Fandom: Life on Mars
Word Count: 600 words
Notes: Sam/Gene fluff for porntober!
Summary: There have been stolen kisses, snatched touches, but this is more than that and they both know it.
They’ve come to a decision. Actually spoken about it, which surprised Sam when he finally realised that this is what they were talking about. They’re going to take the next step. He and Gene have been closer than friends for a month now. There have been stolen kisses, snatched touches, but this is more than that and they both know it.
Gene licks his thumb and rubs it against Sam’s lower lip, eyes growing perceptively darker as Sam flicks out his tongue. He leans in, half an inch away.
Sam doesn’t close the distance. “You sure you’re up for it, Guv?”
“D’you listen to yourself, Tyler? Maybe you ought to take one of your beloved tape recorders round with you one time, see what you find out about your unfortunate phrasing.”
“Oh, that one was intentional,” Sam says with a smirk that’s part self-mockery and part taunt.
Gene takes the taunt and twists it for his own devices. “How up, exactly, do you want me to be?”
“I am unfamiliar with that particular route.”
“I’ll show you. It starts with a Lineker kiss.”
“As usual, I have no bleeding idea what you're rabbiting on about, Tyler. You gonna keep prevaricating, or can I stick my tongue down your throat?”
Sam feigns distaste for Gene’s colourful use of the English language. He pushes his lips forward a fraction, pouting suggestively. Gene’s gaze rests on Sam’s mouth, intent.
Finally, Sam speaks. “Okay, done prevaricating. Time for you to show me what a hard man you can be.”
“You’re just full of them today, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. Would you prefer it if I were full of you?”
It’s Gene’s turn to cringe in distaste, his nose crinkling in a way Sam can only think of as endearing.
“How about I stop talking?” Sam asks, voice syrupy and low.
“Would that it were true that you could,” Gene returns, but he cups Sam’s jaw and tilts his head up, laying a surprisingly chaste kiss on his lips.
This won’t do. Sam can take most anything but chaste. He pushes forward insistently, dominates the kiss, makes it all teeth and tongue and possession. He drags one hand up Gene’s back, feeling sinewy muscle that’s quite at odds with how he thinks of Gene. But this is normal. Gene is never exactly what Sam expects. One second calm and reasonable, the next off his rocker. One minute pliant and damn near tender, the next forcing him against the wall, fingers scrabbling under his shirt and vest.
Sam hikes one leg up, cants his hips, wants to get closer, now, quicker. He moans, low in his throat, gripping tight onto Gene as his zip is pulled down. Gasps as Gene tongues his neck.
“Are you sure about this?” Sam asks, breathy and needy and wishing he could keep his mouth shut.
Gene looks up with an assessing glint in his eye, the self-assurance Sam has learnt to recognise is nothing like the front he puts on for people who take him at face value, the one that’s all about awareness and acceptance.
“Absolutely,” Gene says, then grips Sam’s cock in a firm and rhythmic hand, and proves it over and over again.
Later, after they’ve both come, but neither are spent, Sam dances his fingers over Gene’s collarbone. He wets his lips and skims them over the expanse of skin before him.
“Give me a second, will you?” Gene commands, soft and slow.
“A second what? Brain? Heart?”
Gene pinches him, narrows his eyes. “Heart,” he says, decisively. “Mine’s been taken. And you don’t have a brain to give.”