The Wrong Side of the Bed (for quitehomoerotic and alien_catcher)
There were a great many things about Jack Harkness that were endearing. Far to many things, truthfully. Though that was a matter Reinette was studiously choosing not to examine. If one wished to narrow it however? To an acceptable, manageable quantity?
His smile, certainly. His scent. Which was somehow in now way affected despite any smug glances that might be cast her way if Jack caught her lingering too long. A sense of humor that met so easily with her own. The way in which he included her within the scope of her own life, which was remarkable for how far he truly sat outside of it. And yet still, somehow? Within in. Working his way into spaces she had yet to recognize were even there. Which should not be a balm to someone that prided herself on her lever of awareness.
And then, of course? Was Jack's expression when he slept. He looked impossibly young then. The edges fell away, wit replaced with warmth and punctuated by the subtle lines that creased the corners of his eyes -- never quite gone.
She could sit contentedly, Reinette thought, and simply watch him.
Excepting that Jack seemed to hold different ideas.
One with sat quite firmly atop her list of Jack's less than appealing qualities.
He really was impossible to sleep with. And if he were awake? She would tell him so, in no uncertain terms, just to see how the words sat on his face. You, Jack Harkness, are impossible to sleep with.
She would laugh if Jack's arm was not currently being thrown inelegantly across the bed, catching her squarely in the shoulder. For a moment Reinette thought she might be able to right herself. She hovered in that place of balance and control only to feel it slip through her fingers. She filled the void they left by grasping at the sheet, pulling it firmly only to feel it slip from around Jack and fully give.
Reinette landed in a tangled heap on the floor, her hip catching something in between.
Understanding came a breath too late.
His smile, certainly. His scent. Which was somehow in now way affected despite any smug glances that might be cast her way if Jack caught her lingering too long. A sense of humor that met so easily with her own. The way in which he included her within the scope of her own life, which was remarkable for how far he truly sat outside of it. And yet still, somehow? Within in. Working his way into spaces she had yet to recognize were even there. Which should not be a balm to someone that prided herself on her lever of awareness.
And then, of course? Was Jack's expression when he slept. He looked impossibly young then. The edges fell away, wit replaced with warmth and punctuated by the subtle lines that creased the corners of his eyes -- never quite gone.
She could sit contentedly, Reinette thought, and simply watch him.
Excepting that Jack seemed to hold different ideas.
One with sat quite firmly atop her list of Jack's less than appealing qualities.
He really was impossible to sleep with. And if he were awake? She would tell him so, in no uncertain terms, just to see how the words sat on his face. You, Jack Harkness, are impossible to sleep with.
She would laugh if Jack's arm was not currently being thrown inelegantly across the bed, catching her squarely in the shoulder. For a moment Reinette thought she might be able to right herself. She hovered in that place of balance and control only to feel it slip through her fingers. She filled the void they left by grasping at the sheet, pulling it firmly only to feel it slip from around Jack and fully give.
Reinette landed in a tangled heap on the floor, her hip catching something in between.
Understanding came a breath too late.