comment!fic meme to take my mind off the flu
Stolen from ariastar! Okay, so, head over to the Doctor Who Random Pairing Generator and pick something out! (Although many of the people are people I have not heard of...) Anyway, copypasta your choice into a comment and I will write you a short fic! Eee!
Peace out <3
Peace out <3
He's looking for Jack. Of course he is. But that doesn't mean he can't have a bit of fun along the way.
John's vortex manipulator has brought him to sometime in the mid-to-late twentieth century, and since none of his rehabs have gone that well he's in a gloomy London pub that's empty save for him and a few military blokes looking to drink away the horrors of war and all that. John realises belatedly through the drunken haze that he's still wearing captain's bars, and a few of those boys are a bit of all right, so he downs the last of his whiskey, pushes himself unsteadily off his barstool and saunters over to them. His face is so used to a menacing smile that a friendly one poses some difficulty, but he manages it.
"Evening, boys," he greets them. They look up defensively, mutter greetings of their own and return to their drinks. John decides that this group is going to take a bit more effort. With a great deal of probably-near-suicidal abandon, he perches on the edge of their table and snatches up the nearest mug of beer, taking a swig and staring down in defiance at its owner, a very dignified-looking man with a crisp moustache - a Brigadier, apparently. The man frowns and John grins.
"Captain John Hart," he says, sticking out a hand; the Brigadier doesn't shake it. "Bit of a tough crowd tonight, eh? And who might you be, sah?" He snaps off a lazy salute.
"I," says the man, drawing himself up as best he can through the intoxication, "am Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, Captain, and I would advise you to get your behind off of my table!"
John complies, laughing openly and seating himself heavily in a vacant chair. He considers propping his boots on the tabletop, but decides not to press his luck. "So, army men, eh?" he asks conversationally, picking up the Brigadier's mug once again. This earns him another frown.
"UNIT, actually, not that it's any of your business." At this point, one of the other men says something quiet and derogatory about John, who deftly gets to his feet, reaches across to the poor soldier and heaves him toward the far wall by his lapels. The throw doesn't even make it halfway, but then John is quite drunk. As the other men rush off to aid their fallen comrade, he shoots a self-satisfied beam at Lethbridge-Stewart, whose face is caught somewhere between outrage and amusement; the outrage wins. Quick as you like, John Hart finds himself being grabbed by his own lapels and hoisted so that he's nose-to-nose with the Brigadier. The beer mug shatters on the floor. John grins excitedly.
"How dare you assault one of my men, Captain?" growls the man, eyes so narrow that John wonders how he can still see through them. Although judging from the strong whiff of alcohol on the man's breath, he probably can't. "Are you looking for a fight?"
John laughs again, this time a little incredulously. "No, sah, I'm looking for a shag."
The Brigadier's so taken aback by this that his grip on John's coat slackens, his eyebrows knitting together, not absolutely sure how to answer. John seizes the opportunity gladly, leaning forward and kissing the man roughly and, as always, with a hint of malice. To his surprise and delight, the Brigadier doesn't try to stop him.
The rest of that night isn't as good as one with Jack, but it'll do.
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Very nice indeed. Poor Brig.
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(I have already written a Jake/Astrid one omg I cannot get enough of this meme!)
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