Loz (lozenger8) wrote,


Title: Ammunition
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1772 words.
Notes: Originally written for The Anonymous Pornfest II. Posted now for Porntober! This is complete PWP.
Summary/Prompt: After a shoot-out gone wrong, Sam/Gene hardcore I-thought-I'd-lost-you sex.

Sam expects the punch. He ducks to the side and blocks it with the edge of his right hand, coiling around and yanking Gene’s arm down. He presses in tight to Gene’s back, speaking low in his ear.

“Don’t try it, Hunt. I’ve had a shit day and I am sorely tempted to use you as my punching bag.”

“Go ahead,” Gene grates out, pushing out from his grip and turning on him with ferocity.

Sam tries to maintain control, but Gene has weight behind his movements, strength and determination too, and the sad truth is there’s no contest. Gene pins him to the wall of his flat with one swift shove. Sam can feel Gene’s thigh against his own, warm and close, only material between them. The contact is welcome, unlike the vice-like grip around his wrists, and he knows there’s nothing accidental about their proximity, that they both need to feel each other. Gene’s gaze is on the thin strand of red against the pale of Sam’s forehead, a stark reminder of their recent encounter.

“You’re a stupid prick,” Gene says, voice thick and soft.

“It’s just a graze.”

“That bullet was an inch away from lodging into your pretty little brain.”

“Yeah, well, if I hadn’t’ve barrelled you over, you’d be dead by now.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“And I can’t?”

Gene avoids answering. He tightens his hold, but doesn’t shift beyond that. “When I saw the blood, I thought you’d copped it.”

“I didn’t though.”

Gene shoves Sam again, pressing hard enough he could bruise. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is, Gene? Tell me, because I want to know.”

“You think you’re master of the universe, but you’re not. Only a damn fool would risk life and limb for nothing.”

Sam opens his mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. It’s like Gene’s punched him in the neck, blocking off all airways. He struggles in Gene’s hold.

“Nothing?” he says eventually, sure he’s going to crack at any moment. He steels his resolve, readying himself. “Nothing,” he reiterates, blood running thick through his veins, adrenaline building. “You don’t look like nothing to me.”

Sam manages to pull from Gene’s grip. He brings his hands up around Gene’s neck and drags his head down to connect with his raised knee. Gene gives a feral growl, rearing back up and about to attack, but Sam is far too quick for him. He pulls Gene into a wild and fervent kiss, sucking on his lower lip and clutching into his hair. Part of him expects Gene to push him off, tell him he’s sick and twisted – but the other part, the one that registered a look of pure desperation on Gene’s face the second he saw him on the ground amidst the shooting, the one that never wants to see that haunted look in his eyes again, knows that this is what Gene’s been wanting as long as he has.

There’s a raw honesty to their kisses, one that Sam’s been afraid to share. He wonders if Gene feels the same, until he realises he’s thinking too much and surrenders himself to sensation, concentrating on Gene’s hand winding up his back under his shirt. Gene’s other hand works at his zip, and the action is so quick, Sam’s dazed when he feels fingertips against his half-hard cock.

It’s been a long time since he’s been touched in this way. He doesn’t really remember the last. And Gene’s pumping him forcefully, holding nothing back. Sam bucks with each stroke, wanting and needing in equal measure. Gene’s hand is hard and hot around him, lips trailing against his neck. It’s so tight, and rough, and heat creeps over Sam like night over day. He clasps the polyester of Gene’s shirt and starts to rip, eager to feel Gene’s skin against his own, to leave indelible fingerprints that claim Gene as his. The pads of his fingertips stroke against Gene’s torso, mapping a journey he’s thought about taking on countless occasions, but never had the guts to embark on. But now, now that he’s been so close to losing that possibility entirely, he has to follow his instincts.

Soft moans fill the air and Sam only realises it’s him when the sounds are quenched with another kiss. Gene gets faster and Sam feels harder than ever, skin drawing tight and nerves on edge. He just needs a couple more strokes and he.... God, if Gene would only... if there were a little more friction... if he’d just twist to the left... and Sam comes, crying out around Gene’s lips and shuddering through his release.

His legs are weak and he collapses to the floor. Gene follows, doing away with Sam’s jeans from around his ankles, hoisting his legs up and sliding him forward so that he’s braced against the wall with his shoulders. Sam gasps for breath as Gene takes his sensitive cock into his mouth, licking at his come and swirling his tongue around the slit.

Sam finds his voice. It sounds dry and scratched to his ears. He knows he’s making wanton, breathy noises as Gene swallows his cock. “Fuck, Gene.”

Gene chuckles and it reverberates, and Sam has to grit his teeth or he’ll start screaming. Gene’s lips leave Sam’s cock and he thinks he’s in for some relief, but instead of moving away entirely, Gene pushes his legs up further and licks in such a way he elicits a startled groan no amount of willpower can suppress. The feeling of Gene’s tongue against his hole, sliding up and pressing against his balls, has Sam throwing his head back against the wall and screwing his eyes shut. If he looked at Gene at that moment, he’d come again, refractory period be damned.

Gene continues to lick, clearly not at all deterred by Sam’s reactions. He teases at Sam’s hole, tongue now pointed and roving in circles. Sam hears Gene spit and then feels a finger pushing against him. He reflexively tightens, but Gene licks around the rim again and suddenly he’s in to the first knuckle, rubbing around and around. Gene keeps licking as he pulls out, getting Sam as slick as possible. A second finger joins the first and Sam feels completely exposed, totally unprepared for the sensations he’s experiencing, energy vibrating throughout his entire body. He can’t say how much time passes, too caught up in the feel of the skilled fingers fucking him open. He registers Gene adjusting position with a confused grunt.

Sam must have missed when Gene undid his own zip and wrenched his trousers and underwear down, definitely didn’t get to touch Gene’s cock before it presses against him. There isn’t enough lubrication, despite the preparation, and it burns slightly as Gene enters. Sam welcomes the pain, grinding himself further onto Gene, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness.

Gene draws out, then snaps his hips forward again - hard, brutal. Sam sucks in a breath as Gene repeats the process, only quicker, harder. Gene pulls out entirely, spits on his cock again, carefully aligns himself and pushes in again. He must look obscene stretched around Gene’s cock, but he doesn’t care as the next thrust rubs against something within that sends a rush of ecstasy through him. Sam arches, loud in his appreciation. He opens his eyes and looks at Gene, the film of sweat over his brow, his mussed up dark blond hair, his watchful, intense gaze. And he realises - Gene’s been staring at him this entire time. He feels utterly consumed by Gene’s expression – fierce, protective, and possessive.

Gene strokes in and out with aggressive rapidity, angled to hit that spot inside. Sam never wants this to end, even though he can tell it’s going to very, very soon. He manages to wrap his legs around Gene’s waist, forcing Gene closer, adding a slight but insistent roll to his hips. Gene’s lips part in surprise, red and glistening and Sam thinks about kissing him, but isn’t sure either of them could handle the strain.

Each time Gene pushes into him, his cock rubs between them, heightening his reactions. Finally, it’s all too much. Sam spasms and clenches around Gene, coming again. Gene thrusts a few more times, arms cording with the effort of holding himself up, before he stills and comes too. He pitches forward onto Sam so that their sweat-slick bodies are pressed together, Sam’s shirt in the way of full contact. Gene’s heavy, but Sam doesn’t mind. He listens to Gene’s harsh breaths and feels the overwhelming urge to laugh.

Eventually, they move. Gene rolls over and scrabbles for the pack of cigarettes and lighter in his trouser pocket. He facetiously offers one to Sam, who takes it to a quirk of Gene’s eyebrow and pouts around the filter, signalling to Gene for a flame. Sam closes his legs and looks at the jeans tossed onto the dining room chair, but doesn’t move to put them on. His cock lies limp against his leg and a flush spreads over his cheekbones as he starts to recall the details of everything that’s happened.

“Don’t go jumping into the path of a bullet again,” Gene says after a time, eyes fixed on Sam as he sucks in smoke.

“Don’t go punishing me for saving your life.”

“That wasn’t a punishment.”

Sam acknowledges this with a wry tilt of his head, before allowing concern to overtake him. “I had to do it, Gene, you have to understand that. The alternative was losing you. It didn’t seem like such a risk.”

Gene deflects, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Don’t go all soppy on me.”

“Me? I’m not the one with the severe mollycoddling streak.”

“It’s not mollycoddling, it’s simple common sense, something you would be well-advised to bloody get.”

“Fuck that, you were trying to keep your sweet little Sammy-boy safe.”

“You’re not sweet, and you’re not mine.”

Sam stares at Gene, maintaining eye-contact. “I am. Yours.”

This seems to settle something within Gene because he loses his guarded frown and draws Sam close, arm around his shoulder. Sam bends tight into it, knocking his head against Gene’s. Things have irrevocably changed between them and he feels... he feels like he never has before.

“If I were feeling generous, I might say the same,” Gene says, tone light, an admission Sam wasn’t expecting.

“But you’re not feeling generous.”

“I’ve been more than generous already.”

“Alright,” Sam says, thinking he can wait until Gene’s comfortable to use the words he’s demonstrated in actions.

“But I am,” Gene says, gruffly. “Yours.”

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

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