Life on Mars Anonymous Pornfest II - The Porn Bites Back
Please Note: We've declared the Very First Second Pornfest over, so any new prompts posted will be deleted. However, we do encourage you to post any anon fic in response to the existing prompts and comment on the lovely responses that we've already got
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Gene takes it. He begins to wipe the piss off his stomach with slow, deliberate strokes.
'Ta,' he says, quietly. Almost nonchalantly.
The sight of this makes Sam continue speaking, though he's unsure what he's saying, or precisely why he's saying it.
'I remember I felt amazing. On top of the fucking world, when I realised I could stand up to... you know... 'go'. It's powerful, isn't it? I mean... I enjoy it. Standing up.'
Sam notices that Gene has balled up the wet paper towel in his fist, like the cigarette packet earlier. He is squeezing it so tight that drops of water are leaking through Gene's fingers and pooling on the floor beside him.
At that point, Gene seems to make a decision. It probably has a lot to do with the lateness of the hour, and the surreal blue-ness of the flickering light, which makes the gents' seem otherworldly, their own pocket of a different dimension. As though nothing they do here will impact tomorrow.
'Have ye got any left in you?' says Gene.
It takes Sam a moment to work out what Gene means. Though he still asks,
'What?'
Gene tosses the paper towel into the bin below the sinks. It's a bullseye.
'I *mean*, Gladys, have you got any left *in* you? Have you gone deaf as well as completely dumb?'
Sam does have some left. He must have drunk twelve pints and a quart of whiskey tonight, and he hadn't quite finished when Gene interrupted him. He still needs to go.
Sam stiffens when he feels Gene's warm presence behind him, walking him to stand in front of the urinal again with gentle but threatening nudges of Gene's front against his back.
Gene presses his chest and belly right up against the back of Sam's leather jacket. His tomach is still damp, and Gene feels his skin sticking to the leather.
'Seems to me, my lad, that if you're pissing quite literally all over your superior officer, you've forgotten this basic skill.' He is talking directly into Sam's ear, his neck craned around, his stubble biting into the side of Sam's face. His camel coat is hanging down around Sam and the sides of the urinal. With this protective cocoon around them, Sam supposes he should feel safe, though in fact he feels the opposite. Everything outside is safe. He is enclosed in a tiny bubble of danger. He has no idea what the Guv plans to do next.
'Do you need reminding?' says Gene, bringing his hands around suddenly to the front of Sam's trousers and going to undo his fly. 'Do you need reminding how to piss standing up?'
'What?' says Sam, startled, slapping Gene's hands away. Somehow, despite their positions, their body contact, the strange heaviness in the air between them, Sam hadn't expected Gene to do *that.* Gene rests his hands against the sides of the urinal and waits.
There is a moment of stillness, and then Gene quickly brings his hands back to Sam's fly, this time yanking the zip down before Sam slaps his hands away again, panting with defiance. Gene's hands are back on the sides of the urinal.
Another few seconds, and then Gene's hands are back, the right one worming its way into Sam's open fly and the other intercepting Sam's left wrist as it moves in for another slap. The fight goes out of Sam, and he moves his other hand to the wall to steady himself as Gene slowly grips his wrist and untucks him from his trousers.
'Way I see it, Samantha,' says Gene, 'There's only certain people I let piss on me.' He takes Sam in his fist and begins to move his hand slowly up and down his length. 'Had a girlfriend once liked to do it.' Gene's breaths are coming harder and faster. 'She was a kinky sod. You remind me of her.'
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