3. things you said too quietly for Sam & Gene, please? :p :D
In writing this, I think I kind of lost what was left of my sanity. Oh well, it's not gonna be missed.
'If you expect me to hear what you're saying, maybe you shouldn't mumble.'
Sam's attention jolts at the sound of Gene's voice. Honestly, he hadn't even realised he was talking. Definitely, he'd still thought he was alone. That this is what he'd been missing, he'd been missing it all along. Somehow, admitting that to Gene, it seems like too much.
So, he deflects. 'You're delirious,' he says, and this time, yes, it's clear as day. Gene's mouth quirks up at the corner, leaning into the door frame. Just watching. Sam relaxes a little, looking at Gene as Gene looks back at him. The room seems wider than it ought to be, and Sam feels a little less sure of himself than he'd rather be.
How it's similar, but different, but nice, to so many moments they've shared before. So he looks, and he memorizes. How Gene had tugged on a shirt from the night before, hadn't buttoned it up. The shirt is dangling open, it's showing off his broad chest. The scattered marks Sam left on his throat, on his chest, bright but dark and sharp. How they sting, and they ache, but all of it's quite pleasant, the ones that Gene had gifted, in turn, to Sam.
His gaze slips down to the soft fabric of Gene's boxers. And down, and down, and down, the endless stretch of his legs. Sam shifts a little. Now, he wants to press back in, feel how warm Gene is, all over. Wants to set his hand to Gene's chest, feel the beating of his heart.
'So, is this okay?' Gene's voice is a little too rough, a little too low, and –
That sparks something, something… visceral. Hot, raw and deep. Sam leans his head back, and laughter bubbles up, spills out. Somehow, they'd avoided talk of this through everything else, as if it was all okay already, but maybe Gene hadn't actually thought that any of what they'd been doing was real, it's always been real. Now, it's caught up in Sam's throat and he doesn't know what to do with it, he doesn't know what to say, so he pushes himself to a standing position. Lets the duvet fall away from him. Gene's gaze sweeps over him, hot and hard and interested – almost like they've never been in this position before, and they have.
It's all been okay, and Gene's doing a bang up job of looking unperturbed as Sam crowds in close. There's an unspoken question in the lift of his eyebrows, along the subtle pout of his lips. How Sam can't stop himself from smiling, of letting out a happy little sigh, when he feels skin touching skin, as Gene draws him close.
'I'm going to kiss you now,' Sam says. He doesn't have to announce it, to explain himself, but that look on Gene's face softens some, as Sam runs a hand up to the back of his neck, the fingers of one hand twisting in soft hair. The other, they press themselves to Gene's chest. Anchor themselves. Feels the way his heart races, how it skips a few, charged with something close frenetic. Another soft sigh, Sam knows what it is. What this is, and what he feels. And he smiles, as he slants a look up at Gene – he probably doesn't actually mean for it to come off as so sly.
There's a huff of breath, of amusement, as Gene rolls his eyes. Sam tugs on his hair and pushes up on his tiptoes, just to get a better angle as he slots his mouth against Gene's. He grunts a little, as Gene moves his arms. Braces himself. Picks Sam up, and carries him back to bed. Gene's bed, that he hasn't actually shared with anyone in years. In the bedroom where the windows are framed with old curtains, ones sporting a quaint floral pattern. Where most of Sam's clothing must still be scattered, though they'd lost some of it on the way up the stairs.
After everything else, Sam is terrified of leaving, of being made to leave. All he wanted to do was come back. To stay.
Now, Gene braces himself above Sam, stares down at him, eyes… searching.
And Sam, he smiles. 'You bringing me home to yours last night, it doesn't suddenly make this real.' Gene's breath catches, and Sam smooths a hand over his cheek, nails dragging over his stubble. He smiles, jerks against him with his hips, ready to pull Gene back down. 'What we have, it's always been real.'
Hardly perfect, rough around the edges. Getting into each other's heads when neither of them could have wanted that, and there was something underneath it all, something physical, something that Sam needed, he'd always needed it.
'That's what you're saying,' Gene hums. 'But what did you say?'
Sam's mouth quirks into a grin, he feels like playing hard to get. Gene, with a grin of his own, eases down slowly, to kiss him. It's a lot softer than Sam would want it, more patient, but Gene's always blowing through his expectations. So why should this be any different than anything else?
