So I committed comment porn
Just a bit of comment!porn for 51stcenturyfox and neifile7's Porn Battle VIII this past weekend. Nothing too special -- I only came up with and wrote it over the weekend -- but I cleaned it up a little bit and thought I'd post it.
Title: Pop Psychology
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairing: Owen/Jack
Rating: NC-17/Explicit (sex, language)
Contains: D/s, rough sex.
Word count: 1250
Summary: Owen is not into submission. That would require him to like pleasing people and being told what to do, and he likes the very opposite of that.
Owen is not into submission. That would require him to like pleasing people and being told what to do, and he likes the very opposite of that.
Jack, apparently, has his own theories.
"Know what I think?" Jack asks.
Owen hadn't asked what he thinks, but he knows Jack well enough by now to know there's no stopping him when he feels like sharing his opinion.
"I think you like pushing people."
Owen scoffs into his beer. "Oh, really? Is that your theory about me, Sherlock?"
Jack smiles a little. "And you know what? I think it's because you want someone to get the better of you."
Maybe Jack has been reading psychology books or something. Maybe he's going through some phase of trying to "understand" his employees. Frankly, he could do with some training in managing people. His management style seems to consist mainly of storming through the Hub and barking orders without stopping to see if they're obeyed.
"Fuck off, Harkness. Stop trying to get inside my head. It's not gonna work."
Jack chuckles.
* * *
How it happens isn't that important, because these things just happen to Owen. That's his defense, at least. He rarely plans to shag his coworkers, but it's worked out that way more than once. Shagging his boss is probably even worse.
But he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been kind of curious about Jack. It's so easy to be interested in Jack, to see him as someone you might end up shagging eventually. And it's not like Owen's never messed around with another bloke before, out of curiosity.
Which means for Owen, it's probably inevitable.
Jack kisses him when they get inside Owen's flat. Owen turns the kiss rough, pressing his mouth into Jack's and biting at his lip.
Jack chuckles and pulls back, licking the spot Owen bit. The look in his eyes is a challenge.
Jack is only the second person Owen has slept with in this new flat. Owen hasn't been in Cardiff that long. He wasn't planning to bring anyone home tonight, so the sheets are ruffled and there's a shirt on the bed. Owen throws it aside and starts undressing.
While Owen unzips his jeans, he says, "This had better not change anything between us at work. 'Cause I'm not into office romances."
That last bit isn't quite true, because office romances have happened to him once or twice before, as well.
"Don't worry; I'm the model of discretion."
Jack Harkness, model of discretion. That's a bloody laugh.
Owen strips down, and it's only when he's standing there in his blue boxer briefs that he realizes Jack is only now taking off his coat. He suddenly feels very exposed.
But Jack doesn't even look at him. He takes a ridiculously long time unbuttoning his shirt before he walks over. He puts his hands on Owen's shoulders and guides him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he's forced to sit down.
"So, what do you want me to do?" Jack asks.
Owen shouldn't be tongue-tied, but for some reason, he is.
"Dunno," he mumbles, "why don't you show me what you got?"
Jack grins. "Oh, I can do that."
He gives Owen another push, this time so that he ends up lying on his back, knees bent and feet on the floor. Owen gazes at the ceiling and feels Jack's fingers on his hips, hooking themselves in the waistband of his pants and pulling. He lifts his hips and lowers a hand to free his hard-on from the cotton.
When he feels Jack's mouth on his cock, he grunts. Jack blows warm breath on the head, making Owen suppress a shiver, and Owen tries not to let the absurdity of tonight, of his life choices, worm its way into his mind.
If he's expecting anything, he's expecting only this. Just a quick suck, and then goodbye. But Jack doesn't let him come. When the sucking stops, Owen opens his eyes, only to see Harkness's face a few inches above his own. His arms are braced on either side of Owen's body, like the bars of a cage, and Owen doesn't want to be lying like this anymore.
He sits up, and Jack ends up straddling Owen's thighs. Owen pulls him into another brutal kiss, holding a handful of Jack's hair in his fist, and when he releases him, Jack's lips are pink. Jack gets up, and for a moment, Owen is afraid he's just going to leave him like this, hard and leaking. But no, Jack takes off the rest of his clothes.
"I want to fuck you," Jack says, and Owen is tongue-tied again. He knows Jack wants a response, maybe something like, "Oh, God, yes," but the way Jack looks at him makes that impossible. Owen can't think of any way to articulate himself that won't leave him bare.
So he says, "All right, then, what you waiting for?"
Owen starts to lie on his stomach, but Jack grips his arm and turns him onto his back. He puts on a condom, adds more lube, and then spreads Owen's knees with a greased palm.
Jack asks, "You ever done this before?"
Owen snorts. "'Course I have. Unless you wanted me to play the blushing virgin."
When Jack slides a finger into his arse, Owen reaches down to stroke his cock.
"No," Jack says, "don't touch yourself."
Owen stares at him, as if to say, "Are you fucking kidding me?" He doesn't move his hand.
Jack stops moving his finger. He glares at Owen, and they seem to have reached a stalemate of some sort. Any doubt Owen had about Jack's seriousness fades away, and he's left wondering what sort of power game Jack is playing here, exactly. Whatever it is, two can play. Jack thinks Owen likes a challenge? Well, Owen can give him a challenge right back.
But first, he moves his hand up to his stomach. Slowly enough so that he can pretend it's his own idea.
The corner of Jack's mouth twitches into a smile. "Good boy."
Owen returns the expression. "You want me to be good, you can fucking make me, Harkness." He thrusts his hips, pushing down on Jack's finger. Jack grins at him.
He bites off a grunt when Jack pushes his cock in his arse. He decides at this point that he'll refuse to make a single sound. He grips Jack's arms, leaving long, thin bruises. In return, Jack digs his fingernails into Owen's hips.
Jack drives his own hips in and out. "This all right for you?" Jack asks, his voice half playful, half serious. Owen huffs.
"You kidding? Thought you were gonna show me what you've got."
"Oh, if you want more, I've got more. And you're gonna take it, aren't you?"
Owen purses his lips and nods.
Without warning, Jack pulls out and flips Owen onto his stomach. He presses him into the mattress, and the weight and warmth of his body is somewhere between secure and restrictive. Owen's erection is trapped against the bed. Jack runs his hands down Owen's arms and grips him at the wrists, holding him down. And when Jack pushes his cock back in, pressing it against Owen's prostate, it's the combination of all this that makes Owen come, muffling his moans in the pillow.
Owen doesn't like pleasing and obeying. What he needs, what he'll never admit that he wants, is to be pushed.
Title: Pop Psychology
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters/Pairing: Owen/Jack
Rating: NC-17/Explicit (sex, language)
Contains: D/s, rough sex.
Word count: 1250
Summary: Owen is not into submission. That would require him to like pleasing people and being told what to do, and he likes the very opposite of that.
Owen is not into submission. That would require him to like pleasing people and being told what to do, and he likes the very opposite of that.
Jack, apparently, has his own theories.
"Know what I think?" Jack asks.
Owen hadn't asked what he thinks, but he knows Jack well enough by now to know there's no stopping him when he feels like sharing his opinion.
"I think you like pushing people."
Owen scoffs into his beer. "Oh, really? Is that your theory about me, Sherlock?"
Jack smiles a little. "And you know what? I think it's because you want someone to get the better of you."
Maybe Jack has been reading psychology books or something. Maybe he's going through some phase of trying to "understand" his employees. Frankly, he could do with some training in managing people. His management style seems to consist mainly of storming through the Hub and barking orders without stopping to see if they're obeyed.
"Fuck off, Harkness. Stop trying to get inside my head. It's not gonna work."
Jack chuckles.
* * *
How it happens isn't that important, because these things just happen to Owen. That's his defense, at least. He rarely plans to shag his coworkers, but it's worked out that way more than once. Shagging his boss is probably even worse.
But he'd be lying if he said he hasn't been kind of curious about Jack. It's so easy to be interested in Jack, to see him as someone you might end up shagging eventually. And it's not like Owen's never messed around with another bloke before, out of curiosity.
Which means for Owen, it's probably inevitable.
Jack kisses him when they get inside Owen's flat. Owen turns the kiss rough, pressing his mouth into Jack's and biting at his lip.
Jack chuckles and pulls back, licking the spot Owen bit. The look in his eyes is a challenge.
Jack is only the second person Owen has slept with in this new flat. Owen hasn't been in Cardiff that long. He wasn't planning to bring anyone home tonight, so the sheets are ruffled and there's a shirt on the bed. Owen throws it aside and starts undressing.
While Owen unzips his jeans, he says, "This had better not change anything between us at work. 'Cause I'm not into office romances."
That last bit isn't quite true, because office romances have happened to him once or twice before, as well.
"Don't worry; I'm the model of discretion."
Jack Harkness, model of discretion. That's a bloody laugh.
Owen strips down, and it's only when he's standing there in his blue boxer briefs that he realizes Jack is only now taking off his coat. He suddenly feels very exposed.
But Jack doesn't even look at him. He takes a ridiculously long time unbuttoning his shirt before he walks over. He puts his hands on Owen's shoulders and guides him back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he's forced to sit down.
"So, what do you want me to do?" Jack asks.
Owen shouldn't be tongue-tied, but for some reason, he is.
"Dunno," he mumbles, "why don't you show me what you got?"
Jack grins. "Oh, I can do that."
He gives Owen another push, this time so that he ends up lying on his back, knees bent and feet on the floor. Owen gazes at the ceiling and feels Jack's fingers on his hips, hooking themselves in the waistband of his pants and pulling. He lifts his hips and lowers a hand to free his hard-on from the cotton.
When he feels Jack's mouth on his cock, he grunts. Jack blows warm breath on the head, making Owen suppress a shiver, and Owen tries not to let the absurdity of tonight, of his life choices, worm its way into his mind.
If he's expecting anything, he's expecting only this. Just a quick suck, and then goodbye. But Jack doesn't let him come. When the sucking stops, Owen opens his eyes, only to see Harkness's face a few inches above his own. His arms are braced on either side of Owen's body, like the bars of a cage, and Owen doesn't want to be lying like this anymore.
He sits up, and Jack ends up straddling Owen's thighs. Owen pulls him into another brutal kiss, holding a handful of Jack's hair in his fist, and when he releases him, Jack's lips are pink. Jack gets up, and for a moment, Owen is afraid he's just going to leave him like this, hard and leaking. But no, Jack takes off the rest of his clothes.
"I want to fuck you," Jack says, and Owen is tongue-tied again. He knows Jack wants a response, maybe something like, "Oh, God, yes," but the way Jack looks at him makes that impossible. Owen can't think of any way to articulate himself that won't leave him bare.
So he says, "All right, then, what you waiting for?"
Owen starts to lie on his stomach, but Jack grips his arm and turns him onto his back. He puts on a condom, adds more lube, and then spreads Owen's knees with a greased palm.
Jack asks, "You ever done this before?"
Owen snorts. "'Course I have. Unless you wanted me to play the blushing virgin."
When Jack slides a finger into his arse, Owen reaches down to stroke his cock.
"No," Jack says, "don't touch yourself."
Owen stares at him, as if to say, "Are you fucking kidding me?" He doesn't move his hand.
Jack stops moving his finger. He glares at Owen, and they seem to have reached a stalemate of some sort. Any doubt Owen had about Jack's seriousness fades away, and he's left wondering what sort of power game Jack is playing here, exactly. Whatever it is, two can play. Jack thinks Owen likes a challenge? Well, Owen can give him a challenge right back.
But first, he moves his hand up to his stomach. Slowly enough so that he can pretend it's his own idea.
The corner of Jack's mouth twitches into a smile. "Good boy."
Owen returns the expression. "You want me to be good, you can fucking make me, Harkness." He thrusts his hips, pushing down on Jack's finger. Jack grins at him.
He bites off a grunt when Jack pushes his cock in his arse. He decides at this point that he'll refuse to make a single sound. He grips Jack's arms, leaving long, thin bruises. In return, Jack digs his fingernails into Owen's hips.
Jack drives his own hips in and out. "This all right for you?" Jack asks, his voice half playful, half serious. Owen huffs.
"You kidding? Thought you were gonna show me what you've got."
"Oh, if you want more, I've got more. And you're gonna take it, aren't you?"
Owen purses his lips and nods.
Without warning, Jack pulls out and flips Owen onto his stomach. He presses him into the mattress, and the weight and warmth of his body is somewhere between secure and restrictive. Owen's erection is trapped against the bed. Jack runs his hands down Owen's arms and grips him at the wrists, holding him down. And when Jack pushes his cock back in, pressing it against Owen's prostate, it's the combination of all this that makes Owen come, muffling his moans in the pillow.
Owen doesn't like pleasing and obeying. What he needs, what he'll never admit that he wants, is to be pushed.