Shameless Sunday.
Jan. 21st, 2007 02:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fangrrl_squeesIt's Shameless Story Sunday!
To keep it brief: I wrote some Torchwood/Original Character crossover fic a few days back, and posted it on my regular journal. The OCs are from an rpg/running joke called Code Black - globe-trotting espionage meets comedy of errors. To paraphrase Jason Fox, Code Black's successes are rarely as spectacular as their failures. The urge to cross 'em over was just too much - I think it's because both outfits seem to succeed despite themselves... (Torchwood team: I love you, but damn, you're dumb sometimes). Then, irresistibly, I wrote a sequel.
Since they're Torchwood-ish pieces I'm going to repost the first piece here and the second bit is being aired for the first time online. The first is a bit of comedy, the second is an Owen/OC PWP which, frankly, I had to do to keep my membership current in Mary Sue Anonymous. You have been warned! But if Owen PWP is your thing, the second part might be worth reading, as I think the Mary-Sue-ness is tolerable, and the first piece is an immediate prologue, so you might appreciate the context. Besides, it's short. :)
Part The First: Tough Crowd
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Technically, None.
Length: 1200 words.
Summary: What happens when two secretive, slightly paranoid organizations meet for a 'friendly chat'?
***
"Good thing we didn't trust them to listen to the whole come alone thing, huh?" Jason typed quickly on the laptop on his knees and wished for an oversized black SUV like the one that had pulled up outside The King's Arms in central Cardiff. Code Black's vehicle fleet definitely preferred econoboxes which, Jason had to admit, probably had something to do with his propensity for destroying vehicles. Still, at least they had a four-door, this time.
"Yeah," Marlena nodded once she'd finished putting her contact lenses in.
Jason looked at her. "I like that shade of green."
"Most guys do." Marlena smiled. "That's the point."
"Can you quit it with the flirting?" Pete growled, feeling cramped and impatient. "Not the time, not the place."
"You're such a curmudgeon, Pete." Andrea peered into her purse, making sure her usual kit was intact. Garrote, adrenaline, soporific, Swiss army knife and Chanel No. 10... Satisfied, she closed the bag and wriggled it into place over her shoulder. She shared Jason's feelings regarding the roominess - or lack thereof - in the mid-sized sedan, but she knew they couldn't hope for anything larger, not after that godawful pileup outside of Paris.
"...And four. That's all of them," Jason reported, watching the feed from a Marlena had placed inside the pub, earlier in the day. "Looks like they’ve split up, trying to cover the whole place inside.” Jason pointed to the fuzzy, but legible, image on the screen. Sure enough, the four people under surveillance had chosen separate tables in the common room of the bar – all within line of sight of each other. “So, Who's on first?"
"And none of that, either." Pete said quickly.
Marlena smiled at that, but kept to the matter at hand. “Might as well follow their lead for the moment. Pete, you take the one in the suit. Jason… our intel said the Asian one is their technophile?” Jason nodded. “Alright, I’m sure you can distract her without causing too much of a scene,” With luck.
“Already got something in mind,” Jason assured her.
“That leaves Andrea with the sour-faced one-“
“Goody gumdrops.” Andrea said, a little sour herself.
“Oh please, weren’t you complaining about not having a challenge lately?” Marlena countered, and then moved on. “And that leaves me with the boss, Jack. All according to plan. Got the widget, Jason?”
“Next to my heart.” He grinned.
Pete rolled his eyes heavenward, and reached for the door handle. “See you inside.”
Over the next five minutes, Jason and then Andrea also left the car. Marlena watched the laptop tucked onto the back seat for a couple of minutes. Pete had already sat down next to his target and seemed to be unleashing his usual, signature charm – ie, none whatsoever - on the young man, and Jason had just approached the Asian woman, proffering something for her to look at. Of Andrea, there was no sign. Marlena didn’t like the look of that, but she didn’t have the time to worry. Closing the laptop, she got out of the car and walked into The King’s Arms.
…
Four minutes after Marlena entered the pub, Jack Harkness and Marlena Braddock watched their respective teammates join them at a shared table. Given the tremulous beginning, everything had come together better than Marlena had hoped, and now it was time to bring everyone up to speed.
“You okay, Ianto?” Jack asked with a hint of concern. “You looked a bit uncomfortable there.”
Pete replied before Ianto had a chance to. “A gun in the stomach will do that to a guy. Can’t say I enjoyed the reciprocation, either.” He grabbed Marelena’s recently-arrived glass of wine and drank half of it down in a single gulp.
“Oh, Ianto!” Jack said in mock-horror. “You should have at least bought him a drink, first!”
“What I want to know is where the bloody hell he had the thing.” Pete grumbled. Naturally, he didn’t appreciate being surprised.
“Trade secret, sorry.” Ianto replied smugly.
“Jack, look at these!” Tosh held out what looked, to Jack, like black grains of rice. “Subdermal communicators.” She enthused. “You carry the transmitter switch anywhere else – like in a watch, or a ring, or even a shirt button – and they’re totally discreet.”
“I thought you might like a change from that hunk of tech in your ear.” Jason suggested.
“Hey,” Jack looked hurt. “I happen to like this hunk of technology,” And if you want to think it’s just a radio, you go right ahead.
Jason shrugged. “Just a thought.” He turned his attention back to Tosh, whereupon they continued communicating in the shorthand of electronics geeks, everywhere.
Jack looked around the pub, puzzled. “Where’s Owen?”
Marlena’s friendly smile became just a tad rigid. “Who?” Aw, shit, just as I thought we could keep this friendly...
“The fourth one of our merry little band. I don’t see him.”
Jack did not like the look that passed between the three members of Code Black.
“Oh. Um.” Marlena stammered.
Jason looked worried.
”You don’t think she…?” Pete hazarded.
“Don’t think I what?” Andrea appeared, unexpectedly, behind Jack. Marlena assumed she must have come in through the back of the pub, despite the fact that she’d seen her teammate go in the front doors, same as her.
Andrea’s cheerful grin suggested that all was right in her world, but the members of Code Black knew that could indicate an incipient disaster for the rest of the team.
“Where’s Owen?” Jack snapped, honestly concerned.
“That’d be the frog-faced git I left unconscious in the bathroom?” Andrea grabbed Marlena’s drink and finished what Pete had left. Marlena was so used to this that she hardly noticed. “He’s fine. He’ll be along in a minute or two. Just took me a little longer than usual to take care of him.”
The fact that Marlena, Jason and Pete heaved a sigh of relief was not lost on Jack.
“Didn’t the bosses already lecture you this month about mixing work and pleasure?” Jason teased.
“They might have.” Andrea admitted. “I wasn’t really listening.”
“Hey now, if you’ve hurt-“ Jack started.
“He’s fine.” Andrea insisted, firmly. “He was, in fact, pretty damn happy just before I left him.”
“And after?” Jack insisted.
"He probably had a bit of a headache.” Marlena cut in, quickly. She knew enough about Andrea’s usual methods to be reasonably certain that was the truth. “Jason, could you show tall, dark and furious here the shiny thing before this chummy all-spies-together bit becomes a donnybrook?”
“Sure.” From an inside pocket of his jacket, Jason pulled out a strangely shaped, fist-sized hunk of metal. Embedded lights glowed here and there and, if a person was to touch it, a faint oscillation could be felt.
“What is it?” Tosh asked, curious.
“We don’t know.” Marlena admitted. “But given that we’re pretty certain it came out of orbit, we thought you might be interested.”
Jack didn’t buy it. “Why not hand it off to the ESA, or UNIT? Those are the usual channels.”
“Because, mate, UNIT doesn’t have anything we want, whereas you do – or so we’ve heard.” Pete replied.
Plausible, Jack conceded internally. “And what’s that?”
Before any reply could be made, Owen appeared, looking a little worse for wear. He slumped into a chair and glared at Andrea.
“You bitch.” He declared, somewhat groggily. “Marry me.”
Andrea pretended to simper. “I bet you say that to all the girls, you smooth talking devil.”
“What the hell was that?” Owen asked, rubbing his eyes.
“CIA's knockoff of Chanel Number Ten, and that’s all you need to know, mister.” Andrea told him. “Although if giving you a sample will help us get our hands on some of this retcon stuff…”
***
Part The Second: Driven to Distraction
Rating: 18 (PWP. Car!porn, of a sort. Wee bit of fetish.)
Pairing: Owen/Original character
Length: 2100 words
Summary: Andrea Smith offers an apology to Owen Harper for certain things said - or rather done - during the first meeting between Code Black and Torchwood.
Thanks to my evil twin,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moviegrrl, for the beta - and for dragging me down with her with the whole illogically-mad-for-Owen thing in the first place. :)
***
Owen Harper did not expect to see the skinny brunette leaning on the roof of his car. The sight wasn’t welcome. Well, not entirely. He had to admit that she was easy on the eyes – all legs and cheekbones and a wide mouth perfect for… never mind that. Owen rubbed his temples at the memory of their first – and presumably last – conversation.
“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled, wishing she’d get off his baby. The electric blue NSX was his pride and joy, as the only beautiful thing that had stuck around in his life for any measurable time.
Andrea smiled, hoping it was a winning, reassuring expression. Honest charm, she wasn’t recently familiar with. She’d heard it got easier with practice. “I wanted to apologize.” She admitted. “For what happened back there.”
Owen flushed at the memory. Just when he was getting over the indignity of the Carys situation…
“Apologize?”
“For the… headache.” Andrea remembered reading somewhere that euphemisms were considered polite in this situation. Personally, she wasn’t used to post-encounter contact with her targets. “Marlena wanted a few minutes alone with your boss - and I think she was trying to prove a point, about taking her seriously when she says come alone – so…” she shrugged.
“Strictly business, huh?”
Andrea nodded. “It doesn’t mean I can’t say sorry after the deal’s closed.”
Although he’d never articulate it quite so bluntly, smug women irritated Owen. Smug women who had recently handed him his ass, really irritated him. “Piss off. The only apology I’d be interested in from you would feature my cock and your mouth” he snapped. “So kindly get -“
“Okay.” That’s twenty bucks Pete owes me, Andrea thought happily. She didn’t often get to win a bet with Pete.
Owen stopped in mid-reach for the driver-side door, suspicion writ large on his face. “What?”
“I said okay. You want to go somewhere, or are you the open air, type?” She grinned. Men were so predictable. Especially arrogant, prickly and apparently oversexed men.
Owen stared at her, clearly assessing risks and the likelihood of having the piss taken. Finally. “All right, get in.” Andrea complied and wondered if she was going to win the other bet she’d made with her teammate. Time will tell, no doubt.
Owen’s attention centered on getting the car on the road, giving Andrea time to look around. It was moderately serious chunk of vehicle, she realized. Jason would probably like this, not many people bother with a manual transmission anymore – oh, God...
Owen looked at her, wondering why the woman – still mentally dubbed That Weird American – was staring fixedly at the gear-shift. “Problem?” He asked, not really caring if there was.
To his surprise, Andrea blushed. She can snog a guy and knock him out in the same breath, but gets all flustered by a gear knob? What sort of issues does she have? Never mind, I don’t want to know.
Andrea shook her head and dragged her gaze away from Owen’s hands. “Nothing. I, um, like your gloves.”
Owen frowned, puzzled by the sudden change in Andrea’s tone. Then again, it beat smug bitch mode. “They’re sort of necessary when you drive like I do.” He said as he pulled on to a carriageway and proved his point.
Andrea grabbed for the doorhandle and cursed, inwardly. Of all the times for that to resurface. Maybe it’s not gloves. Maybe it’s prickly, arrogant guys in gloves. That would make more sense. No wonder the boss keeps sending me to the southern hemisphere every winter. The department would be decimated.
She risked a peek at the steering wheel and bit her lip. Looks like calfskin, probably. Unlined. Definitely custom made. Knows what he likes, I guess. The observation led to further thoughts of the hands inside the gloves, and Andrea remembered the brief on Owen Harper. A doctor, graduated near the top of his class. An overeducated prickly, arrogant man. In handmade leather gloves. Aw, hell. I’m in trouble.
Then again, the prospect of some – hopefully – harmless trouble rather cheered her. All work and no play – although technically this is work...
Once she recovered from her flustered moment, Andrea let go of the door and relaxed into the bucket seat. “You weren’t kidding about the driving,” she admitted, grudgingly impressed. The guy was a menace to other people on the road, but she knew that she was perfectly safe.
Owen nodded, focused on overtaking a lorry on the inside. “Yeah, well, I can’t be arsed with hanging about, and what’s the point of having a car like this if you’re not going to use it properly?”
Andrea couldn’t say much to that, so she watched him drive, instead, which was more distracting than initially anticipated. As he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers a little, her mouth went dry and she realized that her chances of running whatever happened once the car stopped were dwindling rapidly. I’ve really gotta talk to the shrink about this. She wondered which of Code Black’s in-house therapists were actually still on speaking terms with her. They’d all linked arms against after the emergency session at gunpoint incident, damn them.
Owen glanced at Andrea, not as unwary or unobservant as she thought him to be, and noticed her flushed face, her slightly open mouth. Hello? What’s going on here? He needlessly shifted from fifth to fourth, gave the gear stick an equally needless twist, and gauged her reaction. Interesting... he tapped the steering wheel and stretched a hand, as if it was cramped. Did she just squeak? She bloody did. He smiled slightly. This might not turn out to be a run-of-the-mill fuck, after all.
For the duration of the trip back to his flat, Owen found half a dozen excuses to change gears unnecessarily, drum his fingers on the steering wheel and – just once – bite briefly at the back of his hand, as if dealing with a stubborn itch. His companion tried to hide her reactions but he was better at reading physical signs than most. Ms. CIA Knockoff’s knickers were in a serious twist. Gotcha, he gloated, as he pulled into the garage beneath his apartment building.
Andrea, meanwhile, was trying to decide if she should ask him to keep the gloves on, or if she should simply steal them off the dash while his back was turned, when Owen put and abrupt end to the debate. He grabbed Andrea by the front of her shirt and kissed her insistently, while his other hand pushed at her skirt. Andrea barely paid attention to such incidentals, being preoccupied with struggling out of her seatbelt and thoughts of being too old to be doing this sort of thing in a car.
Owen decided that Andrea’s squeal of surprise as he pushed a leather-clad finger past whatever excuse she had for underwear and into her cunt was immensely satisfying. So satisfying, in fact, that a second finger had to join the first.
Andrea fell away from him and collapsed back into her seat. “Oh, you bastard,” She protested, even as moved with him, utterly without volition.
“Forget the apology.” He decided. “I think I want revenge.” Yanks and their kinks. Not that he was complaining, though. In the space of ten minutes – hell, ten seconds – she’d gone from cooler than thou field agent to squirming slut. He definitely preferred the latter.
“You’ll get it,” Andrea gasped, reaching towards him – somewhat unsuccessfully. Nonetheless, Owen got the hint and cupped her face with his other hand – and almost let out a yelp of his own as she turned and bit into the palm of his hand. Keeping the glove – and a painful amount of flesh – in her teeth, she sucked and worried at the leather, simultaneously growling and whimpering as her self control collapsed.
Bloody hell, a genuine fetish. The word was so overused that to encounter the real thing was a little startling – and very hot. For the sake of his aching cock, Owen hoped that he could push Andrea over the edge sooner rather than later – as enjoyable as she might be to watch in this state. He hadn’t had this much fun since the first – no, the second – time he’d fucked Gwen.
For Andrea, any sense of outrage at being effectively outmaneuvered had long since been forgotten, followed immediately by dignity and thoughts of her ostensible ongoing mission. All she cared about right now was the rough-smooth sensation turning her insides to jelly, and the taste of leather. She groaned into Owen’s palm and pushed against him, feeling the tension build.
“Look at me,” he gasped. She opened her eyes and realized that there was no way to avoid what he wanted. It was a bit late for self-consciousness, when already being finger-fucked by a near-stranger in his mid-life-crisis car. Still, staring at someone whilst working on a mind-shattering orgasm was hardly easy. Owen took the expedient route of leading her gaze via the glove in her mouth, shifting his weight until he practically held her down. Thank god for years of practice at fucking around in small cars, or else I’d have done myself an injury, long since. Braced between Andrea and the car he watched her fixedly, as she shuddered, moaned and eventually screamed into his hand.
Surprised that the furniture had survived, Owen spared a mental salute to Japanese engineering as he untangled himself from Andrea. He wiped his hand on her face, and smiled when she bit down on his fingers, for a second, and then released them with a lick and a tired grin. She caught her breath, blinked rapidly and looked slightly surprised, as if just realizing where she was.
“Er… I think I owe you a new pair of gloves.” She admitted, abashed.
Owen massaged his left hand, wondering what sort of bruises she’d left, but he smiled, regardless. “No way, I’m keeping these. They seem to have some uncanny powers.”
“It must be arrogant gits in gloves that does it,” she sighed melodramatically. Owen didn’t bother to ask – he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer. “So... should I just get a cab, or...?” Andrea drummed her fingers along the fly of his jeans.
Owen hissed, sharply. “Christ, are all Yanks as up-front as you?”
“Just us reformed assassins.” Andrea replied quickly with some of her earlier aplomb. That gave Owen pause but, then again, she did say reformed. And those drumming fingers were a more that sufficient argument in favor of keeping her around.
“I think we’d better go upstairs. You showed me up in front of the entire team,” After all, she couldn’t know that Owen looking like a prat was a regular theme at The Hub. “You’ve got a lot of apologizing to do...”
**Epilogue 1**
Some time later, Andrea hit the speed dial on her celphone as she climbed into the taxi.
“Hey Pete, you owe me forty bucks. Uh-huh, he did... Nope, not even. Yes, in the car. Ha!” she laughed. “I told you, I know his type. You can buy me dinner when I get back to London. What? Of course I did, duh! See you soon...”
**Epilogue 2**
“Owen?” Tosh approached Owen’s desk in that slightly diffident way that always had Owen wondering if she was nervous of him, or if he’d merely committed some social foul that was beneath his notice.
“Yeah, what?”
“Ianto and I were just doing the regular security sweep – you know, scanning the place and all the cars for the usual stuff.”
Owen nodded. He was aware of the routine, and didn’t give a damn about it. “And?”
“And we found a bug in your car. Two, actually. One inside, one out.”
That got his attention “Shit. Really?”
“Yeah. Your basic sound-and-GPS-tracking deal,” Tosh nodded, her expression mixing apology and you’re an idiot in a manner that Owen suspected was uniquely Asian. “But they definitely weren’t there last week, so Jack was – I mean, I was wondering-“
“Quit giving rides to the opposition, Owen!” Jack yelled from across the work area.
Mate, you have no idea... “What do you mean, ‘the opposition’, Jack? We’d cut a deal with them, hadn’t we?” Alien tech for a supply of retcon, wasn’t it?
“If they’re not with us, they’re usually against us.” Jack responded, not looking up from the memo on his desk. “So you can spend lunchtime taking Tosh back to your place and letting her do a sweep there, too. God only knows what she’s going to find.”
Bugger. “Can’t Gwen do it?” he asked, hopefully.
“No, because I don’t want to lose both of you for the entire afternoon-“ damn, so much for that being a secret. “And besides, this is Tosh’s area of expertise.”
Owen backed down. He knew when the fight was lost. “Alright,” he sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “We’re going.”
“If you make a habit of this, I’ll get you castrated on company time, I swear.” Jack threatened.
“You’re one to talk...” Owen muttered as he stomped towards the stairs.
To keep it brief: I wrote some Torchwood/Original Character crossover fic a few days back, and posted it on my regular journal. The OCs are from an rpg/running joke called Code Black - globe-trotting espionage meets comedy of errors. To paraphrase Jason Fox, Code Black's successes are rarely as spectacular as their failures. The urge to cross 'em over was just too much - I think it's because both outfits seem to succeed despite themselves... (Torchwood team: I love you, but damn, you're dumb sometimes). Then, irresistibly, I wrote a sequel.
Since they're Torchwood-ish pieces I'm going to repost the first piece here and the second bit is being aired for the first time online. The first is a bit of comedy, the second is an Owen/OC PWP which, frankly, I had to do to keep my membership current in Mary Sue Anonymous. You have been warned! But if Owen PWP is your thing, the second part might be worth reading, as I think the Mary-Sue-ness is tolerable, and the first piece is an immediate prologue, so you might appreciate the context. Besides, it's short. :)
Part The First: Tough Crowd
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Pairing: Technically, None.
Length: 1200 words.
Summary: What happens when two secretive, slightly paranoid organizations meet for a 'friendly chat'?
***
"Good thing we didn't trust them to listen to the whole come alone thing, huh?" Jason typed quickly on the laptop on his knees and wished for an oversized black SUV like the one that had pulled up outside The King's Arms in central Cardiff. Code Black's vehicle fleet definitely preferred econoboxes which, Jason had to admit, probably had something to do with his propensity for destroying vehicles. Still, at least they had a four-door, this time.
"Yeah," Marlena nodded once she'd finished putting her contact lenses in.
Jason looked at her. "I like that shade of green."
"Most guys do." Marlena smiled. "That's the point."
"Can you quit it with the flirting?" Pete growled, feeling cramped and impatient. "Not the time, not the place."
"You're such a curmudgeon, Pete." Andrea peered into her purse, making sure her usual kit was intact. Garrote, adrenaline, soporific, Swiss army knife and Chanel No. 10... Satisfied, she closed the bag and wriggled it into place over her shoulder. She shared Jason's feelings regarding the roominess - or lack thereof - in the mid-sized sedan, but she knew they couldn't hope for anything larger, not after that godawful pileup outside of Paris.
"...And four. That's all of them," Jason reported, watching the feed from a Marlena had placed inside the pub, earlier in the day. "Looks like they’ve split up, trying to cover the whole place inside.” Jason pointed to the fuzzy, but legible, image on the screen. Sure enough, the four people under surveillance had chosen separate tables in the common room of the bar – all within line of sight of each other. “So, Who's on first?"
"And none of that, either." Pete said quickly.
Marlena smiled at that, but kept to the matter at hand. “Might as well follow their lead for the moment. Pete, you take the one in the suit. Jason… our intel said the Asian one is their technophile?” Jason nodded. “Alright, I’m sure you can distract her without causing too much of a scene,” With luck.
“Already got something in mind,” Jason assured her.
“That leaves Andrea with the sour-faced one-“
“Goody gumdrops.” Andrea said, a little sour herself.
“Oh please, weren’t you complaining about not having a challenge lately?” Marlena countered, and then moved on. “And that leaves me with the boss, Jack. All according to plan. Got the widget, Jason?”
“Next to my heart.” He grinned.
Pete rolled his eyes heavenward, and reached for the door handle. “See you inside.”
Over the next five minutes, Jason and then Andrea also left the car. Marlena watched the laptop tucked onto the back seat for a couple of minutes. Pete had already sat down next to his target and seemed to be unleashing his usual, signature charm – ie, none whatsoever - on the young man, and Jason had just approached the Asian woman, proffering something for her to look at. Of Andrea, there was no sign. Marlena didn’t like the look of that, but she didn’t have the time to worry. Closing the laptop, she got out of the car and walked into The King’s Arms.
…
Four minutes after Marlena entered the pub, Jack Harkness and Marlena Braddock watched their respective teammates join them at a shared table. Given the tremulous beginning, everything had come together better than Marlena had hoped, and now it was time to bring everyone up to speed.
“You okay, Ianto?” Jack asked with a hint of concern. “You looked a bit uncomfortable there.”
Pete replied before Ianto had a chance to. “A gun in the stomach will do that to a guy. Can’t say I enjoyed the reciprocation, either.” He grabbed Marelena’s recently-arrived glass of wine and drank half of it down in a single gulp.
“Oh, Ianto!” Jack said in mock-horror. “You should have at least bought him a drink, first!”
“What I want to know is where the bloody hell he had the thing.” Pete grumbled. Naturally, he didn’t appreciate being surprised.
“Trade secret, sorry.” Ianto replied smugly.
“Jack, look at these!” Tosh held out what looked, to Jack, like black grains of rice. “Subdermal communicators.” She enthused. “You carry the transmitter switch anywhere else – like in a watch, or a ring, or even a shirt button – and they’re totally discreet.”
“I thought you might like a change from that hunk of tech in your ear.” Jason suggested.
“Hey,” Jack looked hurt. “I happen to like this hunk of technology,” And if you want to think it’s just a radio, you go right ahead.
Jason shrugged. “Just a thought.” He turned his attention back to Tosh, whereupon they continued communicating in the shorthand of electronics geeks, everywhere.
Jack looked around the pub, puzzled. “Where’s Owen?”
Marlena’s friendly smile became just a tad rigid. “Who?” Aw, shit, just as I thought we could keep this friendly...
“The fourth one of our merry little band. I don’t see him.”
Jack did not like the look that passed between the three members of Code Black.
“Oh. Um.” Marlena stammered.
Jason looked worried.
”You don’t think she…?” Pete hazarded.
“Don’t think I what?” Andrea appeared, unexpectedly, behind Jack. Marlena assumed she must have come in through the back of the pub, despite the fact that she’d seen her teammate go in the front doors, same as her.
Andrea’s cheerful grin suggested that all was right in her world, but the members of Code Black knew that could indicate an incipient disaster for the rest of the team.
“Where’s Owen?” Jack snapped, honestly concerned.
“That’d be the frog-faced git I left unconscious in the bathroom?” Andrea grabbed Marlena’s drink and finished what Pete had left. Marlena was so used to this that she hardly noticed. “He’s fine. He’ll be along in a minute or two. Just took me a little longer than usual to take care of him.”
The fact that Marlena, Jason and Pete heaved a sigh of relief was not lost on Jack.
“Didn’t the bosses already lecture you this month about mixing work and pleasure?” Jason teased.
“They might have.” Andrea admitted. “I wasn’t really listening.”
“Hey now, if you’ve hurt-“ Jack started.
“He’s fine.” Andrea insisted, firmly. “He was, in fact, pretty damn happy just before I left him.”
“And after?” Jack insisted.
"He probably had a bit of a headache.” Marlena cut in, quickly. She knew enough about Andrea’s usual methods to be reasonably certain that was the truth. “Jason, could you show tall, dark and furious here the shiny thing before this chummy all-spies-together bit becomes a donnybrook?”
“Sure.” From an inside pocket of his jacket, Jason pulled out a strangely shaped, fist-sized hunk of metal. Embedded lights glowed here and there and, if a person was to touch it, a faint oscillation could be felt.
“What is it?” Tosh asked, curious.
“We don’t know.” Marlena admitted. “But given that we’re pretty certain it came out of orbit, we thought you might be interested.”
Jack didn’t buy it. “Why not hand it off to the ESA, or UNIT? Those are the usual channels.”
“Because, mate, UNIT doesn’t have anything we want, whereas you do – or so we’ve heard.” Pete replied.
Plausible, Jack conceded internally. “And what’s that?”
Before any reply could be made, Owen appeared, looking a little worse for wear. He slumped into a chair and glared at Andrea.
“You bitch.” He declared, somewhat groggily. “Marry me.”
Andrea pretended to simper. “I bet you say that to all the girls, you smooth talking devil.”
“What the hell was that?” Owen asked, rubbing his eyes.
“CIA's knockoff of Chanel Number Ten, and that’s all you need to know, mister.” Andrea told him. “Although if giving you a sample will help us get our hands on some of this retcon stuff…”
***
Part The Second: Driven to Distraction
Rating: 18 (PWP. Car!porn, of a sort. Wee bit of fetish.)
Pairing: Owen/Original character
Length: 2100 words
Summary: Andrea Smith offers an apology to Owen Harper for certain things said - or rather done - during the first meeting between Code Black and Torchwood.
Thanks to my evil twin,
moviegrrl, for the beta - and for dragging me down with her with the whole illogically-mad-for-Owen thing in the first place. :)***
Owen Harper did not expect to see the skinny brunette leaning on the roof of his car. The sight wasn’t welcome. Well, not entirely. He had to admit that she was easy on the eyes – all legs and cheekbones and a wide mouth perfect for… never mind that. Owen rubbed his temples at the memory of their first – and presumably last – conversation.
“What the hell do you want?” He grumbled, wishing she’d get off his baby. The electric blue NSX was his pride and joy, as the only beautiful thing that had stuck around in his life for any measurable time.
Andrea smiled, hoping it was a winning, reassuring expression. Honest charm, she wasn’t recently familiar with. She’d heard it got easier with practice. “I wanted to apologize.” She admitted. “For what happened back there.”
Owen flushed at the memory. Just when he was getting over the indignity of the Carys situation…
“Apologize?”
“For the… headache.” Andrea remembered reading somewhere that euphemisms were considered polite in this situation. Personally, she wasn’t used to post-encounter contact with her targets. “Marlena wanted a few minutes alone with your boss - and I think she was trying to prove a point, about taking her seriously when she says come alone – so…” she shrugged.
“Strictly business, huh?”
Andrea nodded. “It doesn’t mean I can’t say sorry after the deal’s closed.”
Although he’d never articulate it quite so bluntly, smug women irritated Owen. Smug women who had recently handed him his ass, really irritated him. “Piss off. The only apology I’d be interested in from you would feature my cock and your mouth” he snapped. “So kindly get -“
“Okay.” That’s twenty bucks Pete owes me, Andrea thought happily. She didn’t often get to win a bet with Pete.
Owen stopped in mid-reach for the driver-side door, suspicion writ large on his face. “What?”
“I said okay. You want to go somewhere, or are you the open air, type?” She grinned. Men were so predictable. Especially arrogant, prickly and apparently oversexed men.
Owen stared at her, clearly assessing risks and the likelihood of having the piss taken. Finally. “All right, get in.” Andrea complied and wondered if she was going to win the other bet she’d made with her teammate. Time will tell, no doubt.
Owen’s attention centered on getting the car on the road, giving Andrea time to look around. It was moderately serious chunk of vehicle, she realized. Jason would probably like this, not many people bother with a manual transmission anymore – oh, God...
Owen looked at her, wondering why the woman – still mentally dubbed That Weird American – was staring fixedly at the gear-shift. “Problem?” He asked, not really caring if there was.
To his surprise, Andrea blushed. She can snog a guy and knock him out in the same breath, but gets all flustered by a gear knob? What sort of issues does she have? Never mind, I don’t want to know.
Andrea shook her head and dragged her gaze away from Owen’s hands. “Nothing. I, um, like your gloves.”
Owen frowned, puzzled by the sudden change in Andrea’s tone. Then again, it beat smug bitch mode. “They’re sort of necessary when you drive like I do.” He said as he pulled on to a carriageway and proved his point.
Andrea grabbed for the doorhandle and cursed, inwardly. Of all the times for that to resurface. Maybe it’s not gloves. Maybe it’s prickly, arrogant guys in gloves. That would make more sense. No wonder the boss keeps sending me to the southern hemisphere every winter. The department would be decimated.
She risked a peek at the steering wheel and bit her lip. Looks like calfskin, probably. Unlined. Definitely custom made. Knows what he likes, I guess. The observation led to further thoughts of the hands inside the gloves, and Andrea remembered the brief on Owen Harper. A doctor, graduated near the top of his class. An overeducated prickly, arrogant man. In handmade leather gloves. Aw, hell. I’m in trouble.
Then again, the prospect of some – hopefully – harmless trouble rather cheered her. All work and no play – although technically this is work...
Once she recovered from her flustered moment, Andrea let go of the door and relaxed into the bucket seat. “You weren’t kidding about the driving,” she admitted, grudgingly impressed. The guy was a menace to other people on the road, but she knew that she was perfectly safe.
Owen nodded, focused on overtaking a lorry on the inside. “Yeah, well, I can’t be arsed with hanging about, and what’s the point of having a car like this if you’re not going to use it properly?”
Andrea couldn’t say much to that, so she watched him drive, instead, which was more distracting than initially anticipated. As he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and flexed his fingers a little, her mouth went dry and she realized that her chances of running whatever happened once the car stopped were dwindling rapidly. I’ve really gotta talk to the shrink about this. She wondered which of Code Black’s in-house therapists were actually still on speaking terms with her. They’d all linked arms against after the emergency session at gunpoint incident, damn them.
Owen glanced at Andrea, not as unwary or unobservant as she thought him to be, and noticed her flushed face, her slightly open mouth. Hello? What’s going on here? He needlessly shifted from fifth to fourth, gave the gear stick an equally needless twist, and gauged her reaction. Interesting... he tapped the steering wheel and stretched a hand, as if it was cramped. Did she just squeak? She bloody did. He smiled slightly. This might not turn out to be a run-of-the-mill fuck, after all.
For the duration of the trip back to his flat, Owen found half a dozen excuses to change gears unnecessarily, drum his fingers on the steering wheel and – just once – bite briefly at the back of his hand, as if dealing with a stubborn itch. His companion tried to hide her reactions but he was better at reading physical signs than most. Ms. CIA Knockoff’s knickers were in a serious twist. Gotcha, he gloated, as he pulled into the garage beneath his apartment building.
Andrea, meanwhile, was trying to decide if she should ask him to keep the gloves on, or if she should simply steal them off the dash while his back was turned, when Owen put and abrupt end to the debate. He grabbed Andrea by the front of her shirt and kissed her insistently, while his other hand pushed at her skirt. Andrea barely paid attention to such incidentals, being preoccupied with struggling out of her seatbelt and thoughts of being too old to be doing this sort of thing in a car.
Owen decided that Andrea’s squeal of surprise as he pushed a leather-clad finger past whatever excuse she had for underwear and into her cunt was immensely satisfying. So satisfying, in fact, that a second finger had to join the first.
Andrea fell away from him and collapsed back into her seat. “Oh, you bastard,” She protested, even as moved with him, utterly without volition.
“Forget the apology.” He decided. “I think I want revenge.” Yanks and their kinks. Not that he was complaining, though. In the space of ten minutes – hell, ten seconds – she’d gone from cooler than thou field agent to squirming slut. He definitely preferred the latter.
“You’ll get it,” Andrea gasped, reaching towards him – somewhat unsuccessfully. Nonetheless, Owen got the hint and cupped her face with his other hand – and almost let out a yelp of his own as she turned and bit into the palm of his hand. Keeping the glove – and a painful amount of flesh – in her teeth, she sucked and worried at the leather, simultaneously growling and whimpering as her self control collapsed.
Bloody hell, a genuine fetish. The word was so overused that to encounter the real thing was a little startling – and very hot. For the sake of his aching cock, Owen hoped that he could push Andrea over the edge sooner rather than later – as enjoyable as she might be to watch in this state. He hadn’t had this much fun since the first – no, the second – time he’d fucked Gwen.
For Andrea, any sense of outrage at being effectively outmaneuvered had long since been forgotten, followed immediately by dignity and thoughts of her ostensible ongoing mission. All she cared about right now was the rough-smooth sensation turning her insides to jelly, and the taste of leather. She groaned into Owen’s palm and pushed against him, feeling the tension build.
“Look at me,” he gasped. She opened her eyes and realized that there was no way to avoid what he wanted. It was a bit late for self-consciousness, when already being finger-fucked by a near-stranger in his mid-life-crisis car. Still, staring at someone whilst working on a mind-shattering orgasm was hardly easy. Owen took the expedient route of leading her gaze via the glove in her mouth, shifting his weight until he practically held her down. Thank god for years of practice at fucking around in small cars, or else I’d have done myself an injury, long since. Braced between Andrea and the car he watched her fixedly, as she shuddered, moaned and eventually screamed into his hand.
Surprised that the furniture had survived, Owen spared a mental salute to Japanese engineering as he untangled himself from Andrea. He wiped his hand on her face, and smiled when she bit down on his fingers, for a second, and then released them with a lick and a tired grin. She caught her breath, blinked rapidly and looked slightly surprised, as if just realizing where she was.
“Er… I think I owe you a new pair of gloves.” She admitted, abashed.
Owen massaged his left hand, wondering what sort of bruises she’d left, but he smiled, regardless. “No way, I’m keeping these. They seem to have some uncanny powers.”
“It must be arrogant gits in gloves that does it,” she sighed melodramatically. Owen didn’t bother to ask – he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer. “So... should I just get a cab, or...?” Andrea drummed her fingers along the fly of his jeans.
Owen hissed, sharply. “Christ, are all Yanks as up-front as you?”
“Just us reformed assassins.” Andrea replied quickly with some of her earlier aplomb. That gave Owen pause but, then again, she did say reformed. And those drumming fingers were a more that sufficient argument in favor of keeping her around.
“I think we’d better go upstairs. You showed me up in front of the entire team,” After all, she couldn’t know that Owen looking like a prat was a regular theme at The Hub. “You’ve got a lot of apologizing to do...”
**Epilogue 1**
Some time later, Andrea hit the speed dial on her celphone as she climbed into the taxi.
“Hey Pete, you owe me forty bucks. Uh-huh, he did... Nope, not even. Yes, in the car. Ha!” she laughed. “I told you, I know his type. You can buy me dinner when I get back to London. What? Of course I did, duh! See you soon...”
**Epilogue 2**
“Owen?” Tosh approached Owen’s desk in that slightly diffident way that always had Owen wondering if she was nervous of him, or if he’d merely committed some social foul that was beneath his notice.
“Yeah, what?”
“Ianto and I were just doing the regular security sweep – you know, scanning the place and all the cars for the usual stuff.”
Owen nodded. He was aware of the routine, and didn’t give a damn about it. “And?”
“And we found a bug in your car. Two, actually. One inside, one out.”
That got his attention “Shit. Really?”
“Yeah. Your basic sound-and-GPS-tracking deal,” Tosh nodded, her expression mixing apology and you’re an idiot in a manner that Owen suspected was uniquely Asian. “But they definitely weren’t there last week, so Jack was – I mean, I was wondering-“
“Quit giving rides to the opposition, Owen!” Jack yelled from across the work area.
Mate, you have no idea... “What do you mean, ‘the opposition’, Jack? We’d cut a deal with them, hadn’t we?” Alien tech for a supply of retcon, wasn’t it?
“If they’re not with us, they’re usually against us.” Jack responded, not looking up from the memo on his desk. “So you can spend lunchtime taking Tosh back to your place and letting her do a sweep there, too. God only knows what she’s going to find.”
Bugger. “Can’t Gwen do it?” he asked, hopefully.
“No, because I don’t want to lose both of you for the entire afternoon-“ damn, so much for that being a secret. “And besides, this is Tosh’s area of expertise.”
Owen backed down. He knew when the fight was lost. “Alright,” he sighed, standing up and grabbing his jacket. “We’re going.”
“If you make a habit of this, I’ll get you castrated on company time, I swear.” Jack threatened.
“You’re one to talk...” Owen muttered as he stomped towards the stairs.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
*squee!*
Date: 2007-04-07 11:07 pm (UTC)*does the happydance*
I'm working on another story with Andrea, Owen and maybe Jack, but it keeps wandering into too-shameless-even-for-me-territory, so it's as yet unwritten. Besides, my still-unfinished James Bond/Jack Harkness/Jason Bourne fic is more of a priority right now... ;)
And if you're curious about Andrea, you can find more things about/by here, over here (http://jugglingmercury.livejournal.com/tag/andrea)
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 05:22 pm (UTC)(not that I wouldn't love finding a regular game for my darlings, that is, just that NO TW rpg ever launches without the principals already cast, it seems. ;))
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 05:38 pm (UTC)Oh wait, you've already been by my Jack, haven't you? Curse my lousy memory. ;)
In the meantime, I'll go take a look at your writing.
This could all get very weirdly self-reflexive, y'know.
And, btw, I know a gal who plays a dynamite Sarah Jane Smith...
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 06:10 pm (UTC)And, er, I'm not seeing anything on the Jack journal. Is it all F-locked, perchance?
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 06:23 pm (UTC)Anyhoo, I think you've got the right of it - your Owen seems to have a much stronger presence than Jack.
*chortles* Now what?
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 07:28 pm (UTC)But I guess it boils down where you'd want to put the first post, and the ear can be played from there.
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 07:34 pm (UTC)Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 07:41 pm (UTC)Seriously, though, let me think about this as I go hoover down some sashimi for lunch and get back to you. As I play two different continuities of Jack, simultaneously, I've gotten used to having my cake and eating it too.
(although, to be honest, I'm usually a fan of teh angst. Which is ironic, given how I originally picked up Jack to play something much more cheerful than my slew of V:tM characters...)
Anyways, more when I've gotten my blood sugar levels back up and can think clearly.
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 08:06 pm (UTC)Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-10 08:12 pm (UTC)What I really need right now is for my Jack muse to quit prowling after the aforementioned Andrea with a nasty gleam in his eye because, man oh man, that would be an *ugly* encounter. Mostly for Andrea.
This is what I get for succumbing to the lure of crossover fic... ;))
Re: *squee!*
Date: 2007-04-11 05:21 pm (UTC)I'd say more but in my SEVEN HOURS OF MEETINGS day at work. I hate Wednesdays.
no subject
Date: 2007-11-28 07:29 pm (UTC)