Torchwood drabble - "Owen's got baggage" ('out of time' spoilers)
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Title: Owen’s got baggage.
For the best (Owen-loving) friend one could ask for: Fififolle.
Fandom: Torchwood.
Rating: PG-17 / Mature.
Spoilers: Out of Time.
Short Summary: Owen’s got a fair bit of emotional baggage, as testified to by his bedmate (whose POV) this is)
Author’s note: Here’s a plot bunny: if Diana hadn’t left, what would’ve happened?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters…a fact they’re forever grateful for, no doubt.
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Owen’s asleep right now, lying on my arm. I can’t bear to move either he or I, so I tolerate the discomfort; its only temporary, after all. Minutes, hours, it’ll never be days.
He remembers Diana. Vividly. More times than I can count, he’s mistaken me for her. Never in the daylight, when we’re upright. Only in the moonlight, when we’re sprawled across his bed. Calls me by her name.
Like now. He’s awake now.
He initiates intimacy, and I don’t pose any objections. We need this, I suppose. Too much adrenaline and such hormones and chemicals racing today; I’m surprised we didn’t jump one another sooner. Too tired, I suppose.
As we come to a finish together, “Tosh,” he breathes into my hair. I don’t shove him off of me - used to, though. But there’s only so many times I can watch his eyes come into focus as his attention returns to the present, and hear him say “Sorry, Gwen,” with that sad look of his.
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The End.
Title: Owen’s got baggage.
For the best (Owen-loving) friend one could ask for: Fififolle.
Fandom: Torchwood.
Rating: PG-17 / Mature.
Spoilers: Out of Time.
Short Summary: Owen’s got a fair bit of emotional baggage, as testified to by his bedmate (whose POV) this is)
Author’s note: Here’s a plot bunny: if Diana hadn’t left, what would’ve happened?
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters…a fact they’re forever grateful for, no doubt.
-------------------------------
Owen’s asleep right now, lying on my arm. I can’t bear to move either he or I, so I tolerate the discomfort; its only temporary, after all. Minutes, hours, it’ll never be days.
He remembers Diana. Vividly. More times than I can count, he’s mistaken me for her. Never in the daylight, when we’re upright. Only in the moonlight, when we’re sprawled across his bed. Calls me by her name.
Like now. He’s awake now.
He initiates intimacy, and I don’t pose any objections. We need this, I suppose. Too much adrenaline and such hormones and chemicals racing today; I’m surprised we didn’t jump one another sooner. Too tired, I suppose.
As we come to a finish together, “Tosh,” he breathes into my hair. I don’t shove him off of me - used to, though. But there’s only so many times I can watch his eyes come into focus as his attention returns to the present, and hear him say “Sorry, Gwen,” with that sad look of his.
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The End.