Fic: Life On Mars, Sam/Gene, PG-13

[mooging]

This is for 

strangeumbrella, who made me watch Life On Mars to begin with (and is generally awesome - and I think she has an ukulele show or something now or soon, so good luck with that!) and then wrote the most brilliant fic that I glued my nose to during the writing of this, my attempt, which will completely not be as good (but I hope she likes it anyway).

Gene is very, very difficult to write and refuses to stay in character, and I have issues with beginnings and middles and ends, but...um, okay, this emerged somehow. ALSO I am really really bad at knowing which phrases were used in which decade, so there's a bit that might jar and I should really stop tearing this thing to pieces before you all gather your sanity and flee.

General disclaimer: these characters are not mine. I get no money. No to me being sued, thanks.

Title: Oh, the corners and the stars.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Life On Mars
Pairing: Sam/Gene
Word count: 1082
Summary: 'If this is all in his mind, he thinks, he must be crazier than he thought''

 

Sam Tyler is having a clumsy kind of day. He's not normally clumsy - intelligent, efficient, yes, but not clumsy. Right now, it appears the contrary, as today has seen him tripping over things and bumping into things and, once, sprawled on the floor. He caught a desk leg with his foot and went flying; to add insult to injury, the whole desk came down on top of him and he was soon covered in cold coffee and paperwork, nursing carpet burns and jarred joints and a sore ego, enduring humourless jibes from the circle of onlookers.

If this is all in his mind, he thinks, he must be crazier than he thought.

The day moves on and Sam is relishing this moment. Hot pursuit has always suited him and now he is pounding down a street, smears of brick and grass and gravel flashing by as he runs, and he's going just that bit faster than his body would like. The suspect rounds a corner. Sam speeds up, past the ache in his calves and the throb as his feet slap against the pavement but then there's a car, and there goes his suspect, diving into the back seat and making a grand escape with the unpleasant smell of rubber the only thing left to chase.

Sam is caught up in his own momentum and can't stop dead, pitches round the corner just as his body catches up with his determination and his vision blurs, everything goes off-kilter, and Sam slams straight into a fast-moving someone coming the opposite way.

They both crash to the ground.

For a moment, they both lie there and Sam can't move, muscles still burning and refusing to help him heave himself up. Rainbow stars shiver before his eyes but they start to dance away; the black wavering at the edges of his world goes with them and Sam realises he is lying on a very familiar coat.

He props himself up, arms on either side of the person underneath him and realises that the someone is very familiar too. Gene Hunt is staring back at him, their faces very very close together, and Sam is suddenly infinitesimally grateful that his head is no longer on Gene's chest.

"Are you planning on getting up any time soon, Sammy-me-lad, or am I going to have to start calling you a fairy boy?" Gene is notably unimpressed and his face is set in disapproval and disgust and something else, lurking in the edges to the taut line of his mouth.

So Sam attempts to clamber up but he's still too winded and he slips back down.

His right leg lands between Gene's own.

They both freeze.

They both freeze because Gene is unmistakably hard against Sam's thigh and there's not a lot either of them can find to say.

Sam gets up properly this time, and quickly. Gene's face is almost puce. Sam offers him a hand, looking somewhere near his shoes, and Gene gets to his feet unaided and walks off without a word or a punch or a scowl.

Sam doesn't know what to do; watches him walk away.

Back at the station, it gets very late. Sam watches everyone leave. The light in Gene's office is still on and so Sam stays, like they're playing a game, like one big game of by call-my-bluff, like each is testing the other: who'll do it, who'll snap first.

Sam goes into the office and shuts the door. Gene is standing at the far end and doesn't acknowledge his entrance. Sam walks up to him, stands perhaps an inch too close and says "Guv," as a statement, quietly, near Gene's ear.

And Gene lashes out, fast and strong, and Sam tastes blood in his mouth.

And Sam says "Guv,", again, and Gene backhands him into the desk, and Sam says "Gene", low and rough and forthright, meaningful, and Gene cracks a fist across his cheekbone.

The rainbow stars are back and Sam spits bloodily at Gene's feet.

"For Christ's sake," says Sam, half-weary, and Gene looks him in the eye.

Another game: admit defeat and look away.

Sam is good at standing his ground.

For once, for a first time, Gene tears his gaze away and lunges at Sam, skilful and powerful and heavy, and Sam doesn't have time to bring his fists up.

Gene doesn't hit him. He grabs his shoulders and kisses him on the mouth, hard enough to bruise. Sam is already bleeding and it all lasts long enough that he is light-headed when Gene jerks away.

"Well," snarls Gene, turning his back, "isn't that what you bloody wanted?"

Sam says nothing, and Gene spins back round and smashes Sam against a wall, growling "Answer me".

His grip slackens imperceptibly but enough, just enough, and Sam shakes himself free. He looks at Gene and the shuttered look in his eyes is too blank against the face of D.C.I. Gene Hunt.

There is a very long, very still, pause and the air smells like dust.

And then Sam cups his hands tight around Gene's face and kisses him just as harshly back, clutching at him like a needy child, half desperate, half want, half need. That's three halves, thinks Sam, and why not? It makes as much sense as anything else.

"That's better," he says, seeing the rage and surprise flood into Gene's grimly set face now. "Oh, that's better."

To make things even, he punches Gene square across the jaw and watches his head snap back.

Sam turns to go but he's having a clumsy day: he walks into the door-frame, reels back, already shaken, and he has to blink hard, once, twice and a third time to clear his swimming, pounding head.

"Do they not have doors in Hyde?" sneers Gene from behind him, and Sam smiles.

He walks straight out on the second try but he's tempted to go back.

The light is still burning in Gene's office as Sam drags his feet towards home; the little voice in his mind whispers to him, go back go back go back, but it's all too easy to ignore.

If Sam's imagining everything, he can't have thought it all the way through.

*

Um...how many of you actually watch Life On Mars?