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kat_lair***
Title: Dinner Time
Author:kat_lair
Fandom: Life on Mars
Characters/Pairing: Sam & Gene or Sam/Gene
Tags: Ficlet, Mild Gore, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen or Pre-Slash
Rating: M
Word count: 389
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: “I knew you weren’t human,” Gene says. “I knew it.”
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 10/31. Prompt/theme: urban fantasy. (Yesterday, I made some questionable choices that involved my wardrobe and stairs, and resulted in severe bruising. Hence the delay. But we be catching up.)
Dinner Time on AO3
“What are you?”
Gene’s voice makes Sam’s head snap up on instinct, which… That’s a mistake. He knows what he looks like right now, what the situation looks like, even in the scant light of the dirty streetlamp; his maw full of razor-sharp teeth, his face twisted and bloody, his arms around a still warm corpse.
Gene curses soundly, walking toward him fast.
Sam flinches back, expecting a fist. Instead, Gene stops in front of him, shielding him from the view of anyone passing by, even though it’ll only be drunks or narcs here, this late, this part of the city.
“I knew you weren’t human,” Gene says. “I knew it.”
Sam can only shrug. He isn’t very good at hiding. He never had to until he ended up decades in the past, well before the laws that made policing a potential career choice for his kind.
“Who’s this?” Gene asks, gesturing at the body. There’s some wariness in his voice but that’s understandable. Frankly, Sam is surprised he’s giving him the benefit of doubt at all, asking rather than assuming the worst.
Sam licks blood and gristle off his lips. He is still hungry, and Gene is not hauling him away so maybe… “Henry Elliott,” he says, and lets the corpse’s head loll to the side enough that Gene can confirm the identity.
There’s a tense moment of silence. Henry is a local pimp, notorious for treating his boys and girls like shit, and his nonhuman ‘staff’ even worse. Still, he is… was a person. More so than Sam in the eyes of the current laws.
Finally, Gene huffs. It’s not quite a laugh, but there’s something light about it nonetheless.
“Alright,” he says, voice gruff. “You know what? Finish your dinner, and then we’ll talk.” He gestures at the end of the alley. “I’ll just wait over there. And for god’s sake, clean your face before you come and find me, we’ll never get a pint with you looking like a butcher’s yard.” He tosses a handkerchief to the ground and stalks away.
Sam tilts his head. Well. It went better than he expected. The night air smells like garbage and blood, like home, and there’s still plenty of meat left on Henry. The conversation with Gene will probably be easier with a full stomach.
Sam eats.
***
Title: Dinner Time
Author:
kat_lair Fandom: Life on Mars
Characters/Pairing: Sam & Gene or Sam/Gene
Tags: Ficlet, Mild Gore, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Gen or Pre-Slash
Rating: M
Word count: 389
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Summary: “I knew you weren’t human,” Gene says. “I knew it.”
Author notes: Spooktober 2023, Day 10/31. Prompt/theme: urban fantasy. (Yesterday, I made some questionable choices that involved my wardrobe and stairs, and resulted in severe bruising. Hence the delay. But we be catching up.)
Dinner Time on AO3
“What are you?”
Gene’s voice makes Sam’s head snap up on instinct, which… That’s a mistake. He knows what he looks like right now, what the situation looks like, even in the scant light of the dirty streetlamp; his maw full of razor-sharp teeth, his face twisted and bloody, his arms around a still warm corpse.
Gene curses soundly, walking toward him fast.
Sam flinches back, expecting a fist. Instead, Gene stops in front of him, shielding him from the view of anyone passing by, even though it’ll only be drunks or narcs here, this late, this part of the city.
“I knew you weren’t human,” Gene says. “I knew it.”
Sam can only shrug. He isn’t very good at hiding. He never had to until he ended up decades in the past, well before the laws that made policing a potential career choice for his kind.
“Who’s this?” Gene asks, gesturing at the body. There’s some wariness in his voice but that’s understandable. Frankly, Sam is surprised he’s giving him the benefit of doubt at all, asking rather than assuming the worst.
Sam licks blood and gristle off his lips. He is still hungry, and Gene is not hauling him away so maybe… “Henry Elliott,” he says, and lets the corpse’s head loll to the side enough that Gene can confirm the identity.
There’s a tense moment of silence. Henry is a local pimp, notorious for treating his boys and girls like shit, and his nonhuman ‘staff’ even worse. Still, he is… was a person. More so than Sam in the eyes of the current laws.
Finally, Gene huffs. It’s not quite a laugh, but there’s something light about it nonetheless.
“Alright,” he says, voice gruff. “You know what? Finish your dinner, and then we’ll talk.” He gestures at the end of the alley. “I’ll just wait over there. And for god’s sake, clean your face before you come and find me, we’ll never get a pint with you looking like a butcher’s yard.” He tosses a handkerchief to the ground and stalks away.
Sam tilts his head. Well. It went better than he expected. The night air smells like garbage and blood, like home, and there’s still plenty of meat left on Henry. The conversation with Gene will probably be easier with a full stomach.
Sam eats.
***