Fic: Pas de Deux Life on Mars Sam/Gene mild bdsm
Title: Pas de Deux
Author: amproof
Words: 1500
Rating: Brown Cortina (mild consensual bdsm)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Notes: This is set in the Pirouette universe, some time after that story. A snapshot not yet put into a context.
Gene seemed to hesitate at the threshold, perhaps knowing what to expect and not wanting it. Sam shoved him, one hand against Gene's shoulder, into the flat. Gene stumbled forward. The forced movement elicited a gasp of surprise, but he caught himself before he lost his balance. Sam closed the door. He stood against it, watching Gene's back, and counting out his breaths. It wasn't making him calm.
"Clothes off," Sam snapped. Gene had already begun to undress himself, and a flash of annoyance crossed his face, briefly pushing aside the uncertainty. He looked about to speak, but Sam pushed forward again, and something on his face must have given the right impression because Gene shut the hell up. Sam clawed Gene's shirt open. Buttons flew.
"Sam..."
"I didn't tell you to speak." Sam could not speak himself. His words were a hiss. His hands formed claws and scraped down Gene's alabaster chest. He could feel Gene's heart thrumming a thousand beats a second. For a moment, the prospect of holding him, forgetting Gene's deliberate disrespect earlier in the day, and just sleeping seemed the best thing to do. Then he looked up. Gene had closed his expression off. He was looking at Sam as if he were a piece of burnt toast.
Sam took a single step backwards and broke contact. He pointed at the floor.
Slowly, Gene went to his knees. Sam was on him in an instant, straddling his left shoulder and yanking his head back by his hair. "What were you playing at?"
"You were abusing your privileges." Gene's voice was steady, but tears were pricking his eyes from the force of Sam's tugging.
"It's not a privilege. It's my fucking right. You gave it to me, remember?" He didn't let up, not a bit.
"Not on the job, I didn't. You don't fucking pull that shit on me when we're on the job."
"You haven't exactly been ideal when we're not on the job, either."
Gene turned and knocked Sam on his ass, all while staying on his knees. Sam scrambled up. Mastering Gene, he had to remind himself time and time again, was a lion tamer's dance. You could gain the animal's trust, but you could never trust the animal. Show your back and he'd attack. Gene was grinning, but he was still on the floor. This was some comfort, the fact that he had not broken a direct rule in the flat. Yet.
"Your trousers are still on." Sam made his tone as cold as he could. He watched Gene, feeling just pissed off enough to knock him down if he tried to stand up to get them off.
Gene didn't break eye contact as he undid his snap and zip and slid his trousers and pants over his hips. When he got to his knees, he rocked backwards, got them underneath himself, then reached behind and pulled them off his feet.
"Happy?"
"Happy, what?" He didn't know where this disrespect came from, and he was past caring. He was tired, cranky, and whatever Gene thought he was doing, it stretched his patience beyond the snapping point-which was saying a lot for someone in his position.
Ugly doggie, Sam. Careful of bites. Ugly, ugly bites.
She was wearing a little pair of puppy ears, like from a halloween costume, and her little clown grinned out from beneath a tiny fake snout.
"He's not ugly," Sam said. She moved towards him, seeming, as ever, to float rather than walk. When she was near enough touch him, Sam felt the familiar cold seep into him from toes to fingers. The hair rose on his arms.
Ugly doggies go to the pound, Sam.
"No." He shook his head as rapidly as he could. The flat seemed to disappear, all sucked up into a ball of energy the size of a pinprick and sparkling in her right eye. His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear. It filled his ears and he thought it would burst out of his head, pounding, pounding, pounding...
Sam. Sam. Sam.
He began to scream, but he could never hear himself, not over the hideous, constant pounding.
Something hit him in the chest. His breath leapt from him as he flew and landed, legs in the air, just short of the wall. He clawed against the weight that now pinned him down, thrashing and gasping. Hot air warmed his ears. Seconds passed before he recognized it as breath; before he identified soft kisses lining his neck. He opened his eyes. The flat was as it should be. She was back on the television. He tried to breathe, but could only shake. Gene was flat on top of him; his arms confined Sam's to his side.
"Sam." Gene mouthed his name into Sam's lips as he probed them apart with his tongue. Sam opened and took himself in.
There was something he should be doing-punishing Gene... But Gene was pulling him up and pushing him towards the bathroom. Sam didn't protest as he was stripped and manhandled into the shower. He clung to Gene as the water washed over him. Gene gave a sniff that made it clear he was just tolerating this unmanly bout of cuddling for Sam's sake, but when Sam was enough of himself to stand up on his own legs, he noticed that Gene kept his arm around his waist, kept him close.
Sam let his head drop back as Gene worked shampoo into it. The man's fingers were perfect for massage. They held a rough texture that struck the sensitive skin-be it a scalp or a cock-in all the right ways. As if he could hear Sam's thoughts, one of Gene's hands set a trail down his torso stopping, finally, at Sam's cock. Sam let out a gasp as Gene squeezed and pulled, brooking no concession to gentleness, despite the placidity with which his other hand rubbed the shampoo into Sam's hair.
In moments, Sam was bucking into Gene's hand. He thrust one arm forward to brace himself against he shower wall. Gene's cock was hard, and the arm around Sam's waist kept him anchored against it. It slid along the cleft of his ass as he moved. The shampoo was out of his hair. The last dregs of suds were no longer running down his skin. It was just water now. Clean and clear, just as it should be. Almost before he could think of it, and thus think himself out of it, Sam bent forward. He reached back, grasped either side of his ass cheeks, and pulled himself apart, as if he were offering himself to Gene, to his slave, even though they didn't use that word.
Gene grabbed Sam's shoulder, his hand and arm strong to stop him from slamming into the wall, and he drove into him. Sam screamed, and this time, he heard it. It was real, and here, and now. Not a fantasy brought on by whatever drugs they were giving him in some other world or by a little girl who surely existed only to frighten people like him, or children, since there surely were not so many people like him. The grip on his shoulder remained tight. Gene was grunting, giving no ease there, either, thrusting with long strokes until Sam felt as if his insides were tearing, but he pushed back with just as much vigor. Gene's other hand was still working his cock, squeezing and twisting until Sam thought he might burst with need.
When, finally, he did, he collapsed forward, and Gene caught him again, pulled out, and turned him around. Sam swayed as he was again held beneath the water and watched as it washed him clean once more. His limp cock seemed small and sad so close to Gene's, which was still red and large. Sam put both hands on it and looked up into Gene's eyes. They were dark, and deep, and almost...no...he wouldn't think something so cliched as 'home'.
"Say my name."
This he could do. The word was forgiveness and relief. "Gene."
Gene shook from the force of his orgasm, but unlike Sam, Gene needed no one to catch him. He washed quickly, and turned the water off. He stepped out first, and dropped a towel on the floor, kneeling on it as he held another out to wrap it around Sam's waist. Sam didn't know that he was ready to return to this business-like behavior, but he accepted the towel. He touched Gene's hair as he stepped out of the shower, a gentle touch in clear opposition to how he had tugged it and caused tears this same night.
"Sam," Gene said, and it was enough because they both knew what it meant. Sam paused, let his hand rest on Gene's head a moment longer than Gene would normally tolerate, but Gene did not move. Sam looked down at him and blinked quickly, as unwanted emotion threatened an appearance. Gene's head was bowed, perhaps hiding emotions of his own. Finally, Sam forced himself away. A moment passed, and he heard Gene tidying the bathroom.
The rest of the night wasn't worth mention. Tea, made by Sam. A lecture on the television. Gene, quiet as always, in stark and still perplexing contrast to his 'other'-self outside the flat, but nonetheless making his low opinion of the viewing choice known via a selection of eye rolls and measured breaths. Brush teeth. Toilet. Bed.
It wasn't until much later, when Sam was tucked into bed, pretending to sleep and waiting for Gene to snuggle against him in the movement he did every night, and which he always claimed not to remember, that it occurred to Sam that Gene had never had anyone to catch him.
The End (for now)
Author: amproof
Words: 1500
Rating: Brown Cortina (mild consensual bdsm)
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Notes: This is set in the Pirouette universe, some time after that story. A snapshot not yet put into a context.
Gene seemed to hesitate at the threshold, perhaps knowing what to expect and not wanting it. Sam shoved him, one hand against Gene's shoulder, into the flat. Gene stumbled forward. The forced movement elicited a gasp of surprise, but he caught himself before he lost his balance. Sam closed the door. He stood against it, watching Gene's back, and counting out his breaths. It wasn't making him calm.
"Clothes off," Sam snapped. Gene had already begun to undress himself, and a flash of annoyance crossed his face, briefly pushing aside the uncertainty. He looked about to speak, but Sam pushed forward again, and something on his face must have given the right impression because Gene shut the hell up. Sam clawed Gene's shirt open. Buttons flew.
"Sam..."
"I didn't tell you to speak." Sam could not speak himself. His words were a hiss. His hands formed claws and scraped down Gene's alabaster chest. He could feel Gene's heart thrumming a thousand beats a second. For a moment, the prospect of holding him, forgetting Gene's deliberate disrespect earlier in the day, and just sleeping seemed the best thing to do. Then he looked up. Gene had closed his expression off. He was looking at Sam as if he were a piece of burnt toast.
Sam took a single step backwards and broke contact. He pointed at the floor.
Slowly, Gene went to his knees. Sam was on him in an instant, straddling his left shoulder and yanking his head back by his hair. "What were you playing at?"
"You were abusing your privileges." Gene's voice was steady, but tears were pricking his eyes from the force of Sam's tugging.
"It's not a privilege. It's my fucking right. You gave it to me, remember?" He didn't let up, not a bit.
"Not on the job, I didn't. You don't fucking pull that shit on me when we're on the job."
"You haven't exactly been ideal when we're not on the job, either."
Gene turned and knocked Sam on his ass, all while staying on his knees. Sam scrambled up. Mastering Gene, he had to remind himself time and time again, was a lion tamer's dance. You could gain the animal's trust, but you could never trust the animal. Show your back and he'd attack. Gene was grinning, but he was still on the floor. This was some comfort, the fact that he had not broken a direct rule in the flat. Yet.
"Your trousers are still on." Sam made his tone as cold as he could. He watched Gene, feeling just pissed off enough to knock him down if he tried to stand up to get them off.
Gene didn't break eye contact as he undid his snap and zip and slid his trousers and pants over his hips. When he got to his knees, he rocked backwards, got them underneath himself, then reached behind and pulled them off his feet.
"Happy?"
"Happy, what?" He didn't know where this disrespect came from, and he was past caring. He was tired, cranky, and whatever Gene thought he was doing, it stretched his patience beyond the snapping point-which was saying a lot for someone in his position.
Ugly doggie, Sam. Careful of bites. Ugly, ugly bites.
She was wearing a little pair of puppy ears, like from a halloween costume, and her little clown grinned out from beneath a tiny fake snout.
"He's not ugly," Sam said. She moved towards him, seeming, as ever, to float rather than walk. When she was near enough touch him, Sam felt the familiar cold seep into him from toes to fingers. The hair rose on his arms.
Ugly doggies go to the pound, Sam.
"No." He shook his head as rapidly as he could. The flat seemed to disappear, all sucked up into a ball of energy the size of a pinprick and sparkling in her right eye. His heartbeat was the only thing he could hear. It filled his ears and he thought it would burst out of his head, pounding, pounding, pounding...
Sam. Sam. Sam.
He began to scream, but he could never hear himself, not over the hideous, constant pounding.
Something hit him in the chest. His breath leapt from him as he flew and landed, legs in the air, just short of the wall. He clawed against the weight that now pinned him down, thrashing and gasping. Hot air warmed his ears. Seconds passed before he recognized it as breath; before he identified soft kisses lining his neck. He opened his eyes. The flat was as it should be. She was back on the television. He tried to breathe, but could only shake. Gene was flat on top of him; his arms confined Sam's to his side.
"Sam." Gene mouthed his name into Sam's lips as he probed them apart with his tongue. Sam opened and took himself in.
There was something he should be doing-punishing Gene... But Gene was pulling him up and pushing him towards the bathroom. Sam didn't protest as he was stripped and manhandled into the shower. He clung to Gene as the water washed over him. Gene gave a sniff that made it clear he was just tolerating this unmanly bout of cuddling for Sam's sake, but when Sam was enough of himself to stand up on his own legs, he noticed that Gene kept his arm around his waist, kept him close.
Sam let his head drop back as Gene worked shampoo into it. The man's fingers were perfect for massage. They held a rough texture that struck the sensitive skin-be it a scalp or a cock-in all the right ways. As if he could hear Sam's thoughts, one of Gene's hands set a trail down his torso stopping, finally, at Sam's cock. Sam let out a gasp as Gene squeezed and pulled, brooking no concession to gentleness, despite the placidity with which his other hand rubbed the shampoo into Sam's hair.
In moments, Sam was bucking into Gene's hand. He thrust one arm forward to brace himself against he shower wall. Gene's cock was hard, and the arm around Sam's waist kept him anchored against it. It slid along the cleft of his ass as he moved. The shampoo was out of his hair. The last dregs of suds were no longer running down his skin. It was just water now. Clean and clear, just as it should be. Almost before he could think of it, and thus think himself out of it, Sam bent forward. He reached back, grasped either side of his ass cheeks, and pulled himself apart, as if he were offering himself to Gene, to his slave, even though they didn't use that word.
Gene grabbed Sam's shoulder, his hand and arm strong to stop him from slamming into the wall, and he drove into him. Sam screamed, and this time, he heard it. It was real, and here, and now. Not a fantasy brought on by whatever drugs they were giving him in some other world or by a little girl who surely existed only to frighten people like him, or children, since there surely were not so many people like him. The grip on his shoulder remained tight. Gene was grunting, giving no ease there, either, thrusting with long strokes until Sam felt as if his insides were tearing, but he pushed back with just as much vigor. Gene's other hand was still working his cock, squeezing and twisting until Sam thought he might burst with need.
When, finally, he did, he collapsed forward, and Gene caught him again, pulled out, and turned him around. Sam swayed as he was again held beneath the water and watched as it washed him clean once more. His limp cock seemed small and sad so close to Gene's, which was still red and large. Sam put both hands on it and looked up into Gene's eyes. They were dark, and deep, and almost...no...he wouldn't think something so cliched as 'home'.
"Say my name."
This he could do. The word was forgiveness and relief. "Gene."
Gene shook from the force of his orgasm, but unlike Sam, Gene needed no one to catch him. He washed quickly, and turned the water off. He stepped out first, and dropped a towel on the floor, kneeling on it as he held another out to wrap it around Sam's waist. Sam didn't know that he was ready to return to this business-like behavior, but he accepted the towel. He touched Gene's hair as he stepped out of the shower, a gentle touch in clear opposition to how he had tugged it and caused tears this same night.
"Sam," Gene said, and it was enough because they both knew what it meant. Sam paused, let his hand rest on Gene's head a moment longer than Gene would normally tolerate, but Gene did not move. Sam looked down at him and blinked quickly, as unwanted emotion threatened an appearance. Gene's head was bowed, perhaps hiding emotions of his own. Finally, Sam forced himself away. A moment passed, and he heard Gene tidying the bathroom.
The rest of the night wasn't worth mention. Tea, made by Sam. A lecture on the television. Gene, quiet as always, in stark and still perplexing contrast to his 'other'-self outside the flat, but nonetheless making his low opinion of the viewing choice known via a selection of eye rolls and measured breaths. Brush teeth. Toilet. Bed.
It wasn't until much later, when Sam was tucked into bed, pretending to sleep and waiting for Gene to snuggle against him in the movement he did every night, and which he always claimed not to remember, that it occurred to Sam that Gene had never had anyone to catch him.
The End (for now)