Fic: Something More
Title: Something More
Author: remuslives23
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 935
Pairing/Characters: Andy, Gwen, mentions of Team Torchwood
Summary: "The trouble with Gwen, Andy thinks as he watches team Torchwood packing up their stuff, is that she isn't happy with what she's got."
Notes/Warnings: Spoiler: Great liberties taken with timing for 'Everything Changes'. Written for Week 2 of tw_lucky_7 with the prompt Lust. Not the sexfest I'd imagined writing for this prompt. Rating for references to sexual situations and language. Thanks to dogsunderfoot for putting up with my refusal to listen to her punctuation lessons.
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
Andy watched as the poncy bloke in the long RAF coat (who the fuck wears an RAF coat anyway?) swept past him as if he was invisible, the skinny man and two women trailing in his wake. Andy sneers at their backs. Bloody Torchwood. They swoop down on any crime scene they fancy - the bloke with the shark-like grin and the ice-cold blue eyes flashes his credentials and expects everyone's knickers to drop - and then they fucking disappear; the police... Andy... getting stuck with cleaning up their shit.
He peers through the pelting rain at the group, letting the sharp sting of the raindrops numb his face. He can't hear what they're saying over the deafening downpour, and they are standing in a tight circle around the body so Andy can't get a visual on what they're up to. The Japanese woman crouches down, and Andy takes a long moment to enjoy the way her skirt clings to the curve of her backside. He's never dated a foreign bird, not unless you count that slapper from London who couldn't shut up about the six months she'd lived in France as a kid. He wonders how much of what he's seen in those cheap Asian porn films is true and spends another, even longer, moment imagining the woman's slim legs wrapped around his hips, the image bringing colour to his pale cheeks and a quirk to his lips.
The wanker with the coat steps back a little, hands on hips and his mouth moving as he watches the others work. His head turns toward the cordon where Andy and his tardy partner, Gwen, are standing - guarding the crime scene so Torchwood can just stomp all over any bloody evidence the rain doesn't wash away - and Andy nearly falls over his own feet when the bloke winks at him.
He frowns and blinks. He couldn't have really seen that, could he? But when he looks again, the coated man has focused his attention on the body yet again. Andy turns to Gwen, ready to sound off about blokes that go around winking at other (straight, for Christ's sake, despite the alarming stirring in his gut) blokes, but she's not there. He looks around at the lingering officers, the SOCO who are waiting with barely disguised impatience to get permission to continue their job, but Gwen is nowhere to be seen. She's vanished.
Andy rolls his eyes. Late to shift, disappearing when she's got a job to do... he doubts Gwen will last much longer if she keeps going the way she is. The trouble with Gwen, Andy thinks as he watches team Torchwood packing up their stuff, is that she isn't happy with what she's got. She gets this look in her eye sometimes, this hungry look that screams 'I want more!'. A lascivious need for power, for knowledge of things mere police constables aren't privy to, and he wonders why she is settling for this life - the police, a mediocre boyfriend and a shabby flat, Cardiff - when she was beautiful enough, vivacious enough, to go anywhere and do anything.
Andy sometimes wishes he shared her desire for more, wishes he could be more, because then he and Gwen could...
He shakes his head. He's happy with his life, with nights down the pub with the boys and his semi-exclusive relationship with Molly from the chippie, and helping keep Cardiff safe from all the tossers who keep trying to tear it down and blow it up... Well, except on nights like this where arrogant wankers stride in with their coats flapping and stop him doing his job.
Torchwood are on the move again, and they brush dismissively by Andy who wants to stick out his foot and trip them. Mr RAF Coat glances at him as he passes and, this time, there's no mistaking the deliberate wink or the sly leer. Andy hates that he feels that smile right down to his toes, feels it tingling at the base of his spine, but nevertheless, he finds himself watching that broad back and imagining the tight arse hidden under the coat as the man walks away.
As they drive off, the angry buzz from the other officers and the SOCO falls into complaints about arrogant Americans and 'bloody Torchwood think they own the place', and then Gwen suddenly appears, flustered and pale. She mumbles an excuse to Andy but he's not listening, because he sees that look burning in her eyes, that fierce longing for more, and she's watching the fading lights of the Torchwood SUV with eyes so dark with lust and covetousness that it is almost obscene.
Andy looks away as the pain of knowing he'll never be good enough rips through him, and he feels a fresh wave of dislike for arrogant Americans himself. Gwen turns those overly bright eyes on him once the black SUV is out of sight, and the craving and hunger on her face makes Andy's stomach clench with a different kind of lust as the images of legs around his hips flood back; only this time, it's Gwen bucking under him.
She smiles that gap-toothed smile (Andy tries not-very-hard not to think of how those lips would look stretched around his cock) then throws the verbal equivalent of cold water over him when she asks, 'Where would I find Torchwood then?'
He knows then that Gwen has found her something more.
fin.
Author: remuslives23
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 935
Pairing/Characters: Andy, Gwen, mentions of Team Torchwood
Summary: "The trouble with Gwen, Andy thinks as he watches team Torchwood packing up their stuff, is that she isn't happy with what she's got."
Notes/Warnings: Spoiler: Great liberties taken with timing for 'Everything Changes'. Written for Week 2 of tw_lucky_7 with the prompt Lust. Not the sexfest I'd imagined writing for this prompt. Rating for references to sexual situations and language. Thanks to dogsunderfoot for putting up with my refusal to listen to her punctuation lessons.
Disclaimer: This fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by Russell T Davies, the BBC and affiliates. No money is being made and no offense is intended. Characters are of legal age for sexual situations.
Andy watched as the poncy bloke in the long RAF coat (who the fuck wears an RAF coat anyway?) swept past him as if he was invisible, the skinny man and two women trailing in his wake. Andy sneers at their backs. Bloody Torchwood. They swoop down on any crime scene they fancy - the bloke with the shark-like grin and the ice-cold blue eyes flashes his credentials and expects everyone's knickers to drop - and then they fucking disappear; the police... Andy... getting stuck with cleaning up their shit.
He peers through the pelting rain at the group, letting the sharp sting of the raindrops numb his face. He can't hear what they're saying over the deafening downpour, and they are standing in a tight circle around the body so Andy can't get a visual on what they're up to. The Japanese woman crouches down, and Andy takes a long moment to enjoy the way her skirt clings to the curve of her backside. He's never dated a foreign bird, not unless you count that slapper from London who couldn't shut up about the six months she'd lived in France as a kid. He wonders how much of what he's seen in those cheap Asian porn films is true and spends another, even longer, moment imagining the woman's slim legs wrapped around his hips, the image bringing colour to his pale cheeks and a quirk to his lips.
The wanker with the coat steps back a little, hands on hips and his mouth moving as he watches the others work. His head turns toward the cordon where Andy and his tardy partner, Gwen, are standing - guarding the crime scene so Torchwood can just stomp all over any bloody evidence the rain doesn't wash away - and Andy nearly falls over his own feet when the bloke winks at him.
He frowns and blinks. He couldn't have really seen that, could he? But when he looks again, the coated man has focused his attention on the body yet again. Andy turns to Gwen, ready to sound off about blokes that go around winking at other (straight, for Christ's sake, despite the alarming stirring in his gut) blokes, but she's not there. He looks around at the lingering officers, the SOCO who are waiting with barely disguised impatience to get permission to continue their job, but Gwen is nowhere to be seen. She's vanished.
Andy rolls his eyes. Late to shift, disappearing when she's got a job to do... he doubts Gwen will last much longer if she keeps going the way she is. The trouble with Gwen, Andy thinks as he watches team Torchwood packing up their stuff, is that she isn't happy with what she's got. She gets this look in her eye sometimes, this hungry look that screams 'I want more!'. A lascivious need for power, for knowledge of things mere police constables aren't privy to, and he wonders why she is settling for this life - the police, a mediocre boyfriend and a shabby flat, Cardiff - when she was beautiful enough, vivacious enough, to go anywhere and do anything.
Andy sometimes wishes he shared her desire for more, wishes he could be more, because then he and Gwen could...
He shakes his head. He's happy with his life, with nights down the pub with the boys and his semi-exclusive relationship with Molly from the chippie, and helping keep Cardiff safe from all the tossers who keep trying to tear it down and blow it up... Well, except on nights like this where arrogant wankers stride in with their coats flapping and stop him doing his job.
Torchwood are on the move again, and they brush dismissively by Andy who wants to stick out his foot and trip them. Mr RAF Coat glances at him as he passes and, this time, there's no mistaking the deliberate wink or the sly leer. Andy hates that he feels that smile right down to his toes, feels it tingling at the base of his spine, but nevertheless, he finds himself watching that broad back and imagining the tight arse hidden under the coat as the man walks away.
As they drive off, the angry buzz from the other officers and the SOCO falls into complaints about arrogant Americans and 'bloody Torchwood think they own the place', and then Gwen suddenly appears, flustered and pale. She mumbles an excuse to Andy but he's not listening, because he sees that look burning in her eyes, that fierce longing for more, and she's watching the fading lights of the Torchwood SUV with eyes so dark with lust and covetousness that it is almost obscene.
Andy looks away as the pain of knowing he'll never be good enough rips through him, and he feels a fresh wave of dislike for arrogant Americans himself. Gwen turns those overly bright eyes on him once the black SUV is out of sight, and the craving and hunger on her face makes Andy's stomach clench with a different kind of lust as the images of legs around his hips flood back; only this time, it's Gwen bucking under him.
She smiles that gap-toothed smile (Andy tries not-very-hard not to think of how those lips would look stretched around his cock) then throws the verbal equivalent of cold water over him when she asks, 'Where would I find Torchwood then?'
He knows then that Gwen has found her something more.
fin.