Title: First Times
Fandom: Life on Mars
Disclaimer: I don’t own these characters or their universe. BBC/Kudos do. I’m not making any money out of this.
Rating: Blue Cortina for gentle het sex
Pairing: Gene/OFC1, Sam/OFC2
Word Count: 742
Summary: Gene and Sam are so different in every way, but they each had their first girl at sixteen.
A/N: Not posted to Lifein1973. I’m planning to add a section for Alex and then post at a2ashes, with Mod’s permission of course.
Gene was sixteen in 1946. The War had been over for a year, but the soldiers were still trickling home slowly from Japan and Burma, gaunt, hollow-eyed shadows of men. Among those who had marched philosophically away to teach Jerry a thing or two and come back broken was Margaret’s brother.
She clung desperately to Gene, sobbing till his hanky was unrecognisable, as she told him how Alan’s spirit was broken. He sat around the house listlessly, accepting fags and cups of tea but hearing not a word anyone said to him. He lived in his own private hell and from what Gene had seen, was unlikely ever to come out of it.
Gradually, Margaret calmed down, but she didn’t move away from Gene’s anxious embrace. She turned her face to his and offered him a kiss; as he bent to return it he felt her fingers trembling at his waist. In stunned disbelief he felt them press against the muscles he’d honed through so many press-ups and travel tentatively downwards past the leather belt he’d bought with his first week’s wages.
She met his eyes solemnly as her fingers edged inside his pants. “Tell me what to do, Gene,” she whispered. His cock hardened as he took a shaky breath. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I haven’t got any – you know.”
“I know. It’s all right though, as we’re going to get married anyway. Isn’t it? It’s just that, seeing Alan like that makes me think – what if the War started up again? You’d have to go. So we should start our life together properly as soon as possible. You can talk to my Dad at the weekend to set a date, but I wanted you all to myself a bit first.”
Gene’s mind was reeling now. He’d never thought beyond the standard ideas – get to work on time, do your job properly, don’t let anyone treat you like scum. Give your mum her due, put a little aside each week; stand your round on a Friday night.
And in the fullness of time, when the Post Office account has enough for a ring, broach the question of a future with the pretty girl from number twenty-three.
* * *
Sam was sixteen in 1985. It was the year Gorbachev came to power in the Soviet Union, but Sam was more familiar with places like Bradford and Heysel and took no notice of the hopes surrounding the bald man with the odd mark on his head. Sam was already too old to emulate Ruth Lawrence, but he could still fool himself Boris Becker might be matched.
He ignored the little voice telling him Boris Becker had better stomach muscles; Sam had better ‘O’ Levels - he was sure he’d done well - and the stomach muscles would harden in time. Perhaps he’d take up running now his exams were over.
Nevertheless, he sucked in his soft schoolboy’s tummy as he saw Susie’s gaze move from his hairless chest to his narrow hips. She was new, the brief distraction he’d promised himself before settling in to ‘A’ Levels, and she’d looked so confident on Woolworth’s sales floor he was surprised when she said yes to his tentative approach. She didn’t seem quite so sure of herself in bed – perhaps because it was really her parents’ couch – and he could only hope that his furtive reading last night would convince her he knew what he was doing.
The other boys in the stock-room had laughed at his diffidence – just get in there, mate, girls like a bloke to tell ’em what to do – and so far, their advice seemed to be doing the job. As he worked his way carefully into her vagina she flinched a little and smiled bravely as he started to move. He remembered another piece of advice – give her a kiss once you’re in, they like that – so he bent his head to touch her lips with his, speeding up his movements just as she started to speak.
“Will you still love me after?” she whispered anxiously. Sam stopped thrusting; with his head tilted to one side he looked down the length of her body and thought about it. Would he? Did he? He shook his head briefly – his cock neither knew nor cared and was demanding he stop mucking about and get on with it. “Yes, of course I will” he murmured as he came. It might be true, after all.