"Macho Man" Life On Mars Sam/Gene NC17 1220 Words
Title: Macho Man
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1220
Notes: Written for travels_in_time, who sent out a request for smut and gave me the prompt: Sam/Gene-Towel. Unbeta-ed so feel free to jump in with typo catches.
Warnings: ANGST-seriously-not kidding-BLEAK!!!
Summary: What happens after the inevitable?
This should never have happened; not to him. He was Gene Hunt. Not just a man, but a man’s man. Certainly not some gay, poofy, queer, faggot type; nor one of those pathetic nancy boys who hid their shame in dark alleys and told their mums they just hadn’t met the right girl yet. Sad wankers one and all. Not him. Not Gene Hunt with the Missus at home and a long list of well-satisfied ladies to sing his praises if he needed to have his machismo validated, not that he did thank you very much.
So how in the name of all that was good and holy had he come to be lying here, sticky and sweaty, drained and utterly spent, having just fucked the living daylights out of one DI Sam Tyler?
At least he could hold on to that; he’d done the fucking. Whatever insanity had taken hold of him after an all-night stake-out and too much drink, and far too much time staring at his DI’s face and lips and neck and everything else until he realized that just pushing him up against a handy wall in recompense for some smart-arse remark wasn’t enough anymore hadn’t left him spread-eagled with another man’s cock up his bum. It had been Sam in that position, and by the sound of him, enjoying it more than any decent man should.
Yeah, fine, he’d done it. Pulled those tight trousers off of Tyler like you’d peel a banana and pushed him down on the bed and goddamn if he hadn’t seen a twinkle in Sam’s eyes before he demanded that Sam look away from him. The last thing he remembered hearing before the groans was a mutter about something being under the bed, which turned out to be a tube, disturbingly sticky and well-used, but at least providing some assistance when it came to pushing himself inside that tightness; the hottest, most sensual thing Gene could remember experiencing, something like a dream of coming home to a place you’d never been and knowing it was where you’d wanted to be all along.
Heat around him everywhere; Sam writhing underneath, sounds that made no sense being muffled into the pillow and Gene hearing only the roar of his own lust and need drowning out everything else until his mind had gone far, far away when his body released itself into Sam’s, leaving them both panting and Gene in this sad state of exhaustion tinged with self-disgust
Who or what he was now and how he was going to get up and face the world again was too much work when all his body wanted to do was sleep, although he doubted there’d be much room on what passed for a bed in Sam’s room. Certainly not room for two of them, not like he had intention of cuddling up or spooning with a man, but then again he’d had no intention of doing anything else, and where the hell had Tyler got to anyway?
Gene forced one open, just in time to see Sam coming out of the loo, unabashedly naked, with a flannel in hand. He quickly closed the eye; not wanting to see Sam’s body, those slim hips, and long legs, and oh god, the smoothness of his skin, or even his now flaccid cock, not wanting to see any of it ever again, and wondering how he’d look at his DI without flinching, now that he knew exactly what kind of heat was being packed under those trousers. Maybe that was what Tyler meant by “play station.”
Warmth. Wetness. His prick being wiped and cleaned, from tip to balls. He sighed at the sensation, feeling himself relax even more, drifting farther away from consciousness and a world where there were now far too many questions, none of which he wanted to ask or answer.
“Nice,” the word escaped his lips, as the towel worked its way under his scrotum, along his arse, where of course he had nothing that needed washing, but the feeling was too good to ignore.
“Trick towel,” Sam replied, a certain cheeky note in his voice and Gene suddenly felt sick.
“What’s that make me then? Or you for that matter? You do this sort of a thing a lot? Is that what’s been going on in Hyde? One giant bordello there and you the main attraction, you sick freak?”
“Oh for god’s sake Gene. Take a chill pill.”
“A what? Are you a drug addict as well as pervert?”
He felt like the rage was coming out of his body, replacing the sweat that had poured out of him while he was fucking Sam. Now he knew; his Sam was nothing more than a whore and he was just a…exactly what Sam had said. Maybe he’d leave a few quid on the nightstand to make the point.
“It’s a joke, Gene. They have those here, don’t they? Hell, even Maya…it’s just a description; just words. Now lie back and let me clean you off.”
“Words have meanings Tyler. You’re not me mum and I can clean off my own talleywhacker, if you don't mind.”
With that he grabbed the flannel out of Sam’s hand, finishing the job perfunctorily, with a few rough swipes. Then he started collecting his clothing, ready to be himself again and not whatever madman he’d become for the past hour or so. Sam was still choosing not to cover his shame, so Gene did his best not to see what was still before him.
“You’re leaving?”
Did he actually have the brass nuts to sound hurt? What the hell had he expected? Did he think they were some kind of sick, twisted couple now? Just because Gene had…done something he would never do or think about again?
“Got a real woman waiting for me at home.”
Hopefully the Missus would be asleep; give him time for a proper shower, remove any traces of this perversion.
“Right. Give her my regards.”
The fucking audacity.
“Don’t even say her fucking name,” he roared, meaning to pull up Sam by his lapels, only to find no fabric, only that beautiful, pale, smooth skin, and his own hands torn between choking the life out of that slender throat and taking Sam’s face into his hands to make sure there was no escape, before kissing him as roughly as Gene knew he wanted to.
Instead he stepped back to continue dressing and get the hell out of there before he lost his mind completely and never left.
“I don’t know her name.”
“It’s Mrs. Hunt and that’s all you need to know.”
“Fine Guv.”
Gene knew that tone. Pissy little bastard. Well fine, two could play at that game and he was leaving right now.
“Fine. See you tomorrow. And this never happened.”
“Course not.”
Gene Hunt was a man. A man’s man, he reminded himself, and tried not to shudder at the thought of Ray or Chris smirking at that because they’d somehow found out the truth. A man manages to hold his gut and not puke at the idea of anyone finding out. A man finds his car, lights up a cigarette, and drives home to his wife.
And if he found out that Sam Tyler had ever mentioned this to anyone, he’d kill him.
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1220
Notes: Written for travels_in_time, who sent out a request for smut and gave me the prompt: Sam/Gene-Towel. Unbeta-ed so feel free to jump in with typo catches.
Warnings: ANGST-seriously-not kidding-BLEAK!!!
Summary: What happens after the inevitable?
This should never have happened; not to him. He was Gene Hunt. Not just a man, but a man’s man. Certainly not some gay, poofy, queer, faggot type; nor one of those pathetic nancy boys who hid their shame in dark alleys and told their mums they just hadn’t met the right girl yet. Sad wankers one and all. Not him. Not Gene Hunt with the Missus at home and a long list of well-satisfied ladies to sing his praises if he needed to have his machismo validated, not that he did thank you very much.
So how in the name of all that was good and holy had he come to be lying here, sticky and sweaty, drained and utterly spent, having just fucked the living daylights out of one DI Sam Tyler?
At least he could hold on to that; he’d done the fucking. Whatever insanity had taken hold of him after an all-night stake-out and too much drink, and far too much time staring at his DI’s face and lips and neck and everything else until he realized that just pushing him up against a handy wall in recompense for some smart-arse remark wasn’t enough anymore hadn’t left him spread-eagled with another man’s cock up his bum. It had been Sam in that position, and by the sound of him, enjoying it more than any decent man should.
Yeah, fine, he’d done it. Pulled those tight trousers off of Tyler like you’d peel a banana and pushed him down on the bed and goddamn if he hadn’t seen a twinkle in Sam’s eyes before he demanded that Sam look away from him. The last thing he remembered hearing before the groans was a mutter about something being under the bed, which turned out to be a tube, disturbingly sticky and well-used, but at least providing some assistance when it came to pushing himself inside that tightness; the hottest, most sensual thing Gene could remember experiencing, something like a dream of coming home to a place you’d never been and knowing it was where you’d wanted to be all along.
Heat around him everywhere; Sam writhing underneath, sounds that made no sense being muffled into the pillow and Gene hearing only the roar of his own lust and need drowning out everything else until his mind had gone far, far away when his body released itself into Sam’s, leaving them both panting and Gene in this sad state of exhaustion tinged with self-disgust
Who or what he was now and how he was going to get up and face the world again was too much work when all his body wanted to do was sleep, although he doubted there’d be much room on what passed for a bed in Sam’s room. Certainly not room for two of them, not like he had intention of cuddling up or spooning with a man, but then again he’d had no intention of doing anything else, and where the hell had Tyler got to anyway?
Gene forced one open, just in time to see Sam coming out of the loo, unabashedly naked, with a flannel in hand. He quickly closed the eye; not wanting to see Sam’s body, those slim hips, and long legs, and oh god, the smoothness of his skin, or even his now flaccid cock, not wanting to see any of it ever again, and wondering how he’d look at his DI without flinching, now that he knew exactly what kind of heat was being packed under those trousers. Maybe that was what Tyler meant by “play station.”
Warmth. Wetness. His prick being wiped and cleaned, from tip to balls. He sighed at the sensation, feeling himself relax even more, drifting farther away from consciousness and a world where there were now far too many questions, none of which he wanted to ask or answer.
“Nice,” the word escaped his lips, as the towel worked its way under his scrotum, along his arse, where of course he had nothing that needed washing, but the feeling was too good to ignore.
“Trick towel,” Sam replied, a certain cheeky note in his voice and Gene suddenly felt sick.
“What’s that make me then? Or you for that matter? You do this sort of a thing a lot? Is that what’s been going on in Hyde? One giant bordello there and you the main attraction, you sick freak?”
“Oh for god’s sake Gene. Take a chill pill.”
“A what? Are you a drug addict as well as pervert?”
He felt like the rage was coming out of his body, replacing the sweat that had poured out of him while he was fucking Sam. Now he knew; his Sam was nothing more than a whore and he was just a…exactly what Sam had said. Maybe he’d leave a few quid on the nightstand to make the point.
“It’s a joke, Gene. They have those here, don’t they? Hell, even Maya…it’s just a description; just words. Now lie back and let me clean you off.”
“Words have meanings Tyler. You’re not me mum and I can clean off my own talleywhacker, if you don't mind.”
With that he grabbed the flannel out of Sam’s hand, finishing the job perfunctorily, with a few rough swipes. Then he started collecting his clothing, ready to be himself again and not whatever madman he’d become for the past hour or so. Sam was still choosing not to cover his shame, so Gene did his best not to see what was still before him.
“You’re leaving?”
Did he actually have the brass nuts to sound hurt? What the hell had he expected? Did he think they were some kind of sick, twisted couple now? Just because Gene had…done something he would never do or think about again?
“Got a real woman waiting for me at home.”
Hopefully the Missus would be asleep; give him time for a proper shower, remove any traces of this perversion.
“Right. Give her my regards.”
The fucking audacity.
“Don’t even say her fucking name,” he roared, meaning to pull up Sam by his lapels, only to find no fabric, only that beautiful, pale, smooth skin, and his own hands torn between choking the life out of that slender throat and taking Sam’s face into his hands to make sure there was no escape, before kissing him as roughly as Gene knew he wanted to.
Instead he stepped back to continue dressing and get the hell out of there before he lost his mind completely and never left.
“I don’t know her name.”
“It’s Mrs. Hunt and that’s all you need to know.”
“Fine Guv.”
Gene knew that tone. Pissy little bastard. Well fine, two could play at that game and he was leaving right now.
“Fine. See you tomorrow. And this never happened.”
“Course not.”
Gene Hunt was a man. A man’s man, he reminded himself, and tried not to shudder at the thought of Ray or Chris smirking at that because they’d somehow found out the truth. A man manages to hold his gut and not puke at the idea of anyone finding out. A man finds his car, lights up a cigarette, and drives home to his wife.
And if he found out that Sam Tyler had ever mentioned this to anyone, he’d kill him.