fangrrl_squees | Torchwood: Probably the Most Apathetically Written PWP Evar.

Right then.

The Gwen/Owen PWP is as done as it's going to get because, frankly, I'm tired of staring at it and porn really isn't my thing, writing-wise. I'm big on the fade-to-black approach. But I had to write this down, otherwise I was going to keep walking into walls at the office.

Owen Bloody Harper (thank you for that nickname,

moviegrrl) can pout all he likes about it not being smutty enough. See above re: me and the porn.

I probably shouldn't inflict it on y'all but, to hell with it. I'll never learn anything if I avoid criticism. Peer behind the cut tag for the awfulness that is the fangrrl's first attempt at PWP in about sixteen years. Srsly, the last bit I wrote was some torrid Riker/Wesley slash shortly after I finished high school.

NC-17 for naughty words and actions. There's probably some godawful formatting errors in there, too, as I've pasted it from Word, but I think I caught them all.

Torn

Gwen hadn’t even made it inside the door before Owen grabbed her around the waist and practically dragged her into his flat. He wore only a pair of shorts, and seemed determined to strip her down to match as quickly as possible. So much for him not figuring out why I wanted to come over. She thought. And so much for a quiet chat before – Gwen squirmed, half-pleased, half-irritated as Owen kissed her and fumbled at her coat.

“Oi, stop it,” she grumbled, trying to put a little space between them. She backed up and he followed until she was pressed against the door. “I mean it!” she insisted as Owen ignored her, having successfully found the zipper for her jacket.

Finally, she had to grab him by the chin and make him look at her, like she sometimes had to do with her old cat when he got stubborn.

“Give me a moment, will you?” She implored, slightly breathless.

Owen looked puzzled, but partially conceded by retreating marginally. He kept one hand at the small of her back. “Something wrong?”

Gwen almost laughed – he didn’t know how right he was. “As a matter of fact, yes, there is.”

“What?”

Gwen stared at him. He wasn’t putting it on. She would have to spell it out. “This.” She waved a hand at the general situation.

“You mean this?” Owen closed the distance between them and moved against her. She could feel his cock, enticingly hard, and momentarily wondered if the chat was all that important. Her conscience reasserted itself.

“Partially, yes. This isn’t, you know, right.”

Owen smiled. “Too true it ain’t. Nor is it good, nor proper.” She wondered where he’d picked up that smoldering expression from. It had practically taken her breath away, a week ago. “It’s going to be positively filthy, in fact. So if you’ll just let me get your clothes off…“ He licked her neck.

Bloody hell. “You don’t care, do you?” Gwen wished she could maintain a sense of righteous outrage, but it was difficult to do whilst simultaneously being helped out of her shirt.

Owen paused in his task of unbuttoning. “About what?” Again, he projected an artless air that Gwen was starting to disbelieve. No-one was that disingenuous, were they?

“About me. About this. About what we’re about to do.”

“Glad to hear you haven’t changed your mind, love.” He smiled. “And, in fact, I care very much about it. I’ve wanted to fuck your brains out ever since you wandered into the Hub, all gormless guile and pizza boxes. But,” he resumed on her shirt, “If you’re asking me if I’ve got some grand emotional investment then let me ask you this: are you going to dump Rhys for me?”

“Of course not.” The answer came without thought.

“Then I think we’re both using each other, aren’t we?”

Gwen bit her lip. “You’ve got me there,”

Owen grinned like it was the best news he’d had all day. “Damn right I do. You’re here for fun and-” He finished with her shirt and stared at the undershirt beneath that. “and for god’s sake, why did you wear so many clothes?”

More chances to change my mind, maybe? Gwen realized it was a futile thought. If she hadn’t meant to follow through, she wouldn’t have come. “Because it’s bloody winter!”

“Not in here, it isn’t.” Gwen’s undershirt hit the floor and Owen paused to admire the view. “What, didn’t I rate the exciting stuff?” he asked, supposedly outraged at Gwen’s practical Marks & Sparks bra.

“I didn’t think you’d even notice.” She admitted.

Owen shrugged. “Fair enough. Let’s get that out of the way and I suppose I should show you where the bed is, because I’m getting too old for the knee-trembling bit.”

“You’re the soul of romance, you are.” Gwen muttered, her own mood cooling a bit at Owen’s rather direct attitude.

Owen rolled his eyes and appealed to the heavens. “I promise her the fuck of a lifetime, and she wants romance. Right then, come here.” Without warning, Owen scooped Gwen up in his arms and carried her, presumably towards the bedroom. Gwen squealed in protest at being carried off like a caveman’s conquest, but knew better than to struggle too much. He might have done an excellent repair job last week – and Torchwood had some resources that hospitals would pay a fortune to have – but her side was still quite tender from being at the wrong end of a shotgun blast.

Owen managed her weight quite easily and kicked his bedroom door open before there was any danger of Gwen colliding with it. Gwen looked around and gasped.

The bedroom was clearly a bachelor pad – very little furniture and too many books – but Owen had decked practically every horizontal surface with candles, tea lights, even Christmas tree lights twined about the bookshelves.

“No romance, huh?” he teased.

“I withdraw the accusation.” Gwen apologized.

“It’s been there all week,” he said quietly. “Waiting for you to come around.”

Gwen didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him, instead.

She didn’t pay much attention to time as the last of their clothes were abandoned and she let Owen push her down to the bed. The romantic, slightly defensive guise had gone – replaced by the driven urgency that had nearly made Gwen lose all perspective in the countryside, shortly before everything went to hell.

He maintained a murmured litany as they touched and explored each other, telling her how beautiful – how utterly fuckable – she was, and how goddamn lucky he felt.

“That’s nice to hear,” she teased, stroking his back.

Owen’s eyes glittered. “So that’s what the prim and proper PC likes, is it?” He smiled as she blushed and decided to look anywhere but at him. “Gets you all hot and bothered to know what I thought, jerking off about you at night?” He reached between her legs, touching her carefully and not nearly enough. Gwen closed her eyes and let him do as he liked.

“It all started with that mouth of yours, newbie. You wouldn’t take my shit and the only revenge I could get was to imagine you, on your knees, sucking me off and feeling you whimper," he pinched her gently and grinned at her squeaked response. "all over my cock." Owen hissed in pleasure as Gwen reached for him and wrapped her hand around his erection. “Yeah, that one was in heavy rotation. Every time you got under my skin – oh, that’s…” Gwen exacted a little revenge for the dizzying talk, moving her hand a little harder, a little faster.

“No wonder you keep picking fights.” She smiled, wishing he’d stop being quite so gentle with her.

“Quite possibly,” he admitted. He grinned as she pushed against him, trying to encourage him. “Not enough?”

“God, no.”

He licked at her nipples and touched her, inside. Gwen could feel his smug smile against her skin as he kissed his way down her stomach. “Such a greedy girl.”

Gwen didn’t feel like answering. She just wanted to lie back and enjoy herself, although she nearly fell off the bed when Owen started sucking on her clit. Must be the medical training, she thought, before rational thought left completely.

Owen enjoyed himself far more than he felt he probably had a right to. Giving head was the best way to capture a person’s attention and he particularly liked having a woman – this woman – where he wanted her. Indeed, the “prim and proper PC” had been left somewhere between the front door and the bed, and Owen relished that as he discerned just the right thing to do at the right time. She was wonderful, he thought, musky and sweet and so very hot. He wasn’t sure how much longer his own patience would last, as he listened to her. She had a way of inhaling just before she squealed… damn.

Close, very close… Owen knew how to keep a woman on the edge as he’d long ago learned that being self-centered in bed got a man nowhere. Gwen was practically sobbing now, clutching at the sheets, cursing and begging. Owen propped himself up on his elbows and enjoyed the sight for a few moments as she caught her breath.

“You… you…”

“Stopped? Yeah.”

“Bastard,” Gwen complained weakly. She wished she had the strength to hit him, but right now, she couldn’t even see straight, let alone throw a punch.

“Sorry, love, but it’s very simple.” Owen shimmed up her body, discreetly tidying himself up on a convenient corner of bedsheet as he did so.

“What is?”

He adored the look of her - face flushed, eyes wide and oh-so-impatient.

“The first time I make you come, love, I want to be able to hear every bit of it.” Gwen blushed again and Owen doubted he’d ever tire of the sight. “And I won’t be able to with my face buried in your cunt, will I?” No, he wasn’t ever going to get tired of that sight. In fact, he suspected he’d get hard whenever she blushed from now on, no matter what the circumstance.

“You’d better get on with it, then,” she threatened. “Or I’m liable to finish off without any help from you, boyo.”

“That might be fun to see.” Owen responded. Thinking about it, he realized he meant it. “Watching you fuck yourself and telling me what you wish I was doing to you. Hell, yeah.”

Gwen grabbed Owen and kissed him hungrily. “If you don’t fuck me for real, right now, there’s going to be trouble.”

He smiled lazily, a cat with an entire tureen of cream. “There’s condoms in the drawer, there.” he said, indicating the bedside table as he rolled onto his back and propped his arms behind his head like every self-satisfied man, ever. “Put it on me.” It wasn’t a request.

Gwen raised an eyebrow at the peremptory tone, but saw no harm in playing along. This vacillation between romantic fool and, well, a bit of a bossyboots was… interesting.

Gwen found the necessary item and carefully tore the packet open. Not lubricated, she noticed. Well, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Not if she was half as wet as she felt.

“Hey,” he protested as she reached for him. “Did I say you could use your hands?”

She stared at him. “You’re kidding?”

“Not at all, love.” That cocky grin was back. “You’re not telling me that you’ve never put a rubber on with your mouth?” Owen made a mental note to research as many potentially embarrassing things as possible. That shade of pink was unbearably arousing. “There’s a first time for everything.” He announced, lying back as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

Gwen contemplated the situation for a moment. There was more going on here than she quite understood, she was sure of it. And yet… a first time for everything, indeed.

It was easier than she expected – and now she understood why the condom lacked lube – the stuff probably tasted foul. More out of mischief than anything else, Gwen sucked him through the latex. Rubber doesn’t taste all that bad, really… She could even be a little more adventurous with her teeth, and couldn’t resist dragging them lightly across Owen’s cockhead.

“You bitchy tease.” He moaned, looking down at her and relishing the reality of the long-nurtured daydreams. Gwen didn’t answer, except to take him in her mouth again, pushing her tongue against his length and sucking as hard as she could.

“Shit!” Owen convulsed. “Woman, you’d better let me have you soon or…”

“See? It’s not so nice, is it?” She straddled him, feeling smug.

Owen had to grin at that. “No, but that’s not the point.” He looked up at her, as if only just noticing her position. “Oh no, none of that, either.” He declared, rolling her over. “You need to fly, newbie,” he insisted, suddenly quite serious. “And for that, you need someone to hold you down.”

Gwen stared at him, wondering if the encounter had collapsed into melodramatics. Does it matter – oh, god, that feels good. Owen entered her, hard and sharp and then moved inside her, teasingly, torturously slow.

“You’re trying to drive me mad, aren’t you?” Gwen muttered.

“Is that your way of telling me you want more? You want it faster? Harder?” The playfulness had retreated, again.

Gwen squeaked and nodded, moving against him, trying to hurry him along, but Owen was having none of it.

“Then you have to tell me. What do you want?”

Belatedly, Gwen remembered the first rule of figuring out what your partner likes. If they do it to you, they probably want it done to them. She wondered how she could find words. “Yes,” she muttered, speaking against the curve of his neck.

“Yes, what?” He still moved agonizingly slowly, occasionally rolling against her and noticing what made her yelp, despite her sudden shyness.

“Yes, I want more. I want you. All of you.” Her mouth was dry. The words weren’t easy to say. So much easier to communicate with her body. “Fuck me.”

“Dirty girl wants it hard and fast, does she?”

Gwen felt her face flaming, but she couldn’t deny a simultaneous jolt in her cunt. She wondered if Owen felt it, too. “Yes. Please.”

“Then that’s what you’ll have.” Owen abandoned his slow teasing and thrust against her, unrestrained. Gwen almost shouted out loud in relief, in anticipation and matched his pace as they touched and pushed against each other. Owen had found just the right rhythm to drive Gwen mad, and it almost killed her to realize that he was delivering on his promise of a memorable fuck.

“Oh, you lovely little bitch. So good, so very… fucking… good.” Owen maintained a litany of profanity as they fucked, although Gwen could barely hear him. She hoped Owen liked noisy women. For that matter, she hoped the neighbors liked them, too. She wasn’t one for enjoying herself silently.

“Just don’t… don’t stop.” She implored, feeling the climax build.

He almost laughed at that. “As if I could.” he gasped. “Now shut up and come!”

Gwen wasn’t one to take those sorts of orders literally, but some things where inevitable. She grabbed Owen and kissed him, practically screaming into his mouth as her orgasm tore through her. She didn’t even feel Owen coming, seconds later.

Torn. That's a good word for it, she realized, some indeterminate time later. Like she’d been ripped open and had all the jagged, uncomfortable pieces shaken out.

She enjoyed Owen’s weight on top of her as they both caught their breath.

“Wow,” she muttered, ignoring the pricklings of conscience that were already trying to manifest.

Owen nodded. “You were definitely worth the wait, love.”

Gwen laughed quietly. “Wait? You’ve known me, what, two months?”

“I’m not a very patient man. Not when there are so many, many things I’ve got in mind.”

“What? Have you got a list?”

“Yeah, sort of.” Gwen stared at him, not sure if he was taking the piss. “Well, it’s not exactly written down or anything.” He protested. A sly grin appeared on his face. “Although I suppose it’d be worth writing down and giving it to you. Via email. At work. That’ll make a break from reports, wouldn’t it?”

Owen thought it was worth the punch in his side was a fair trade for Gwen’s goggled surprise at the thought. “And the next thing you know, it’s on the bloody notice board in the kitchen!” she pointed out.

“Please. It’d be the most exciting memo they ever got. Hey, there’s an idea…”