(no subject)
Hi, I'm back again.
The one shot I had originally planned Lessons to be is now a 3 part piece, and this is the second part. I don't think it's as good as the first; it shouldn't be because it was less immediate.
But bear with me.
Title: Lessons
Author: Me! (Blaiyze)
Characters: Sam/Gene slash
Rating: Brown Cortina
Disclaimer: all the property of BBC and Kudos
Note: -grin-
Here is part one:
http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/786204.html#cutid1
And part two:
Feigned ignorance was not bliss.
Denying all knowledge of deeper meanings and avoiding eye contact could only work for a short time. Inevitably, the silences became awkward; contact minimal and conversations tight and clipped where once it had been free and full of innuendo.
Months passed before either even acknowledged anything was different; Sam no longer did Gene’s tie, and Gene no longer shared his thoughts at 3am. The solace found in each other’s bodies became everything; all consuming, the only thread keeping them bound together in a silent struggle for understanding and dominance.
--
It hurt him more than he had even thought would be possible. The simple fact that he had allowed himself to get into this mess was enough; he didn’t need the silence, the cold touches, the gruff responses and the painful sex.
Every time he looked at Gene, the older man turned away, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Sam tried harder to get attention; he tried everything he knew, tried harder to please his lover in bed by submitting more and doing as he was told without a second look; in the darkness of the night when Gene cried in his sleep Sam was there to hold him, barely daring to breathe in case Gene woke up and punched him again. His eyes were dead and hollow.
The sex was brutal, harsh, dominating; hot hands twisting and nipping and scratching deep gouges in not so willing flesh. He must deserve it. He took it as much as he could, and he knew not to show Gene when he cried. Biting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, the force of Gene’s thrusts rocking him against the headboard; he took it all.
He knew when Gene came, shuddering inside him with barely a sound, because he turned to clean up immediately; it didn’t matter if Sam came or not, and the younger man found himself in the bathroom more and more, jerking himself desperately for some semblance of release, to be able to sleep for even a short time.
Heavy, pressing weight on Sam’s back or stomach, deep, empty eyes staring past him to the wall; deep grunts of feral pleasure; hands apart and braced against clammy sheets. That’s just how it was.
The long nights were longer with them lying side by side in cold sheets, pretending to be sleeping, and Sam didn’t dare say the words he had become accustomed to in case Gene heard. He couldn’t bring himself to.
The mornings were the worst; no words; tepid coffee, short showers and barely a warm glance. Gene left early, but Sam knew now it was because he couldn’t stand to be with him, not because he cared about his colleagues knowing. His ties were always crooked, his shirts creased, and Sam sat at the table alone until it was time to leave.
He didn’t know what he had done wrong.
He didn’t want to know.
It was almost enough to kill him, this constant denial. Why on Earth did he allow himself to constantly break the younger man he knew too well? What gave him the right to deny affection; to abuse his trust and to destroy his light.
Every time Gene saw those dead eyes look his direction, a huge wave of shame flushed through him; he couldn’t hold Sam’s gaze. He knew Sam was trying harder than Gene thought possible; he should have been flattered. But he could barely bring himself to look at him.
He kept hurting him, kept wantng to beat the hollow, lost look from his eyes, and it only ever made it worse.
The sex was a release and nothing more; he lost himself as he pounded Sam into the mattress, ignoring his pain because he was hurting too; he ached from the loss of all warm contact and intertwined fingers; missed the warm, breathy sighs from underneath him, hated himself for using Sam as a toy which he broke and repaired as he wished. He just couldn’t stop. Sex was the only way he got a response from the broken man, and even a pained gasp was better than the silence he had created.
And he was so ashamed when he couldn’t even make Sam come, so convinced he was obviously not good enough any more. He knew the younger man had to relieve himself, wanted to offer to do it for him...but he was scared to hell that Sam wouldn’t want him to, wouldn’t let him absolve his sins on Sam’s cock.
Hard slaps, unwilling submission, pain and greed. That’s just how it was.
The nights were the most difficult; Gene couldn’t sleep, and he knew Sam couldn’t. He dreamt of awful things, of awful people, and he hoped every time he woke that Sam hadn’t heard. He never asked.
He ached to hear Sam whisper those words again, he burned to be able to look him in that gorgeous, obnoxious face without feeling as though he had let him down horrifically. But he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them.
In the morning Gne left as fast as he could. Sam didn’t want to be around him, and Gene couldn’t stay with him without wanting to beg him to make it all better and to love him again. He couldn’t do that.
Sam had stopped making him presentable, and that hurt him the most. It was like he ha dlost his wife and his lover in the space of a few months without knowing how.
Everyone at work knew and it was in respect of Gene that they stayed silent. Gene had admitted it long ago.
It would probably hurt Sam if he knew.
He didn’t know how to make it better.
But, God, he wished he could.
Part three possibly tonight or tomorrow. I'd like to thank everyone for the lovely comments this morning.
The one shot I had originally planned Lessons to be is now a 3 part piece, and this is the second part. I don't think it's as good as the first; it shouldn't be because it was less immediate.
But bear with me.
Title: Lessons
Author: Me! (Blaiyze)
Characters: Sam/Gene slash
Rating: Brown Cortina
Disclaimer: all the property of BBC and Kudos
Note: -grin-
Here is part one:
http://community.livejournal.com/lifein1973/786204.html#cutid1
And part two:
Feigned ignorance was not bliss.
Denying all knowledge of deeper meanings and avoiding eye contact could only work for a short time. Inevitably, the silences became awkward; contact minimal and conversations tight and clipped where once it had been free and full of innuendo.
Months passed before either even acknowledged anything was different; Sam no longer did Gene’s tie, and Gene no longer shared his thoughts at 3am. The solace found in each other’s bodies became everything; all consuming, the only thread keeping them bound together in a silent struggle for understanding and dominance.
--
It hurt him more than he had even thought would be possible. The simple fact that he had allowed himself to get into this mess was enough; he didn’t need the silence, the cold touches, the gruff responses and the painful sex.
Every time he looked at Gene, the older man turned away, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Sam tried harder to get attention; he tried everything he knew, tried harder to please his lover in bed by submitting more and doing as he was told without a second look; in the darkness of the night when Gene cried in his sleep Sam was there to hold him, barely daring to breathe in case Gene woke up and punched him again. His eyes were dead and hollow.
The sex was brutal, harsh, dominating; hot hands twisting and nipping and scratching deep gouges in not so willing flesh. He must deserve it. He took it as much as he could, and he knew not to show Gene when he cried. Biting the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, the force of Gene’s thrusts rocking him against the headboard; he took it all.
He knew when Gene came, shuddering inside him with barely a sound, because he turned to clean up immediately; it didn’t matter if Sam came or not, and the younger man found himself in the bathroom more and more, jerking himself desperately for some semblance of release, to be able to sleep for even a short time.
Heavy, pressing weight on Sam’s back or stomach, deep, empty eyes staring past him to the wall; deep grunts of feral pleasure; hands apart and braced against clammy sheets. That’s just how it was.
The long nights were longer with them lying side by side in cold sheets, pretending to be sleeping, and Sam didn’t dare say the words he had become accustomed to in case Gene heard. He couldn’t bring himself to.
The mornings were the worst; no words; tepid coffee, short showers and barely a warm glance. Gene left early, but Sam knew now it was because he couldn’t stand to be with him, not because he cared about his colleagues knowing. His ties were always crooked, his shirts creased, and Sam sat at the table alone until it was time to leave.
He didn’t know what he had done wrong.
He didn’t want to know.
It was almost enough to kill him, this constant denial. Why on Earth did he allow himself to constantly break the younger man he knew too well? What gave him the right to deny affection; to abuse his trust and to destroy his light.
Every time Gene saw those dead eyes look his direction, a huge wave of shame flushed through him; he couldn’t hold Sam’s gaze. He knew Sam was trying harder than Gene thought possible; he should have been flattered. But he could barely bring himself to look at him.
He kept hurting him, kept wantng to beat the hollow, lost look from his eyes, and it only ever made it worse.
The sex was a release and nothing more; he lost himself as he pounded Sam into the mattress, ignoring his pain because he was hurting too; he ached from the loss of all warm contact and intertwined fingers; missed the warm, breathy sighs from underneath him, hated himself for using Sam as a toy which he broke and repaired as he wished. He just couldn’t stop. Sex was the only way he got a response from the broken man, and even a pained gasp was better than the silence he had created.
And he was so ashamed when he couldn’t even make Sam come, so convinced he was obviously not good enough any more. He knew the younger man had to relieve himself, wanted to offer to do it for him...but he was scared to hell that Sam wouldn’t want him to, wouldn’t let him absolve his sins on Sam’s cock.
Hard slaps, unwilling submission, pain and greed. That’s just how it was.
The nights were the most difficult; Gene couldn’t sleep, and he knew Sam couldn’t. He dreamt of awful things, of awful people, and he hoped every time he woke that Sam hadn’t heard. He never asked.
He ached to hear Sam whisper those words again, he burned to be able to look him in that gorgeous, obnoxious face without feeling as though he had let him down horrifically. But he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them.
In the morning Gne left as fast as he could. Sam didn’t want to be around him, and Gene couldn’t stay with him without wanting to beg him to make it all better and to love him again. He couldn’t do that.
Sam had stopped making him presentable, and that hurt him the most. It was like he ha dlost his wife and his lover in the space of a few months without knowing how.
Everyone at work knew and it was in respect of Gene that they stayed silent. Gene had admitted it long ago.
It would probably hurt Sam if he knew.
He didn’t know how to make it better.
But, God, he wished he could.
Part three possibly tonight or tomorrow. I'd like to thank everyone for the lovely comments this morning.