Never Close Enough
Title: Never Close Enough
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 850 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene PWP (of a distinctly fluffy variety). For the prompts ‘messy’, ‘oil’ and ‘pleading’ in my Porntober Pervember noughts and crosses grid.
Summary: This is the only time when Sam is pliant and flexible. The only time when he lets Gene push, and doesn’t snark back.
By the time they’ve finally stripped naked, Gene’s braced at the foot of the bed and Sam’s lying close with his legs spread wide, there’s a tremor in Gene’s hand. It’s slight, not overly noticeable, not something many’d remark upon, but there all the same. Sam sees it. He raises an eyebrow. Gene doesn’t dignify his look with an answer.
I’ve wanted this longer than any man ought.
You look downright stunning with your cheekbones flushed and your lips bright red.
Fuck, Sam, you don’t know what you do to me.
Instead, he kisses the inside of Sam’s thigh as he coats three of his fingers in oil. His fingers drip slowly over Sam’s skin as he guides them into position, leaving a slick, glistening mess that promises as much as it delivers. Gene’s gaze is fixed for a moment, Sam twists on the spot. Rivulets of oil trickle onto the bed.
Gene presses entry into Sam’s hole after there’s a warning grunt that just about sounds like the word ‘move’. He starts with the pad of one finger, alternating between rubbing and applying pressure, slips in to the first knuckle and watches as Sam’s breathing changes. Opening Sam up takes very little effort. The hardest part is holding his legs out of the way, but they solve that by having Gene stand, Sam lie close to the edge of the bed, and balancing Sam’s legs on Gene’s shoulders. It’s easy to loosen Sam with two, then three fingers, especially when he starts to rock himself to meet Gene’s movements.
This is the only time when Sam is pliant and flexible. The only time when he lets Gene push, and doesn’t snark back.
Gene watches as Sam’s eyelids flutter down, he bites his lower lip, and he sighs. Gene crooks his fingers just so and is intent in his observation when Sam’s hips lift off the bed and he lets out a heavy breath. He pulls his fingers out and adds more oil, pouring some directly over Sam’s loosened, inviting hole.
“Guv, fuck me,” Sam orders, fingers clenched in the sheets. Gene’s always thought Sam calls him ‘Guv’ in these moments to pander to his ego, but he can’t deny it also sounds a lot like ‘luv’ when his voice is thick with tension, and he wouldn’t put it past Sam to be slipping in endearments on the sly.
“Sorry? Didn’t hear you.”
“Fuck me,” Sam says, urgently, fairly wriggling on the spot.
Gene twists his fingers again, smiling to himself when Sam hisses. “Still didn’t quite catch that.”
“God, what is it you want from me?”
Gene doesn’t answer.
“Gene.”
He waits.
Sam opens his eyes and glares.
Gene takes pity and mouths the word ‘please’. Sam throws his head back and grunts in frustration.
“Please,” Sam says through gritted teeth.
Gene twists his fingers one more time.
“Please?” Sam asks again, obviously desperate now, his tone closer to a high-pitched whine than his usual low gruff.
Gene pulls his fingers out, slicks his cock with oil. It’s everywhere now, probably seeped into the mattress, but he doesn’t care. He lines up at Sam’s hole, holding himself steady with Sam’s legs still resting on his shoulders. Cants his hips and eases in.
There’s still resistance, which surprises Gene. He has to be careful how he pushes. Once he’s into Sam balls deep, he stills, watching Sam again. Watching the way his chest rises and falls, the look of --- is it contentment? --- in his half-closed eyes. Sam smiles, slow and beautiful, and Gene can’t take another moment not moving, not doing anything Sam’s ever wanted.
He pulls back, thrusts back in, sets the rhythm at quick and deep, because that’s what Sam needs. He knows he’s angled right when Sam’s cock leaks between them, wet and messy. Sam’s muscles flutter around Gene’s cock, too tight, not tight enough, and the sensation is enough to bring Gene to the very edge.
He begins to thrust deeper, harder, to squeeze his eyes tight as he does so. Sam makes guttural, harsh sounds every time Gene’s hips slap against him.
Gene increases pace. He can feel his balls drawing tight, tension low in his abdomen, and Sam clenching around him. He wasn’t only torturing Sam earlier with delayed gratification; he was feeling put upon himself. When Sam comes around him, body arching higher and breath stuttering, Gene follows shortly after.
His knees go weak and he has to be careful to slip out of Sam before he collapses, resting his head against Sam’s splayed left thigh.
“That was…” Sam says, doesn’t finish.
“Nnngh,” Gene eloquently replies.
Minutes pass. Gene starts to shuffle himself up and onto the bed.
“Next time, you’ll be the one begging,” Sam asserts.
“I don’t doubt it,” Gene responds. “I was halfway to begging myself just then.”
He settles into the crook of Sam’s arm, faced towards Sam so he can kiss him when he so feels like it.
Sam beats him to it, and they fall asleep together, exhausted, and sated, and happy.
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 850 words.
Notes: Sam/Gene PWP (of a distinctly fluffy variety). For the prompts ‘messy’, ‘oil’ and ‘pleading’ in my Porntober Pervember noughts and crosses grid.
Summary: This is the only time when Sam is pliant and flexible. The only time when he lets Gene push, and doesn’t snark back.
By the time they’ve finally stripped naked, Gene’s braced at the foot of the bed and Sam’s lying close with his legs spread wide, there’s a tremor in Gene’s hand. It’s slight, not overly noticeable, not something many’d remark upon, but there all the same. Sam sees it. He raises an eyebrow. Gene doesn’t dignify his look with an answer.
I’ve wanted this longer than any man ought.
You look downright stunning with your cheekbones flushed and your lips bright red.
Fuck, Sam, you don’t know what you do to me.
Instead, he kisses the inside of Sam’s thigh as he coats three of his fingers in oil. His fingers drip slowly over Sam’s skin as he guides them into position, leaving a slick, glistening mess that promises as much as it delivers. Gene’s gaze is fixed for a moment, Sam twists on the spot. Rivulets of oil trickle onto the bed.
Gene presses entry into Sam’s hole after there’s a warning grunt that just about sounds like the word ‘move’. He starts with the pad of one finger, alternating between rubbing and applying pressure, slips in to the first knuckle and watches as Sam’s breathing changes. Opening Sam up takes very little effort. The hardest part is holding his legs out of the way, but they solve that by having Gene stand, Sam lie close to the edge of the bed, and balancing Sam’s legs on Gene’s shoulders. It’s easy to loosen Sam with two, then three fingers, especially when he starts to rock himself to meet Gene’s movements.
This is the only time when Sam is pliant and flexible. The only time when he lets Gene push, and doesn’t snark back.
Gene watches as Sam’s eyelids flutter down, he bites his lower lip, and he sighs. Gene crooks his fingers just so and is intent in his observation when Sam’s hips lift off the bed and he lets out a heavy breath. He pulls his fingers out and adds more oil, pouring some directly over Sam’s loosened, inviting hole.
“Guv, fuck me,” Sam orders, fingers clenched in the sheets. Gene’s always thought Sam calls him ‘Guv’ in these moments to pander to his ego, but he can’t deny it also sounds a lot like ‘luv’ when his voice is thick with tension, and he wouldn’t put it past Sam to be slipping in endearments on the sly.
“Sorry? Didn’t hear you.”
“Fuck me,” Sam says, urgently, fairly wriggling on the spot.
Gene twists his fingers again, smiling to himself when Sam hisses. “Still didn’t quite catch that.”
“God, what is it you want from me?”
Gene doesn’t answer.
“Gene.”
He waits.
Sam opens his eyes and glares.
Gene takes pity and mouths the word ‘please’. Sam throws his head back and grunts in frustration.
“Please,” Sam says through gritted teeth.
Gene twists his fingers one more time.
“Please?” Sam asks again, obviously desperate now, his tone closer to a high-pitched whine than his usual low gruff.
Gene pulls his fingers out, slicks his cock with oil. It’s everywhere now, probably seeped into the mattress, but he doesn’t care. He lines up at Sam’s hole, holding himself steady with Sam’s legs still resting on his shoulders. Cants his hips and eases in.
There’s still resistance, which surprises Gene. He has to be careful how he pushes. Once he’s into Sam balls deep, he stills, watching Sam again. Watching the way his chest rises and falls, the look of --- is it contentment? --- in his half-closed eyes. Sam smiles, slow and beautiful, and Gene can’t take another moment not moving, not doing anything Sam’s ever wanted.
He pulls back, thrusts back in, sets the rhythm at quick and deep, because that’s what Sam needs. He knows he’s angled right when Sam’s cock leaks between them, wet and messy. Sam’s muscles flutter around Gene’s cock, too tight, not tight enough, and the sensation is enough to bring Gene to the very edge.
He begins to thrust deeper, harder, to squeeze his eyes tight as he does so. Sam makes guttural, harsh sounds every time Gene’s hips slap against him.
Gene increases pace. He can feel his balls drawing tight, tension low in his abdomen, and Sam clenching around him. He wasn’t only torturing Sam earlier with delayed gratification; he was feeling put upon himself. When Sam comes around him, body arching higher and breath stuttering, Gene follows shortly after.
His knees go weak and he has to be careful to slip out of Sam before he collapses, resting his head against Sam’s splayed left thigh.
“That was…” Sam says, doesn’t finish.
“Nnngh,” Gene eloquently replies.
Minutes pass. Gene starts to shuffle himself up and onto the bed.
“Next time, you’ll be the one begging,” Sam asserts.
“I don’t doubt it,” Gene responds. “I was halfway to begging myself just then.”
He settles into the crook of Sam’s arm, faced towards Sam so he can kiss him when he so feels like it.
Sam beats him to it, and they fall asleep together, exhausted, and sated, and happy.