Aggressive Male Affection
Title: Aggressive Male Affection
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1155 words
Notes: Sam/Gene slash - PWP. With apologies to Mark Greig, who probably didn’t envisage this when he wrote that line. Then again, judging by the slash quotient of that episode, maybe he did.
Sam gives him hope.
When Sam also gives him that holier-than-thou smirk and Gene’s fist is itching for connection, that's what he remembers. Doesn't mean he always pulls his punches - the little bastard needs to learn a lesson on occasion. Doesn’t mean he puts up with all kinds of inanity and insanity, though he does his best to ignore it. Just, Sam makes him do all those things he’d given up on. Makes him believe again. Makes him see a brighter potential. That’s why he’ll protect Sam, even if the fighting fairy doesn’t need it.
“It won’t take us too long to get ready,” Sam says, the smirk and a bucketful of attitude to boot.
“Won’t take any time at all. We’re staying here.”
Sam pushes him. “Stop being a tossbag.”
Gene holds firm. “We’re not going.”
Sam glares. “Why not?”
“The Gene Genie doesn’t answer whys or wherefores, Sammy-boy. We’re not going and that’s that, so shut your trap and get your kit off.”
Sam rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “Dream on.”
Gene leans in, whisky-breath and wolfish grin. He places his hands on Sam’s shoulders and grips tightly. Sam remains steadfast. Gene tilts his head and looks down at Sam, opening his mouth invitingly. Sam’s gaze doesn’t waver. He snarls and twists around, extricating himself from Gene’s grasp.
Gene won’t say, ‘we’re not going because those bastards are planning something untoward involving your pretty self’. He’s hoping that if he keeps Sam here, that’ll be it. He knows that if he keeps Sam here, that’ll be it. And they might as well enjoy themselves in the meantime. Only, Sam’s a stubborn git and wants to get all penguined up.
Gene takes Sam’s hand, crushes it in an iron grip and spins him until he’s on his knees.
“I have made myself perfectly clear, if you can’t see through me, you need your eyes checked.”
Sam struggles just as Gene expected him to, so he loosens his hold and lets him up. Sam’s fist is quick and connects with Gene’s chin. Pain surges, but the blow to Gene’s pride is what hurts the most.
“Right, you bastard, if that’s how you wanna play it.”
Gene grasps onto Sam’s collar and swings him into the wall. He looms in and attacks him with a kiss - always the best way to shut him up. Sam’s knees don’t buckle. He doesn’t whimper. But he does grab onto Gene’s hair and force him back, getting as much of their bodies in contact as possible.
“Yes, this is the way I wanna play it,” Sam says, pulling away from the kiss, quirking an eyebrow and undoing Gene’s belt. His hand is around Gene’s cock surprisingly quickly and Gene can barely keep his own hands still enough to undo Sam’s shirt buttons.
“Don’t…” Gene starts. He swallows and continues, “do that too much, Sammy-boy, or this’ll end abruptly.”
Sam’s jaw tightens, but his hand stops. He helps Gene remove his clothes instead, the material clinging to already damp skin. Gene kisses him roughly, touches him softly, wants to feel Sam under him.
It doesn’t take too long to get into position, Sam bent over what serves as his dining table, legs spread and muscles taut. Gene trails his fingers over Sam’s glistening skin, feather-light. Sam moans, thick and throaty. Gene starts to work him open, listening to the cadence of grunts, his cock leaking precome.
When Sam’s ready, Gene places his hands by his hips and takes a deep breath before pushing in. He inches into Sam, watches as Sam’s knuckles go white, is mesmerised by the sensation of flesh against flesh. And then he starts to really move, drawing back and driving in again, feeling Sam under and around and perfect.
Sometimes Gene thinks that what he gives Sam is different, but just as important as what he gets, because Sam can have dead eyes on the worst days and it’s only talking to Gene that brings him back to life. And like this, so warm, breathing heavily and tasting salt and sweet, he’s more than just alive, he’s the embodiment of life itself. Those constant breathy noises are constant tiny affirmations.
Gene reaches down, hauls Sam up and kisses the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He curves his fingers around Sam’s cock and strokes lazily, teasingly. Sam grunts and brings his hand to join Gene’s, forcing him to speed up. Gene returns to shallow thrusting; awkward, but so damn good. He rocks until he’s shaking. Sam tightens around him, coming over his knuckles and it’s too much, far too much; Gene calls Sam’s name and just about forgets who the hell he is.
He’s dimly aware of Sam moving and just about cognisant of being manoeuvred onto the cot, but for a few blissful moments that’s about it. This is his favourite state of being. Better than drunk, because there’s not just confidence, there’s a sense of selflessness too. For a moment in time he was everything for Sam.
“They aren’t missing us,” Gene says after a while, poking Sam in the ribs.
Sam manages to scowl, despite having just been a participant in one of the best shags this side of the Irish sea. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been to those things plenty of times before. Lancashire Constabulary Dinners and Dances consist of people getting shitfaced and telling inaccurate and offensive stories about each other, until someone loses their bottle and throws a punch.”
“Why do I get the feeling that someone is usually you?”
Gene almost smiles at Sam’s perception, although he knows he’s leading him along a winding path. “Cause you’re on my team and you’ve some brains in you, though we’ve yet to determine where. Aren’t you glad that instead I let my frustration out in a - what would you call it? - constructive manner?”
“I don’t think you fucking me two ways to Sunday is necessarily all that constructive.”
“Good though,” Gene asserts.
Sam finally lets the smile that Gene knows has been hovering creep onto his face. He arches into Gene and starts kissing a trail across his collarbone.
“So good we may need to do it again.”
Gene heaves in a deep breath. “Give a man some rest.”
“Fifteen minutes, fifteen seconds and counting.”
“You hold a lot of stock by my powers of recovery.”
This time it’s a real grin, warm and relaxed. “I’ve seen you in action before.”
The tone of Sam’s voice ignites a spark within Gene, his body already reacting to the slow, tempting lips against his skin. “And if you keep up like that you’ll see me in action again sooner than you think.”
“That was my fiendish plan.”
Sam gives him every kind of hope. From day-to-day optimism to dreams of the future. Mostly, he hopes that what he gives Sam means just as much.
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1155 words
Notes: Sam/Gene slash - PWP. With apologies to Mark Greig, who probably didn’t envisage this when he wrote that line. Then again, judging by the slash quotient of that episode, maybe he did.
Sam gives him hope.
When Sam also gives him that holier-than-thou smirk and Gene’s fist is itching for connection, that's what he remembers. Doesn't mean he always pulls his punches - the little bastard needs to learn a lesson on occasion. Doesn’t mean he puts up with all kinds of inanity and insanity, though he does his best to ignore it. Just, Sam makes him do all those things he’d given up on. Makes him believe again. Makes him see a brighter potential. That’s why he’ll protect Sam, even if the fighting fairy doesn’t need it.
“It won’t take us too long to get ready,” Sam says, the smirk and a bucketful of attitude to boot.
“Won’t take any time at all. We’re staying here.”
Sam pushes him. “Stop being a tossbag.”
Gene holds firm. “We’re not going.”
Sam glares. “Why not?”
“The Gene Genie doesn’t answer whys or wherefores, Sammy-boy. We’re not going and that’s that, so shut your trap and get your kit off.”
Sam rolls his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning against the door. “Dream on.”
Gene leans in, whisky-breath and wolfish grin. He places his hands on Sam’s shoulders and grips tightly. Sam remains steadfast. Gene tilts his head and looks down at Sam, opening his mouth invitingly. Sam’s gaze doesn’t waver. He snarls and twists around, extricating himself from Gene’s grasp.
Gene won’t say, ‘we’re not going because those bastards are planning something untoward involving your pretty self’. He’s hoping that if he keeps Sam here, that’ll be it. He knows that if he keeps Sam here, that’ll be it. And they might as well enjoy themselves in the meantime. Only, Sam’s a stubborn git and wants to get all penguined up.
Gene takes Sam’s hand, crushes it in an iron grip and spins him until he’s on his knees.
“I have made myself perfectly clear, if you can’t see through me, you need your eyes checked.”
Sam struggles just as Gene expected him to, so he loosens his hold and lets him up. Sam’s fist is quick and connects with Gene’s chin. Pain surges, but the blow to Gene’s pride is what hurts the most.
“Right, you bastard, if that’s how you wanna play it.”
Gene grasps onto Sam’s collar and swings him into the wall. He looms in and attacks him with a kiss - always the best way to shut him up. Sam’s knees don’t buckle. He doesn’t whimper. But he does grab onto Gene’s hair and force him back, getting as much of their bodies in contact as possible.
“Yes, this is the way I wanna play it,” Sam says, pulling away from the kiss, quirking an eyebrow and undoing Gene’s belt. His hand is around Gene’s cock surprisingly quickly and Gene can barely keep his own hands still enough to undo Sam’s shirt buttons.
“Don’t…” Gene starts. He swallows and continues, “do that too much, Sammy-boy, or this’ll end abruptly.”
Sam’s jaw tightens, but his hand stops. He helps Gene remove his clothes instead, the material clinging to already damp skin. Gene kisses him roughly, touches him softly, wants to feel Sam under him.
It doesn’t take too long to get into position, Sam bent over what serves as his dining table, legs spread and muscles taut. Gene trails his fingers over Sam’s glistening skin, feather-light. Sam moans, thick and throaty. Gene starts to work him open, listening to the cadence of grunts, his cock leaking precome.
When Sam’s ready, Gene places his hands by his hips and takes a deep breath before pushing in. He inches into Sam, watches as Sam’s knuckles go white, is mesmerised by the sensation of flesh against flesh. And then he starts to really move, drawing back and driving in again, feeling Sam under and around and perfect.
Sometimes Gene thinks that what he gives Sam is different, but just as important as what he gets, because Sam can have dead eyes on the worst days and it’s only talking to Gene that brings him back to life. And like this, so warm, breathing heavily and tasting salt and sweet, he’s more than just alive, he’s the embodiment of life itself. Those constant breathy noises are constant tiny affirmations.
Gene reaches down, hauls Sam up and kisses the fine hairs on the back of his neck. He curves his fingers around Sam’s cock and strokes lazily, teasingly. Sam grunts and brings his hand to join Gene’s, forcing him to speed up. Gene returns to shallow thrusting; awkward, but so damn good. He rocks until he’s shaking. Sam tightens around him, coming over his knuckles and it’s too much, far too much; Gene calls Sam’s name and just about forgets who the hell he is.
He’s dimly aware of Sam moving and just about cognisant of being manoeuvred onto the cot, but for a few blissful moments that’s about it. This is his favourite state of being. Better than drunk, because there’s not just confidence, there’s a sense of selflessness too. For a moment in time he was everything for Sam.
“They aren’t missing us,” Gene says after a while, poking Sam in the ribs.
Sam manages to scowl, despite having just been a participant in one of the best shags this side of the Irish sea. “How do you know?”
“I’ve been to those things plenty of times before. Lancashire Constabulary Dinners and Dances consist of people getting shitfaced and telling inaccurate and offensive stories about each other, until someone loses their bottle and throws a punch.”
“Why do I get the feeling that someone is usually you?”
Gene almost smiles at Sam’s perception, although he knows he’s leading him along a winding path. “Cause you’re on my team and you’ve some brains in you, though we’ve yet to determine where. Aren’t you glad that instead I let my frustration out in a - what would you call it? - constructive manner?”
“I don’t think you fucking me two ways to Sunday is necessarily all that constructive.”
“Good though,” Gene asserts.
Sam finally lets the smile that Gene knows has been hovering creep onto his face. He arches into Gene and starts kissing a trail across his collarbone.
“So good we may need to do it again.”
Gene heaves in a deep breath. “Give a man some rest.”
“Fifteen minutes, fifteen seconds and counting.”
“You hold a lot of stock by my powers of recovery.”
This time it’s a real grin, warm and relaxed. “I’ve seen you in action before.”
The tone of Sam’s voice ignites a spark within Gene, his body already reacting to the slow, tempting lips against his skin. “And if you keep up like that you’ll see me in action again sooner than you think.”
“That was my fiendish plan.”
Sam gives him every kind of hope. From day-to-day optimism to dreams of the future. Mostly, he hopes that what he gives Sam means just as much.