Title: Friend is Not a Four Letter Word
Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 2369 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene, past Gene/The Missus. The title's based on 'Friend is a Four Letter Word' by Cake, which has one of the sexiest damn instrumentals of any song I've ever heard.
Summary: Gene never calls him Sam when they're fucking. Not a derivation or a similarity. There's no muttered 'Sammy-boy', or 'dearest Samuel'. Not even a 'Samantha'.
Gene never calls him Sam when they're fucking. Not a derivation or a similarity. There's no muttered 'Sammy-boy', or 'dearest Samuel'. Not even a 'Samantha'. Actually, the more he thinks about it, the more Sam realises that Gene doesn't call him anything when they're tangled up together. He isn't Tyler, Gladys, Marjorie, Princess, Deputy Dawg or Dorothy. He isn't completely silent. Gene does talk during sex. Usually a 'yeah', or a 'fuck', or a 'no, not like that, like this,' or a 'God'. And maybe if Sam could think he was the 'God' Gene's referring to, he'd be okay, but his ego hasn't yet scaled those grandiose heights.
It's always --- Sam realises now --- always impersonal. Like Gene could be with anyone, doing this. Anyone else at all. And there's something about that that tugs at Sam's insides, makes him want to strike out. Because he'd thought that, since they keep doing this, whatever this is, Gene would accept it. It isn't like he's a warm body and nothing more, is it? Otherwise Gene wouldn't be cheating on his wife, and certainly not with a man. The question haunts him. If Gene accepted that this is who he was, what he wanted, he would use a name, wouldn't he? Any of the names he's given Sam. He wouldn't feel the need for distance.
They keep fucking. In the Collators' Den after the cleaners have gone and the skeleton crew that work nights are either sleeping or working, or pretending to work whilst sleeping. In the Cortina, parked in a dark alleyway that's as far away as possible from the other dark alleyways people usually fuck in. In Sam's flat after a long night at the Arms together. They fuck and Sam doesn't say 'why don't you want to acknowledge it's me you're fucking?' Just thinks it, over and over, like a cracked record.
"So," Sam says in response to Gene's telephone call at two in the morning. "We've progressed to booty calls. Good to know."
"Since when have I had a peg-leg? Get yourself dressed, I'm coming round to pick you up."
Sam does as he's told, grumbling to himself all the while. The last thing he wants is another case on top of his very heavy load.
When Gene arrives, the first thing Sam says is, "booty calls have nothing to do with pirates." The second is, "Jesus, Gene, you look like shit."
"Thanks for your concern," Gene replies. "Ready?"
Sam nods and feels the very solid weight of Gene's hand on his forearm as he's dragged out of his flat.
As they're driving along, Sam occupies himself with gazing at Gene. His skin looks greasy, the lines around his face are deeper, he has dark rings around his eyes, and his hair's in disarray. His clothes are crumpled, which, well, is totally normal, actually, but adds to the picture.
"Is it really bad?" Sam asks, thinking that 2.45 am is too late or too early for anything but banality.
All he gets in reply is, "you'll see."
Sam spends so much time looking at Gene, he doesn't really pay attention to the journey. Before long, they're parking outside a house and Sam starts with a jolt when he realises it's Gene's. He doesn't like where this is heading.
"You haven't committed another murder, have you?" Sam asks as he climbs out the car.
"What do you mean another? And no," Gene says, pushing the key in the lock and attempting to turn it. It won't work. He rattles it about, pushes harder, grits his teeth, slams his fists into the door.
"Here, let me."
Sam gently forces Gene to the side, pulls the key out and puts it back in again, opens the door with hardly any effort at all. He waits for Gene to go past him, but he seems reluctant. Sam walks into the house he's been all of twice. There are boxes in the living room, he notes. And in the kitchen down the hall. There's a suitcase by the stairs.
"You need help moving and couldn't wait 'til dawn?" Sam asks, going for levity, but ending up at crass. He mentally kicks himself.
"Did she... did she find out about me?" he asks then, wondering if maybe this is Gene's way of calling their relationship off. 'This is what you've done to my previously happy life, you nasty little weasel.'
"She had a lover of her own," Gene answers with a shake of his head. "Janet from the corner shop."
"Oh?" Sam can't keep the enquiry out of his tone. "Oh," he says with dawning comprehension. He doesn't say 'I'm still very confused.'
"We'd been fooling ourselves for years that we were some kind of satisfied," Gene says, moving to sit on his settee. "We were, at first, in our own little way."
"Was it an open relationship?"
"We didn't go round telling all and sundry we leant more towards our own furry paradises than one another's!" Gene says, managing to look affronted.
"No, that's not --- I meant, it was alright for you to sleep with other people? Neither of you minded?"
"It's never been about sex, for us. I mean, we have, it's not... there was a time when we wanted a family --- and I've always slept with women more than," Gene gestures towards Sam. "Fuck it, why'd I bring you here? The last thing I need is an interrogation."
"Why did you bring me here?" Sam asks softly, sitting next to Gene.
"Don't think I haven't noticed you're in a snit with me. You want something more than you've been getting. Can't say as I can blame you, 'cause I've felt that way for years."
"I don't want more," Sam says. "It isn't more."
Gene moves, suddenly, pulling Sam up with him, thundering up the stairs. Sam has no choice but to follow him, stomach twisting in knots. Gene turns to face Sam when they're in a cream-walled room with teak furniture and a russet coloured bedspread, and begins to work on Sam's buttons.
"I don't want to do this here," Sam says, gesturing around them.
Gene raises an eyebrow. "You'd prefer the wife's room?" He places his hands on Sam's shoulders and looks him steadily in the eye. "I've told you the lay of the land. I'm trying to give you what you want." He leans forward, kisses along Sam's jaw line, moves his mouth next to Sam's ear. "What do you want?"
"I want to fuck you," Sam says, because saying 'I want you to say my name when we touch' would only be met with mockery, he's sure.
He expects Gene to pull away and grimace, ask him if there's anything else he'd prefer, but Gene starts to undo his buttons again, brushes his cheek against Sam's, reclaims his mouth. Sam pushes into the kiss, taking control. He kisses as filthily as he can, rubbing his hand down Gene's back. One of his hands goes under Gene's waistband, fingers tracing over his buttocks, and Gene hisses into his mouth.
He divests him of his shirt and vest, taking his time before moving onto the flies of his trousers. He strokes his hand over Gene's cock when he finally takes his trousers and pants off, only one teasing touch, and smiles into Gene's moan. He pushes him onto the bed before he's out of his own jeans, settles himself over Gene's form, hands roaming over the expanse of skin. There's so much he wants to touch, lick, kiss, so he does. He presses his lips to the top of Gene's thigh, only an inch or two away from his hardening cock, kissing, feather-light, everywhere but where Gene wants. Digs his fingers into his hips and holds him down as Gene tries to twist up and force him into accidental contact. Brushes his hand over his sides, moves higher and licks around his right nipple, then his left, trailing right back up to his mouth, where he sucks on his lower lip. He takes hold of Gene's cock, tugs it a few times, spreading precome, slick and sticky, over the head. Gene moans again --- throatier, this time. Sounds indecent in the best way.
"Vaseline?" Sam asks, too busy with seduction to care about sentences.
"Top drawer," Gene shudders out.
Sam keeps Gene occupied by rutting against him as he clambers for the vaseline. The harshness of his denim clad legs creates extra friction between them, but the jeans are constricting too, even if he did pull the zip down earlier on and they've been slipping ever since. He doesn't mind at all when Gene finally drags the jeans and his underwear down until they're bunched at his knees. He kicks them off best he can, returning his attention to Gene, who he's gratified to see is panting and flushed, his pupils blown wide.
"Turn over," Sam commands. "Hands and knees."
Gene complies, quicker than Sam anticipated, spreading his legs wide. Sam's breath hitches in his chest as he gazes over the curve of Gene's arse, the milky white of his skin and his light dusting of hair. He can't resist licking a stripe down Gene's crack as he spreads his buttocks apart, definitely can't stop himself from continuing until he's tonguing his balls. Licks back up and smiles as Gene shudders.
Sam coats a finger in vaseline and begins to work Gene open, staring as his finger delves deeper in his hole. There's something obscene about the way Gene stretches around him so easily, but something beautiful too. He coats two fingers, pushes them in, and Gene grunts, but not out of pain. The heat is incredible, and even though Sam's fingered himself plenty of times, the sensation of Gene fluttering around him is amazing. He concentrates so hard on loosening Gene, on the way Gene rocks his hips back to meet his movements, he barely notices he's leaking precome over the sheets. Only realises when he nudges his cock against Gene's hole and sees how easily he slips against him, almost pushing within him without any effort at all.
Sam settles a hand on Gene's lower back, stroking his thumb absentmindedly against his spine as he pushes carefully into him. Gene makes breathy, low noises as he moves, inch by inch, and it's only when Gene's torso drops down and he accidentally pushes all the way in that Sam realises Gene's saying something.
"Sam," Gene whispers. "SamSamSam." A litany of supplication.
Gene moves again, gets his forearms under his chin, and Sam chokes back a groan at the feeling. He draws out a little, pushes back in, starts to rock his hips. Gene is tight and hot around him, tight and hot, and arching back so that Sam will go deeper. Sam has to take hold of both his hips to steady himself and make thrusting easier, because he wants so much to stay where he is and not move at all, just keep them joined like this for as long as possible, but Gene is begging with words and actions, and Sam can't be cruel, not now. He pushes deep, pulls back until he's almost out, slams forward again. He does this several times until Gene's grunting with every thrust, and the wet slap of their bodies sounds in rhythmic counterpoint to his sighs and moans.
"Fuck, Sammy-boy. God. I need to come," Gene says, and normally it would be a command, but here it's undeniably a request.
Sam lets go of his left hip and reaches around, finding his cock and jacking it. It isn't any time at all before Gene's shuddering and tightening around Sam, his come spilling over his hand.
Sam continues to thrust, his mind telling him to be gentle, but his body having other ideas, as he thrusts, hard and deep. He can feel his balls drawing tight, his heart's pounding at ninety miles an hour, and he's bending down over the slick of Gene's back and holding on. Gene seems to tighten around him again, Sam doesn't know how he does it, and before he can say anything, he's coming, white spots behind his eyelids and heady euphoria taking the place of confusion.
Sam slides out and off to his right after a moment of boneless luxury. He smiles to himself as Gene settles his shoulders over his outstretched arm, pushing close into his side. Their heads knock together.
"I think that was more," Gene murmurs after a time. Sam opens his eyes to see Gene peering sideways at him.
"It's the first time you've used my name," Sam replies.
"You've been keeping track?" Gene asks. "Wait, what am I saying? This is my disturbed deputy I'm talking to, of course you've been keeping track."
"It wasn't deliberate?" Sam queries, and he realises he must sound vulnerable when Gene rolls over and kisses him solidly on the mouth.
"You make me do, or not do, any number of things I've never given a second thought." Gene gives a grimace that turns into a wry smile. "It's one of your most infuriating and finer qualities, depending on the outcome."
Gene strokes his thumb over Sam's lower lip and frowns at him. "Is that it? Was that the sole reason you've been as sullen as a pitbull's arse?"
"I thought it meant you didn't really want me," Sam confesses.
Gene doesn't immediately say anything to that, just wriggles his arm under Sam's back and draws him close. He nuzzles into his neck and kisses his collarbone.
"Do you want me?" Gene asks eventually.
"Then that's your answer."
Sam goes to open his mouth, but Gene silences him with a soft kiss. He pulls away and stares into Sam's eyes, a little too close, but a lot comforting.
"I have always wanted you, Sam. Even when you were doing your best to make me hate you. Even when you're insane. I want you. And maybe I've been afraid of saying that, 'cause my track record's shot to pieces, but trust me, I would never have gone near you if I wasn't positive this was how it was meant to be."
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