Sam tucked his hands under his armpits and rocked gently from side to side, generating friction between the quilt and his jeans and jacket. He hated that there had only been one room left at the motel. Hated even more that he had given up when Gene had insisted he was too much of a wreck to bother looking for anywhere else.

Gene’s voice was thick with mirth. “You know, I always knew you were a stubborn scrote.”

Sam stood, dragging the quilt with him. “Fine. Fine! You’re in for a world of Sam. I hope you’re happy.” He shuffled forward. “Shove over.”

“There were two in the bed and the little one said ---“

“If you don’t pipe down I am gonna break your bloody neck.”

Sam dumped his quilt on the bed before bending down and retrieving his pillow. He sighed as he reared back and lay down, realising it wasn’t a whole lot warmer. It might have been better if they had swapped places. At least then Sam could lie exactly where Gene had been and take advantage of his body heat. There was a twelve inch gap between his body and Gene’s. If he lay on his side facing the wall he could almost forget there was anyone else next to him. He was about to do that when a hand, warm and strong, settled on his stomach. His breath caught in his throat.

He was aware his voice was embarrassingly high-pitched as he asked, “What are you doing?”

Gene drew closer, his right leg connecting with Sam’s. “I can’t sleep alone.”

“You --- what?”

“I need another body beside mine, otherwise I’ll be tossing and turning all night. And I’m knackered.”

“You’re telling me you lured me into your bed because you wanted to cuddle, you do realise that, don’t you?”

“But shockingly, I don’t much care. Go to sleep, Samantha.”

“I hate you.”

Gene edged closer still. Sam used all of his willpower not to shiver in anticipation when Gene’s lips grazed his neck as he spoke. “Yet try as you might, you can’t escape me.”


As it turned out, they didn’t have to fit Campbell and Barnes up for anything. On top of their side-venture of extortion, the two appeared to have a healthy fencing operation on the go. Sam took photograph after photograph, hoping to hell they had enough evidence for a sound conviction. It was fairly dark now and if these didn’t come out crystal clear, he could see they’d have a hard time convincing a jury of Campbell and Barnes’ guilt. They didn’t look like common criminals; they were altogether too well kempt and cultured for that. And since Gene had come here with somewhat nefarious intentions, it wouldn’t be too difficult for them to convince others that they were innocent.

“Time to bang them up,” Gene said, already advancing.

Sam raised his hands, letting the camera drop back down around his neck. “Do you really think that’s a wise idea? Maybe we should go to the car, call for back-up?”

“Walk back five miles, during which time the little shites can high-tail it out of here?”

“It’s not my fault your precious Cortina broke down.”

“It is your fault we left it. I wanted to push it here.”

Sam stopped, raising an eyebrow. “Just listen to yourself for a minute. Really think about what you’re saying.”

Gene sucked in a deep breath. “The quicker we get this over with, the quicker we’ll be at the station.”

“It’s moments exactly like these I miss my mobile.”

“You big baby.”


Sam regulated his breathing with precision. He was proud of himself. He had it even and steady; not too shallow, not too strong. Of course, it was taking all of his energy, but that at least kept his mind from wandering into thoughts of Gene’s breath pulsing against the hollow of his neck, his heat radiating at his side, the way his hand was now lower on his abdomen and seemingly burning a hole through his shirt and vest. He wasn’t thinking about Gene’s hand going even lower, or his lips starting to press at the juncture between his neck and shoulder, or the sound Gene would make as he’d take him in hand, firmly stroking him to hardness.

“Is it just my imagination, Sammy-boy, or do you have the horn?”

“It’s just your imagination. You are, in fact, dreaming right this second. You twisted bugger,” Sam returned breathily. Gene’s fingers curved and dug lightly into his abdominal muscles and he swallowed thickly. “Please make it quick and painless.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Gene said. “I think I’ll make it slow.”

Sam screwed his eyes shut and waited for the dreaded blow, but it came in an entirely different fashion to that he’d been expecting. He remained rigid as Gene’s fingers traced the bulge of his zip, finally taking hold of the tag and gently tugging downwards. He couldn’t resist rolling his hips as Gene’s hand curved around his cock, elegant fingers stroking enticingly.

“I knew you were tempted,” Gene said in his ear, voice once more gravelled, though Sam reckoned no longer through exhaustion.

“That’s the way your fabled legendary prowess works, is it?”

“You can’t have a fable and a legend together. It’s either one or the other, otherwise it’s an oxymoron just like you.”

“Actually, it’s a tautology.”

Gene twisted his wrist and Sam bucked upwards. He spread his legs wider whilst placing his feet against the bed sheets, not paying much attention to Gene moving down his body, which in retrospect was a mistake, because he shouted loud and clear when Gene took his cock into his mouth.

“Okay!” He took a deep breath, calming his nerves and quietening down. “Okay, this is not what I was expecting.”

Gene licked the underside of his cock, hand gripping firmly at the base as he took the tip into the warmth of his mouth and sucked. Sam found himself gripping into Gene’s hair; not directing his movements, just holding on. It was soft and silky between his fingers and he tried to think about that, otherwise he was going to come any second. Gene was doing obscene things with his tongue, including using a circular motion that Sam felt should be outlawed. He was teasing him, just as he’d promised; never letting Sam reach his climax, but bringing him to breaking point before easing away and ensuring Sam couldn’t finish the job himself.

“This,” Gene said when his fingers were barely skimming his cock and Sam was stretched taut in an effort to get more friction, “Is for your gittish behaviour earlier today.”

“Clearly,” Sam huffed, “I need to be a git more often.”

“Can’t be done.”

“Gene, if I apologise, will you cease tormenting me?”

Gene sounded rich and amused. “No. But I might if you beg for forgiveness.”

Sam grit his teeth, rolling his hips again. He refused to play Gene’s cracked games. He had more strength of mind than that. He could sense Gene’s hand, hovering so close, just waiting for him to bow down and...

“Please. Please touch me. Please, I beg of you, forgive me my sarcastic nature and --- uh ---“


“Yeah,” Sam nodded vigorously. He was no longer cold. Still wearing most of his clothes, Sam’s body had risen in temperature so much he was sweating profusely. He felt it trickle down the side of his neck, and imagined what Gene would see were the lights on; a red flush over his cheekbones, his hair sticking up at odd angles, lips swollen from his need to bite down his enthusiasm. He was disappointed he was unable to see the glint in Gene’s eyes, his hair mussed from his own efforts; his neck bared and vulnerable.

“Condescension?” Gene continued.



“That too.”

“You’re lucky I’ve a forgiving nature.”

Sam grinned as Gene took hold of him again, gripping into the sheets when Gene used firm, rhythmic strokes. It only took a few more moments before he shuddered and came, his mouth open, his eyes clenched shut. He didn't think about the currently sticky mess that would be waiting on his only change of clothes in the morning. He listened as his pulse slowly returned to normal, curling into Gene as he rose higher and pulled the eiderdown over them both. Gene pressed wet lips against his cheek and settled back into his previous position.

“You haven’t...” Sam said, lazily flailing one hand.

“Next time, Sam,” Gene said quietly. “As I said, I need sleep. And I’ve been without another to share my bed for far too long. Months of tossing and turning.”



“Thank you.”


Campbell was quick with his fists, but was no match for Gene’s sucker-punch to his gut. Sam was currently wrapped around Barnes’ neck, jabbing him in the side of his head. He could already feel the bloom of a bruise around his right eye, his ribs crying a protest. The fight had gone on for the better part of an hour; aided by the revelation that the vital necessity that was their handcuffs was left in the back of the Cortina.

“We just have to wear them out,” Gene yelled.

“They’re both fitter and younger than either of us,” Sam called back.

“Yeah, Hunt, you’ll be dead before you beat us,” Campbell croaked, swinging a left hook straight for Gene’s jaw. Gene deflected the movement and sent him careening into the gravel.

“We should run for it, Davey. They’ll not catch us.”

Sam felt like muttering agreement. At least that way he wouldn’t get done for police brutality. Instead, he attempted to haul Barnes down, a knee in the small of his back.

Campbell collapsed in the next moment, wheezing disturbingly, his eyes closed and limbs limp. Sam called Gene off, gratified to see him listen, and left Barnes in his iron grip as he examined Campbell’s prone body. He supposed he shouldn’t be shocked when Campbell kicked him in the shoulder, launching up and away at great speed as Sam sailed backwards onto his arse. Barnes wrenched free of Gene’s hands with a twist and followed suit.

Sam let his head knock into the ground, only opening his eyes when he felt a foot nudge his side. Gene towered above him, hand extended. “I hope this has taught you a valuable lesson, you barmpot.”

“Never, ever agree to go on stakeout with you ever again?”

“Take more notice of other people’s signals.” Gene pulled Sam up. “And listen to the wisdom that is the Gene Genie. If we’d pushed the Cortina here we’d’ve had handcuffs and somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“What d’you mean?”

“Too dark now to go looking for a mechanic, and if we try to walk it we’ll likely fall into a ditch or get run over; bashed in the head by foolish hooligans.”

"And why not hail a cab?"

"Every cabbie in this city knows me by sight. I don't have enough cash to tell them all to keep quiet and I'd wager neither do you."

“There has to be a motel around here somewhere.”

“Yeah, well, you’re paying.”

“Aren’t I always?”

Sam stumbled to the side as Gene rested against him, arm wound around his back. He stopped himself from getting comfortable.

“I think he’s done my ankle in,” Gene murmured, sounding surprised.

“Poor diddums. Don't worry, I’ll take care of you.”

“And I’ll be taking care of you if you insist on being a bastard.”

“I look forward to it.”

Tags: life on mars, rated nc-17, slash, writing

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