"Life Without Care" Life On Mars Sam/Gene Rating-R Wordcount-1300
Title: Life Without Care
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1300
Rating: R
Notes: Written for candesgirl's Pervy Picture Party and for mmom Day 2.
Written to THIS picture prompt provided by draycevixen.
Thanks to both severinne and amproof who provided awesome beta on short notice and immediately agreed that what the story needed was more smut.
Summary: Sam has a new mystery to solve.
“What took you so long?”
Sam honestly couldn’t say, and of course he could ask Gene the same question.
After everything; the fights, the insults, the unforgivable betrayals, why now? And for that matter, why do it this way? If Gene wanted him it would have been simple enough to make it happen. A grab of the arm, a push against any convenient wall, and he was Gene’s for the taking, plain and simple, but nothing was ever plain or simple in the world he’d landed in.
The Test Card Girl was gone, but his television still held new terrors in the form of a message on the screen, that said 50 Dearmans Place, accompanied by Gene’s voice coming out of the speakers, saying “Come to me, Sam.”
“Guv!” he’d yelled at the set, banging at the helpless contraption as though Gene might actually be in there. The idea of Gene somehow shrinking himself to torture Sam from inside his television set made as much sense as anything else, which was virtually nil.
He started noticing the same address everywhere. It was spray-painted on the wall of a burnt-out construction side as he jogged past, printed in block letters at the top of a menu in his favorite chip shop, and even tattooed on the sunken, scrawny chest of a drugged out young man found dancing naked in the middle of Oxford Street in what Sam decided was a PCP-induced haze, and Gene insisted was an affront to common decency.
“You planning to join him for a fox-trot there, Ginger?” Gene snapped when Sam hesitated because he was staring at the lettering. 50 Dearmans Place.
“Do you see that?” he muttered, pointing at the man’s chest, hoping against hope that he wasn’t alone in his delusion.
“All I see is a hopped up freak who thinks he’s Lady Godiva, and a DI who’s not doing his job. Get him out of here and get him covered up. I don’t want to see the bastard’s frank and beans dangling about when I’m questioning him.”
“Can’t question him till he comes down,” Sam pointed out, wondering since when did a simple disorderly person’s offence require Gene’s methods of interrogation. “Come on, lad,” he said gently, trying to find a position where he could snap on the cuffs without endangering himself. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
It was cold out, but the young man’s skin was hot, as though he might be feverish. Sam’s mind sprinted ahead, sending a warning that something serious was about to happen.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam,” the “suspect” said in Gene’s voice, just before collapsing in Sam’s arms.
Sam stared for a second, trying to get through the cognitive dissonance of what was happening, so he could do his job, which at the moment was keeping the young man alive.
“Gene, he’s going into shock! Call an ambulance!”
“Nice shot, Tyler. Although we generally try to lay off the rough stuff until we get them back to the station. It don’t do much good to question the pervert if he’s already unconscious.”
“I think he’s dying!”
“Shit! Chris, get on the horn and get an ambulance here. NOW!”
Naturally the ambulance had the address stenciled on the side, and the message was flashing on his television set when he got home that night. He supposed if the universe was trying that hard to tell him something, he might as well listen. It wasn’t like he was risking his life or his sanity. He’d left both of them somewhere on a roof in 2006.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam.”
The telly was off, and the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in particular. It was as though the very night was calling to him.
He put on his jacket and walked out into a fog that made it nearly impossible to see where he was going, but Sam knew how to find what he was looking for. He’d known it since he had first seen the address.
50 Dearmans Place was the Lowry. Closest thing Manchester had to a luxury hotel and it wouldn’t be built for another thirty years. Yet, there it was with the lights beckoning from an ornate lobby and a dandyish doorman giving him a curious gaze. Sam reached into his pocket. Instead of his warrant card he found a modern style key card in his pocket. That got him a smile and an open door.
The general attire wasn’t quite 1973 or his former time either, but he knew that the people here were happy. Their glasses and laughter tinkled against the musical backdrop of a piano player who might have parachuted in from the mid-50’s.
“She likes the free, fresh wind in her hair, life without care.”
“She’s broke, and it’s oke,” Sam sang to himself on his way to the lift. Once he stepped inside, every floor button pulsed on and off, and the voice surrounded him.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam.”
“I’m coming, Gene,” he said, a dizziness overtaking him as the lift ascended. His stomach lurched, with the rising knowledge of what awaited him, this was what he’d come back for, he was sure of it.
The doors opened and Sam started running down the hall as though he were being chased, even though he was the one in pursuit. Running toward something at the end of the hall, a hall that grew longer the farther he ran until he was panting and sweaty.
“Gene,” he gasped, wondering if he could keep going, if it was worth it, if he’d been wrong all along., and suddenly the open door was right in front of him.
He went through the door, and saw Gene lying on a red couch, one leg bent, looking utterly relaxed and typically smug in a loose white shirt and a pair of brown trousers far more casual than anything Sam had ever seen Gene Hunt wear before.
A whimpering gasp escaped his body as he fully absorbed the image laid out before him. The details were drawn from a hundred different glimpses and blended together in the heated cauldron of Sam’s subconscious.
It was almost too much to look at, but he couldn’t possibly turn away, especially since the door had slammed shut behind him.
“What took you so long?”
Sam could only stumble forward, blinded by his own desire and reach out to touch what he’d been destined for since the beginning of this mad journey. He’d finally let himself believe it could happen, that Gene had really been waiting for him all this time.
His hands moved down and felt heat and hardness against his fingers. The cock pushed into his hand as though it belonged there, and his finger closed around it with a gentle squeeze. He heard a long, throaty sigh, and felt Gene’s whole body arching under him in a mixture of relaxation and anticipation.
“That’s it. That’s right. You know what to do.”
Of course he did. Each stroke produced another moan, and Gene’s voice growling out his most deliciously vulgar appreciation of Sam’s skill. His grip tightened, and the pace sped up. Sam couldn’t control his rising moans of passion as he moved his hand faster.
Bright lights illuminated Gene’s face, forcing Sam to look directly into those green eyes until the lights went out and he was left alone in total darkness.
Sam pulled the blankets around his body, suffused in the blissful heat of gratitude and release.
What took you so long?
The voice was deliciously languid, the way he’d always thought Gene would sound at a time like this.
He didn’t bother telling Gene to shut up so he could get some sleep. There was no point.
The voice had been Sam’s all along.
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Wordcount: 1300
Rating: R
Notes: Written for candesgirl's Pervy Picture Party and for mmom Day 2.
Written to THIS picture prompt provided by draycevixen.
Thanks to both severinne and amproof who provided awesome beta on short notice and immediately agreed that what the story needed was more smut.
Summary: Sam has a new mystery to solve.
“What took you so long?”
Sam honestly couldn’t say, and of course he could ask Gene the same question.
After everything; the fights, the insults, the unforgivable betrayals, why now? And for that matter, why do it this way? If Gene wanted him it would have been simple enough to make it happen. A grab of the arm, a push against any convenient wall, and he was Gene’s for the taking, plain and simple, but nothing was ever plain or simple in the world he’d landed in.
The Test Card Girl was gone, but his television still held new terrors in the form of a message on the screen, that said 50 Dearmans Place, accompanied by Gene’s voice coming out of the speakers, saying “Come to me, Sam.”
“Guv!” he’d yelled at the set, banging at the helpless contraption as though Gene might actually be in there. The idea of Gene somehow shrinking himself to torture Sam from inside his television set made as much sense as anything else, which was virtually nil.
He started noticing the same address everywhere. It was spray-painted on the wall of a burnt-out construction side as he jogged past, printed in block letters at the top of a menu in his favorite chip shop, and even tattooed on the sunken, scrawny chest of a drugged out young man found dancing naked in the middle of Oxford Street in what Sam decided was a PCP-induced haze, and Gene insisted was an affront to common decency.
“You planning to join him for a fox-trot there, Ginger?” Gene snapped when Sam hesitated because he was staring at the lettering. 50 Dearmans Place.
“Do you see that?” he muttered, pointing at the man’s chest, hoping against hope that he wasn’t alone in his delusion.
“All I see is a hopped up freak who thinks he’s Lady Godiva, and a DI who’s not doing his job. Get him out of here and get him covered up. I don’t want to see the bastard’s frank and beans dangling about when I’m questioning him.”
“Can’t question him till he comes down,” Sam pointed out, wondering since when did a simple disorderly person’s offence require Gene’s methods of interrogation. “Come on, lad,” he said gently, trying to find a position where he could snap on the cuffs without endangering himself. “Let’s get you out of the cold.”
It was cold out, but the young man’s skin was hot, as though he might be feverish. Sam’s mind sprinted ahead, sending a warning that something serious was about to happen.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam,” the “suspect” said in Gene’s voice, just before collapsing in Sam’s arms.
Sam stared for a second, trying to get through the cognitive dissonance of what was happening, so he could do his job, which at the moment was keeping the young man alive.
“Gene, he’s going into shock! Call an ambulance!”
“Nice shot, Tyler. Although we generally try to lay off the rough stuff until we get them back to the station. It don’t do much good to question the pervert if he’s already unconscious.”
“I think he’s dying!”
“Shit! Chris, get on the horn and get an ambulance here. NOW!”
Naturally the ambulance had the address stenciled on the side, and the message was flashing on his television set when he got home that night. He supposed if the universe was trying that hard to tell him something, he might as well listen. It wasn’t like he was risking his life or his sanity. He’d left both of them somewhere on a roof in 2006.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam.”
The telly was off, and the voice wasn’t coming from anywhere in particular. It was as though the very night was calling to him.
He put on his jacket and walked out into a fog that made it nearly impossible to see where he was going, but Sam knew how to find what he was looking for. He’d known it since he had first seen the address.
50 Dearmans Place was the Lowry. Closest thing Manchester had to a luxury hotel and it wouldn’t be built for another thirty years. Yet, there it was with the lights beckoning from an ornate lobby and a dandyish doorman giving him a curious gaze. Sam reached into his pocket. Instead of his warrant card he found a modern style key card in his pocket. That got him a smile and an open door.
The general attire wasn’t quite 1973 or his former time either, but he knew that the people here were happy. Their glasses and laughter tinkled against the musical backdrop of a piano player who might have parachuted in from the mid-50’s.
“She likes the free, fresh wind in her hair, life without care.”
“She’s broke, and it’s oke,” Sam sang to himself on his way to the lift. Once he stepped inside, every floor button pulsed on and off, and the voice surrounded him.
“I’m waiting for you, Sam.”
“I’m coming, Gene,” he said, a dizziness overtaking him as the lift ascended. His stomach lurched, with the rising knowledge of what awaited him, this was what he’d come back for, he was sure of it.
The doors opened and Sam started running down the hall as though he were being chased, even though he was the one in pursuit. Running toward something at the end of the hall, a hall that grew longer the farther he ran until he was panting and sweaty.
“Gene,” he gasped, wondering if he could keep going, if it was worth it, if he’d been wrong all along., and suddenly the open door was right in front of him.
He went through the door, and saw Gene lying on a red couch, one leg bent, looking utterly relaxed and typically smug in a loose white shirt and a pair of brown trousers far more casual than anything Sam had ever seen Gene Hunt wear before.
A whimpering gasp escaped his body as he fully absorbed the image laid out before him. The details were drawn from a hundred different glimpses and blended together in the heated cauldron of Sam’s subconscious.
It was almost too much to look at, but he couldn’t possibly turn away, especially since the door had slammed shut behind him.
“What took you so long?”
Sam could only stumble forward, blinded by his own desire and reach out to touch what he’d been destined for since the beginning of this mad journey. He’d finally let himself believe it could happen, that Gene had really been waiting for him all this time.
His hands moved down and felt heat and hardness against his fingers. The cock pushed into his hand as though it belonged there, and his finger closed around it with a gentle squeeze. He heard a long, throaty sigh, and felt Gene’s whole body arching under him in a mixture of relaxation and anticipation.
“That’s it. That’s right. You know what to do.”
Of course he did. Each stroke produced another moan, and Gene’s voice growling out his most deliciously vulgar appreciation of Sam’s skill. His grip tightened, and the pace sped up. Sam couldn’t control his rising moans of passion as he moved his hand faster.
Bright lights illuminated Gene’s face, forcing Sam to look directly into those green eyes until the lights went out and he was left alone in total darkness.
Sam pulled the blankets around his body, suffused in the blissful heat of gratitude and release.
What took you so long?
The voice was deliciously languid, the way he’d always thought Gene would sound at a time like this.
He didn’t bother telling Gene to shut up so he could get some sleep. There was no point.
The voice had been Sam’s all along.