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Quite how something can be both inevitable and unexpected Sam doesn’t know, but they’ve been working up to this for so long that when it finally does happen its somehow a shock and a relief all at the same time.
It happens on a Friday.
Gene is fired up, hot from the chase of scum round his city, and Sam basks in the radiating warmth as they knock back pints in the Railway Arms. Half-joking piss-takes alternate with shared laughter and it feels good, shoulders brushing together, as though something somewhere has just clicked into place.
The walk back to Gene’s house is nearly the end of it, but the anticipatory gleam in Gene’s eye as Sam grips his arm to say goodnight has him asking for a nightcap instead and he’s invited inside.
Inside. As soon as the door shuts that’s it: he’s past the point of no return, up against the wall and into the grip of another man, hot and demanding. And it’s only then that Sam realises its far too late to be wondering if this is a good idea because short of a meteor strike nothing is going to stop them now; certainly not his clothes, it seems, as his button-less shirt hits the floor.
He curses his shaking hands because he had really hoped he’d show a bit more finesse when he takes hold of Gene’s cock for the first time, but it turns out not to matter as they’re both so keyed-up neither of them lasts long, and although its possibly the worst hand-job he’s ever had, it bloody well feels like the best.
Gene’s grinning and breathless as they both slide shakily down the wall, and just as Sam’s dazedly wondering if that’s the end of the evening’s activities, there’s a surprisingly gentle hand on the back of his neck and soft, lazy kisses which stop him thinking entirely.
They make it upstairs and to bed; Gene leaves for moment and Sam contemplates the spectre of the long-since departed ex-Mrs. Hunt preserved in the form of the matching chintzy curtains and bedspread before Gene is back, drinks in hand and fag dangling from his lower lip. Sam looks at him, and he knows with sudden clarity what this feeling is.
Which is partly why he manages to swallow down his fear, about the difference in size between Maya’s finger and Gene’s cock, along with his pride and the last of his scotch because he really wants this, and Gene is half-hard again and looking at him hotly.
And a little while later Sam’s glad he did; so glad, as he comes all over himself and the sheets (and the headboard, as they later discover, much to Gene’s smug amusement); climaxing so hard he thinks for a moment he must have done himself an injury. What started out slow and uncertain had ended rough and fierce, and as Sam drifts off into an exhausted but sated sleep he thanks the Lord that Gene’s neighbours are away, because they would have been left in no doubt whatsoever as to exactly how hard Sam Tyler likes to be fucked.
He wakes sometime in the night, heartbeat racing, and shifts restlessly. He’s twitching and tingling in parts of his body he didn’t even know he had, and wonders if he has the jitters because he’s somehow electrocuted himself in his sleep, or because despite the mingled ecstasy and excitement he’s still scared shitless.
Then Gene shifts, still sleeping, to rest a hand on Sam’s chest, solid and heavy and inadvertently comforting. Sam exhales, slowly. Maybe this is scary, but its them and its right, somehow.
Inevitable and unexpected.
He smiles.
END