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more_flexibleTitle: Strictly Speaking
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mediasavant
Character/Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW 1X02:Day One
Disclaimer: Torchwood is the property of the BBC. Warning against breathplay squick
Summary: Owen reviews the tapes of the day and plans his evening. Jack makes sure everyone knows that throttling the staff is his job.
Strictly speaking, throttling the staff is my job.
The girl was back with her father, the alien was dust, and Owen sat at his desk watching the CCTV tapes. He wasn't going to have time to go pick up a bird, so a little inspiration wouldn't be any trouble. He'd have a wank and a beer and get some sleep.
There was the Carys bird getting fucked right and proper in the loo; God, that was great. He flipped the screen just before the fellow disintegrated, though. Changed it to Freckles and Carys snogging in the cell. Damn, she could kiss. He ran his hand over his fly for a little extra friction before flipping it to what wasn't exactly his shining moment, but it had been hot as hell.
Carys, looking at him through the Plexiglas. Carys reaching through with her fingertips to touch his lips. Him punching in the code and her shoving him against the wall, undressing him. The air was thick and all he could think about was burying himself inside her and, even now, the heady sensation the pheromones had created made him groan low as he watched her strip him, touch him, handcuff him and leave him naked and locked up.
The final clip he needed was of New Girl choking the shit out of him, her eyes flashing with anger as Jack stood there, calm as ever. If she had had any idea how hard that made him, she never would have done it. He pressed the line behind his fly harder, eager to get away from his desk and go someplace private.
He should have known Jack was watching. In Torchwood, someone was always watching.
He stood up and pulled his jacket on just before a strong hand closed around his throat, pulling him back against a broad chest, the scent of Jack and the Hub and the lingering stale smoke on his jacket dissipating in his nose as his mouth flew open and he gasped for a breath, cock throbbing in his jeans.
“I meant it, Owen. This is my job. I didn't like her hands on you,” Jack whispered in his ear. His voice was low, stern, with that quality that made Owen's eyes grow wide and his head nod in acceptance. Jack's free hand reached around, deftly undoing the fly and pulling free the hard length of Owen's erection, letting it sit in his palm just to feel the heft of it.
“Throttle the staff, that was a good one, don't you think?” he asked, amused at his own little joke. “If Gwen had known, she would have blushed. Or maybe not. See how she kisses that girl? Did you see the look in her eyes when she choked you?” he asked, releasing his hold on Owen's throat so he could get a breath. The point wasn't to kill him.
It never was.
“Yeah,” Owen gasped, actively leaning forward into Jack's hand for more...which he obliged. Tighter this time, the blood and air cut off, making his head pound, making his body throb, making ever thrust of hips and pull of hand a thousand times better. How it was that Jack always knew when he needed more than a fuck, more than a little tug, when he needed the control, he had no clue. The man just knew. It was like he could smell it.
Jack was hard, too, he could tell. The ridge digging into his ass made him moan low, losing precious air, but he didn't care. Jack would take care of it. He always did. He knew from all the times before that he wouldn't get to come until Jack wanted him to, and Jack wouldn't want him too until he was about to pass out, until the world swam in a haze before his eyes, before his lips...his fucking teeth...pounded in time with his heart. Jack wouldn't let him go. Not for a new girl. Not for fucking up. Not for anything.
And true to history, he was going limp against Jack's body when the hand closed tighter, cutting off everything as his cock jerked and pulsed with his orgasm, come striping the wall. Jack was whispering the filthy encouragements and pretty obscenities the whole time until Owen's knees buckled and the hand fell from his throat to around his chest, holding him up.
“I've got you,” Jack assured him, pressing a firm kiss to his hair. “That's good, Owen.” Once he was finished, he tucked him back in and buttoned him back up and waited for him to find his feet. “Have a nice night and I'll see you tomorrow.”
“I...okay,” Owen faltered. “Should I get a towel? I...I came on the wall, Jack.”
“Don't worry about it,” Jack smiled. “Ianto will tidy up,” he said, dismissively, pushing Owen toward the door before turning to look up at the darkened window where he knew Ianto was watching...it was Torchwood. Someone was always watching.
“Go work on those abs, Owen. I'll see you in the morning. Go do...whatever it is you do.”
Author:
mediasavantCharacter/Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: TW 1X02:Day One
Disclaimer: Torchwood is the property of the BBC. Warning against breathplay squick
Summary: Owen reviews the tapes of the day and plans his evening. Jack makes sure everyone knows that throttling the staff is his job.
Strictly speaking, throttling the staff is my job.
The girl was back with her father, the alien was dust, and Owen sat at his desk watching the CCTV tapes. He wasn't going to have time to go pick up a bird, so a little inspiration wouldn't be any trouble. He'd have a wank and a beer and get some sleep.
There was the Carys bird getting fucked right and proper in the loo; God, that was great. He flipped the screen just before the fellow disintegrated, though. Changed it to Freckles and Carys snogging in the cell. Damn, she could kiss. He ran his hand over his fly for a little extra friction before flipping it to what wasn't exactly his shining moment, but it had been hot as hell.
Carys, looking at him through the Plexiglas. Carys reaching through with her fingertips to touch his lips. Him punching in the code and her shoving him against the wall, undressing him. The air was thick and all he could think about was burying himself inside her and, even now, the heady sensation the pheromones had created made him groan low as he watched her strip him, touch him, handcuff him and leave him naked and locked up.
The final clip he needed was of New Girl choking the shit out of him, her eyes flashing with anger as Jack stood there, calm as ever. If she had had any idea how hard that made him, she never would have done it. He pressed the line behind his fly harder, eager to get away from his desk and go someplace private.
He should have known Jack was watching. In Torchwood, someone was always watching.
He stood up and pulled his jacket on just before a strong hand closed around his throat, pulling him back against a broad chest, the scent of Jack and the Hub and the lingering stale smoke on his jacket dissipating in his nose as his mouth flew open and he gasped for a breath, cock throbbing in his jeans.
“I meant it, Owen. This is my job. I didn't like her hands on you,” Jack whispered in his ear. His voice was low, stern, with that quality that made Owen's eyes grow wide and his head nod in acceptance. Jack's free hand reached around, deftly undoing the fly and pulling free the hard length of Owen's erection, letting it sit in his palm just to feel the heft of it.
“Throttle the staff, that was a good one, don't you think?” he asked, amused at his own little joke. “If Gwen had known, she would have blushed. Or maybe not. See how she kisses that girl? Did you see the look in her eyes when she choked you?” he asked, releasing his hold on Owen's throat so he could get a breath. The point wasn't to kill him.
It never was.
“Yeah,” Owen gasped, actively leaning forward into Jack's hand for more...which he obliged. Tighter this time, the blood and air cut off, making his head pound, making his body throb, making ever thrust of hips and pull of hand a thousand times better. How it was that Jack always knew when he needed more than a fuck, more than a little tug, when he needed the control, he had no clue. The man just knew. It was like he could smell it.
Jack was hard, too, he could tell. The ridge digging into his ass made him moan low, losing precious air, but he didn't care. Jack would take care of it. He always did. He knew from all the times before that he wouldn't get to come until Jack wanted him to, and Jack wouldn't want him too until he was about to pass out, until the world swam in a haze before his eyes, before his lips...his fucking teeth...pounded in time with his heart. Jack wouldn't let him go. Not for a new girl. Not for fucking up. Not for anything.
And true to history, he was going limp against Jack's body when the hand closed tighter, cutting off everything as his cock jerked and pulsed with his orgasm, come striping the wall. Jack was whispering the filthy encouragements and pretty obscenities the whole time until Owen's knees buckled and the hand fell from his throat to around his chest, holding him up.
“I've got you,” Jack assured him, pressing a firm kiss to his hair. “That's good, Owen.” Once he was finished, he tucked him back in and buttoned him back up and waited for him to find his feet. “Have a nice night and I'll see you tomorrow.”
“I...okay,” Owen faltered. “Should I get a towel? I...I came on the wall, Jack.”
“Don't worry about it,” Jack smiled. “Ianto will tidy up,” he said, dismissively, pushing Owen toward the door before turning to look up at the darkened window where he knew Ianto was watching...it was Torchwood. Someone was always watching.
“Go work on those abs, Owen. I'll see you in the morning. Go do...whatever it is you do.”
