Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 400 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene commentfic for talkingtothesky. The prompt was 'red'. ♥!
Summary: Sam and Gene play poker alone. And Sam's bluffin' with his muffin?!
Gene stretched back in his chair, disgruntled with his hand. There was nothing there. It’d take some kind of minor miracle to win and he had a lot riding on this bet. His poise, his pride, his pants. He wasn’t about to show his fear, though. That would never do. Sam’s staring was invasive enough during routine conversations, let alone during a high-stakes poker game, and he had to be vigilant in keeping nervous ticks out of his expression. He was going to maintain his bravado if it was the last thing he did. Thankfully, he had years of practice under his belt (which just so happened to be under his chair at this moment in time.)
“Admit defeat,” Sam taunted. “Before this gets ugly.”
He smirked, and Gene knew he shouldn’t have found that smirk as magnetic as he did, but the fullness of Sam’s lower lip was ruby red and his eyes crinkled at the corners, and... he was only a man, dammit, not a superhuman demi-God. He had his weaknesses! Chief among them being the bastard sitting in front of him, still disappointingly buttoned up.
“What makes you think defeat is imminent, Doris?”
“You have a tell.”
“Do. And I’d tell you what it is, but that’d be giving you an unfair advantage, a chance to mend your ways.”
“Aren’t you always banging on about that?” Gene asked, narrowing his eyes. “Making me a better man?”
Sam’s smirk widened. “There’s truth to what you say there.” He hummed, almost appreciatively. “Alright, d’you wanna know what your tell is?”
“I don’t have one, but make it up as you go along.”
“You blush, Gene.”
Gene blinked, twice, hoped his consternation at this revelation was as hidden as he wished it. He’d have felt the heat rising up his neck and over the bridge of his nose, though. He’d had to have known he was giving the game away.
“I haven’t blushed since I was three and Janet from next door thought it’d be funny to tug on my wee willy winkie. My face has been singularly devoid of pink for going on forty-two years.”
“Cute,” Sam said. He raised an eyebrow. “This blush isn’t on your face.” He placed his cards on the table with a flourish and an egomaniacal grin. Every card held a high-ranking heart, and Gene felt like his had stopped. “Royal flush. Which I believe makes me the winner. Which I believe means you should be naked. Now.”
As he complied with Sam's instructions, Gene was fairly sure the blush had crept over his entirety. What he wasn’t sure about was whether he'd ever fully recover, especially when Sam's ruby red lips parted with anticipation and thinly veiled lust.