New Fics: Life on Mars: Kiss; Rules; Confrontation
Author’s Notes
These are some short stories that I wrote about three years ago but which never got posted anywhere. In fact, until now no one has ever even read them, but I was going through some of my old files, found them and thought ‘hey, why not’, so here they are. So they’re not beta-ed, my first real NC17 stories, and if there is anything in them that you recognise it’s probably because I recycled parts of them for other stories.
These stories are all in the same universe, from Gene’s pov.
Warnings: all contain strong language, fruity metaphors and non-politically correct terms. The higher the rating, the more graphic the sex. And I have mentioned that it’s not beta-ed, so any mistakes are mine, all mine.
Just in case anyone wonders or asks, I’m not going to be writing any more for various reasons, one of which is that I’m not interested in writing any more. ;)
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Title: Kiss
Author: Jupiter_Ash
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Summary: Gene, Sam, a wall and an awful lot of Gene’s thoughts.
It had been so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to kiss another man
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It had been so long he had almost forgotten what it was like to kiss another man; the rough rasp of day old stubble; the strong, thick hands that pulled harder and held tighter; the short, coarse hair that tickled his fingers; the heavy, dense smell of sweat mixed with cheap aftershave and something unmistakably male that would never attempt to be masked by some god awful, off the shelf, bitter tasting scent that claimed to be roses, lilies, or god forbid, apple blossom.
Yes, it was far different to kiss a man, but, he realised as the firm, hot tongue refused to yield, there were some things you could never fully forget, and this, he now understood, was one of them. He may have pushed those memories far aside, buried them with the passage of time until the almost obsessive desires they had once produced had faded to become little more than a whisper, but they had never gone completely. They had always been there, itching to return, placated by the gentle touch of a woman, but never fully satisfied.
Man - hard, rough, base. How had he managed to live without it? Thick fingers tore at his clothing, one hand snaking up his back, dull nails scratching at the skin, while the other hand scrambled at the front of his trousers, pulling down the zip, before thrusting in warm and precise.
Two groans, only one of them his, both deep and bordering on guttural.
No, he realised, ripping his mouth away to press it against the firm jaw line, running his tongue over the short bristles, up to the lower ear. No, he hadn’t ‘lived without it’, because what he’d had before, all soft, wet and high pitched, hadn’t been living, it had been merely surviving. This - he undid the belt buckle in front of him, pulling down the zipper, taking jeans and pants with him until his fingers curled round the heat that was indisputably male - he realised, was living. Living and throbbing, and panting and groaning.
How could he have forgotten?
“Gene… oh god… oh yeah….”
The voice was so deep, so male, and as such, so bloody wrong. It sent bolts of arousal shooting through his body as readily as the fist encircling his cock did. So wrong, and yet so good.
Queer, bent, Dorothy, faggot.
The cock in his own hand was thick, hot and leaking with every stroke.
Gay-boy, queen, nancy-boy, poof.
Black leather pressed into the wall, head tilting back to show the long stretch of the neck, the Adam’s apple that bobbed between stolen breaths.
Fairy, homo, fruit picking sodomite.
The aching need to bury his cock somewhere tight, warm and very much wrong.
Fudge-packing, limp wristed, homosexual, bum-bandit.
“Oh god, Gene….”
The head tipped to one side so he pressed his lips to the offered ear, and growled words that should never have been spoken.
“You like this, don’t you, Tyler. Queer-boy ponce like you. Been dreaming ‘bout this, haven’t you? Wanting me, wanting my hands… my mouth… my cock.”
“Yes…god, yes….”
Tyler’s acquiescing hiss was forced out through a desperate moan, hips bucking, eyes closing, fingers biting into the skin on his shoulder as the other hand faltered around his cock.
“You’re a tart, Tyler, a wanton whore, a no good prossie caught with her knickers down.”
“Oh, yes….”
He locked his mouth against the curved smile, teeth clashing, beards scratching but the feeling was so good, so bloody good, that he knew this wasn’t going to last much longer, wasn’t going to….
“Oh god, Gene….”
The mouth ripped away from his, panting warm air onto the side of his face.
“So close….”
He bit at the skin between neck and collar, tonguing at the chain of the damned St Christopher, thrusting once, then twice into the hand stroking him, realising the truth in the last gasped words.
“Say my name.”
Gay-boy, queer-boy, homo, fairy.
“Gene… god, Gene….”
Dorothy, bender, faggot, poof.
“Yes, yes, almost… Gene!”
He came a moment later, spilling himself into his DI’s hand whilst pumping the last dribbles out of the cock in his own.
Warm and sticky and so, so male.
Queer.
The flat chest heaved, the cock gradually softened, and brown eyes slowly opened as he leant in to feel the heat of that mouth against his once more. His hand was a mess and he knew his wasn’t the only one. They needed to do something about that, but the tongue against his was heavy and insistent, the hand snaking to his neck was strong and determined, and if this was going to be it, if it was going to be another twenty years before he had this again - heat and stubble and strong smell of maleness - then by god he was going to make sure he remembered every damned little thing.
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Title: Rules
Author: Jupiter_Ash
Rating: R
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Summary: There are rules about these things, and Tyler was ignoring every single one
It was supposed to have been just a one off.
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It was supposed to have been just a one off. Alcohol, tension, a snog and a hand job, and that should have been that.
Leave it to Tyler to screw it up.
There were rules about this sort of thing. The first rule was that you did not talk about it. The second rule was that you did not talk about it. Period.
Any discussion was purely nonverbal, done by eye contact and head nodding. Any event was never spoken of and quickly forgotten. Any repeat happenings occurred only after a considerable length of time and only in extreme circumstances.
These were the rules, a hangover from National Service. As usual Tyler acted as if he was working from a completely different handbook. For the ignorance he so casually displayed, how Tyler had ever gotten through his own National Service intact was a mystery to rival the identity of the London Ripper.
It had all started off okay. After the last kiss he had made a remark that Tyler had rolled his eyes at and had quickly tidied himself up, tossing Tyler a hand towel to do the same, all the while keeping his eyes averted from things you just did not look at in a situation like this. Then he had told Tyler to be on time for work the next morning - although knowing Tyler’s anal habits, he’d probably be early, catching up on some paperwork or some other bullshit - and had promptly walked out, slamming the door behind him.
No talking, no explanation, no threats warning of what might happen if he heard even a whiff of a rumour - Tyler was stupid at times, but not that kind of stupid. They both knew that if something like this got out then it would be the end of their careers. It was all part of the ‘you do not talk about it’ rule.
As usual Tyler didn’t listen.
It wasn’t that Tyler tried to talk about it - he didn’t - it was more the way in which he didn’t talk about it. It was the looks, the smiles, the damn smug way he got sometimes. Nothing out of the ordinary, unless you knew that something out the ordinary had happened.
Tyler looked at him, eye to eye, full visual contact, and then he would smile, just slightly, just a small twitch of the lips, but a smile none the less. This was not a man ashamed of what he had done. This was a man hungry for more.
There was now no doubt in his mind that Tyler had done this before. Despite all the insults, he hadn’t really thought his noncey-arsed DI was a shirt-lifting, pillow biting, fudge-packing queer, but between the looks, the heated kiss and the way he had moaned like a damned prossie before coming like a horny bastard, there was no doubt any more. Tyler was one hell of a great big, apron wearing, nancy, queer, bender, Manchester United supporting poof. Which might account for why the relationship he’d had with Annie had fizzled out to nothing. Poor girl. Great tits but not enough for Tyler it seemed, and that thought made him more nervous than a virgin on her wedding night.
Tyler made him nervous, and that just was not right. He was the boss, he was the sheriff, he was the Gene Genie, and if anyone was to make people nervous it was him.
He couldn’t even slam Tyler against a filing cabinet anymore because the bleeding poof would just smirk back at him, and that was more wrong than a whore in a nun’s habit. Which meant he had to do something about it. He just didn’t know what.
He was still figuring that out when Tyler decided to break all the rules and took the decision out of his hands.
“You were right you know.”
Tyler cornered him in Lost and Found of all places; within the thick walls that had been privy to far more spilt secrets than any storage room had the right to.
The small smile, the narrowed hungry eyes, the apprising tip of the head, he knew exactly what Tyler was referring to, and by god wished that he didn’t. So he deflected it, bringing it back to the most recent scumbag that Ray was dragging to the cells and tried to leave.
The smile just grew as he moved and realised that Tyler was between him and the door, and that he was close enough to rediscover the smell that was uniquely Tyler.
“’Bout what you said.”
Tyler was wearing a new shirt, black with dark burgundy stripes, its wide collar stretched open and top buttons undone to reveal pale lick-able skin.
“’Bout me liking it.”
The medallion nestled in his throat glinted as he spoke.
“’Bout me wanting it.”
Below it the faint beginnings of chest hair poked just above the top fastened button.
“’Bout me dreaming about it.”
There was something almost obscenely wrong with the way Tyler managed to say that last part, the way his head tilted and his neck sloped. It was all he could do not to throw the infuriating gay-boy tart against the nearest wall and teach him why you should never cross the Gene Genie.
“Cause I have been dreaming about it you know. And I know you don’t want to talk about it, but just in case I haven’t made myself clear…” and that was when his voice dropped again, strong hands pulled him downwards and those sweet kissable lips moved level with his ear. “I. Want. You. Too.”
The words seemed to brush against his ear and race straight to his cock. The musky smell of aftershave and sweat, the warm breath against his neck, the hands bunching up his shirt, they all went towards the uncomfortable tightening feeling in his trousers, the painful thumping in his chest.
Then it was gone; the hands, the breath, the smell, and Tyler took a step back, both him and his almost smug expression suddenly out of reach.
“Just thought you should know.”
Then the poncy-git was striding from the room, the door closing behind him.
Bollocks.
It had just been a one off. Alcohol, tension, a snog and a hand job. That was all.
Except now that he’d gotten a taste, he knew that could never be enough.
Which was why, seven hours after that incident and a good half hour since he had left the pub, he was stood staring at Tyler’s door. It was late, he was pissed, and this really, really wasn’t a good idea, ‘cause that door wasn’t just a door, it was a line, a threshold, the last barrier between normality and whatever it was he was about to embark upon. Once passed there would be no going back. Period.
Schooling his features, he squared his shoulder, raised his fist… and thumped the door.
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Title: Confrontation
Author: Jupiter_Ash
Rating: NC17
Pairing: Gene/Sam
Summary: Gene lays down the law.
“Right, Tyler, this is how it’s gonna be.”
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“Right, Tyler, this is how it’s gonna be. One, you’re gonna do what I say and what I say is this; work and whatever screwed up mess this is are two completely separate things. You got that? So no using this to get your own way at work just because you might disagree with my methods. I’m still the Gene Genie, my word is law.
“Two, don’t expect me to treat you any different. I’m still the guv and you’re still my picky pain in the arse DI, got that?
“Three, that means I’m in charge. I do not, and I repeat, I do not take it up the arse. Ever. And that’s final. So no moaning ‘bout it, no ridiculous vain attempts at blackmail, and no pouting those lips at me, cause on this I’m like a fat bird in a free cake shop, I won’t be moved. You got that?
“Four, if I ever, and I mean, ever hear even a whiff of a rumour that I am anything but the red bloodied, bird fancying, City supporting man’s man that people think I am then I’m gonna blame you and I’ll have your balls wrapped around your shoulders faster than a virgin on his wedding night.
“Five, this does not make me a poof, so don’t expect flowers or cards or little tokens of my affection because that ain’t gonna happen. You’re the only Dorothy in whatever we have and even that you’re going to keep to a minimum.
“Six….”
He did have a sixth point, he was sure of it, and a seventh and eighth but the moment he walked in those doors they had all completely gone out of his head. He had had the whole long lecture planned out word for word, but in truth he had barely gotten out the opening words when his back had hit that wall and he’d found himself attacked by a pair of moist lips and a warm, strong body pressing tight against him. In the flurry of moment he noticed two things; one that Tyler was still wearing that damn shirt, and two, that Tyler was far more skilful with his tongue than he had given him credit for.
Then just as he was getting to grips with the new development the tongue was forcefully removed, leaving him craning forwards in an attempt to follow it until his brain - the one in his head - finally kicked in again and he pulled back with a scowl.
Tyler smirked, his eyes hooded and it was just enough to distract him from what Tyler’s hands were doing until he realised with a start that his trousers were being pushed down to the floor
“What the….”
Then there was a warm hand where warm hands other than his own rarely went, and before he could figure out what was happening Tyler had sank to the floor in front of him and everything had become explosively hot and wet.
“Bloody hell!”
He might still have been a little hazy from the alcohol and the way his head had jerked back to hit the wall, but there was no mistaking what was happening in front of him. Tyler’s tongue, which had previously explored his mouth with such dexterity, was now marking out new territory with more passion than any man had any right to. It curved and licked and stroked and flicked and all the while his cheeks were hollowed out as if devouring an obscene ice lolly. In a way perhaps he was. All he knew was it felt fantastic. No, better than fantastic. You couldn’t pay for this sort of service and he was getting it for free from his obsessive, mouthy - god yes, very mouthy - DI.
He really should tell him to stop. This was really improper and not what he had been expecting but by god he didn’t want to. His hands clenched and unclenched awkwardly by his side until giving in he threaded his fingers into the hair of the man before him. He tried to remember just to hold and not to guide, but Tyler was in no need of guidance, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing, a thought that was almost as disturbing as it was gratifying.
As it was, Tyler moaned at the feel of the fingers on his scalp and the vibrations almost had him sobbing in thankful exaltation. He had enough presence of mind to do it again, running his fingers across the back of Tyler’s head, just above the hairline and the response was almost instantaneous; a deep moan, an arched back and a flick of the tongue that was probably illegal in so many countries. But he didn’t care because he was almost there, so, so close.
He tugged on the ridiculously short hair but was rewarded with a strong suck and smirk that it was everything he could do not to end it right there.
As it was it didn’t take much more and as his brain slowly caught up with his shuddering body he was dazed to watch Tyler swallow without complaint, the smaller man slowly rising to his feet.
Lips latched onto a sweet spot below his ear as hands scrambled at trouser fastenings. The next thing he knew his fist was enclosing around warm flesh and Tyler was whispering obscenities in his ear between stolen gasps.
That didn’t last long either, and before he knew it Tyler was shuddering in his hand and resting his forehead against his shoulder.
Sated and buzzing he was content enough to let Tyler have his physical contact. After a performance like that the man deserved anything he asked for - well, almost anything. So when the warm lips met his again he didn’t pull away from the taste but revelled in the feel of another man’s stubble against his own.
“Thank you.” Tyler’s voice was slightly husky as he pulled away, catching his lips in one last quick caress as he did so.
It confused him for a moment, as surely it should have been him thanking his DI for such an energetic and expert performance. But by then Tyler had moved back a step, tidied himself up and thrown him a towel to wipe his hands on.
“So, you wanted to say something?”
Oh yeah, he had come in here with a head full of rules but suddenly they didn’t seem all that important anymore.
“You, Tyler,” he swallowed, “have got one hell of a gob on you.”
“Is that right, Guv?”
The guy was practically smirking at him.
“Too right,” he said with a grunt, making sure he was all zipped up and semi-presentable before tossing back the cloth. “Just make sure you use it right. If that mouth ever gets out of line….” He let the thought trail off.
“Yes, Guv.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Knew you were a smart one, Tyler. Now, what does a man need to do to get a drink around here?”
Eyes rolled, glasses chinked and words were left unspoken. Not what he had been aiming for, but he figured that was pretty much normal with them.
Whatever normal was.
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Series continues with Just Sex