fangrrl_squees | Torchwood Fic: Jack/Owen PWP

Bloody hell, I hope this phase fizzles out soon, as I'm not sure how much of it I can take.

moviegrrl? You might not want to read this before work.

Title: None, unless you lot suggest one, because I'm so frackin' lazy.
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: NC-17, I guess, although I think it's a rather mild NC-17
Summary: Jack/Owen PWP, discarded from the outline for the sequel to User Friendly because I'm trying to write a farce for that, goddamnit.

***

“This is a bloody outrage, this is,” Owen blustered, still trying to shake free from the lingering scent of Tosh’s perfume. He always figured she’d try to get revenge for the events of the past new year’s eve, but she’d struck below the belt, literally, and left Owen embarrassed and frustrated – but mostly embarrassed, just as Jack had walked into the firing range with a ready quip and a grin that stopped just short of an outright leer.

“I don’t think you’re as outraged as you pretend, Dr. Harper.” Jack approached Owen with a predatory gleam in his eye.

Oh shit. Owen didn’t fancy his chances against Jack in full pursuit mode, nor was Owen entirely sure he’d want to run away all that quickly. He retreated until the shooting bench dug into the back of his legs, only to end up with Jack standing centimeters away, practically looming over him. Owen tried to maintain his composure, but knew he was failing.

“I know this for two reasons.” Jack breathed, forcing Owen to come even closer to hear him. “One, you didn’t shoot me the last time we were down here together, despite being given ample reason to do so and, two,” Jack ran his hand down Owen’s stomach, pushing his palm against Owen’s crotch. “Well, I think that speaks for itself, doesn’t it?” Jack smiled, smugly satisfied as he groped Owen’s persistent erection.

“It usually does,” Owen gasped, wondering if he should try to put a brake on things and simultaneously realizing it was too late.

“I rest my case.” Jack’s pulled Owen close for a rough, blatantly honest kiss.

Oh god, screwing around with the boss, such a bad idea, he thought a little incoherently, even as he sucked on Jack’s tongue and rubbed against his grasping hand. Really, really bad. But he hadn’t been a terribly good person of late, had he?

Owen tore himself away from Jack’s mouth. “This is a bad idea.” Didn’t Gwen say that to me? Just a few days ago? She didn’t sound all that certain, either.

“I don’t think you really believe that.” Jack countered, dexterously unzipping Owen’s trousers and freeing his cock. “Tell me to stop.” He suggested, holding Owen’s gaze along with his dick.

Owen gritted his teeth and tried to look at anything but Jack. Jack’s hand rubbed slowly up and down the length of him, compelling Owen to grunt and move reflexively.

“Tell me to stop.” Jack insisted, like it was a dare. But he couldn’t. Owen just gasped and tried not to think of shredded dignity. Jack chuckled quietly, taking firmer possession and giving Owen what he wanted.

“Christ…” Why did men have to be so good at wanking? Oh yeah, years of practice. Owen gave up any pretense of reluctance and tried to help Jack along – only to have his hand swatted away.

“This one’s on me.” Jack said, firmly.

It certainly is about to be. Owen struggled for coherence. “Jack... I’m..." he gave up.

“I know.” Jack watched him closely. It was greedy, he knew, but one of his chief pleasures was watching someone come – ideally by his hand, cock or whatever else happened to be available. He liked to think that it could be a revelatory moment, a glimpse of someone at their most vulnerable. And, admittedly, it was extraordinarily hot, too.

Owen tried to maintain control, the struggle writ large on his face – as if appearances mattered when a man was on the verge of orgasm. Jack knew that Owen was losing that battle, given how he couldn’t quite meet Jack’s gaze. God, there was something positively shy about it... The same couldn’t be said for the way Owen held on to him. Jack hoped he’d leave bruises, if only for a while.

Owen had braced himself against Jack, rigidly maintaining a distance, but as composure collapsed, so did he, burying his head in the crook of Jack’s neck, using his body to muffle a strangled shout. Rather than yielding to the temptation to force Owen to look at him, Jack rested a hand on the back of his neck, feeling Owen’s voice sink into his body. Jack didn’t notice how hard he’d bit his own lip until he tasted blood.

Not the only control freak in the room, he thought, as the wound healed.

“Jesus,” Owen groaned, stunned and self-conscious, still speaking into Jack’s neck. “Christmas came early," he chuckled weakly at the inadvertent double entendre, "and I didn’t bring you anything.”

“That’s alright,” Jack said, as he licked his hand clean in a manner that Owen found simultaneously exciting and irritating. Was this business-as-usual as far as Jack was concerned? “It can wait until next time.”

“Next time?” Owen croaked, his mouth going dry. Bloody hell, between him and Gwen, I’m a dead man. Between Jack and Gwen... Owen considered the thought for a moment and filed it away for future consideration.

“Sure,” He grinned the sly, smug grin that Owen now suspected was a part of Jack’s regular foreplay. “I’ve got a lot of ideas for that smart mouth of yours.”

***

I'm giving some serious thought to making the above canon over on

jack_harkness_, btw. He's been so angsty in the Torchwood continuity, and the boy really needs to get laid. Although, if one were to go by the signs-so-far in canon, I should be readying the reams of Jack/Ianto stuff I've been scribbling. They've been verbally sparring for (looks at document) five pages now, and haven't gotten past one smooch and a fade to black. Geeze, guys, what's it going to take? Blood? *thinks* Ew...