Oh, The Places You'll Go

A Well-Written Page

Notes: Written for oxoniensis's Porn Battle. Prompt: ash.

The world turns to dust in his mouth, dust and ashes and the children sing the nursery rhyme and Sam falls down. Ashes in the water, ashes in the sea and he isn't getting up this time, no, not he.

"Sam!" The voice is both close and far away. Georgie-Porgie, pudding and pie, kissed the copper and made his wife cry. "What the hell have they done to you? Sam?"

Strong fingers circle his wrist, and Sam feels the beat of blood singing upwards to meet rough fingertips that don't belong to him. "Send the King's horses, guv." Sam's lips are rubber, not glue. "They need to put me back together."

"They don't do house calls, Humpty. Shit. What did they give you? You've got black holes where your eyes are supposed to be."

Now there's air under Sam and his head lolls back unable to support its own weight. Way haul away, we'll haul away together. Everything shifts in Sam's vision and he moans, seeing the floor painted in ugly patterns. An arm goes under him, hand cradling his skull and he's pulled forward, blinking, finally getting some kind of focus on Gene's face. If he stares he can stay there, stay here. If he stops looking, they'll come for him, dancing and singing and he'll have to go. Hey ho, says Antony Rowley.

Sam's eyes flutter shut. Ashes in the sea.

"No!" Gene's voice is sharp and Sam snaps to. They're changing guards at Buckingham Palace. "Stay with me here, Sammy boy. Sleep is a bad thing. Coma is worse. You understand me?"

Sam giggles then because he does nothing but understand. Except for when he's so turned about his arse leads him by the nose. He giggles again.

"Oh, for ..." Gene's disgruntled face can't quite hide his panic. "I could slap you about a bit if you think that'd help." Sam shakes his head, wincing as he immediately regrets it. Oranges and lemons, too many bells. He's so tired now, his heart's been speeding along but now it slows, a runaway train losing steam.

"Gene," Sam says. "I can sleep now." I'm only going over Jordan. I'm only going over home

And Gene says, "No fucking way," and presses his lips to Sam's. It isn't tender like a prince waking the princess from slumber, it's hard and needy and vital and Sam feels himself being pulled up, up from the depths, unable to do anything but respond with his mouth on Gene's, his hands jerking involuntarily, finding the soft edges of the camel coat, holding on.

Holding on.

Gene pulls back and gives Sam a long, hard look. Sam giggles again, slipping back, hating himself for it. "A frog he would a wooing go, whether his wifey would let him or no?" he sing-songs.

"Shut up." Gene is fierce and Sam's blood rises up again to meet him. Gene grabs one of Sam's hands and shoves it over his groin. "Wee Willy sodding Winky is not so wee and we've been here before and we'll be here again if you'll do me a favour and just not die."

Blood pounds in Sam's ears and thrums in his groin and he presses his mouth to Gene's again, finding the familiar taste of long days and long nights with only whisky and cigarettes for company.

"Cigarees and whisky and wild, wild, women," sings Sam, thick fingers fumbling at Gene's belt.

"You drive me insane," says Gene, lying Sam back down and batting his hand away. "Sod the women."

Sam clings to Gene's shirt sleeves as Gene strokes them both hard and fast with yellow-stained fingers. With each twist, each pull, Sam comes back a little more. His eyes burn, his mouth is dry and Gene is hot and real, the cotton damp in Sam's hands. There's a fire on one end and a fool on the other.

Sam's eyes flutter closed again, but this time roses bloom on the water.

"Still with me, Sam?"

There's a fire on one end and a fool on the other.

He can only beg in response, ask for more, faster, now. Gene him what he wants, yelping a bitten off cry. Sam feels the warmth spreading between them.

He opens his eyes again. Gene is still above him, red-faced and panting, frighteningly real and it makes Sam want to burst from his skin, so he does, tightening his grip on Gene as he comes hard, the world zooming into sharp focus around him.

There's a fire on one end and a fool on the other.

Sam doesn't know which one is him. He doesn't care.

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