Fic: Dance of Familiarity (Extended)
Now that the porn battle's over, I'm okay with posting the stuff that I wrote for it. There are a few extended cuts, as in they were abridged, and I let them sit for a bit and decided to come back to them after I couldn't figure out what to write next. Here's the first one.
Title: Dance of Familiarity
Fandom: Crossover: Torchwood/Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Vala Mal Doran/Jack Harkness
Wordcount: 2,350.
Rating: a hard R, at least. NC-17 to be safe.
Spoilers: Through TW 1x13 and SG-1 10x10
Notes: Probably crossposted to torch_wood and Vintagemilitary. The original version was for the porn battle and can be found here. The prompt was Vala/Jack and the word "Cons".
Disclaimer: No. I don't own them, I just borrow them and make sure they still have movable parts when I put them back where I found them.
Vala doesn’t know how they’ve managed to sneak in plain clothes on this trip to England, Wales, wherever she is on this little island. It’s warm in the club but snowing outside, and the others have decided to leave looking good up to her, so she’s happy enough with her pretty little black dress, stiletto heels and shots of vodka. It’s not that cold.
The man at the bar reminds her of someone, dark hair and broad shoulders, woolen coat with a glass of water. He turns, eyes meeting hers knowingly. She smiles, and has to say hello.
She lays a well-manicured hand on the wool coat of his shoulder, and he turns around. They both know she looks beautiful. “So tell me, Captain Harkness, why would a man sit at a bar to drink water with the most ordinary fruit on this side of the universe?”
“Well, Miss Mal Doran,” He grins, “It could be because he’s waiting for the most beautiful woman on this side of the universe.”
“Oh Jack, always the romantic, you are,” she smiles, lowering her mouth to his for a kiss. He's still the man she married, somewhere in there. She knows. She can taste it. “What are you doing here?”
“I live in Cardiff,” Jack says, dryly.
“No,” She gasps. “A place as cold and boring as Cardiff? I would have pegged you for Amsterdam, St. Tropez, Edinburgh, even. Why Cardiff? And you still haven’t answered why you’re in a bar without a proper drink.”
“There’s nothing ‘proper’ enough for me, here,” He smiles, “And you know why.”
“You found him, then?” She asks. “And surely, love, you drink something other than water?”
“Double Scotch, and yes, I did,” Jack nods “I found him and others.”
“Still as polyamorious as ever, Captain?” She asks.
“As ever, m’lady,” He smiles. “Aren’t you going to be polite and introduce me to the rest of your extremely good looking team?”
“Of course.”
There’s history between the two of them, an exquisite con in 2554, where the two of them posed as a professional ballroom dancing couple falling in love on the settlement of Io prime. The whole scene had been high society, high security and even higher stakes, lucrative amounts of jewelry just begging to be stolen and seduction begging to take place. They were married, eventually, but annulled quickly after an extensive honeymoon of sex, dancing, dancing while having sex, and then dancing some more. Posing as a married couple was easier than being a married couple, and while they’d slept in the same bed, it was easier to think of Vala as a business partner and good friend instead of his wife. Marriage was too permanent but all too needed for a con like this.
They’d taken the title that year, perfect frames, tuxedos, beautiful dresses and jewels pulled right out of comets, so clear and beautiful they could do the bait and switch without anyone noticing. The days wore on, and near the end she kept talking about Daniel and her maternal instincts and he kept going on about a pretty Welsh teaboy named Ianto who wouldn’t like it too much if he returned to Cardiff 2008 with a child and a ring on his finger. A quick hack into the time agency after the con had run its course and they’d had the means of easy transportation back to Earth, and he’d dropped her off in Colorado like the hero from the 50’s Hollywood black and white they’d been watching when he’d proposed. She’d smiled and kissed him deep enough to remember her for years before setting his watch to Cardiff 2008 and letting him disappear.
When Torchwood 3 saw him again, he’d had a new haircut, a different kind of woolen military coat, dances to wistfully teach Toshiko and Gwen once things had been patched up, and a vintage shuttle bag holding a book of notes on time coordinates, three bottles of his favorite hypervodka, a multimedia record and play device, several disks of files for the device (including a tape of him and Vala having the shag of their lives in ultrasensory spectrovision, which Jack never showed to the others), his ballroom dancing shoes, the lucky braces he wore under his tuxedo waistcoats, a picture of him and Vala on their wedding day along with his wedding band made of retro-alloy, his favorite trophy from the Io Varekai Nationals and several million euros worth of real diamonds. There had been questions, accusations, but Jack’s story had been a harsh one and he was sure they could see it on his face. He’d been abandoned for a second time, and it had taken more than enough work to get back to the place he wanted to be.
Jack already knows about the rest of Vala’s team, Tosh pulled up their files eons ago, and he makes sure to slip the proper dosage of retcon into their drinks while he and Vala charm their way through their story, like proper storytellers should. Daniel, the Daniel Vala had talked of all along had eyed him up and down, nervously, as had the rest of her team when meeting them, but Jack was used to nervousness. It kept him on his toes.
There’s a bit of an ache, seeing her again, not of regret but curiosity. He knows of the reason they’re all here, and it holds no consequence to him. She always will matter to him, though, a dear friend and a good partner in all senses of the word, and he offers to take her back to her flat so they can catch up. He wants to know everything, and part of him wants to feel everything they had again, too.
Walking through the streets is easy and quiet. She tells him of her travels, in hushed tones and slang that only they can understand, his woolen coat drenched over her shoulders. She tells him of the Stargate, the Ori, the Supergate and her sacrifice, the man she woke up married to and the daughter she regret having, of making SG-1 and getting amnesia, of being burned alive and resurrected. She pouted adorably when he wouldn’t tell her what had developed between him and the team after he’d arrived back. They’d stopped near the bay, and when she looks at the plass, the water tower, her eyes gleam with excitement. She waves to the air, even though he’s made her painfully aware they’re capturing her face on CCTV, and she grins, big and goofy when she passes by the stone lift and can feel the chameleon cloak brush magnetic on her skin.
“I saw you, Jack,” She teases, outside the inconspicuous door to the temporary flat. He digs his hands in his pockets and gives her a naughty smile.
“What do you think you saw, Vala?” he teases. She knows him, and he’d kind of showboated his slight of hand with the drinks, earlier, for old times sake.
“What did you slip them?” She says, girlishly, as she opens the door to the flat she’s sharing with a woman named Sam Carter. Tosh would love Sam, in conversation and probably in bed as well - Jack would have to remember to ask if the two of them could meet.
“When you’ve got amnesia pills, common sense states you should use them,” he smiles deviously.
“Why Jack, you’ve got amnesia pills and you didn’t tell me? You’ve drugged SG-1 right in front of me so they forget things? Why don’t I just sit here with envy on my face for the rest of the night? I’ve wanted to do that myself for ages.” When she closes the door, he takes her face into his hands and kisses her. She gasps in surprise, but melts in his arms, arching into him so deep his coat slips off her shoulders and hits the floor.
“This isn’t going to be that mild mannered foxtrot you remember performing in public, Jack,” She says, as they break apart. She turns around to pick up his coat from the floor and eyes him seriously. “It’s just you and I. Perhaps your others take things slow and gentle like your waltz, but I don’t.”
“Who said I was looking for a foxtrot, or a waltz?” he says, as they walk further into the room. He takes his coat from her, and throws it onto the back of a chair. “I might be looking for a Geniian Tango, for all you know.”
She laughs at that, a brilliant and sunny noise like he always remembered, and assumes her position beside him before grasping his hands. “Con my clothes off for old times sake, Captain?”
“Only because you asked, Vala,” He says, and slides his hand behind her, pulling her around to him as he slides the zipper on her dress down. A sharp pivot, and she’s pressed against his chest, tense and tall but pliable in his arms. Her lips taste like the vodka she’s been drinking, and when he wraps her arm around his neck and turns away from her, she reaches out and pulls at one of his braces, yanking it down his shoulders and pulling him back to her, leg wrapping around him so he can dip her low enough her hair brushes the hardwood floor. He feels powerful as he pulls her back up, looking away from her as he whips her across the room.
“You still remember all the steps,” She says, impressed as he turns her around and curls her into him, the sleeves of her dress falling off her shoulders.
“I’d like to think I get lots of practice. Not all my ‘others’, as you like to call them, fancy the waltz or foxtrot,” He says as the dress pools to the floor. His hands slide down her ribs, and he smiles as she reaches backward and looks at him. “Never one for underwear, as I remember.”
“Only when I sleep on base, otherwise they impede,” She insists. “Besides, do you really think highly enough of yourself to pickpocket my panties, Jack?”
“Where’s your bed?”
“No more formalities, then?” She asks, turning around, lifting her foot to caress his leg, balancing on him as she peels back his clothing. “Ah, that’s how you brave Cardiff, layers upon layers upon layers. Do you ever have anything even resembling a quickie, now that you’re off saving Queen and country? Do you even remotely get hard for anything not resembling a new piece of alien technology, nowadays?”
Another snap of arms finds Jack clinging to her from behind, and he’s sure she can feel just how hard he is.
“No more formalities.” He whispers, and produces a condom out of nowhere.
“Now there’s the Jack Harkness I married,” she grins, and drags him so quickly to the bedroom he almost forgets his pants are around his ankles and he’s still in his shoes. A quick moment to fully undress, and despite her laughing, he follows.
The dance stops when throws her onto the bed, but a new dance of familiarity starts in its place. They kiss, soft hot and real as she pushes breast into his hand and lets her fingers slide around his cock. He plays with her hair as she slides her tongue over the head and applies her lips to the shaft. He closes his eyes and moans, softly, a hand roaming down her body until he finds her thighs, her hips, her entrance and slides careful fingers inside of her before sliding to the side to fit his mouth over her. It’s an awkward position for the both of them, but she’s clawing at his hair as he flicks her clit with his tongue, and she keeps bobbling like she wants to fit all of him into her mouth and it feels too good to move. It curls his toes, but he backs away before she can make him come.
“Am I going to have to stay still like a good little girl?” She asks, jovially as he kisses her, lets her taste herself.
“I would never ask that of you again, after the first time when you nearly got me pregnant,” Jack grins. She lays back, opening her legs and settles the condom over him, lips dancing over his neck as he moans low.
“That’s only because we did it too right, how was I supposed to know the locals were conjuring the god of male fertility?” She asks, licking her lips and moaning as he slides in, slow to torture the both of them, to make her feel every inch of him, and settles when he’s fully inside.
“Perfect, like I remember.” He whispers, and bends over to press his lips chastely to hers.
There’s all the time in the world, but Vala doesn’t like doing anything slow, and he never has been able to focus on keeping a perfect teasing tempo when she’s around, so he doesn’t. He places a hand on her hip, hard and steady until she’s clutching him all over, her heels digging into his back so hard that they could probably cut into his kidneys.
It used to take them ten minutes to come on Io, screaming and panting and a collaborative mess of skin and sound and fluid, but it’ll only take five and a half at this rate with Jack’s ruthless thrusts and low hisses. She screams his name out loud when her orgasm triggers through her whole body like water, arching into a perfect curve upward, making him groan as he finally gives into coming, himself, watching the world peel away until it’s just the two of them.
He stays inside her afterwards, lips smashing into lips, touching all the places where he knows she’ll be sensitive. She arches into his hand, moaning lowly, as he slips two fingers inside her, and rubs at her clit.
In about twenty minutes, they’ll have another go, and, he’ll go so slow she’ll have to pickpocket her orgasm from him. He holds her down and watches as she writhes and groans, calls him names, ones filled with love and venom, in languages only they understand. When she does come, she’s shaking and looks absolutely amazing in his arms, in this bed, and she pulls him over the edge with her again, all nerves and satisfaction and remembrance, all familiarity as they lay there.
It’s the closest Jack’s been to sleep in months.
In the morning, Vala woke up alone. Jack had pressed an altoids tin of retcon into her hand, a note tucked inside. The note had his phone number scrawled on the back and said three things. The first was that Sam saw Jack, gloriously naked, while she was sitting down with her tea and he was looking for his trousers. The second was that while they’re still in town, Jack would like to introduce her and the others to Torchwood, and the third, surprisingly, was that he still loves her. And always will.
A tight little thrill ran through her chest as she dropped a pill into Sam’s tea as Sam prepared the kettle again, and while her tea was brewing, Vala pawed around for her phone.
Jack’s not there, but she left a message.
Wanted to thank you, Darling, for last night, good seeing you again. I had missed you severely. As for your note, I would love to meet the rest of your ‘others’, that Ianto boy especially, and we’ll have to figure out a time when we can all meet. I’ll pull my strings, as I’m sure you’ll pull yours. We'll raise a few Jealous eyebrows, you and I, I'm sure. I can only hope this time you’ll let me see your Batcave, lair of impenetrable solitude, lair of penetrable solitude,lair of solitude, lair of penetration, whatever you lot call it. Just... Call me back.
Vala snapped the phone shut and sighed as she looked out the kitchen window. Suddenly, Cardiff wasn’t so boring anymore.
Title: Dance of Familiarity
Fandom: Crossover: Torchwood/Stargate SG-1
Pairing: Vala Mal Doran/Jack Harkness
Wordcount: 2,350.
Rating: a hard R, at least. NC-17 to be safe.
Spoilers: Through TW 1x13 and SG-1 10x10
Notes: Probably crossposted to torch_wood and Vintagemilitary. The original version was for the porn battle and can be found here. The prompt was Vala/Jack and the word "Cons".
Disclaimer: No. I don't own them, I just borrow them and make sure they still have movable parts when I put them back where I found them.
Vala doesn’t know how they’ve managed to sneak in plain clothes on this trip to England, Wales, wherever she is on this little island. It’s warm in the club but snowing outside, and the others have decided to leave looking good up to her, so she’s happy enough with her pretty little black dress, stiletto heels and shots of vodka. It’s not that cold.
The man at the bar reminds her of someone, dark hair and broad shoulders, woolen coat with a glass of water. He turns, eyes meeting hers knowingly. She smiles, and has to say hello.
She lays a well-manicured hand on the wool coat of his shoulder, and he turns around. They both know she looks beautiful. “So tell me, Captain Harkness, why would a man sit at a bar to drink water with the most ordinary fruit on this side of the universe?”
“Well, Miss Mal Doran,” He grins, “It could be because he’s waiting for the most beautiful woman on this side of the universe.”
“Oh Jack, always the romantic, you are,” she smiles, lowering her mouth to his for a kiss. He's still the man she married, somewhere in there. She knows. She can taste it. “What are you doing here?”
“I live in Cardiff,” Jack says, dryly.
“No,” She gasps. “A place as cold and boring as Cardiff? I would have pegged you for Amsterdam, St. Tropez, Edinburgh, even. Why Cardiff? And you still haven’t answered why you’re in a bar without a proper drink.”
“There’s nothing ‘proper’ enough for me, here,” He smiles, “And you know why.”
“You found him, then?” She asks. “And surely, love, you drink something other than water?”
“Double Scotch, and yes, I did,” Jack nods “I found him and others.”
“Still as polyamorious as ever, Captain?” She asks.
“As ever, m’lady,” He smiles. “Aren’t you going to be polite and introduce me to the rest of your extremely good looking team?”
“Of course.”
There’s history between the two of them, an exquisite con in 2554, where the two of them posed as a professional ballroom dancing couple falling in love on the settlement of Io prime. The whole scene had been high society, high security and even higher stakes, lucrative amounts of jewelry just begging to be stolen and seduction begging to take place. They were married, eventually, but annulled quickly after an extensive honeymoon of sex, dancing, dancing while having sex, and then dancing some more. Posing as a married couple was easier than being a married couple, and while they’d slept in the same bed, it was easier to think of Vala as a business partner and good friend instead of his wife. Marriage was too permanent but all too needed for a con like this.
They’d taken the title that year, perfect frames, tuxedos, beautiful dresses and jewels pulled right out of comets, so clear and beautiful they could do the bait and switch without anyone noticing. The days wore on, and near the end she kept talking about Daniel and her maternal instincts and he kept going on about a pretty Welsh teaboy named Ianto who wouldn’t like it too much if he returned to Cardiff 2008 with a child and a ring on his finger. A quick hack into the time agency after the con had run its course and they’d had the means of easy transportation back to Earth, and he’d dropped her off in Colorado like the hero from the 50’s Hollywood black and white they’d been watching when he’d proposed. She’d smiled and kissed him deep enough to remember her for years before setting his watch to Cardiff 2008 and letting him disappear.
When Torchwood 3 saw him again, he’d had a new haircut, a different kind of woolen military coat, dances to wistfully teach Toshiko and Gwen once things had been patched up, and a vintage shuttle bag holding a book of notes on time coordinates, three bottles of his favorite hypervodka, a multimedia record and play device, several disks of files for the device (including a tape of him and Vala having the shag of their lives in ultrasensory spectrovision, which Jack never showed to the others), his ballroom dancing shoes, the lucky braces he wore under his tuxedo waistcoats, a picture of him and Vala on their wedding day along with his wedding band made of retro-alloy, his favorite trophy from the Io Varekai Nationals and several million euros worth of real diamonds. There had been questions, accusations, but Jack’s story had been a harsh one and he was sure they could see it on his face. He’d been abandoned for a second time, and it had taken more than enough work to get back to the place he wanted to be.
Jack already knows about the rest of Vala’s team, Tosh pulled up their files eons ago, and he makes sure to slip the proper dosage of retcon into their drinks while he and Vala charm their way through their story, like proper storytellers should. Daniel, the Daniel Vala had talked of all along had eyed him up and down, nervously, as had the rest of her team when meeting them, but Jack was used to nervousness. It kept him on his toes.
There’s a bit of an ache, seeing her again, not of regret but curiosity. He knows of the reason they’re all here, and it holds no consequence to him. She always will matter to him, though, a dear friend and a good partner in all senses of the word, and he offers to take her back to her flat so they can catch up. He wants to know everything, and part of him wants to feel everything they had again, too.
Walking through the streets is easy and quiet. She tells him of her travels, in hushed tones and slang that only they can understand, his woolen coat drenched over her shoulders. She tells him of the Stargate, the Ori, the Supergate and her sacrifice, the man she woke up married to and the daughter she regret having, of making SG-1 and getting amnesia, of being burned alive and resurrected. She pouted adorably when he wouldn’t tell her what had developed between him and the team after he’d arrived back. They’d stopped near the bay, and when she looks at the plass, the water tower, her eyes gleam with excitement. She waves to the air, even though he’s made her painfully aware they’re capturing her face on CCTV, and she grins, big and goofy when she passes by the stone lift and can feel the chameleon cloak brush magnetic on her skin.
“I saw you, Jack,” She teases, outside the inconspicuous door to the temporary flat. He digs his hands in his pockets and gives her a naughty smile.
“What do you think you saw, Vala?” he teases. She knows him, and he’d kind of showboated his slight of hand with the drinks, earlier, for old times sake.
“What did you slip them?” She says, girlishly, as she opens the door to the flat she’s sharing with a woman named Sam Carter. Tosh would love Sam, in conversation and probably in bed as well - Jack would have to remember to ask if the two of them could meet.
“When you’ve got amnesia pills, common sense states you should use them,” he smiles deviously.
“Why Jack, you’ve got amnesia pills and you didn’t tell me? You’ve drugged SG-1 right in front of me so they forget things? Why don’t I just sit here with envy on my face for the rest of the night? I’ve wanted to do that myself for ages.” When she closes the door, he takes her face into his hands and kisses her. She gasps in surprise, but melts in his arms, arching into him so deep his coat slips off her shoulders and hits the floor.
“This isn’t going to be that mild mannered foxtrot you remember performing in public, Jack,” She says, as they break apart. She turns around to pick up his coat from the floor and eyes him seriously. “It’s just you and I. Perhaps your others take things slow and gentle like your waltz, but I don’t.”
“Who said I was looking for a foxtrot, or a waltz?” he says, as they walk further into the room. He takes his coat from her, and throws it onto the back of a chair. “I might be looking for a Geniian Tango, for all you know.”
She laughs at that, a brilliant and sunny noise like he always remembered, and assumes her position beside him before grasping his hands. “Con my clothes off for old times sake, Captain?”
“Only because you asked, Vala,” He says, and slides his hand behind her, pulling her around to him as he slides the zipper on her dress down. A sharp pivot, and she’s pressed against his chest, tense and tall but pliable in his arms. Her lips taste like the vodka she’s been drinking, and when he wraps her arm around his neck and turns away from her, she reaches out and pulls at one of his braces, yanking it down his shoulders and pulling him back to her, leg wrapping around him so he can dip her low enough her hair brushes the hardwood floor. He feels powerful as he pulls her back up, looking away from her as he whips her across the room.
“You still remember all the steps,” She says, impressed as he turns her around and curls her into him, the sleeves of her dress falling off her shoulders.
“I’d like to think I get lots of practice. Not all my ‘others’, as you like to call them, fancy the waltz or foxtrot,” He says as the dress pools to the floor. His hands slide down her ribs, and he smiles as she reaches backward and looks at him. “Never one for underwear, as I remember.”
“Only when I sleep on base, otherwise they impede,” She insists. “Besides, do you really think highly enough of yourself to pickpocket my panties, Jack?”
“Where’s your bed?”
“No more formalities, then?” She asks, turning around, lifting her foot to caress his leg, balancing on him as she peels back his clothing. “Ah, that’s how you brave Cardiff, layers upon layers upon layers. Do you ever have anything even resembling a quickie, now that you’re off saving Queen and country? Do you even remotely get hard for anything not resembling a new piece of alien technology, nowadays?”
Another snap of arms finds Jack clinging to her from behind, and he’s sure she can feel just how hard he is.
“No more formalities.” He whispers, and produces a condom out of nowhere.
“Now there’s the Jack Harkness I married,” she grins, and drags him so quickly to the bedroom he almost forgets his pants are around his ankles and he’s still in his shoes. A quick moment to fully undress, and despite her laughing, he follows.
The dance stops when throws her onto the bed, but a new dance of familiarity starts in its place. They kiss, soft hot and real as she pushes breast into his hand and lets her fingers slide around his cock. He plays with her hair as she slides her tongue over the head and applies her lips to the shaft. He closes his eyes and moans, softly, a hand roaming down her body until he finds her thighs, her hips, her entrance and slides careful fingers inside of her before sliding to the side to fit his mouth over her. It’s an awkward position for the both of them, but she’s clawing at his hair as he flicks her clit with his tongue, and she keeps bobbling like she wants to fit all of him into her mouth and it feels too good to move. It curls his toes, but he backs away before she can make him come.
“Am I going to have to stay still like a good little girl?” She asks, jovially as he kisses her, lets her taste herself.
“I would never ask that of you again, after the first time when you nearly got me pregnant,” Jack grins. She lays back, opening her legs and settles the condom over him, lips dancing over his neck as he moans low.
“That’s only because we did it too right, how was I supposed to know the locals were conjuring the god of male fertility?” She asks, licking her lips and moaning as he slides in, slow to torture the both of them, to make her feel every inch of him, and settles when he’s fully inside.
“Perfect, like I remember.” He whispers, and bends over to press his lips chastely to hers.
There’s all the time in the world, but Vala doesn’t like doing anything slow, and he never has been able to focus on keeping a perfect teasing tempo when she’s around, so he doesn’t. He places a hand on her hip, hard and steady until she’s clutching him all over, her heels digging into his back so hard that they could probably cut into his kidneys.
It used to take them ten minutes to come on Io, screaming and panting and a collaborative mess of skin and sound and fluid, but it’ll only take five and a half at this rate with Jack’s ruthless thrusts and low hisses. She screams his name out loud when her orgasm triggers through her whole body like water, arching into a perfect curve upward, making him groan as he finally gives into coming, himself, watching the world peel away until it’s just the two of them.
He stays inside her afterwards, lips smashing into lips, touching all the places where he knows she’ll be sensitive. She arches into his hand, moaning lowly, as he slips two fingers inside her, and rubs at her clit.
In about twenty minutes, they’ll have another go, and, he’ll go so slow she’ll have to pickpocket her orgasm from him. He holds her down and watches as she writhes and groans, calls him names, ones filled with love and venom, in languages only they understand. When she does come, she’s shaking and looks absolutely amazing in his arms, in this bed, and she pulls him over the edge with her again, all nerves and satisfaction and remembrance, all familiarity as they lay there.
It’s the closest Jack’s been to sleep in months.
In the morning, Vala woke up alone. Jack had pressed an altoids tin of retcon into her hand, a note tucked inside. The note had his phone number scrawled on the back and said three things. The first was that Sam saw Jack, gloriously naked, while she was sitting down with her tea and he was looking for his trousers. The second was that while they’re still in town, Jack would like to introduce her and the others to Torchwood, and the third, surprisingly, was that he still loves her. And always will.
A tight little thrill ran through her chest as she dropped a pill into Sam’s tea as Sam prepared the kettle again, and while her tea was brewing, Vala pawed around for her phone.
Jack’s not there, but she left a message.
Wanted to thank you, Darling, for last night, good seeing you again. I had missed you severely. As for your note, I would love to meet the rest of your ‘others’, that Ianto boy especially, and we’ll have to figure out a time when we can all meet. I’ll pull my strings, as I’m sure you’ll pull yours. We'll raise a few Jealous eyebrows, you and I, I'm sure. I can only hope this time you’ll let me see your Batcave, lair of impenetrable solitude, lair of penetrable solitude,lair of solitude, lair of penetration, whatever you lot call it. Just... Call me back.
Vala snapped the phone shut and sighed as she looked out the kitchen window. Suddenly, Cardiff wasn’t so boring anymore.