"Oh! You Pretty Things"
Title: Oh! You Pretty Things
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/DC Chris Skelton
Rating: NC-17
Notes/Summary: Set in 1973, Jack tracks an alien from Cardiff to Manchester where he enlists the help of 'A' Division. Bit of a Life on Mars cross-over. Written for the get_tw_laid prompt "history." Title is from a David Bowie song.
Chris followed Ray into the building. His head still smarted from being knocked over by a pair of skinheads. They’d got them in the end - got lucky with a blind alley - but what he really wanted was a few minutes away, and maybe a drink of water before the boys heard about him getting pummeled. He ducked in behind the main desk and made a beeline for the water cooler. He was just filling his paper cup when an unfamiliar voice cut through the din.
“Hi there. Captain Jack Harkness. I’m here to see DCI Hunt.”
He blinked and turned around in time to see Phyllis scowl and cross her arms at a man - American? - in an old RAF coat. He wasn’t in full uniform, and from the way she was looking at him, she thought he was a jumped-up little twit. That grin of his probably wasn’t doing him any favors with her, either. Chris winced. Poor bastard.
“Captain of what?”
He took a black leather wallet out of his coat and flipped it open where she could see it. When she looked back up at him the grin was gone. Phyllis blanched.
“I’ll just go get the Guv.”
“Thank you, Phyllis.”
The visitor’s eyes met his in passing. For a second, it was unsettlingly like being noticed.
# # #
“You know what I think?” Ray chewed and pointed a chip at Chris. “I think he’s Special Branch.”
“Thought the Guv hated Special Branch?” He leaned left and managed to catch a glimpse of the two men laughing in Hunt’s office. The American was telling a story of some sort, and their DCI had a look of utter amusement and disbelief on his face. “And anyway, why’d an American join Special Branch?”
Ray gave him a sour look and went back to his lunch.
“You didn’t see the way Phyllis went all chalky when he flashed his badge at her, either. Was like she was scared of him. ”
Gene’s door banged open, startling the room to attention. Most of the men stood and watched as their DCI and the stranger emerged.
“Alright, ladies,” Hunt barked as the last few stragglers shuffled to their feet. “This is Captain Harkness. You will treat him with almost as much respect as you do me, and help him with anything he asks for.”
No one moved. Well, the man in the coat did. He grinned and put his hands in his pockets and seemed to be looking them all over like a kid with his toys at Christmas.
“Well, go on, you divs! Show the man a good time!” DCI Hunt wandered back into his office and slammed the door behind him.
Chris watched as Captain Harkness stifled a chuckle before addressing them.
“I’m not here to waste your time, or to get in your way, or boss you around. In fact, my goal is to get in and out of your city with a minimum of disruption and let you do your jobs. I’m not “C” Division, I’m not the fraud squad, and frankly I’ve got no desire to get into your business. What I need is a local guide with CID credentials who can follow orders. Do I have a volunteer?”
Ray snorted. The room went dead silent.
“What, no one?” The Captain smirked and arched a brow. His smile faded into something a little more commanding.
Chris cleared his throat and raised his hand. “I could, uh…” He felt his cheeks and ears go pink as eyes from all over appraised him.
“DC Skelton, isn’t it?” Jack asked, turning to face him.
“Uh, yes sir.”
“Good. Consider yourself seconded for the weekend.” With a turn that was nothing so much as a flourish, the Captain turned and strode down the aisle and out into the corridor.
“Nice one, Chris.” Ray elbowed him in the ribs. He winced and looked down at his desk. Across the room, he could hear a few of the boys already murmuring “Ooh! I’ll volunteer!” in falsetto voices. He’d get hell about this for a week. Especially the “following orders” part. Maybe he could change his mind? He sighed and sat and took a bite of his sandwich.
Captain Harkness’ head poked back into the room. “You coming or not?”
With a start, he scrambled away from the desk. His sandwich took flight and slammed into his pencil cup, knocking it over. He swore quietly and tried to gather things up before giving up and shoving a good deal of the detritus on his desk (including the remains of his sandwich) into the bin. The American stood, smirking.
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you meant right now!”
The Captain passed him a battered brown wallet and led him into the corridor. “I’ve brought you some ID in case we need to use it. Try to keep to the lower level documents unless it’s absolutely necessary to be important. It’s easier to pass yourself off at the bottom of the chain.”
Chris took it and turned it over in his hands before looking inside. It looked old. Inside he found several different pieces of identification. He pulled a card free and balked. “Gas board!?”
“Never know when you’ll need to nose around in someone’s kitchen.”
He fumbled through the wallet. “But these are all me! My name and picture!”
Harkness slapped a hand on his shoulder and smirked. “Well, then! I guess it’s a good thing DS Carling didn’t volunteer, huh?”
“Y-yes sir.” Chris gave him a weak smile. The Captain was unnaturally confident, which had the dual effect of making him feel like he might possibly be in good hands, but also embarrassing him at his sheer lack of skill and grace. The Captain was all charisma, while Chris was all elbows and thumbs.
“And anyway, your DCI makes him sound like the last person I’d want to come along. Like I said, I need someone who knows how to cooperate, not get into a pissing contest.”
Chris chuckled at that last bit. There had been that one time, down at the pub…
“I’ll give it my best then, uh, Captain.”
“Call me Jack.”
# # #
They’d wound up in a pub - not Nelson’s, but another one he’d never seen before - and got to know a bit about each other over pints. They had a fair bit in common, it seemed. They both liked chips. And ELO. And Coronation Street. He got the impression he was being tested, but he wasn’t sure over what or why. Whatever Jack was looking for, though, he figured he must be doing it right. The Captain seemed to smile at him a lot, and look at him, and ask questions about him.
He still wasn’t sure why Jack needed him, though. Sure, the Guv had told them to take care of him, and if taking care of Jack meant a trip to the pub, it was hard to complain. Especially with the stories. They didn’t make shit for sense, mind, but they were entertaining.
“So anyway,” Jack said before taking another drink of his pint. “I’m pinned down by these two guys with high powered rifles, no cover at all, nowhere to run.”
“Christ. How’d you get out?”
“Well, one of them all of sudden starts laughing uncontrollably. Just crazy laughing. Tears in his eyes and everything. Drops his gun. And his friend is all kinds of spooked about it, so he goes over to his buddy - gun still on me of course - to check on him. And then he starts laughing, too. Turns out the thing I hit with the truck was a drum of some kind of hallucinogenic stimulant. So this second guy --”
They were interrupted by a chirp from the brown leather strap on Jack’s wrist.
“It’s moving. Come on.” Jack stood and dropped a wad of bills on the table. Chris followed.
“What’s moving?”
“The thing I’ve been chasing all the way from Cardiff. It shouldn’t even be up and around until nightfall. Something must have disturbed it.”
“Thing? Cardiff?”
“Yeah, where I work.” They slid into the Granada and Jack started the engine.
“You work in Cardiff? But how could you have jurisdiction here? What do you do? And thing?” Chris’ brow knotted. He was suddenly very out of his depth.
“Let’s just say I’ve got connections.”
Jack swerved out into the road. He drove like the Guv - as if he owned the street - and his car was loud enough to discourage any sort of dissent on that point. He also kept looking at the thing on his wrist, which meant he didn’t keep a close eye on the road.
“Chris, how do I go north from here?”
“How far north?”
“Six miles? Seven?”
“Next left.”
Chris clung to the interior as Jack turned sharply across traffic, nearly ramming a lorry in the process.
“Right. Does this road turn eastward at all?”
“How far east?” Chris squinched his eyes shut, only to discover that it made him feel carsick. He watched Jack instead. The man drove like a dogfighter. No wonder he wore a coat like that.
“Quarter mile. Maybe half.”
He pointed to a nook between buildings. “Alley.”
Jack applied the handbrake and slid the Granada into position to shoot through the narrow, twisty space between houses. Chris wondered if it was too late to get serious about religion.
“When we get there, you’re going to need to trust me. Whatever happens, just follow my lead.”
He looked on with horror as Jack took a hand off the wheel to dig around in his coat for something. After a bit of effort, he handed Chris a gun.
“Just in case.”
“Right.” Chris tried to take hold of it without getting near the trigger, which turned out looking much more comical and like a game of hot potato than he might have liked.
They shot out of the alley like a rocket, dodging a small crowd of pedestrians and a cyclist by mere inches. The tires squealed in ways Chris associated mainly with the movies as Jack righted the vehicle, sliding into the lane. With several very fast movements, Jack brought the car to rest at the side of the road.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me you’re not about to be sick in my car.”
Chris opened the door and almost immediately heaved onto the pavement.
# # #
They crouched along the rails of the canal, keeping to the shadows as best they could. Whatever they’d been after was about to be well and truly cornered. Jack glanced down at his wrist then turned and signaled for Chris to hold his position. He nodded and watched as the Captain crept further into the shadows.
“On three.”
Chris nodded and watched as the Captain held up one finger. Then two. Then -
From out of nowhere, a thing like a monkey or a small child slammed into Jack. For a second, Chris wanted to laugh. Fucking kids, you know, playing a joke. He was relieved of that notion when an electric blast sent Jack flying. Without thinking, Chris emptied his pistol into the tiny body and watched it crumple into a gory green-grey heap. He stared at it in disbelief for a minute before he realized Jack wasn’t talking or moving.
He rushed over to where the Captain lay prone and rolled him onto his back. There were two tiny scorch marks on his chest, and he wasn’t breathing.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
He swore at himself for not knowing anything much about first aid. He’d had a chance to learn it along with the plonks, but Gene had said something about CID not needing to be a bunch of poncy nurses, and they’d all ended up at the pub instead.
Chris sat against the canal wall and buried his face in his hands. God, but the Guv was going to murder him for this. He was angry at himself. Jack was dead. He’d liked Jack. Jack was nice.
Jack twitched. Chris watched in horror and amazement as he gasped, then coughed and rolled onto his side.
“Just once, I’d like for that to tickle.”
“You’re dead!” Chris squeaked in alarm.
“That’d be a nice change, yeah,” he croaked, staggering onto his feet and leaning against the wall beside the canal path.
“You’re alive!” Chris shouted. He jumped to his feet and nearly tackled the other man before jumping away and feigning disinterest. “I mean, ‘course you’re alive. Right.” He nodded, looking very serious.
He caught the greenish-grey mass in his peripheral vision.
“That’s not human.”
“No.”
“It’s not an animal either.”
“Nope.”
Chris prodded it with his shoe. His eyes went wide. “You hunt aliens?”
“Yeah.”
“In Cardiff.”
“Sure do.”
“But Cardiff’s a shit hole!”
Jack chuckled at that. “It’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, but what do they want with Cardiff? Why not London or New York or Paris or Moscow or…” Chris trailed off for a second. “Cardiff? Really?”
“Really.”
It was Chris’ turn to laugh. “Wow. So you’re Captain of the Alien Squad or something. That’s wild, that. Birds must go mad for it. So what do we do with that thing?”
Jack shrugged. “Package it for pick-up. There’s a drop point nearby.” He opened up the boot of the Granada and produced a heavy black canvas body bag. “Let’s get this thing wrapped. The last time I got guts on the upholstery I had to spring for a whole new interior.”
# # #
Chris watched as Jack deposited the bag in among the other packages in a disused blue police box. There was a funny sort of “T” design molded into the concrete near the base of one of the corner pillars. Chris took it for a sort of builder’s mark and let it drop from his mind. He wanted to say something clever to Jack but noticed the man’s expression. It was a funny sort of longing, as if the box reminded him of something he missed terribly.
“So.” The Captain sighed and looked skyward. “I know I promised you a weekend on secondment, but, well...” He shrugged.
Chris nodded, a little reluctantly.
“I should take you back.” Jack moved to open the door of the Granada.
“We could go to a pub.” He stood, hands shoved tight in pockets, too nervous to really move. “Cause that’s what we do when we’re done for the night. Pub.”
“You want to go meet up with the boys, then? I can drop you off.”
Chris looked uncertain. “Well, um -”
“I mean, that is unless you had something else in mind.” Jack took a step in and suddenly seemed very close indeed. Close in ways he knew the Guv disapproved of.
Chris swallowed and nodded. He watched as Jack’s hand tentatively reached out to touch his. It was a question. Another test. He closed his eyes. He could feel breath on his neck, hinting at lips. He scrambled for the guts to look Jack in the face.
The usual confidence was there, though maybe in a lesser measure. There was also hope and sadness and curiosity and maybe even loneliness.
“I guess you don’t get a lot of action being Captain of the Alien Squad,” he quipped a little lamely.
“Well, it’s not exactly CID.” Jack laughed quietly and looked down.
“I don’t, uh,” he began, looking for the right words. “I don’t normally --”
“With men. Right.” Jack nodded and sighed.
“I mean, I’ve never actually. You know.”
“Yeah.”
Jack turned to move away, stopping and turning around with a look of surprise when Chris didn’t release his hand.
“Didn’t say I wouldn’t try it, Captain.”
Jack gave him a hard look. “And I didn’t say you had to. I don’t care what your DCI said earlier. I stopped being your boss five minutes ago.”
“Do you, um. Do you want me to walk away?” Chris looked uncertain.
“Honestly?” Jack slipped closer and pursed his lips to moisten them. “No. Not unless --”
“I don’t want to, sir. Boss. Um, Jack.” His face flushed. Jack grinned. That grin again. The eyes. He felt like his heart might explode. He was nervous all over. “I mean, I want to. With you. Just not the walking away part. Except, um, not here.” He looked around as if he wholly expected one of his colleagues to appear out of nowhere.
Jack laughed and scrawled an address in his notebook. “Meet me here in an hour.” He handed the paper to Chris, who looked down at it, then folded it up and nodded.
He watched Jack drive away and couldn’t help but want to punch the air. He lit a celebratory cigarette and started toward the address on the paper.
# # #
The address, as it turned out, matched an older hotel just outside of ‘A’ Division’s jurisdiction. It wasn’t an area he usually found himself in, and he had to check the note and see the Granada parked on the street to be certain. He crossed the lobby as casually as he could to the stairs. No one seemed to notice him, which was good. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be noticed.
He’d spent most of the last forty minutes trying to convince himself not to be here. He knew what Ray would say. He could imagine the disappointment and snide distaste on his DCI’s face. Plus, if the word got out that he was a fairy, he’d never get to touch a girl again. Problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jack looked at him, or the way his breath had felt there out in the street. And if nothing else, he’d never have a chance like this again.
Chris stood at the door and counted to ten before he took a deep breath and knocked.
“It’s open.”
Chris turned the knob cautiously and peeked in. Jack sat at a small table, nursing a glass of whisky. He was still dressed like a soldier from the war. The old fashioned braces and boots in particular made him think of pictures he’d seen as a boy.
“I see you haven’t changed your mind,” Jack said softly. “You can sit, if you like. Want a drink?”
Chris nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Jack poured him a glass. He accepted it gladly and tried very hard not to look nervous as he took a larger sip than he’d intended. Jack joined him after a moment, sitting near enough to touch without crowding.
“Can I?” Jack asked, cupping his cheek. Chris nodded.
Jack’s mouth was soft and warm. He’d shaved since coming back and his cheeks were smooth. It wasn’t such a jump from the girls he’d tried kissing before, except that Jack was more aggressive and smelled like soap and booze instead of perfume.
He felt the Captain take his empty glass and set it aside. Warm hands slipped in between his shirt and his jumper. He let his eyes flutter open when their mouths separated and found the other man smiling.
“You still want to do this?” Jack whispered, eyes full of mischief.
Chris nodded.
Their mouths came together again, less gently this time. Jack tugged at Chris’ jumper and pulled it up over his head, then dropped it over the edge of the bed. Chris, meanwhile, worked his way down the front buttons of the Captain’s shirt, revealing the soft cotton undershirt beneath.
“What’s with the belt?” he asked, pulling Jack’s shirt free.
“Huh?”
“Belt and braces. You got a problem keeping your pants on?”
“Right now?” Jack laughed. “I’d say it’s more a problem getting them off.”
Chris pushed Jack onto his back and knelt between his legs, carefully undoing the belt buckle. “Where’d you find all this, then? The RAF gear?”
“Oh, here and there. I’ve had some of it for years.” He smiled up at Chris, then took hold of his tie and pulled him down, rolling to straddle him.
“It’s weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good,” Chris whispered as Jack toyed with his tie. For a second it occurred to him that the man could kill him. He watched as nimble fingers undid the knot, and then slid the tie away. “It’s not sneaky, though.”
“Maybe I like getting noticed.”
Jack undid Chris’ buttons one by one. Each unfastening revealed another bit of pale skin, the pattern of the hair on his chest and belly, his navel. Hands slid and brushed the shirt open wide as the Captain leaned down to lay a trail of kisses from Chris’ neck to his stomach. Chris’ breath caught when he felt hands undoing his belt and his zip, tugging his trousers down to reveal his clingy light blue briefs and the anxious hard-on that waited inside.
“Chris Skelton, you are gorgeous.” Jack whispered, pressing his mouth against the other man’s thigh.
“’M not. Gene says I’ve got a face like a fat minger’s arse.”
“Well then he’s missing out.”
Chris held his breath as Jack nuzzled further up his leg, kissing and nibbling his way to the edge of his briefs. No one had ever done this for him. Not even that girl he’d seen at uni who’d let him do all sorts of incredible things with her. Jack nibbled him through his briefs, teasing with his mouth. Chris groaned and lifted his hips, digging his fingers into the bedding.
“Tell me I can have you,” Jack purred, still nibbling and tasting.
“Yes.” He murmured.
“Good.” Jack stood and smiled before putting a foot on the bed within Chris’ reach. “Get me out of these boots.”
Chris tugged at the laces, undoing the knot and loosening them. He pulled the boot free, and then the sock. He made short work of the second one as well, kicking off his own shoes and socks and trousers at the same time. With a practiced shrug, the Captain dropped his braces. Chris sat up and undid the buttons of Jack’s flies, letting gravity reveal plain cotton boxer shorts.
“God, you go all the way down with the dress-up, don’t you!” Chris touched at the shorts in curiosity. “Never seen a pair of these in person.” He ran an experimental finger across the cloth, making it rub against Jack’s erection. He went wide-eyed with amazement as the other man gasped and shut his eyes.
“Touch me.”
Chris nodded and slipped the waistband of the boxers down past Jack’s hips. He’d never really been in this situation before. He had no real idea of what he was meant to do. Fortunately, Jack must have sensed his uncertainty and took his hand.
“Like this.”
He did as Jack showed him and was awestruck at the reaction. Making Jack moan like that felt like - no felt better - than the one time Gene had let him behind the wheel of the Cortina. He couldn’t help but reach down between his own legs and rub himself through his briefs.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asked as Jack pulled back a bit and knelt down next to the bed. With a smirk, he divested Chris of his briefs.
If his mouth had been soft kissing, it was a thousand times more inviting as Jack’s tongue circled the head of his cock before his lips came to suck him. It left him gasping and seeing stars and aching deep in his balls. Without thinking, he tangled his fingers in the Captain’s hair, swearing under his breath as that mouth worked him, took him in, and fucked him. He moaned and arched, overwhelmed by the sensation.
He whimpered when Jack pulled away and reached for his coat. He watched as the Captain pulled out a tin about the size of an eight track cassette. From inside, he produced a latex glove and a tube that looked a bit like a travel toothpaste, but instead contained a clear gel.
“What’s that for?” He asked, sitting up on his elbows.
“Watch and learn.” Jack grinned, donning the glove, then slicking the fingers with the gel. It didn’t take long for Chris to get the message.
He’d definitely not done this before.
The first finger was not what he expected. For one, he’d expected it to hurt, or be uncomfortable, but instead he felt a strange sort of lightness and an intense sort of pleasure, especially when Jack flicked his finger a certain way. Within minutes, he was on his back, legs splayed, riding two and then three of Jack’s fingers. He was faintly aware of the sound of a condom wrapper, and then Jack was above him and inside of him like it was the most perfectly natural thing in the world.
He was faintly aware of the Captain saying his name over and over again with each thrust, and the strong hand on his shaft, bringing him ever closer to an edge he hadn’t even fathomed. Everything - the room, his fear, his workmates - was forgotten. All that mattered was this bed, and the man edging him ever closer to an unfamiliar orgasm that took him by surprise with its intensity and left him incoherent and wholly spent.
When he came back to himself, Jack was holding him. He’d brushed the hair away from Chris’ face, and stroked at it gently.
“Thank you.”
Chris just nodded and smiled and fell into a deep, peaceful sort of sleep.
# # #
“So I guess you’ll be leaving, then.” Chris said, kicking at the gravel under his feet. He was in yesterday’s clothes, leaning against the Granada. Jack shoved an old military duffel bag into the back seat.
“Yeah. Back to work. Same old grind.”
“Don’t suppose the Alien Squad might move to Manchester?” he cracked, a hopeful glint in his eye.
Jack surreptitiously took hold of one of Chris’ hands and shook his head. Chris nodded.
“You take care of yourself DC Skelton.” He gave Chris’ fingers a squeeze.
“Captain Harkness.” He nodded, not trusting his voice not to break if he said more.
Jack opened the door to the Granada and got in. The engine roared, and he released the brake. Chris stepped back and watched as Jack gunned the engine and grinned.
“Oh! Chris?” Jack said, holding his arm out the window. Between his fingers was a plain white card. “If you ever decide Cardiff’s not a shit hole, look me up. I hear the view over the bay’s going to be amazing in a few years.”
Chris took the card and watched Jack Harkness speed away into the morning traffic, disappearing into the commuters and delivery trucks and buses. When the Granada was out of view, Chris sighed and looked at the blank white paper. He turned it over in his fingers and was surprised to find a single word etched into the other side.
TORCHWOOD.
Disclaimer: Being a bloke who likes to slash pretty men doesn't make me RTD, I don't work for the BBC, and as much as I might like to, I don't own Jack or Ianto or any part of Torchwood. I do, however, order pizza under that name on principle.
Pairings: Jack/DC Chris Skelton
Rating: NC-17
Notes/Summary: Set in 1973, Jack tracks an alien from Cardiff to Manchester where he enlists the help of 'A' Division. Bit of a Life on Mars cross-over. Written for the get_tw_laid prompt "history." Title is from a David Bowie song.
Chris followed Ray into the building. His head still smarted from being knocked over by a pair of skinheads. They’d got them in the end - got lucky with a blind alley - but what he really wanted was a few minutes away, and maybe a drink of water before the boys heard about him getting pummeled. He ducked in behind the main desk and made a beeline for the water cooler. He was just filling his paper cup when an unfamiliar voice cut through the din.
“Hi there. Captain Jack Harkness. I’m here to see DCI Hunt.”
He blinked and turned around in time to see Phyllis scowl and cross her arms at a man - American? - in an old RAF coat. He wasn’t in full uniform, and from the way she was looking at him, she thought he was a jumped-up little twit. That grin of his probably wasn’t doing him any favors with her, either. Chris winced. Poor bastard.
“Captain of what?”
He took a black leather wallet out of his coat and flipped it open where she could see it. When she looked back up at him the grin was gone. Phyllis blanched.
“I’ll just go get the Guv.”
“Thank you, Phyllis.”
The visitor’s eyes met his in passing. For a second, it was unsettlingly like being noticed.
# # #
“You know what I think?” Ray chewed and pointed a chip at Chris. “I think he’s Special Branch.”
“Thought the Guv hated Special Branch?” He leaned left and managed to catch a glimpse of the two men laughing in Hunt’s office. The American was telling a story of some sort, and their DCI had a look of utter amusement and disbelief on his face. “And anyway, why’d an American join Special Branch?”
Ray gave him a sour look and went back to his lunch.
“You didn’t see the way Phyllis went all chalky when he flashed his badge at her, either. Was like she was scared of him. ”
Gene’s door banged open, startling the room to attention. Most of the men stood and watched as their DCI and the stranger emerged.
“Alright, ladies,” Hunt barked as the last few stragglers shuffled to their feet. “This is Captain Harkness. You will treat him with almost as much respect as you do me, and help him with anything he asks for.”
No one moved. Well, the man in the coat did. He grinned and put his hands in his pockets and seemed to be looking them all over like a kid with his toys at Christmas.
“Well, go on, you divs! Show the man a good time!” DCI Hunt wandered back into his office and slammed the door behind him.
Chris watched as Captain Harkness stifled a chuckle before addressing them.
“I’m not here to waste your time, or to get in your way, or boss you around. In fact, my goal is to get in and out of your city with a minimum of disruption and let you do your jobs. I’m not “C” Division, I’m not the fraud squad, and frankly I’ve got no desire to get into your business. What I need is a local guide with CID credentials who can follow orders. Do I have a volunteer?”
Ray snorted. The room went dead silent.
“What, no one?” The Captain smirked and arched a brow. His smile faded into something a little more commanding.
Chris cleared his throat and raised his hand. “I could, uh…” He felt his cheeks and ears go pink as eyes from all over appraised him.
“DC Skelton, isn’t it?” Jack asked, turning to face him.
“Uh, yes sir.”
“Good. Consider yourself seconded for the weekend.” With a turn that was nothing so much as a flourish, the Captain turned and strode down the aisle and out into the corridor.
“Nice one, Chris.” Ray elbowed him in the ribs. He winced and looked down at his desk. Across the room, he could hear a few of the boys already murmuring “Ooh! I’ll volunteer!” in falsetto voices. He’d get hell about this for a week. Especially the “following orders” part. Maybe he could change his mind? He sighed and sat and took a bite of his sandwich.
Captain Harkness’ head poked back into the room. “You coming or not?”
With a start, he scrambled away from the desk. His sandwich took flight and slammed into his pencil cup, knocking it over. He swore quietly and tried to gather things up before giving up and shoving a good deal of the detritus on his desk (including the remains of his sandwich) into the bin. The American stood, smirking.
“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realize you meant right now!”
The Captain passed him a battered brown wallet and led him into the corridor. “I’ve brought you some ID in case we need to use it. Try to keep to the lower level documents unless it’s absolutely necessary to be important. It’s easier to pass yourself off at the bottom of the chain.”
Chris took it and turned it over in his hands before looking inside. It looked old. Inside he found several different pieces of identification. He pulled a card free and balked. “Gas board!?”
“Never know when you’ll need to nose around in someone’s kitchen.”
He fumbled through the wallet. “But these are all me! My name and picture!”
Harkness slapped a hand on his shoulder and smirked. “Well, then! I guess it’s a good thing DS Carling didn’t volunteer, huh?”
“Y-yes sir.” Chris gave him a weak smile. The Captain was unnaturally confident, which had the dual effect of making him feel like he might possibly be in good hands, but also embarrassing him at his sheer lack of skill and grace. The Captain was all charisma, while Chris was all elbows and thumbs.
“And anyway, your DCI makes him sound like the last person I’d want to come along. Like I said, I need someone who knows how to cooperate, not get into a pissing contest.”
Chris chuckled at that last bit. There had been that one time, down at the pub…
“I’ll give it my best then, uh, Captain.”
“Call me Jack.”
# # #
They’d wound up in a pub - not Nelson’s, but another one he’d never seen before - and got to know a bit about each other over pints. They had a fair bit in common, it seemed. They both liked chips. And ELO. And Coronation Street. He got the impression he was being tested, but he wasn’t sure over what or why. Whatever Jack was looking for, though, he figured he must be doing it right. The Captain seemed to smile at him a lot, and look at him, and ask questions about him.
He still wasn’t sure why Jack needed him, though. Sure, the Guv had told them to take care of him, and if taking care of Jack meant a trip to the pub, it was hard to complain. Especially with the stories. They didn’t make shit for sense, mind, but they were entertaining.
“So anyway,” Jack said before taking another drink of his pint. “I’m pinned down by these two guys with high powered rifles, no cover at all, nowhere to run.”
“Christ. How’d you get out?”
“Well, one of them all of sudden starts laughing uncontrollably. Just crazy laughing. Tears in his eyes and everything. Drops his gun. And his friend is all kinds of spooked about it, so he goes over to his buddy - gun still on me of course - to check on him. And then he starts laughing, too. Turns out the thing I hit with the truck was a drum of some kind of hallucinogenic stimulant. So this second guy --”
They were interrupted by a chirp from the brown leather strap on Jack’s wrist.
“It’s moving. Come on.” Jack stood and dropped a wad of bills on the table. Chris followed.
“What’s moving?”
“The thing I’ve been chasing all the way from Cardiff. It shouldn’t even be up and around until nightfall. Something must have disturbed it.”
“Thing? Cardiff?”
“Yeah, where I work.” They slid into the Granada and Jack started the engine.
“You work in Cardiff? But how could you have jurisdiction here? What do you do? And thing?” Chris’ brow knotted. He was suddenly very out of his depth.
“Let’s just say I’ve got connections.”
Jack swerved out into the road. He drove like the Guv - as if he owned the street - and his car was loud enough to discourage any sort of dissent on that point. He also kept looking at the thing on his wrist, which meant he didn’t keep a close eye on the road.
“Chris, how do I go north from here?”
“How far north?”
“Six miles? Seven?”
“Next left.”
Chris clung to the interior as Jack turned sharply across traffic, nearly ramming a lorry in the process.
“Right. Does this road turn eastward at all?”
“How far east?” Chris squinched his eyes shut, only to discover that it made him feel carsick. He watched Jack instead. The man drove like a dogfighter. No wonder he wore a coat like that.
“Quarter mile. Maybe half.”
He pointed to a nook between buildings. “Alley.”
Jack applied the handbrake and slid the Granada into position to shoot through the narrow, twisty space between houses. Chris wondered if it was too late to get serious about religion.
“When we get there, you’re going to need to trust me. Whatever happens, just follow my lead.”
He looked on with horror as Jack took a hand off the wheel to dig around in his coat for something. After a bit of effort, he handed Chris a gun.
“Just in case.”
“Right.” Chris tried to take hold of it without getting near the trigger, which turned out looking much more comical and like a game of hot potato than he might have liked.
They shot out of the alley like a rocket, dodging a small crowd of pedestrians and a cyclist by mere inches. The tires squealed in ways Chris associated mainly with the movies as Jack righted the vehicle, sliding into the lane. With several very fast movements, Jack brought the car to rest at the side of the road.
“Chris?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me you’re not about to be sick in my car.”
Chris opened the door and almost immediately heaved onto the pavement.
# # #
They crouched along the rails of the canal, keeping to the shadows as best they could. Whatever they’d been after was about to be well and truly cornered. Jack glanced down at his wrist then turned and signaled for Chris to hold his position. He nodded and watched as the Captain crept further into the shadows.
“On three.”
Chris nodded and watched as the Captain held up one finger. Then two. Then -
From out of nowhere, a thing like a monkey or a small child slammed into Jack. For a second, Chris wanted to laugh. Fucking kids, you know, playing a joke. He was relieved of that notion when an electric blast sent Jack flying. Without thinking, Chris emptied his pistol into the tiny body and watched it crumple into a gory green-grey heap. He stared at it in disbelief for a minute before he realized Jack wasn’t talking or moving.
He rushed over to where the Captain lay prone and rolled him onto his back. There were two tiny scorch marks on his chest, and he wasn’t breathing.
“Shit, shit, shit!”
He swore at himself for not knowing anything much about first aid. He’d had a chance to learn it along with the plonks, but Gene had said something about CID not needing to be a bunch of poncy nurses, and they’d all ended up at the pub instead.
Chris sat against the canal wall and buried his face in his hands. God, but the Guv was going to murder him for this. He was angry at himself. Jack was dead. He’d liked Jack. Jack was nice.
Jack twitched. Chris watched in horror and amazement as he gasped, then coughed and rolled onto his side.
“Just once, I’d like for that to tickle.”
“You’re dead!” Chris squeaked in alarm.
“That’d be a nice change, yeah,” he croaked, staggering onto his feet and leaning against the wall beside the canal path.
“You’re alive!” Chris shouted. He jumped to his feet and nearly tackled the other man before jumping away and feigning disinterest. “I mean, ‘course you’re alive. Right.” He nodded, looking very serious.
He caught the greenish-grey mass in his peripheral vision.
“That’s not human.”
“No.”
“It’s not an animal either.”
“Nope.”
Chris prodded it with his shoe. His eyes went wide. “You hunt aliens?”
“Yeah.”
“In Cardiff.”
“Sure do.”
“But Cardiff’s a shit hole!”
Jack chuckled at that. “It’s not that bad.”
“Yeah, but what do they want with Cardiff? Why not London or New York or Paris or Moscow or…” Chris trailed off for a second. “Cardiff? Really?”
“Really.”
It was Chris’ turn to laugh. “Wow. So you’re Captain of the Alien Squad or something. That’s wild, that. Birds must go mad for it. So what do we do with that thing?”
Jack shrugged. “Package it for pick-up. There’s a drop point nearby.” He opened up the boot of the Granada and produced a heavy black canvas body bag. “Let’s get this thing wrapped. The last time I got guts on the upholstery I had to spring for a whole new interior.”
# # #
Chris watched as Jack deposited the bag in among the other packages in a disused blue police box. There was a funny sort of “T” design molded into the concrete near the base of one of the corner pillars. Chris took it for a sort of builder’s mark and let it drop from his mind. He wanted to say something clever to Jack but noticed the man’s expression. It was a funny sort of longing, as if the box reminded him of something he missed terribly.
“So.” The Captain sighed and looked skyward. “I know I promised you a weekend on secondment, but, well...” He shrugged.
Chris nodded, a little reluctantly.
“I should take you back.” Jack moved to open the door of the Granada.
“We could go to a pub.” He stood, hands shoved tight in pockets, too nervous to really move. “Cause that’s what we do when we’re done for the night. Pub.”
“You want to go meet up with the boys, then? I can drop you off.”
Chris looked uncertain. “Well, um -”
“I mean, that is unless you had something else in mind.” Jack took a step in and suddenly seemed very close indeed. Close in ways he knew the Guv disapproved of.
Chris swallowed and nodded. He watched as Jack’s hand tentatively reached out to touch his. It was a question. Another test. He closed his eyes. He could feel breath on his neck, hinting at lips. He scrambled for the guts to look Jack in the face.
The usual confidence was there, though maybe in a lesser measure. There was also hope and sadness and curiosity and maybe even loneliness.
“I guess you don’t get a lot of action being Captain of the Alien Squad,” he quipped a little lamely.
“Well, it’s not exactly CID.” Jack laughed quietly and looked down.
“I don’t, uh,” he began, looking for the right words. “I don’t normally --”
“With men. Right.” Jack nodded and sighed.
“I mean, I’ve never actually. You know.”
“Yeah.”
Jack turned to move away, stopping and turning around with a look of surprise when Chris didn’t release his hand.
“Didn’t say I wouldn’t try it, Captain.”
Jack gave him a hard look. “And I didn’t say you had to. I don’t care what your DCI said earlier. I stopped being your boss five minutes ago.”
“Do you, um. Do you want me to walk away?” Chris looked uncertain.
“Honestly?” Jack slipped closer and pursed his lips to moisten them. “No. Not unless --”
“I don’t want to, sir. Boss. Um, Jack.” His face flushed. Jack grinned. That grin again. The eyes. He felt like his heart might explode. He was nervous all over. “I mean, I want to. With you. Just not the walking away part. Except, um, not here.” He looked around as if he wholly expected one of his colleagues to appear out of nowhere.
Jack laughed and scrawled an address in his notebook. “Meet me here in an hour.” He handed the paper to Chris, who looked down at it, then folded it up and nodded.
He watched Jack drive away and couldn’t help but want to punch the air. He lit a celebratory cigarette and started toward the address on the paper.
# # #
The address, as it turned out, matched an older hotel just outside of ‘A’ Division’s jurisdiction. It wasn’t an area he usually found himself in, and he had to check the note and see the Granada parked on the street to be certain. He crossed the lobby as casually as he could to the stairs. No one seemed to notice him, which was good. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be noticed.
He’d spent most of the last forty minutes trying to convince himself not to be here. He knew what Ray would say. He could imagine the disappointment and snide distaste on his DCI’s face. Plus, if the word got out that he was a fairy, he’d never get to touch a girl again. Problem was, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Jack looked at him, or the way his breath had felt there out in the street. And if nothing else, he’d never have a chance like this again.
Chris stood at the door and counted to ten before he took a deep breath and knocked.
“It’s open.”
Chris turned the knob cautiously and peeked in. Jack sat at a small table, nursing a glass of whisky. He was still dressed like a soldier from the war. The old fashioned braces and boots in particular made him think of pictures he’d seen as a boy.
“I see you haven’t changed your mind,” Jack said softly. “You can sit, if you like. Want a drink?”
Chris nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Jack poured him a glass. He accepted it gladly and tried very hard not to look nervous as he took a larger sip than he’d intended. Jack joined him after a moment, sitting near enough to touch without crowding.
“Can I?” Jack asked, cupping his cheek. Chris nodded.
Jack’s mouth was soft and warm. He’d shaved since coming back and his cheeks were smooth. It wasn’t such a jump from the girls he’d tried kissing before, except that Jack was more aggressive and smelled like soap and booze instead of perfume.
He felt the Captain take his empty glass and set it aside. Warm hands slipped in between his shirt and his jumper. He let his eyes flutter open when their mouths separated and found the other man smiling.
“You still want to do this?” Jack whispered, eyes full of mischief.
Chris nodded.
Their mouths came together again, less gently this time. Jack tugged at Chris’ jumper and pulled it up over his head, then dropped it over the edge of the bed. Chris, meanwhile, worked his way down the front buttons of the Captain’s shirt, revealing the soft cotton undershirt beneath.
“What’s with the belt?” he asked, pulling Jack’s shirt free.
“Huh?”
“Belt and braces. You got a problem keeping your pants on?”
“Right now?” Jack laughed. “I’d say it’s more a problem getting them off.”
Chris pushed Jack onto his back and knelt between his legs, carefully undoing the belt buckle. “Where’d you find all this, then? The RAF gear?”
“Oh, here and there. I’ve had some of it for years.” He smiled up at Chris, then took hold of his tie and pulled him down, rolling to straddle him.
“It’s weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?”
“Good,” Chris whispered as Jack toyed with his tie. For a second it occurred to him that the man could kill him. He watched as nimble fingers undid the knot, and then slid the tie away. “It’s not sneaky, though.”
“Maybe I like getting noticed.”
Jack undid Chris’ buttons one by one. Each unfastening revealed another bit of pale skin, the pattern of the hair on his chest and belly, his navel. Hands slid and brushed the shirt open wide as the Captain leaned down to lay a trail of kisses from Chris’ neck to his stomach. Chris’ breath caught when he felt hands undoing his belt and his zip, tugging his trousers down to reveal his clingy light blue briefs and the anxious hard-on that waited inside.
“Chris Skelton, you are gorgeous.” Jack whispered, pressing his mouth against the other man’s thigh.
“’M not. Gene says I’ve got a face like a fat minger’s arse.”
“Well then he’s missing out.”
Chris held his breath as Jack nuzzled further up his leg, kissing and nibbling his way to the edge of his briefs. No one had ever done this for him. Not even that girl he’d seen at uni who’d let him do all sorts of incredible things with her. Jack nibbled him through his briefs, teasing with his mouth. Chris groaned and lifted his hips, digging his fingers into the bedding.
“Tell me I can have you,” Jack purred, still nibbling and tasting.
“Yes.” He murmured.
“Good.” Jack stood and smiled before putting a foot on the bed within Chris’ reach. “Get me out of these boots.”
Chris tugged at the laces, undoing the knot and loosening them. He pulled the boot free, and then the sock. He made short work of the second one as well, kicking off his own shoes and socks and trousers at the same time. With a practiced shrug, the Captain dropped his braces. Chris sat up and undid the buttons of Jack’s flies, letting gravity reveal plain cotton boxer shorts.
“God, you go all the way down with the dress-up, don’t you!” Chris touched at the shorts in curiosity. “Never seen a pair of these in person.” He ran an experimental finger across the cloth, making it rub against Jack’s erection. He went wide-eyed with amazement as the other man gasped and shut his eyes.
“Touch me.”
Chris nodded and slipped the waistband of the boxers down past Jack’s hips. He’d never really been in this situation before. He had no real idea of what he was meant to do. Fortunately, Jack must have sensed his uncertainty and took his hand.
“Like this.”
He did as Jack showed him and was awestruck at the reaction. Making Jack moan like that felt like - no felt better - than the one time Gene had let him behind the wheel of the Cortina. He couldn’t help but reach down between his own legs and rub himself through his briefs.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asked as Jack pulled back a bit and knelt down next to the bed. With a smirk, he divested Chris of his briefs.
If his mouth had been soft kissing, it was a thousand times more inviting as Jack’s tongue circled the head of his cock before his lips came to suck him. It left him gasping and seeing stars and aching deep in his balls. Without thinking, he tangled his fingers in the Captain’s hair, swearing under his breath as that mouth worked him, took him in, and fucked him. He moaned and arched, overwhelmed by the sensation.
He whimpered when Jack pulled away and reached for his coat. He watched as the Captain pulled out a tin about the size of an eight track cassette. From inside, he produced a latex glove and a tube that looked a bit like a travel toothpaste, but instead contained a clear gel.
“What’s that for?” He asked, sitting up on his elbows.
“Watch and learn.” Jack grinned, donning the glove, then slicking the fingers with the gel. It didn’t take long for Chris to get the message.
He’d definitely not done this before.
The first finger was not what he expected. For one, he’d expected it to hurt, or be uncomfortable, but instead he felt a strange sort of lightness and an intense sort of pleasure, especially when Jack flicked his finger a certain way. Within minutes, he was on his back, legs splayed, riding two and then three of Jack’s fingers. He was faintly aware of the sound of a condom wrapper, and then Jack was above him and inside of him like it was the most perfectly natural thing in the world.
He was faintly aware of the Captain saying his name over and over again with each thrust, and the strong hand on his shaft, bringing him ever closer to an edge he hadn’t even fathomed. Everything - the room, his fear, his workmates - was forgotten. All that mattered was this bed, and the man edging him ever closer to an unfamiliar orgasm that took him by surprise with its intensity and left him incoherent and wholly spent.
When he came back to himself, Jack was holding him. He’d brushed the hair away from Chris’ face, and stroked at it gently.
“Thank you.”
Chris just nodded and smiled and fell into a deep, peaceful sort of sleep.
# # #
“So I guess you’ll be leaving, then.” Chris said, kicking at the gravel under his feet. He was in yesterday’s clothes, leaning against the Granada. Jack shoved an old military duffel bag into the back seat.
“Yeah. Back to work. Same old grind.”
“Don’t suppose the Alien Squad might move to Manchester?” he cracked, a hopeful glint in his eye.
Jack surreptitiously took hold of one of Chris’ hands and shook his head. Chris nodded.
“You take care of yourself DC Skelton.” He gave Chris’ fingers a squeeze.
“Captain Harkness.” He nodded, not trusting his voice not to break if he said more.
Jack opened the door to the Granada and got in. The engine roared, and he released the brake. Chris stepped back and watched as Jack gunned the engine and grinned.
“Oh! Chris?” Jack said, holding his arm out the window. Between his fingers was a plain white card. “If you ever decide Cardiff’s not a shit hole, look me up. I hear the view over the bay’s going to be amazing in a few years.”
Chris took the card and watched Jack Harkness speed away into the morning traffic, disappearing into the commuters and delivery trucks and buses. When the Granada was out of view, Chris sighed and looked at the blank white paper. He turned it over in his fingers and was surprised to find a single word etched into the other side.
TORCHWOOD.