FANDOM: Life on Mars
RATING: Brown Cortina, slash: Sam/Gene
WORD COUNT: 750 words
AUTHOR'S NOTES: It's angst. And it's smutty. Um, perhaps "smangst"??? We're still in amnesty over at 1973flashfic challenge, so this has been written for the Miscommunication Challenge. Not beta'd, as I'm an impatient bunny. Concrit welcome!
DISCLAIMER: Life on Mars is copyright Kudos and the BBC. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made.
"I mean, what are we doing really? I'm shagging a bloke. I'm shagging a subordinate. Either of which will get me kicked off the force quicker than a prozzie dropping her knickers. I'm cheating on my wife."
Sam propped himself up on an elbow and glanced at Gene, sighing. "It's just sex, Gene."
"That's the problem. It's not 'just' sex. 'just' sex, I can handle. That's not cheating. That's stress relief. Her indoors knows all about my previous dalliances. Up to now. I'm shagging you. My very male, very annoying subordinate. If the world finds out, then that's my entire life down the plughole. My career, my family, my friends. All gone. Yet I still do it. Why?"
Sam stiffened slightly. "Gene. For Christ's sake. Stop over-analysing this. We're doing it for the danger. The thrill. For the crack. We're walking that fine line because it makes our hearts beat harder. That's all. No pressure, that's what we said. No pressure at all. Just two mates getting together and finding mutual satisfaction in each other. Variety being the spice of life and all that.
"And speaking of variety, I believe it's probably my turn to go down here, and do this…" he punctuated the last sentence with kisses and licks down Gene's spine, ending with a swipe atop the crack of Gene's arse, before flicking his tongue over the tightly puckered flesh, gently probing and delving deep.
Gene threw his head back and attempted to immerse himself in the sensations of Sam's incredible tongue. But his mind kept wandering back to the conversation. The stupid thing was that he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew what this was and why he kept going back. But he could never tell Sam. Not while Sam still believed that this was just sex.
Because to Gene it wasn't just sex, it was something much, much more. He put his career and family and friends on the line every time he even just glanced at his DI because the act itself was worth it. It was nothing less than love. Love in the crazy, screaming at each other, knives in the back and fucks in the dark way. It was love in the deep forever and eternity, in sickness and in health, nothing else will ever matter way.
It was love, pure and simple. And Sam didn't feel the same.
Sam didn't know why Gene kept raising the issue. He dwelt on the act, yet didn't attempt to back away. And Sam was bemused and afraid of that.
It had to be some kind of test, surely. Gene testing the waters to make sure that his nancy-boy DI hadn't done anything stupid. That the terms and conditions of their coupling were still the same. Gene didn't take kindly to moving goal-posts at the best of times and heaven forbid that emotions should get in the way.
So Sam toed the party line, spouting, almost word for word, the original agreement every time he was asked. And every time he passed the test, didn't he? Gene was still in his bed a couple of times a week, ready and eager to try out anything and everything that Sam's over-active imagination could come up with.
Running his tongue between Gene's buttocks, tasting that dark musk, slicking up his fingers to breach that opening, Sam was glad Gene couldn't see his face.
Because in truth he had done something stupid, something that if Gene knew, would drive him away into the night, get Sam transferred in a heart-beat. Sam had fallen in love.
And the words he spoke to soothe the Guv were the same words that stabbed his heart every time he said them.
"No pressure.. No pressure at all. Just two mates getting together and finding mutual satisfaction in each other."
But it was necessary, and if it led to what he still had, then Sam was happy.
So he said what he needed to, without words. In deed he worshipped the body in front of him, savoured the time they spent together and never once opened his mouth in haste.
The words would spill out one day, sat always on the tip of his tongue, they would tumble and fall and shatter this truce between them.
But for now they remained caged, locked away in silence and Sam still had what he wanted.
Just not necessarily what he craved.
ETA: Sequel: Misunderstanding