Voyeurs 1/2
Title: Voyeurs Part 1/2
(The (mis)Adventures of the Captain and co. series)
Author:jovialien
Characters: The Captain (aka Rosie Harkness), Captain John Hart/Male OC
Ratings: R, NC17
Warnings: Spoilers for all three of the Rosie Series
Adventures of Rosie Harkness series,
The Adventures of the Captain
The (Mis)adventures of the Captain and co.
my alternate universe series.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Whoniverse boys, I just borrow them. Rosie is all mine though.
Summary: Slash. The Captain can't sleep, and John never did learn to shut his door properly....
Authors Notes: If you've never read any of the Rosie fics you can quite safely ignore all of these posts. If you would like to read Rosie (it might take a while) you can find all her adventures start here
The Captain sat bolt upright in bed, a scream stopping in her throat before it had even begun as the nightmare vanished in an instant. At least she hadn’t actually screamed this time, that was always embarrassing, not to mention a surefire way to a sore throat. Plus it was always so hard to explain to a date she had had a bad dream she couldn’t even remember. It was worse when they tried to comfort her; more than one girl had left her room with a growing bruise the next morning, and not of the good kind.
Throwing off the sheets the Captain slid her feet over the side of the bed and onto the floor. The cheap carpet scratched her toes but helped to shake off the lingering feeling of sand on her body. Every one of the new nightmares ended leaving her with nothing but the sensation of sand everywhere. Her uncle's final legacy, itchiness.
Her long nightshirt was evidence enough that her bed would be empty when she turned round, which was just as well as the damp feel to her neckline suggested she was not a pretty sight. Rubbing her face tiredly she grabbed her handheld computer from the bedside table and checked the time, her other hand rising to run through her red curls.
“Nearly 3 hours this time. Not bad.” At least she was sleeping for longer. Not that she needed much sleep but she had always enjoyed it. Well, when it was dream free at least. Oh for one solid dream free nights sleep. Looking around the dark room she wondered how long they would stay in one place this time before John got arrested or ran out of locals to fuck. Speaking of John, she wondered idly if he was back yet, it was still fairly early for him but perhaps he would be home. She fancied a drink and he always had some stashed somewhere in their tent - usually half a bottle abandoned on the kitchen counter on his way to bed.
Opening the door she smiled at the simple combined living room and kitchen. The place was dark and from the inside you would never tell it was a simple green tent. She was grateful they had found a way to transfer some of the TARDIS’ perception filter qualities to it; it made it so much easier to bring dates back. Somehow she suspected most people hadn’t seen a tent with a perfect wooden front door - or two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen slash living room.
Padding quietly towards the kitchen counter she didn’t realise until it shone across her body that there was a strip of light coming from John’s room. His door hadn’t closed properly. Rolling her eyes she moved closer; he snored like a tractor in the morning and that was not the wake up call she wanted. As she reached out for the handle a flash of movement and a cry from inside made her freeze in place.
She shouldn’t. She didn’t want to.
The Captain shifted and slid closer to the door, peeking through the gap, the soft light of his room shining in a stripe across her body and making her green eyes glow as she peered through. She had been in his room before, usually when he lost the keys to the handcuffs permanently looped through his headboard. Luckily the joy of a sonic screwdriver meant she never had to get much closer than the doorway and she had never chosen to cast more than a quick glance over his room. She certainly always chose to ignore the leather and plastic littering the place.
But this time she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
The light was dim, just one bedside lamp illuminating the whole room. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw John, sprawled out on the bed like some kind of regal figure. His sheets were deep red, almost the colour of blood and his skin looked so pale against them. But it was the look on his face she couldn’t stop staring at. He looked so... content. The head of his latest toy was busy at work in his lap, the curve of a masculine back moving slowly between her companion's spread thighs. It was no wonder he looked so happy.
Her eyes closed as other people's memories came crashing back into her mind, ghostly sensations of another body filling her senses for a moment. She knew how that felt. She knew how it felt to have a rough tongue wrap itself around the head of a cock, she knew how it felt to have that slow drag of a long suck spread right through a body.
She knew how it felt to be captive and unable to stop the slow abuse of a body, to be driven to insanity against all instincts. She could remember the shame and humiliation of it, the enforced pleasure churning through her and mixing with hate. Not many people knew how their own conception felt but she knew it from both sides and it turned her stomach.
But John didn’t look like that was how he felt.
She opened her eyes again, banishing the ghosts of yet another nightmare and focused on the reality in front of her. John’s fingers were stretching back above his head, wrapping themselves through the twisted metal of his headboard, scraping lightly over the handcuffs hanging there and making them clink quietly. She couldn’t see his date’s reaction but he seemed to approve of the idea as his hands began to slide up John’s body, drifting up those pale wrists to hold them tight.
The man's head, covered with a tousle of dark wavy hair, rose up as he moved to kiss John fiercely, claiming him even as his hands slipped the handcuffs around his wrists. John kissed back hungrily, straining off the bed to continue the kiss even as his partner pulled back, darting in and out to snatch teasing kisses. John looked almost animal like as he snapped his head forward, his arms spread back behind him and his muscles straining against the restraints. But his feral grin was still a grin nonetheless, his eyes spread wide almost challengingly as he let himself collapse back against the pillows.
The man slid back down John’s body and from the looks of things his mouth was busy enjoying every ripple of the muscles on John’s stomach. His darker fingers began to wrap themselves around John’s thighs, the flesh turning white then red under the fierce grip but John didn’t seem to mind. Those nails were too short to do much damage but they still left little crescents of colour on his thighs that she couldn't stop looking at, as those trying to read an ancient language in the swirls. But she could still tell by the way John arched, his fingers wrapping around the long chain of the handcuffs, when his date returned his full attention to John’s prick.
She had seen that before too, more times than she cared to remember. She had felt it pressed against her back, noticeable even through layers of clothing. He had wanted her since the moment they met and they both knew it. He was just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment. He thought she was just a tough target, a long game but worth the battle. But she...
The Captain sighed softly as John arched again, close now as his friend's head began to bob up and down slowly then with more speed. She could see the way John’s veins began to show in his skin as he pulled tighter against the restraints, as he began to go red with the strain, perhaps holding his breath a little. His eyes were wide open and his head was tilted back against the bed, almost facing the headboard he was arching so much. He looked like he was in pain but she knew differently.
She knew how that moment of release felt and watched as he didn’t warn his friend but instead bucked up almost savagely as he came. The sound of gagging and coughing filled the room as his date pulled back, wiping his face as he sat up. His coughs continued and she could imagine the look of hurt on his face as he regarded John. Naughty boy. He was always so rude. Always taking, never asking. Even when he was supposed to be the submissive he had to have the last blow, had to be the boss. Had to take what wasn't offered.
She knew how his date felt. A hundred given memories of being forced to open wide, of gagging so many times sickness would have followed, if there had only been enough food to bring back up, they all brushed against her mind. The Captain watched the wicked grin on John’s face as he relaxed, cocky and triumphant, enjoying the moment of humiliation for his date. He wriggled against the bed, getting comfy again as his eyes tracked across the room, falling for a moment on the doorway...
The Captain didn’t move as his eyes locked with hers, made no sign of shame or guilt for having witnessed what his date at least had intended as a private moment. Captain John Hart raised one eyebrow suggestively and inclined his head towards the bed. Declining the invitation she let her fingers close on the door handle and silently pulled the door to, plunging the living room back into darkness.
Padding over to the kitchen her fingers blindly found a bottle of vodka on the side and wrapped around it. She hesitated for a moment before pushing it away, instead moving effortlessly in the dark to open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before heading back to bed. She couldn’t erase the look on John’s face from her mind.
She knew the darker side of sex, had received pain more times than she could recall, a thin trail of scars on her back marking one memorable incident involving a species with claws. She sought pleasure and pain in equal measure, fighting to discover an intensity of pleasure to equal the height of the pain before she would swing back to the other.
But she had never inflicted it. She had fought and killed before. She had even lost herself to the rage and anger and done things she had never wanted to do but they were at least swift kills, she had got no pleasure from it. She hadn’t enjoyed it.
Not like her fathers. She knew the dark side of each of them, the torturer that lay in both sides of her genetic heritage but she shied away from it, instinctively knowing it would consume her if she ever let herself give in to it, that that flame would burn her. The Captain fought the battles that needed fighting, would kill to defend others but never just for the sake of it. And each time it tore into her soul, making her somehow less than she had wanted to be. But she wasn’t like them, she never enjoyed it. She wasn’t like her parents.
And she wasn’t like John.
The Captain pulled her door closed and took a moment to snap the lock shut on her side before lying down on the still damp sheets. She wondered if she would ever meet someone she could trust enough to explore the darker side with, to be able to give the sort of pain that didn’t cross the line, that was welcomed, asked for. She wondered if she would ever be able to trust herself enough to try.
Smiling to herself as something occurred to her she pulled the discarded sheet back up over herself and sipped from the bottle before placing it on the side. Closing her eyes she pushed all the sensations and memories and images from her mind focusing on the one happy thought she had got out of it and drifted back to sleep.
Even if she did one day explore that side of her personality there was one thing she was certain of. It wouldn’t be with Captain John Hart.
Part 2
(The (mis)Adventures of the Captain and co. series)
Author:jovialien
Characters: The Captain (aka Rosie Harkness), Captain John Hart/Male OC
Ratings: R, NC17
Warnings: Spoilers for all three of the Rosie Series
Adventures of Rosie Harkness series,
The Adventures of the Captain
The (Mis)adventures of the Captain and co.
my alternate universe series.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Whoniverse boys, I just borrow them. Rosie is all mine though.
Summary: Slash. The Captain can't sleep, and John never did learn to shut his door properly....
Authors Notes: If you've never read any of the Rosie fics you can quite safely ignore all of these posts. If you would like to read Rosie (it might take a while) you can find all her adventures start here
The Captain sat bolt upright in bed, a scream stopping in her throat before it had even begun as the nightmare vanished in an instant. At least she hadn’t actually screamed this time, that was always embarrassing, not to mention a surefire way to a sore throat. Plus it was always so hard to explain to a date she had had a bad dream she couldn’t even remember. It was worse when they tried to comfort her; more than one girl had left her room with a growing bruise the next morning, and not of the good kind.
Throwing off the sheets the Captain slid her feet over the side of the bed and onto the floor. The cheap carpet scratched her toes but helped to shake off the lingering feeling of sand on her body. Every one of the new nightmares ended leaving her with nothing but the sensation of sand everywhere. Her uncle's final legacy, itchiness.
Her long nightshirt was evidence enough that her bed would be empty when she turned round, which was just as well as the damp feel to her neckline suggested she was not a pretty sight. Rubbing her face tiredly she grabbed her handheld computer from the bedside table and checked the time, her other hand rising to run through her red curls.
“Nearly 3 hours this time. Not bad.” At least she was sleeping for longer. Not that she needed much sleep but she had always enjoyed it. Well, when it was dream free at least. Oh for one solid dream free nights sleep. Looking around the dark room she wondered how long they would stay in one place this time before John got arrested or ran out of locals to fuck. Speaking of John, she wondered idly if he was back yet, it was still fairly early for him but perhaps he would be home. She fancied a drink and he always had some stashed somewhere in their tent - usually half a bottle abandoned on the kitchen counter on his way to bed.
Opening the door she smiled at the simple combined living room and kitchen. The place was dark and from the inside you would never tell it was a simple green tent. She was grateful they had found a way to transfer some of the TARDIS’ perception filter qualities to it; it made it so much easier to bring dates back. Somehow she suspected most people hadn’t seen a tent with a perfect wooden front door - or two bedrooms, a bathroom and a kitchen slash living room.
Padding quietly towards the kitchen counter she didn’t realise until it shone across her body that there was a strip of light coming from John’s room. His door hadn’t closed properly. Rolling her eyes she moved closer; he snored like a tractor in the morning and that was not the wake up call she wanted. As she reached out for the handle a flash of movement and a cry from inside made her freeze in place.
She shouldn’t. She didn’t want to.
The Captain shifted and slid closer to the door, peeking through the gap, the soft light of his room shining in a stripe across her body and making her green eyes glow as she peered through. She had been in his room before, usually when he lost the keys to the handcuffs permanently looped through his headboard. Luckily the joy of a sonic screwdriver meant she never had to get much closer than the doorway and she had never chosen to cast more than a quick glance over his room. She certainly always chose to ignore the leather and plastic littering the place.
But this time she couldn’t pull her gaze away.
The light was dim, just one bedside lamp illuminating the whole room. She felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw John, sprawled out on the bed like some kind of regal figure. His sheets were deep red, almost the colour of blood and his skin looked so pale against them. But it was the look on his face she couldn’t stop staring at. He looked so... content. The head of his latest toy was busy at work in his lap, the curve of a masculine back moving slowly between her companion's spread thighs. It was no wonder he looked so happy.
Her eyes closed as other people's memories came crashing back into her mind, ghostly sensations of another body filling her senses for a moment. She knew how that felt. She knew how it felt to have a rough tongue wrap itself around the head of a cock, she knew how it felt to have that slow drag of a long suck spread right through a body.
She knew how it felt to be captive and unable to stop the slow abuse of a body, to be driven to insanity against all instincts. She could remember the shame and humiliation of it, the enforced pleasure churning through her and mixing with hate. Not many people knew how their own conception felt but she knew it from both sides and it turned her stomach.
But John didn’t look like that was how he felt.
She opened her eyes again, banishing the ghosts of yet another nightmare and focused on the reality in front of her. John’s fingers were stretching back above his head, wrapping themselves through the twisted metal of his headboard, scraping lightly over the handcuffs hanging there and making them clink quietly. She couldn’t see his date’s reaction but he seemed to approve of the idea as his hands began to slide up John’s body, drifting up those pale wrists to hold them tight.
The man's head, covered with a tousle of dark wavy hair, rose up as he moved to kiss John fiercely, claiming him even as his hands slipped the handcuffs around his wrists. John kissed back hungrily, straining off the bed to continue the kiss even as his partner pulled back, darting in and out to snatch teasing kisses. John looked almost animal like as he snapped his head forward, his arms spread back behind him and his muscles straining against the restraints. But his feral grin was still a grin nonetheless, his eyes spread wide almost challengingly as he let himself collapse back against the pillows.
The man slid back down John’s body and from the looks of things his mouth was busy enjoying every ripple of the muscles on John’s stomach. His darker fingers began to wrap themselves around John’s thighs, the flesh turning white then red under the fierce grip but John didn’t seem to mind. Those nails were too short to do much damage but they still left little crescents of colour on his thighs that she couldn't stop looking at, as those trying to read an ancient language in the swirls. But she could still tell by the way John arched, his fingers wrapping around the long chain of the handcuffs, when his date returned his full attention to John’s prick.
She had seen that before too, more times than she cared to remember. She had felt it pressed against her back, noticeable even through layers of clothing. He had wanted her since the moment they met and they both knew it. He was just biding his time, waiting for the opportune moment. He thought she was just a tough target, a long game but worth the battle. But she...
The Captain sighed softly as John arched again, close now as his friend's head began to bob up and down slowly then with more speed. She could see the way John’s veins began to show in his skin as he pulled tighter against the restraints, as he began to go red with the strain, perhaps holding his breath a little. His eyes were wide open and his head was tilted back against the bed, almost facing the headboard he was arching so much. He looked like he was in pain but she knew differently.
She knew how that moment of release felt and watched as he didn’t warn his friend but instead bucked up almost savagely as he came. The sound of gagging and coughing filled the room as his date pulled back, wiping his face as he sat up. His coughs continued and she could imagine the look of hurt on his face as he regarded John. Naughty boy. He was always so rude. Always taking, never asking. Even when he was supposed to be the submissive he had to have the last blow, had to be the boss. Had to take what wasn't offered.
She knew how his date felt. A hundred given memories of being forced to open wide, of gagging so many times sickness would have followed, if there had only been enough food to bring back up, they all brushed against her mind. The Captain watched the wicked grin on John’s face as he relaxed, cocky and triumphant, enjoying the moment of humiliation for his date. He wriggled against the bed, getting comfy again as his eyes tracked across the room, falling for a moment on the doorway...
The Captain didn’t move as his eyes locked with hers, made no sign of shame or guilt for having witnessed what his date at least had intended as a private moment. Captain John Hart raised one eyebrow suggestively and inclined his head towards the bed. Declining the invitation she let her fingers close on the door handle and silently pulled the door to, plunging the living room back into darkness.
Padding over to the kitchen her fingers blindly found a bottle of vodka on the side and wrapped around it. She hesitated for a moment before pushing it away, instead moving effortlessly in the dark to open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water before heading back to bed. She couldn’t erase the look on John’s face from her mind.
She knew the darker side of sex, had received pain more times than she could recall, a thin trail of scars on her back marking one memorable incident involving a species with claws. She sought pleasure and pain in equal measure, fighting to discover an intensity of pleasure to equal the height of the pain before she would swing back to the other.
But she had never inflicted it. She had fought and killed before. She had even lost herself to the rage and anger and done things she had never wanted to do but they were at least swift kills, she had got no pleasure from it. She hadn’t enjoyed it.
Not like her fathers. She knew the dark side of each of them, the torturer that lay in both sides of her genetic heritage but she shied away from it, instinctively knowing it would consume her if she ever let herself give in to it, that that flame would burn her. The Captain fought the battles that needed fighting, would kill to defend others but never just for the sake of it. And each time it tore into her soul, making her somehow less than she had wanted to be. But she wasn’t like them, she never enjoyed it. She wasn’t like her parents.
And she wasn’t like John.
The Captain pulled her door closed and took a moment to snap the lock shut on her side before lying down on the still damp sheets. She wondered if she would ever meet someone she could trust enough to explore the darker side with, to be able to give the sort of pain that didn’t cross the line, that was welcomed, asked for. She wondered if she would ever be able to trust herself enough to try.
Smiling to herself as something occurred to her she pulled the discarded sheet back up over herself and sipped from the bottle before placing it on the side. Closing her eyes she pushed all the sensations and memories and images from her mind focusing on the one happy thought she had got out of it and drifted back to sleep.
Even if she did one day explore that side of her personality there was one thing she was certain of. It wouldn’t be with Captain John Hart.
Part 2