Fic: Lucidity
Holy cats, I was in the top three for this week's writerinadrawer. Eeeep! Am very surprised, but very happy as well! This is the story I wrote:
Title: Lucidity
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Owen/Suzie, Tosh/Owen
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, nor its brilliant characters.
A/N: Written for round 3.02 of writerinadrawer; the prompts being a favour and a foreign city, within 400 words. No spoilers.
Summary: He's about to break his cardinal rule, and talk.
His sights have widened, now; past their skin, sweat, and gasps being the only things that matter, and into a room where the rest of the world can be heard through the open window, and where sex is not the only thing that connects him and the woman in his bed, for a change.
Things have shifted away from the norm of these situations; he can tell. Maybe she's too familiar, too close to home. Owen's loath to call it afterglow, but he thinks...nay, he knows, that he's about to break his cardinal rule, and start doing what he's terrible at. Talking.
"Listen," he murmurs, before he can stop himself. "Do me a favour."
She turns her head to look at him; one curious eye peeking through the curls.
"Don’t tell Tosh about this, yeah?"
She snorts. "Well, I wasn’t planning to, but any sordid little secret is safe with me." He feels her gaze, as always, piercing him. "Why not?"
Because he sees how Tosh looks at him; furtive and frustrated, like there’s a firewall blocking her way through to him. Because that tiny, wretched fraction of him that could still be good seems to gravitate towards her. Because she should have the hope that he doesn't. Unpleasant reasons like that.
He shrugs.
"No real reason."
They both know it’s a pathetic answer, and he half-expects her to press him; he's surprised when she merely nods and turns her gaze back towards the ceiling. Clemency from Suzie is rare; he’s willing to take it when it's offered.
She moves her hand a fraction closer, under the blanket, and bumps one of her knuckles against his; one, two, three. Her skin is rough from labour; his from combat and blood; too much of it.
Perhaps Tosh, with her fascination for words, and keys, is the only one of them with clean hands.
Christ, he’s getting metaphorical, now. That’s never a good sign.
"You’ll have to take me on a mini-break, though," mutters Suzie ironically, already half-asleep. "To Venice. Just to seal the deal."
He chuckles, feeling his lucidity beginning to slip away as exhaustion takes over.
He can probably trust her. It’s trusting himself which poses the far greater problem.
With a sigh, he turns over and settles in to sleep; hoping against hope that he won’t dream.
Title: Lucidity
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): Owen/Suzie, Tosh/Owen
Disclaimer: I don't own Torchwood, nor its brilliant characters.
A/N: Written for round 3.02 of writerinadrawer; the prompts being a favour and a foreign city, within 400 words. No spoilers.
Summary: He's about to break his cardinal rule, and talk.
His sights have widened, now; past their skin, sweat, and gasps being the only things that matter, and into a room where the rest of the world can be heard through the open window, and where sex is not the only thing that connects him and the woman in his bed, for a change.
Things have shifted away from the norm of these situations; he can tell. Maybe she's too familiar, too close to home. Owen's loath to call it afterglow, but he thinks...nay, he knows, that he's about to break his cardinal rule, and start doing what he's terrible at. Talking.
"Listen," he murmurs, before he can stop himself. "Do me a favour."
She turns her head to look at him; one curious eye peeking through the curls.
"Don’t tell Tosh about this, yeah?"
She snorts. "Well, I wasn’t planning to, but any sordid little secret is safe with me." He feels her gaze, as always, piercing him. "Why not?"
Because he sees how Tosh looks at him; furtive and frustrated, like there’s a firewall blocking her way through to him. Because that tiny, wretched fraction of him that could still be good seems to gravitate towards her. Because she should have the hope that he doesn't. Unpleasant reasons like that.
He shrugs.
"No real reason."
They both know it’s a pathetic answer, and he half-expects her to press him; he's surprised when she merely nods and turns her gaze back towards the ceiling. Clemency from Suzie is rare; he’s willing to take it when it's offered.
She moves her hand a fraction closer, under the blanket, and bumps one of her knuckles against his; one, two, three. Her skin is rough from labour; his from combat and blood; too much of it.
Perhaps Tosh, with her fascination for words, and keys, is the only one of them with clean hands.
Christ, he’s getting metaphorical, now. That’s never a good sign.
"You’ll have to take me on a mini-break, though," mutters Suzie ironically, already half-asleep. "To Venice. Just to seal the deal."
He chuckles, feeling his lucidity beginning to slip away as exhaustion takes over.
He can probably trust her. It’s trusting himself which poses the far greater problem.
With a sigh, he turns over and settles in to sleep; hoping against hope that he won’t dream.