(no subject)
Title: Shameless
Author: thimpressionist
Fandom: Life on Mars
Paring: Sam/Ray, vaguely Ray/Gene
Rating: brown cortina
Warnings: roughhousing, public sex, bondage, cursing. Despite the pairing, this is completely consensual sex.
Notes: From the because-no-one-asked-for-it-file. However, if there is just one pervy fangirl out there who has secretly been waiting for this pairing, it will all be worth it. Inspired by an off-hand comment by lozenger8, though she will probably deny it. Unbeta’d because I was too embarrassed to ask for the continued purity of Loz’s soul.
Feedback is love
It is the end of a long day and Ray Carling is ready to go home. He shuts his locker and realises that the locker room is empty save Sam Tyler. Chances are everyone else is already down at the pub. Ray would have been with them but he had need for a quick shower. A scuffle with a strung-out bastard in the north-end had resulted with Ray being knocked into a fairly disgusting dustbin, and a black-eye for the crim. Tyler is probably counting towels or something, making sure no-one was nicking off with the soap. Ray says as much; he’s almost incapable of controlling his mouth around Tyler. Superior or no, the little git irritates Ray simply by existing. Tyler turns on him and the argument becomes surprisingly heated. Clearly something else is bothering Tyler, but Ray will happily take a chance to brawl. Ray couldn’t have been happier when the little nancyboy takes a swing at him, and a proper fight begins. They are well-matched; Ray may be bigger, but Sam is faster, a right sneaky little bastard. They roll across the floor, grappling, the fight turning vicious. The little bastard actually yanks at his hair, like some bloody bird. It works well though: Ray finds his head connecting with the hard floor, winded by the weight of Sam’s coiled rage above him. Ray prepares for a punch, still dazed. But Tyler stills above him suddenly, and Ray looks up to see him staring down at him, dark eyes wide. Ray frowns, confused. Then he feels it, and freezes. Tyler. He’s hard; Ray can feel his cock poking him in the thigh. Ray wants to laugh at him, taunt the faggot right out of the station, kick the arse-bandits’ teeth in. But Ray’s traitorous body has other plans; he’s getting hard, and the feel of Tyler’s thigh against his stiffening cock feels far better than it should.
“I hate you!” Tyler hisses, before he clamps his mouth over Ray’s.
A different style of fighting now, teeth and tongue and clawing hands instead of fists. Ray flips them, Tyler below him, where he belongs. Ray is desperate for something to hold onto, so he latches onto the younger man’s throat, sucking a bruise. Latches onto Tyler’s waist, scrabbling at his belt, his fly.
“Goddamn whore!” Ray snarls as Tyler arches into his fumbling palm, “Goddamn fucking queer!”
But Sam grins up at him, a triumphant baring of teeth. It is, after all, Ray’s hand working inside his trousers.
Smug bastard.
Lust has got him feverish and desperate, and Ray welcomes the white-hot rage, the clarity it brings. He rolls them, using the momentum to throw Tyler through and partially into the doorway that leads to the loo. Ray launches himself at Tyler: his fist connects smartly with the boyish face, but the blow he receives in return causes lights to dance in front of his eyes. The close range makes it difficult to return the favour but Ray succeeds in sinking a fist into Tyler’s lean stomach. They still for a moment, panting and glaring at each other. Ray’s head hurts. He backs off warily, intending to rise.
They must never speak of this again.
Ray is about to express the thought when Tyler tackles him, sliding them under a nearby sink. Ray’s head strikes the base of the porcelain. He twists blindly, the pain making his ears ring. Tyler’s weight on top of him, and he strikes out blindly, dark satisfaction when his fist connects with Tyler’s mouth, relishing the crack of Tyler’s skull bouncing back to hit the base of the sink.
Bloody fairy; see how he likes it.
“Bastard! Fucking Arsehole!” Tyler mutters.
They lay back on the tiled floor, nursing their pain. Blood trickles down Ray’s face; he has a gash slicing through his eyebrow.
“Bastard,” Sam repeats.
Ray glances up at him; his lip is split, and there’s a bruise forming on his cheek.
Ray lays his head back down. His chest is heaving, and the only thing that throbs more than his head is his erection. He’s going to kill Sam Tyler.
“Had enough?” Ray taunts. He can’t seem to leave it alone. Ray shuffles over to Tyler’s inert frame and props himself up with a hand against the silver pipes of the sink. He rapidly pats-less than gently-Tyler’s face, making sure to hit his swelling lip.
“Gay boy science goes down for the count, eh?” Ray smirks.
Tyler moves like a goddamn snake; a cold clinking assures Ray that the bastard has, indeed, just snapped a handcuff around his wrist. Before Ray can even react a second snap and a sudden tension in his balanced arm provides undeniable proof that he has just been cuffed to the bloody sink.
Ray gapes.
“You cowardly little . . .-Shut up, Ray!” Tyler interrupts, kissing him hard. Ray licks at his bloody lip, relishing the copper tang. Tyler’s tongue slips into his mouth and he sucks on it, hungry.
It’s Tyler’s turn to fumble with Ray’s clothes, but he’s either more graceful or more practiced, because he has Ray’s cock in his hand, pumping Ray hard, palm slick with pre-cum. It’s too rough, too fast, it’s fantastic, delicious.
Ray moans.
“You love it, don’t you? It’s better than all the slags you pull, isn’t it?” Tyler’s voice in his ear, insidious.
Christ that feels good. He hates the sorry tosser.
Tyler continues hurling out insults in low tones. He kisses Ray hard, biting his lips viciously. Tyler slips his other hand into Ray’s shirt, roughly pinching his nipples.
“You fucking slag, you little whore.”
Ray’s so close, hips jerking shamelessly, when Tyler. Stops.
Now he’s really going to kill the bastard.
“What?! Why?! No!” Ray struggles against the cuffs, desperate.
Tyler grabs Ray’s free hand and shoves it down his open trousers, bucking up into Ray’s grip. Ray has the urge to squeeze harder than strictly necessary, but Tyler resumes his earlier ministrations, and Ray suddenly feels benevolent. It’s both strange and arousing, the feel of another bloke’s cock in your hand, a different angle than he’s used to.
Ray doesn’t really care though, so long as Tyler keeps touching him.
Slick heat and skin, Ray realizes he can smell Sam.
His enemy, the man Ray hates, is licking his way into Ray’s mouth, bucking shamelessly into Ray’s hand. Shameless. They’re both shameless.
Christ, someone could walk in at any moment. Chris could stumble in, or- god forbid- it could be Gene glaring down at Ray, his demanding blue eyes seeing everything.
The thought of Gene Hunt catching them pushes Ray over the edge, and he’s coming so hard he can’t make a sound, he just arches and pulses and pulses into Tyler’s hand.
Ray forgets how to work his fingers, and he’s dimly aware of the whine the nancyboy gives in protest.
“Useless bint,” Tyler mutters and the younger man shakes him off to pump his own cock.
Ray bites the side of his cheek to remain present and slaps Tyler’s hand away. Ray isn’t some selfish little prick; he has his pride. He finishes Sam off, pumping his cock ruthlessly, smirking at the noises he makes. Whore.
“C’mon, give it up, give it to me,” Ray coaxes.
Remarkably, Tyler obeys, hot come filling Ray’s palm, dripping down his wrist. Ray leans back. He’s exhausted and exhilarated. He’s also sticky and dripping. Ray makes a face and reaches behind him to run, slicking up the cold water tap but succeeding in rinsing his hand off. He lays back against the sink, suddenly aware of how cold the tiles beneath him are. Tyler rises, washes his hands in the sink. He straightens his shirt, smoothes his short hair.
“Uncuff me, yeah?” it’s mostly a request.
Sam fixes him with his dark eyes, like he’s really debating. Ray is tempted to kick him in the jaw, he’s probably close enough. But the ponce obliges him, and removes the cuffs. A thin red line curves around Ray’s wrist; it will most likely bruise. Tyler grasps the wrist in question, ignoring Ray’s protests. He strokes a finger over the reddened flesh, causing Ray’s protests to die in his throat. Tyler runs the tip of his tongue over the abused skin, soothing. Ray freezes. It’s shockingly intimate somehow, even regarding what they’ve just done. Ray is uncomfortably exposed.
Tyler smirks around his split lip, stands.
“I still hate you,” his tone genial.
Ray glowers up at Tyler, which only causes the smirk to grow. Tyler splashes water on his face, pats himself down with the rough paper napkins. Tyler exits the loo without looking back. He is humming.
Ray sits on the cold tiles, blinking. Tyler is mad. Ray has just been jerked-off by a madman. Ray rises, straightens himself up. There is only one thing to do when faced with madness. One neat word that soothes, if not explains, everything away: Pub.
The End