(no subject)
So instead of getting sleep last night, I wrote this. Oh, and I watched the last three episodes of Season 3 Doctor Who on YouTube.
Which is quite fine by me. :D SPARKLY JESUS IN TRAINERS ANYONE??
Anyway. *cough* Here you go, my contribution to Jack/anything porn great literature in Torchwood fandom. Enjoy as you will! :)
Title: Making Love to Phoenix Song
Fandom: Torchwood, Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 for implied critter!sex
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Jack/Fawkes (yes, Dumbledore's phoenix. Yes, I am a geek)
Summary: Jack's bored and in Scotland on the remainder of a Torchwood expedition gone bust. But instead of finding aliens, Jack finds...a phoenix. A horny phoenix, to boot.
Author’s Notes: Written for omnijaxual between 2 and 5:30 in the morning. Why? Because there's no way a plot bunny like this could come to fruition at any other sane time, that's why. :/
Sometime during the 1990s, Jack had been sent out to Scotland all by himself, working on a tip from Yvonne’s people to Alex’ people that turned out to be nothing more than rogue weather machines and flashing lights from planes that flew over superstitious shepherds’ huts on the moor by night.
Well, he did have a week left before his flight back to Cardiff...
This was why Jack ended up smack-dab in the middle of the Scottish moor, backpacking across the countryside where heather and grass were all one could see for miles upon miles, and this was why he alone heard the song of a phoenix that day.
He hadn’t known it was a phoenix at the time, of course. He’d only heard the sweet, sensual sounds of what he assumed had to be an alien creature, since no human or animal could possibly create something that beautiful, that utterly arousing with normal vocal powers alone. (And this was from someone who’d laid half the Metropolitan Opera chorus when he was in New York in the 1890s-he’d never quite understood why musicians, singers especially, had such a thing for men in uniform.) Driven by curiosity, Jack followed the sound, laughing to himself as the song trilled and whistled merrily, then growing slightly hard as it dropped an octave in such a sultry manner before sliding up the scale in a massive crescendo and screaming shrilly on the top note.
Jack cleared a pile of brush in a single bound, skidding to a halt in front of a stunted tree where there sat a bird, a large bird with flowing tail and feathers of red-gold flame, its golden beak partly open as it produced a seemingly-endless supply of that marvelous music he’d been listening to all the way across the moor.
“A firebird,” Jack murmured, barely believing it himself. “An honest-to-goodness firebird. No, wait, that’s the Russian name-a phoenix, that’s right, it’s a phoenix!”
The bird suddenly stopped its song and swiveled on its perch, tilting its head and gazing on Jack with a beady amber eye. When Jack saw all the wisdom of the immortal phoenix-the one creature on this entire planet other than himself who was unable to die-shining from that pair of golden pupils, he knew he’d met his match.
What was more, he dimly realized as the phoenix trilled a hopeful tune before hopping off its perch and fluttering onto the ground below, this particular one must have been expecting him.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Jack said in awe, drinking in the fiery beauty of the bird with his eyes. He quickly slid out of his backpack, letting it fall to the ground with a thud as he slowly moved closer to the approaching phoenix, one step at a time. It gave another sultry warble, and Jack laughed.
“Slow and easy, slow and easy, handsome-or is that beauty? Never mind, I don’t give a damn either way.” Jack had to spread out his arms to catch and embrace the phoenix as it suddenly flew straight into him. “Whoa, take it easy, easy,” he whispered into the feathers as the bird started to writhe against him, giving Jack an even bigger hard-on than he already had. From the way things were going, and from the rising urgency in the bird’s next melody, phoenixes were apparently just as affected by 51st century pheromones as humans were.
Jack inhaled deeply, a shiver running up and down his spine as the phoenix’ natural scent (what seemed to be a mixture of jasmine and pine) affected him in turn. “Watch the claws, would you?” he murmured, dazedly. “Sharp things are only kinky up to a certain point…”
The phoenix laughed in Jack’s ear, a laugh like crystal bells ringing as a summer breeze passed through them, then lightly pecked him on the cheek before proceeding to show Captain Jack Harkness exactly how its feathers should be properly employed in this situation.
When they were through, Jack’s shirt and braces were shredded beyond repair, and the phoenix was noticeably missing a few feathers on its back and wings. Jack stroked the silken red down gently and gave the phoenix a kiss on its head in farewell, savoring the clean taste left in his mouth, as if the bird could sweat the purest spring water.
In return, the phoenix gave Jack three gifts: a fine specimen of a tailfeather, nearly a foot and a half long and glimmering ruby red in his hand like it had been crafted out of a jewel; several drops of its tears, which Jack folded into a small handkerchief, the shining liquid never quite soaking through the fabric; and finally one last song before Jack left, a lilting melody to send him on his way again. Jack felt each note burn through his body, seemingly cleansing out each and every sin that had been etched into his soul until he felt light, airy, burdened by guilt no longer and refreshed by this new sensation so much that he returned to Cardiff with such a spring in his step that all who worked with him were surprised by the change.
Some hours later, long after Jack and the phoenix had parted ways, the bird fluttered through an open window in one of the towers of a rickety castle. The old man standing in front of a burning fireplace turned around and smiled through his beard at the sight of the phoenix landing on its perch in his office.
“My, my, Fawkes, aren’t you in fine fettle this evening,” Albus Dumbledore murmured as he approached his familiar. “And where have you been all this time? Enjoying yourself, I hope?”
And Fawkes merely cooed back in an extremely self-satisfied way as he settled himself down for a good night’s sleep.
Which is quite fine by me. :D SPARKLY JESUS IN TRAINERS ANYONE??
Anyway. *cough* Here you go, my contribution to Jack/anything porn great literature in Torchwood fandom. Enjoy as you will! :)
Title: Making Love to Phoenix Song
Fandom: Torchwood, Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 for implied critter!sex
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Jack/Fawkes (yes, Dumbledore's phoenix. Yes, I am a geek)
Summary: Jack's bored and in Scotland on the remainder of a Torchwood expedition gone bust. But instead of finding aliens, Jack finds...a phoenix. A horny phoenix, to boot.
Author’s Notes: Written for omnijaxual between 2 and 5:30 in the morning. Why? Because there's no way a plot bunny like this could come to fruition at any other sane time, that's why. :/
Sometime during the 1990s, Jack had been sent out to Scotland all by himself, working on a tip from Yvonne’s people to Alex’ people that turned out to be nothing more than rogue weather machines and flashing lights from planes that flew over superstitious shepherds’ huts on the moor by night.
Well, he did have a week left before his flight back to Cardiff...
This was why Jack ended up smack-dab in the middle of the Scottish moor, backpacking across the countryside where heather and grass were all one could see for miles upon miles, and this was why he alone heard the song of a phoenix that day.
He hadn’t known it was a phoenix at the time, of course. He’d only heard the sweet, sensual sounds of what he assumed had to be an alien creature, since no human or animal could possibly create something that beautiful, that utterly arousing with normal vocal powers alone. (And this was from someone who’d laid half the Metropolitan Opera chorus when he was in New York in the 1890s-he’d never quite understood why musicians, singers especially, had such a thing for men in uniform.) Driven by curiosity, Jack followed the sound, laughing to himself as the song trilled and whistled merrily, then growing slightly hard as it dropped an octave in such a sultry manner before sliding up the scale in a massive crescendo and screaming shrilly on the top note.
Jack cleared a pile of brush in a single bound, skidding to a halt in front of a stunted tree where there sat a bird, a large bird with flowing tail and feathers of red-gold flame, its golden beak partly open as it produced a seemingly-endless supply of that marvelous music he’d been listening to all the way across the moor.
“A firebird,” Jack murmured, barely believing it himself. “An honest-to-goodness firebird. No, wait, that’s the Russian name-a phoenix, that’s right, it’s a phoenix!”
The bird suddenly stopped its song and swiveled on its perch, tilting its head and gazing on Jack with a beady amber eye. When Jack saw all the wisdom of the immortal phoenix-the one creature on this entire planet other than himself who was unable to die-shining from that pair of golden pupils, he knew he’d met his match.
What was more, he dimly realized as the phoenix trilled a hopeful tune before hopping off its perch and fluttering onto the ground below, this particular one must have been expecting him.
“Oh, would you look at that,” Jack said in awe, drinking in the fiery beauty of the bird with his eyes. He quickly slid out of his backpack, letting it fall to the ground with a thud as he slowly moved closer to the approaching phoenix, one step at a time. It gave another sultry warble, and Jack laughed.
“Slow and easy, slow and easy, handsome-or is that beauty? Never mind, I don’t give a damn either way.” Jack had to spread out his arms to catch and embrace the phoenix as it suddenly flew straight into him. “Whoa, take it easy, easy,” he whispered into the feathers as the bird started to writhe against him, giving Jack an even bigger hard-on than he already had. From the way things were going, and from the rising urgency in the bird’s next melody, phoenixes were apparently just as affected by 51st century pheromones as humans were.
Jack inhaled deeply, a shiver running up and down his spine as the phoenix’ natural scent (what seemed to be a mixture of jasmine and pine) affected him in turn. “Watch the claws, would you?” he murmured, dazedly. “Sharp things are only kinky up to a certain point…”
The phoenix laughed in Jack’s ear, a laugh like crystal bells ringing as a summer breeze passed through them, then lightly pecked him on the cheek before proceeding to show Captain Jack Harkness exactly how its feathers should be properly employed in this situation.
When they were through, Jack’s shirt and braces were shredded beyond repair, and the phoenix was noticeably missing a few feathers on its back and wings. Jack stroked the silken red down gently and gave the phoenix a kiss on its head in farewell, savoring the clean taste left in his mouth, as if the bird could sweat the purest spring water.
In return, the phoenix gave Jack three gifts: a fine specimen of a tailfeather, nearly a foot and a half long and glimmering ruby red in his hand like it had been crafted out of a jewel; several drops of its tears, which Jack folded into a small handkerchief, the shining liquid never quite soaking through the fabric; and finally one last song before Jack left, a lilting melody to send him on his way again. Jack felt each note burn through his body, seemingly cleansing out each and every sin that had been etched into his soul until he felt light, airy, burdened by guilt no longer and refreshed by this new sensation so much that he returned to Cardiff with such a spring in his step that all who worked with him were surprised by the change.
Some hours later, long after Jack and the phoenix had parted ways, the bird fluttered through an open window in one of the towers of a rickety castle. The old man standing in front of a burning fireplace turned around and smiled through his beard at the sight of the phoenix landing on its perch in his office.
“My, my, Fawkes, aren’t you in fine fettle this evening,” Albus Dumbledore murmured as he approached his familiar. “And where have you been all this time? Enjoying yourself, I hope?”
And Fawkes merely cooed back in an extremely self-satisfied way as he settled himself down for a good night’s sleep.