The Blood That Moves the Body
Title: The Blood That Moves the Body
Author:
jooles34
Fandom: Torchwood - Set after The Pharm and deviates from canon after that.
Characters: Owen, Jack
Words: 2,044
Rating: 18 for langauge and situations
Warnings: Character deaths and very inappropriate sex acts.
Prompt: Fandom any, characters any, your blood is the cure for my disease
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. Title is from the A-ha song of the same name.
AN: Thanks to my lovely
emyrldlady for betaing. Written for
dark_fest.
Owen had a lot of time. Or he may have had very little in the grander scheme of things, there was no way to tell. But day to day he had a lot of time. He was at work for as long as he could bear being around other people, but after that he had a lot of free time. He could no longer fill his days and evenings with eating, drinking or fucking. And he no longer needed to sleep. Which left a lot of empty time.
For once in his no-longer-life he decided to put his time to good use. He did research. Actual research. Something he would normally only do with a metaphorical gun to his head or the occasional time a case touched him enough he gave a shit.
And this time he really gave a shit because this time the case was him. Him and the fact that he was dead. He used his time to research his condition; the parts that went beyond the fact of being dead. He’d covered that on the first day of medical school, the lack of pulse was a bit of a giveaway.
There were hints and rumours on the internet; references to myths and legends where people returned from the dead to live a life that wasn’t really life. But all he had found were guesses, contradictions and half truths. And so he had braved the wrath of Ianto.
He had waited for a night when the team were all leaving at a reasonable time and the glances between Ianto and Jack had been enough to indicate that they would both be occupied for the night. He pretended to leave, but ducked back in at the last minute and hid in one of the lower levels. Once he was certain that Ianto was otherwise engaged he made his way to the archives and started browsing, careful to leave everything where he found it for once.
It took three weeks of waiting for opportunities and spending his nights buried on paper under the Hub. He even almost started to understand why Ianto liked it down here so much. It was quiet, peaceful, none of the constant whirrings of Mainframe you got on the higher levels. And he would rather die than admit it - oh, too late, already dead - but he actually found something soothing in the sense of order that the Welshman had established down here.
He put all the information he had together. There were no definite answers, but enough things pointed in one direction that he knew what he had to do. He knew how to find his cure. The one thing that could make this go away. Well, hopefully anyway.
Owen started to plan. Luckily he had the time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He waited for a night that Jack was alone after the team left. Ianto was off somewhere, he didn’t give a shit where, but Owen knew that they wouldn’t be interrupted. Nobody seemed to think anything of the late nights he had been working lately, though he spotted the odd sympathetic look from Gwen and Tosh. Probably thought he was staying late as he had nothing better to do with his pathetic life.
Once the Hub was clear Owen washed his hands free from the gunk of the alien he had been dissecting. He patted his labcoat pocket and headed for Jack’s office.
“Hey, Jack.”
“Owen.” Jack looked up from the papers in his hands.
Owen recognised a perfect opportunity when he saw one.
“What are you looking at?” he asked with a nod at the papers, but carefully not showing enough interest to warrant leaving his position by the door.
“Some transmissions we received years ago. I go over them every so often, see if I can make sense of them.”
Owen pulled an ‘I’m interested despite myself’ face and headed over to the desk. He leaned over Jack’s shoulder to peer at the papers.
“Haven’t you tried Tosh’s translation programme?”
Luckily Owen didn’t really care, as Jack’s answer was lost in strangled gasp as Owen pulled the stun gun from his pocket and pressed it against Jack’s back. Owen moved and caught Jack as he slumped to one side. He took a deep, unnecessary, breath and started dragging.
Twenty minutes and another zap later, Owen had Jack where he wanted him. He sat back and waited for Jack to wake a second time.
Jack groaned and rolled his head. Owen tilted his chin waiting for the moment when Jack realised that he was tied to a chair and quite definitely not going anywhere. And there it was. As consciousness started to creep into Jack’s eyes his muscles flexed and reflexes made him try to move his arms. He fought briefly against his bonds before realisation dawned and Jack’s head snapped up to look at Owen.
“Owen? What the fuck?”
“I’ve been doing some research. There’s a school of thought that says that the reanimated can have their un-lives enhanced by drinking human blood. Fortunately others say that a transfusion is just as good. Handy. Don’t fancy drinking blood much.”
There was a snarl on Jack’s face.
“Untie me now, Owen,” he growled.
“No. You see, Jack, I reckon I’m onto a winner here. Blood can make my body pretend to live. It can make me feel warm, make me feel, give me a fucking hard on. And that’s just normal blood. But I’ve got you. Jack fucking Harkness; the man who cannot die.” He leaned in close. “Immortal blood running through my dead body. I’m even willing to live with the irony.”
“You are not taking my blood,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, but I am Jack. One way or another I am. You did this to me. I joined Torchwood because of you. Got this stupid fucking notion in my head to follow you into anything. And you sent Martha into the Pharm. And then you couldn’t just let me be; couldn’t just let me fucking die. No, because you are Jack Harkness and you know better. So I reckon you owe me.
“Have a look around this room, Jack. Recognise it? This is the hidden room. Don’t look at me like that; I can look through plans too you know. And I know that this room is lined with some alien-whatever so that life signs and heat signals won’t show up. I can keep you in here as long as I like and no one will ever know. Even when the others realise you’re missing they’ll probably just assume that you’ve gone wandering with your Doctor again. But even if they do try to look, you won’t show up down here.
“So, I can keep you down here for as long as I like. Drain your blood every day and give myself enough to live like I never died. Or you can accept that it’s your fucking fault I’m here and for once in your miserable long life do something right and make up for it.”
“You’re asking me to let you give you my blood every day, voluntarily?”
“If you do I promise I will only take a little each day. Just enough to keep me going.”
“No, Owen, I can’t do that. And you can’t blame me for everything. You signed up for Torchwood. You knew what the life expectancy was; I never hid that from you.”
“No, but you were the one that couldn’t just leave the fuck alone. You were the one who had to meddle with things and bring me back.”
“Only for a few minutes; I only meant to bring you back for a few minutes.”
“Oh, that makes it all better,” Owen retorted. He moved towards a tray of instruments and started to open packets.
“This isn’t right, Owen. I am sorry for what’s happened to you, more sorry than you can know. But that doesn’t mean you can do this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. This is one of the few things that I can do.”
Owen walked back over to Jack and tied a band around Jack’s arm, pulling it tight. Jack fruitlessly tried to pull his arm away and hissed as Owen inserted a capped needle into his bulging vein. Jack watched, silently seething, as Owen hooked up tubes and flattened bags to the cannula.
Then blood started flowing down the tube towards the bags. Owen spaced out the bags and placed them on a tray low under Jack’s chair.
“You can’t honestly think that you’re going to get away with this?”
“Come on, Jack. I’m not some naive little tosser off the street that you can intimidate. Besides, I have nothing to lose, thanks to you.” Owen was now attaching anther tube to the connection.
“Owen, please, I know what it’s like.”
“No, Jack, no you don’t.” Owen paused for a second in what he was doing and leaned his face close into Jack’s. “You can never die. I can never live.” He stood back and gave a grin that could not have been further removed from humour. “Well, unless this works anyway.”
Owen pulled away from Jack again and settled himself into another chair, the capped end of another cannula now attached to the end of the second tube and blood already flowing into it.
“You cannot do this, Owen.” Jack’s voice was steely again.
“Too late, Jack, I am doing it.”
Owen sat back and slipped the needle into his arm. He twisted a small dial and the valve opened, letting the blood into his arm.
“You don’t even know that this is going to work. You’re going on myth and superstition,” Jack argued. He could feel himself starting to get light-headed.
“Myths and superstitions all come from somewhere, Jack,” Owen countered. “And as for if this works, well, let’s see.”
Owen gave Jack a nasty look and reached down to undo his trousers. Once done he rested the arm receiving the blood again and reached inside his trousers with his other. Pulling out his cock he began to stroke it slowly.
“What the fuck are you doing, Owen?”
“Seeing if it works. Now shut up, you’re putting me off.”
“I’m losing too much blood Owen. You have to stop soon.”
“You’re fine. I said shut up.”
Owen started to move his hand faster and gasped out with joy.
“It’s working! It’s fucking working!” Owen laughed with glee as his cock hardened in his hand. “Oh fuck this feels good. I really didn’t think this would ever happen again.”
Owen kept moving his hand, quickly gathering speed.
“Owen, please. You have the blood you need, just stop this now. I promise I will help you.”
“Say that again,” Owen panted.
“I promise I will help you.”
“No, the other bit. The bit where you begged me.”
“Fuck off. I am not begging you.”
Owen chuckled and looked over at Jack. His voice was weaker and there was no real strength in the argument. Owen watched as Jack’s breathing became shallower and his eyes began to droop. His hand moved faster over his cock. He had only intended a quick shuffle to see if everything was in working order, but now he couldn’t help himself. The power he had, the edge of panic in Jack’s voice, it was sweeter than he could have imagined.
“I’m not going to last long,” he said to Jack’s fading body conversationally. “Been so long you see; don’t normally go this long without sex. But, uh, not any more.”
“Need help, Owen,” Jack muttered.
“Got everything I, guh, need, flowing right into my veins and those handy, bloody hell, blood bags, thank you,” Owen managed to pant.
“Me. I need help.”
Owen just snorted another laugh and continued pulling at his cock. He watched Jack’s eyelids finally close and his head flop down onto his chest. His hand moved faster as Jack’s breaths became shallower. As Jack’s body started to fail him, Owen’s thrumbed with energy. He started to pant, driving himself closer and closer to the edge.
He watched as the life drained out of Jack’s body and into his. As Jack’s last breath left his body, Owen came hard, his voice harsh in the now silent room.
Author:
jooles34
Fandom: Torchwood - Set after The Pharm and deviates from canon after that.
Characters: Owen, Jack
Words: 2,044
Rating: 18 for langauge and situations
Warnings: Character deaths and very inappropriate sex acts.
Prompt: Fandom any, characters any, your blood is the cure for my disease
Disclaimer: I do not own Torchwood. Title is from the A-ha song of the same name.
AN: Thanks to my lovely
emyrldlady for betaing. Written for
dark_fest.
Owen had a lot of time. Or he may have had very little in the grander scheme of things, there was no way to tell. But day to day he had a lot of time. He was at work for as long as he could bear being around other people, but after that he had a lot of free time. He could no longer fill his days and evenings with eating, drinking or fucking. And he no longer needed to sleep. Which left a lot of empty time.
For once in his no-longer-life he decided to put his time to good use. He did research. Actual research. Something he would normally only do with a metaphorical gun to his head or the occasional time a case touched him enough he gave a shit.
And this time he really gave a shit because this time the case was him. Him and the fact that he was dead. He used his time to research his condition; the parts that went beyond the fact of being dead. He’d covered that on the first day of medical school, the lack of pulse was a bit of a giveaway.
There were hints and rumours on the internet; references to myths and legends where people returned from the dead to live a life that wasn’t really life. But all he had found were guesses, contradictions and half truths. And so he had braved the wrath of Ianto.
He had waited for a night when the team were all leaving at a reasonable time and the glances between Ianto and Jack had been enough to indicate that they would both be occupied for the night. He pretended to leave, but ducked back in at the last minute and hid in one of the lower levels. Once he was certain that Ianto was otherwise engaged he made his way to the archives and started browsing, careful to leave everything where he found it for once.
It took three weeks of waiting for opportunities and spending his nights buried on paper under the Hub. He even almost started to understand why Ianto liked it down here so much. It was quiet, peaceful, none of the constant whirrings of Mainframe you got on the higher levels. And he would rather die than admit it - oh, too late, already dead - but he actually found something soothing in the sense of order that the Welshman had established down here.
He put all the information he had together. There were no definite answers, but enough things pointed in one direction that he knew what he had to do. He knew how to find his cure. The one thing that could make this go away. Well, hopefully anyway.
Owen started to plan. Luckily he had the time.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
He waited for a night that Jack was alone after the team left. Ianto was off somewhere, he didn’t give a shit where, but Owen knew that they wouldn’t be interrupted. Nobody seemed to think anything of the late nights he had been working lately, though he spotted the odd sympathetic look from Gwen and Tosh. Probably thought he was staying late as he had nothing better to do with his pathetic life.
Once the Hub was clear Owen washed his hands free from the gunk of the alien he had been dissecting. He patted his labcoat pocket and headed for Jack’s office.
“Hey, Jack.”
“Owen.” Jack looked up from the papers in his hands.
Owen recognised a perfect opportunity when he saw one.
“What are you looking at?” he asked with a nod at the papers, but carefully not showing enough interest to warrant leaving his position by the door.
“Some transmissions we received years ago. I go over them every so often, see if I can make sense of them.”
Owen pulled an ‘I’m interested despite myself’ face and headed over to the desk. He leaned over Jack’s shoulder to peer at the papers.
“Haven’t you tried Tosh’s translation programme?”
Luckily Owen didn’t really care, as Jack’s answer was lost in strangled gasp as Owen pulled the stun gun from his pocket and pressed it against Jack’s back. Owen moved and caught Jack as he slumped to one side. He took a deep, unnecessary, breath and started dragging.
Twenty minutes and another zap later, Owen had Jack where he wanted him. He sat back and waited for Jack to wake a second time.
Jack groaned and rolled his head. Owen tilted his chin waiting for the moment when Jack realised that he was tied to a chair and quite definitely not going anywhere. And there it was. As consciousness started to creep into Jack’s eyes his muscles flexed and reflexes made him try to move his arms. He fought briefly against his bonds before realisation dawned and Jack’s head snapped up to look at Owen.
“Owen? What the fuck?”
“I’ve been doing some research. There’s a school of thought that says that the reanimated can have their un-lives enhanced by drinking human blood. Fortunately others say that a transfusion is just as good. Handy. Don’t fancy drinking blood much.”
There was a snarl on Jack’s face.
“Untie me now, Owen,” he growled.
“No. You see, Jack, I reckon I’m onto a winner here. Blood can make my body pretend to live. It can make me feel warm, make me feel, give me a fucking hard on. And that’s just normal blood. But I’ve got you. Jack fucking Harkness; the man who cannot die.” He leaned in close. “Immortal blood running through my dead body. I’m even willing to live with the irony.”
“You are not taking my blood,” Jack said through clenched teeth.
“Oh, but I am Jack. One way or another I am. You did this to me. I joined Torchwood because of you. Got this stupid fucking notion in my head to follow you into anything. And you sent Martha into the Pharm. And then you couldn’t just let me be; couldn’t just let me fucking die. No, because you are Jack Harkness and you know better. So I reckon you owe me.
“Have a look around this room, Jack. Recognise it? This is the hidden room. Don’t look at me like that; I can look through plans too you know. And I know that this room is lined with some alien-whatever so that life signs and heat signals won’t show up. I can keep you in here as long as I like and no one will ever know. Even when the others realise you’re missing they’ll probably just assume that you’ve gone wandering with your Doctor again. But even if they do try to look, you won’t show up down here.
“So, I can keep you down here for as long as I like. Drain your blood every day and give myself enough to live like I never died. Or you can accept that it’s your fucking fault I’m here and for once in your miserable long life do something right and make up for it.”
“You’re asking me to let you give you my blood every day, voluntarily?”
“If you do I promise I will only take a little each day. Just enough to keep me going.”
“No, Owen, I can’t do that. And you can’t blame me for everything. You signed up for Torchwood. You knew what the life expectancy was; I never hid that from you.”
“No, but you were the one that couldn’t just leave the fuck alone. You were the one who had to meddle with things and bring me back.”
“Only for a few minutes; I only meant to bring you back for a few minutes.”
“Oh, that makes it all better,” Owen retorted. He moved towards a tray of instruments and started to open packets.
“This isn’t right, Owen. I am sorry for what’s happened to you, more sorry than you can know. But that doesn’t mean you can do this.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. This is one of the few things that I can do.”
Owen walked back over to Jack and tied a band around Jack’s arm, pulling it tight. Jack fruitlessly tried to pull his arm away and hissed as Owen inserted a capped needle into his bulging vein. Jack watched, silently seething, as Owen hooked up tubes and flattened bags to the cannula.
Then blood started flowing down the tube towards the bags. Owen spaced out the bags and placed them on a tray low under Jack’s chair.
“You can’t honestly think that you’re going to get away with this?”
“Come on, Jack. I’m not some naive little tosser off the street that you can intimidate. Besides, I have nothing to lose, thanks to you.” Owen was now attaching anther tube to the connection.
“Owen, please, I know what it’s like.”
“No, Jack, no you don’t.” Owen paused for a second in what he was doing and leaned his face close into Jack’s. “You can never die. I can never live.” He stood back and gave a grin that could not have been further removed from humour. “Well, unless this works anyway.”
Owen pulled away from Jack again and settled himself into another chair, the capped end of another cannula now attached to the end of the second tube and blood already flowing into it.
“You cannot do this, Owen.” Jack’s voice was steely again.
“Too late, Jack, I am doing it.”
Owen sat back and slipped the needle into his arm. He twisted a small dial and the valve opened, letting the blood into his arm.
“You don’t even know that this is going to work. You’re going on myth and superstition,” Jack argued. He could feel himself starting to get light-headed.
“Myths and superstitions all come from somewhere, Jack,” Owen countered. “And as for if this works, well, let’s see.”
Owen gave Jack a nasty look and reached down to undo his trousers. Once done he rested the arm receiving the blood again and reached inside his trousers with his other. Pulling out his cock he began to stroke it slowly.
“What the fuck are you doing, Owen?”
“Seeing if it works. Now shut up, you’re putting me off.”
“I’m losing too much blood Owen. You have to stop soon.”
“You’re fine. I said shut up.”
Owen started to move his hand faster and gasped out with joy.
“It’s working! It’s fucking working!” Owen laughed with glee as his cock hardened in his hand. “Oh fuck this feels good. I really didn’t think this would ever happen again.”
Owen kept moving his hand, quickly gathering speed.
“Owen, please. You have the blood you need, just stop this now. I promise I will help you.”
“Say that again,” Owen panted.
“I promise I will help you.”
“No, the other bit. The bit where you begged me.”
“Fuck off. I am not begging you.”
Owen chuckled and looked over at Jack. His voice was weaker and there was no real strength in the argument. Owen watched as Jack’s breathing became shallower and his eyes began to droop. His hand moved faster over his cock. He had only intended a quick shuffle to see if everything was in working order, but now he couldn’t help himself. The power he had, the edge of panic in Jack’s voice, it was sweeter than he could have imagined.
“I’m not going to last long,” he said to Jack’s fading body conversationally. “Been so long you see; don’t normally go this long without sex. But, uh, not any more.”
“Need help, Owen,” Jack muttered.
“Got everything I, guh, need, flowing right into my veins and those handy, bloody hell, blood bags, thank you,” Owen managed to pant.
“Me. I need help.”
Owen just snorted another laugh and continued pulling at his cock. He watched Jack’s eyelids finally close and his head flop down onto his chest. His hand moved faster as Jack’s breaths became shallower. As Jack’s body started to fail him, Owen’s thrumbed with energy. He started to pant, driving himself closer and closer to the edge.
He watched as the life drained out of Jack’s body and into his. As Jack’s last breath left his body, Owen came hard, his voice harsh in the now silent room.