Torchwood FF: Porn ficlets (Tosh/Sarah Jane, Jack/Owen; R)
Torchwood porn ficlets for oxoniensis's porn battle here
Title: Unauthorised Modifications
Pairing: Tosh/Sarah Jane (crossover with SJA)
Rating: R
Length: 620 words
Prompt: Crossover, Torchwood/Sarah Jane Adventures, Toshiko/Sarah Jane, lipstick
“It doesn’t. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
Tosh looked up from her experiments to see Sarah Jane watching her with a little smile. Tosh had taken the sonic lipstick to try and figure out how it worked. She was holding the flat end into the light to find the join and the way it was pointed… She felt herself blush.
Sarah Jane didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t think it would have occurred to him, really. He’s not that sort of man.”
“It would have occurred to Jack,” Tosh said.
Sarah Jane laughed. “Yes, I suppose it would.” She looked around. “Does it help?”
“I’m sorry?”
“All this.” Sarah Jane gestured around at the Hub, at the workstations and Tosh’s tools, and at Jack’s empty office. Just the ordinary empty tonight, not the forever kind. “That never occurred to him either,” she said.
Sarah Jane didn’t look angry, or disappointed. Just sad, and a heartbreakingly familiar kind of lonely. So Tosh put the lipstick down, and stood up. She touched her thumb to Sarah Jane’s chin, just enough to tilt her head a little. And then she kissed her.
A brief grazing of lips, that was all, really. She knew what came next, but initiation was different, surely. Except that Sarah Jane was wearing a dress (thigh-length, and pink-spotted) and tights, and a little cardigan, and by the time Tosh had got a hand under two of those and into the black underwear she had forgotten to be nervous.
Nervous was for another Toshiko, the one who pined after Owen and wept for a murderous lover, just because she had been the first. This Toshiko wasn’t nervous, not when all she had to do was stroke her fingers, just like she had been shown, and watch this strong, lovely woman come apart. Sarah Jane’s lips were swollen and red, parted in a shaky exhale.
“Toshiko.” Sarah Jane smiled then, beautiful. “Let me.” She slipped a hand down into Tosh’s jeans, where she was wet already, and aching for the sharp pressure of Sarah Jane’s two fingers, in just the right place. The slip-slide, in and out, tripping up when Tosh figured out that Sarah Jane’s dress unzipped at the back, and her bra unhooked at the front.
Tosh ducked her head to where her thumb and forefinger had been, to Sarah Jane’s breasts, to experiment with the tiniest of blunt nips.
Sarah Jane said, “Oh,” and it was like finding the book scanner, or the unworking of a problem that had been bothering her all day - a thrill that ran from her shoulders to her toes. An unfolding of the world into something beautiful.
“Is it… Do you mind…?” Sarah Jane kissed Tosh’s temple, where her hair was pinned back. She pulled Tosh’s face up again, so very gentle. Her lips tasted of raspberry. Her tongue slipped into Tosh’s mouth without intrusion, licking across her teeth and the roof of her mouth.
Tosh took her cue, reaching in further with her fingers, spreading them apart and feeling Sarah Jane clench around her with a gasp that Tosh swallowed up. Ripples again but this time they were folding in on themselves, pulling tighter and tighter into a burn low in her belly and everywhere Sarah Jane was touching her. Tosh went up onto her toes and pulled herself closer, in and deeper, until the heat burst into sparks and it was beautiful.
Afterwards, when they had got dressed, and the world had returned to the normal amount of colour and warmth and taste, Tosh looked at the lipstick again. “I could fix it,” she offered shyly.
Sarah Jane looked at her. “I don’t think… I mean it wouldn’t be… Could you?”
( Thread posting)
- - - - - - - - -
Title: Free Movement
Pairing: Jack/Owen (plot crossover with Who S3)
Rating: R
Length: 832 words
Spoilers TW S1 and DW S3
Prompt: Torchwood, Jack/Owen, forgiveness
He’d been in there for days. Weeks, possibly, because Jack’s time-keeping had ceased functioning properly after the mid-twentieth century. A minor infraction (trying to lead an armed rebellion and destroy the paradox machine) and he had ended up hanging from the walls in chains. Everything ached. It stung, and burnt, and occasionally twitched, because the Master was nothing if not persistent.
And then Owen was thrown in at his feet.
The Master stood at the entrance. “One down,” he proclaimed. And then walked away in silence, which was nothing like him.
Jack commented on this: “He’ll be back. Probably right when we’ve stopped thinking he’s coming.”
Owen just looked at him. “We were wondering where you had got to.”
“Owen.”
“And apparently you’ve been rolling around in oil. Not that surprising, since we’re talking about you, but fucking weird timing.”
He stood up, looking even skinnier than the last time Jack had seen him. He licked his thumb, slowly, and rubbed it along Jack’s cheekbone. Owen stood close, looking into Jack’s eyes, and not at the grease and oil and sweat that he was really just moving around. He added the other thumb without pretext, and swept both down Jack’s cheeks and under his jaw, rubbing back and forth, working at the tension.
Jack groaned out loud when Owen raised his whole hands and wrapped them around Jack’s neck, easing them down to his shoulder blades and biceps. “Keep doing that.”
Owen paused. “I’m a real doctor, you know. None of that massage rubbish.”
“So not a whole lot of use to me right now, are you?” Jack laughed.
It was always too easy to offend Owen. Too easy to upset him and raise a dark angry flush on his pale skin; a hundred-thousand unintentional slights. So when it didn’t come, or not properly, after Jack had expected it to, he leant forward a little. He couldn’t move much without pulling his arms out of shape. But Owen could.
Owen walked forward that extra step that moved him from close to touching, so he was pressed tight against every part of Jack. “We really thought you were gone.”
There was a not so subtle difference between gone and dead, and Jack pulled back.
Owen forced a glare, full of pretended defiance. “Are you ever gonna forgive me? Because it’s been a really long time, Jack, and you already said…”
“It was nothing to do with…” was all Jack managed to say, too surprised to pick a better argument. But whatever Owen filled in on the end of the sentence, it provoked him into motion. He stepped back towards Jack and reached his hand inside the filthy shirt, searching for skin.
“I would do, you know, the other way,” Owen said, “but it’d end up with you taking all the weight, and I’ve no particular desire to watch you dislocate something.”
Jack grinned. “That your medical opinion?”
Dropping to his knees was the only answer Owen gave. His mouth was warm and his hands were cool on Jack’s thighs. He breathed lightly over the head of Jack’s cock. His hands slid up to cup Jack’s ass before taking him into his mouth. It was frustrating not being able to touch Owen back, or to show some kind of appreciation for the dedicated way Owen was attempting to suck Jack’s brain out through his cock. Some acknowledgement other than moaning and tilting his head back and his hips forward. Owen’s hands wandered up and settled at the small of Jack’s back. He swallowed Jack deeper in one smooth motion and the vibrations deep in his throat were the tipping point.
Owen swallowed, coughed, and leant his head on Jack. “Didn’t want you to get even more mucky,” he explained.
There was a noise at the door, Jack started to speak, there was a flash, a shout, and Owen was lying dead at his feet.
“Buck up,” the Master said. “This was just round one. You liked him least anyway.” He poked Owen’s corpse with his toe. “He was all scrawny and insubordinate. Not a lot of use really.” He mock-pouted at Jack. “Oh be like that then.”
Jack didn’t have much range of movement but he thought, if he tried, he could swing hard enough to break the bastard’s neck. He tried - there was a flash and a sizzle.
*
The next time he sees Owen alive (too many deaths later) he still can’t move. It has been too long, and they are all staring. There is a round of hugging and Owen ends up being the last to him. Everyone else has backed away and for a long moment they are both still.
Jack touches Owen’s cheek. “I’m sorry. And it isn’t true.”
Owen cannot have the faintest idea what Jack is talking about so he tilts his head (but not away from Jack’s touch) and grins. “Okay.”
“You don’t even know…”
“Nope. Buy me a beer and tell us all about it.”
( Thread posting)
*yayporn*
Title: Unauthorised Modifications
Pairing: Tosh/Sarah Jane (crossover with SJA)
Rating: R
Length: 620 words
Prompt: Crossover, Torchwood/Sarah Jane Adventures, Toshiko/Sarah Jane, lipstick
“It doesn’t. If that’s what you’re wondering.”
Tosh looked up from her experiments to see Sarah Jane watching her with a little smile. Tosh had taken the sonic lipstick to try and figure out how it worked. She was holding the flat end into the light to find the join and the way it was pointed… She felt herself blush.
Sarah Jane didn’t seem to notice. “I don’t think it would have occurred to him, really. He’s not that sort of man.”
“It would have occurred to Jack,” Tosh said.
Sarah Jane laughed. “Yes, I suppose it would.” She looked around. “Does it help?”
“I’m sorry?”
“All this.” Sarah Jane gestured around at the Hub, at the workstations and Tosh’s tools, and at Jack’s empty office. Just the ordinary empty tonight, not the forever kind. “That never occurred to him either,” she said.
Sarah Jane didn’t look angry, or disappointed. Just sad, and a heartbreakingly familiar kind of lonely. So Tosh put the lipstick down, and stood up. She touched her thumb to Sarah Jane’s chin, just enough to tilt her head a little. And then she kissed her.
A brief grazing of lips, that was all, really. She knew what came next, but initiation was different, surely. Except that Sarah Jane was wearing a dress (thigh-length, and pink-spotted) and tights, and a little cardigan, and by the time Tosh had got a hand under two of those and into the black underwear she had forgotten to be nervous.
Nervous was for another Toshiko, the one who pined after Owen and wept for a murderous lover, just because she had been the first. This Toshiko wasn’t nervous, not when all she had to do was stroke her fingers, just like she had been shown, and watch this strong, lovely woman come apart. Sarah Jane’s lips were swollen and red, parted in a shaky exhale.
“Toshiko.” Sarah Jane smiled then, beautiful. “Let me.” She slipped a hand down into Tosh’s jeans, where she was wet already, and aching for the sharp pressure of Sarah Jane’s two fingers, in just the right place. The slip-slide, in and out, tripping up when Tosh figured out that Sarah Jane’s dress unzipped at the back, and her bra unhooked at the front.
Tosh ducked her head to where her thumb and forefinger had been, to Sarah Jane’s breasts, to experiment with the tiniest of blunt nips.
Sarah Jane said, “Oh,” and it was like finding the book scanner, or the unworking of a problem that had been bothering her all day - a thrill that ran from her shoulders to her toes. An unfolding of the world into something beautiful.
“Is it… Do you mind…?” Sarah Jane kissed Tosh’s temple, where her hair was pinned back. She pulled Tosh’s face up again, so very gentle. Her lips tasted of raspberry. Her tongue slipped into Tosh’s mouth without intrusion, licking across her teeth and the roof of her mouth.
Tosh took her cue, reaching in further with her fingers, spreading them apart and feeling Sarah Jane clench around her with a gasp that Tosh swallowed up. Ripples again but this time they were folding in on themselves, pulling tighter and tighter into a burn low in her belly and everywhere Sarah Jane was touching her. Tosh went up onto her toes and pulled herself closer, in and deeper, until the heat burst into sparks and it was beautiful.
Afterwards, when they had got dressed, and the world had returned to the normal amount of colour and warmth and taste, Tosh looked at the lipstick again. “I could fix it,” she offered shyly.
Sarah Jane looked at her. “I don’t think… I mean it wouldn’t be… Could you?”
( Thread posting)
- - - - - - - - -
Title: Free Movement
Pairing: Jack/Owen (plot crossover with Who S3)
Rating: R
Length: 832 words
Spoilers TW S1 and DW S3
Prompt: Torchwood, Jack/Owen, forgiveness
He’d been in there for days. Weeks, possibly, because Jack’s time-keeping had ceased functioning properly after the mid-twentieth century. A minor infraction (trying to lead an armed rebellion and destroy the paradox machine) and he had ended up hanging from the walls in chains. Everything ached. It stung, and burnt, and occasionally twitched, because the Master was nothing if not persistent.
And then Owen was thrown in at his feet.
The Master stood at the entrance. “One down,” he proclaimed. And then walked away in silence, which was nothing like him.
Jack commented on this: “He’ll be back. Probably right when we’ve stopped thinking he’s coming.”
Owen just looked at him. “We were wondering where you had got to.”
“Owen.”
“And apparently you’ve been rolling around in oil. Not that surprising, since we’re talking about you, but fucking weird timing.”
He stood up, looking even skinnier than the last time Jack had seen him. He licked his thumb, slowly, and rubbed it along Jack’s cheekbone. Owen stood close, looking into Jack’s eyes, and not at the grease and oil and sweat that he was really just moving around. He added the other thumb without pretext, and swept both down Jack’s cheeks and under his jaw, rubbing back and forth, working at the tension.
Jack groaned out loud when Owen raised his whole hands and wrapped them around Jack’s neck, easing them down to his shoulder blades and biceps. “Keep doing that.”
Owen paused. “I’m a real doctor, you know. None of that massage rubbish.”
“So not a whole lot of use to me right now, are you?” Jack laughed.
It was always too easy to offend Owen. Too easy to upset him and raise a dark angry flush on his pale skin; a hundred-thousand unintentional slights. So when it didn’t come, or not properly, after Jack had expected it to, he leant forward a little. He couldn’t move much without pulling his arms out of shape. But Owen could.
Owen walked forward that extra step that moved him from close to touching, so he was pressed tight against every part of Jack. “We really thought you were gone.”
There was a not so subtle difference between gone and dead, and Jack pulled back.
Owen forced a glare, full of pretended defiance. “Are you ever gonna forgive me? Because it’s been a really long time, Jack, and you already said…”
“It was nothing to do with…” was all Jack managed to say, too surprised to pick a better argument. But whatever Owen filled in on the end of the sentence, it provoked him into motion. He stepped back towards Jack and reached his hand inside the filthy shirt, searching for skin.
“I would do, you know, the other way,” Owen said, “but it’d end up with you taking all the weight, and I’ve no particular desire to watch you dislocate something.”
Jack grinned. “That your medical opinion?”
Dropping to his knees was the only answer Owen gave. His mouth was warm and his hands were cool on Jack’s thighs. He breathed lightly over the head of Jack’s cock. His hands slid up to cup Jack’s ass before taking him into his mouth. It was frustrating not being able to touch Owen back, or to show some kind of appreciation for the dedicated way Owen was attempting to suck Jack’s brain out through his cock. Some acknowledgement other than moaning and tilting his head back and his hips forward. Owen’s hands wandered up and settled at the small of Jack’s back. He swallowed Jack deeper in one smooth motion and the vibrations deep in his throat were the tipping point.
Owen swallowed, coughed, and leant his head on Jack. “Didn’t want you to get even more mucky,” he explained.
There was a noise at the door, Jack started to speak, there was a flash, a shout, and Owen was lying dead at his feet.
“Buck up,” the Master said. “This was just round one. You liked him least anyway.” He poked Owen’s corpse with his toe. “He was all scrawny and insubordinate. Not a lot of use really.” He mock-pouted at Jack. “Oh be like that then.”
Jack didn’t have much range of movement but he thought, if he tried, he could swing hard enough to break the bastard’s neck. He tried - there was a flash and a sizzle.
*
The next time he sees Owen alive (too many deaths later) he still can’t move. It has been too long, and they are all staring. There is a round of hugging and Owen ends up being the last to him. Everyone else has backed away and for a long moment they are both still.
Jack touches Owen’s cheek. “I’m sorry. And it isn’t true.”
Owen cannot have the faintest idea what Jack is talking about so he tilts his head (but not away from Jack’s touch) and grins. “Okay.”
“You don’t even know…”
“Nope. Buy me a beer and tell us all about it.”
( Thread posting)
*yayporn*