Fic: Thank You
I actually started this yesterday morning and finished it yesterday evening, but I couldn't quite work out what it was about, so I left it. Now I think I understand what I've written a bit better. So here you go, one Jack/Owen fic (a pairing I really don't get the attraction of, but which is oddly aluring anyway).
Title: Thank You
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Summary: From time to time, Owen needs something that only Jack can provide, but he can't quite figure out what Jack gets from it in return.
Length: 700 words.
Notes: I've definitely got a lot more to say on this pairing, but it troubles me a little bit because I don't understand it. So yeah. Definitely open to con-crit on this one.
He waits until Gwen and Tosh have gone, until Ianto is lost in a sea of paperwork, and only when he is completely unobserved does Owen climb the stairs to the office. He pauses on the landing, one hand on the door. His pulse is racing, his medical instincts kicking in. Don’t want a fucking heart attack. Breath slowly.
It’s been years since he did this, since he needed this. He finds the door unlocked, and Jack leaning on his desk, exactly as though he is waiting for him. Jack doesn’t smile, doesn’t say a word. He simply stands up, shrugs his braces off his shoulders, starts opening his own shirt. Owen stares, transfixed for a moment with the sight of the Captain undressing, then kicks off his shoes, reaches for his fly, but gets no further than that.
Jack reaches out, grabs his chin with one hand, and kisses him. He clutches Jack’s wrists, lets it happen, doesn’t even have to give him any hints. Jack kisses him deeply, thoroughly, satisfying every urge and want as it rises in Owen’s mind. He’s always suspected Jack could read his thoughts during sex, but doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know.
He is certain, though, that Jack can communicate entirely with his lips and without a sound being uttered. That hungry little flick of his tongue is a reminder that, for everything received, something must be given, and Owen steps back. He catches his breath once again. Allows his fingers one appreciative stroke from the Captain’s collar bone, across his chest, and down his torso, before sinking to his knees in front of him.
Getting Jack off is often a challenge, because the man has stamina in limitless supply, but tonight Jack seems to empathise with Owen’s mood. Jack’s grip in his hair is tighter than ever, and he thrusts into his mouth, forgetting tenderness, and encouraging Owen to be as quick and rough as he likes. Owen is reminded of that subtle little rush of euphoria he always feels when Jack loses it. The Captain, always calm, always in command, snarling and bucking and coming all over Owen’s hand is still the most erotic sight he’s ever seen.
And then there’s the other impressive thing about Jack; his recovery time. He doesn’t bend Owen over the desk, like he used to, but this time pushes him against the wall, and Owen discovers that Jack is, almost instantly, hard again. Jack kisses him, eloquently, while he strips him, not once breaking the embrace until they’re both naked, pressed together just out of sight from the doorway. Owen almost wants Ianto to walk in and catch them so he can brag, but that isn’t important. Only getting what he needs is important now.
Jack is strong, even for a man of his stature, and he manages to support Owen’s weight with a little help from the wall. Then Jack is pushing into him, lubricated only by saliva and come, and Owen manages to turn his howl of pain and discomfort and exhilaration into a long, low moan. He lets his head fall back, and grasps Jack’s hair, and focuses on the physical sensations of being fucked. The strange aches and the growing core of pleasure, the illogical patterns of Jack’s teeth and lips over his skin. Jack has never been so rough with him, and Owen has never needed him more.
Afterwards, Jack turns his back and dresses in silence. Owen has never slept beside him, never been held by him, and he doesn’t want either. Jack has always known exactly what is required of him, and he has always given it without question. Owen watches him pull his shirt back on, and his shoes, and continues to stare as Jack reaches for his coat.
“Going out?” says Owen. He wonders whether Jack sleeps on his front or his back, if Jack ever sleeps at all, and who last lay awake, listening to him breathe.
Jack doesn’t say anything, but he pauses, and kisses Owen once more before he leaves. And Owen, left on his own in the office, wonders if he’ll ever know what that one is supposed to mean.
Title: Thank You
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Summary: From time to time, Owen needs something that only Jack can provide, but he can't quite figure out what Jack gets from it in return.
Length: 700 words.
Notes: I've definitely got a lot more to say on this pairing, but it troubles me a little bit because I don't understand it. So yeah. Definitely open to con-crit on this one.
He waits until Gwen and Tosh have gone, until Ianto is lost in a sea of paperwork, and only when he is completely unobserved does Owen climb the stairs to the office. He pauses on the landing, one hand on the door. His pulse is racing, his medical instincts kicking in. Don’t want a fucking heart attack. Breath slowly.
It’s been years since he did this, since he needed this. He finds the door unlocked, and Jack leaning on his desk, exactly as though he is waiting for him. Jack doesn’t smile, doesn’t say a word. He simply stands up, shrugs his braces off his shoulders, starts opening his own shirt. Owen stares, transfixed for a moment with the sight of the Captain undressing, then kicks off his shoes, reaches for his fly, but gets no further than that.
Jack reaches out, grabs his chin with one hand, and kisses him. He clutches Jack’s wrists, lets it happen, doesn’t even have to give him any hints. Jack kisses him deeply, thoroughly, satisfying every urge and want as it rises in Owen’s mind. He’s always suspected Jack could read his thoughts during sex, but doesn’t want to ask, doesn’t want to know.
He is certain, though, that Jack can communicate entirely with his lips and without a sound being uttered. That hungry little flick of his tongue is a reminder that, for everything received, something must be given, and Owen steps back. He catches his breath once again. Allows his fingers one appreciative stroke from the Captain’s collar bone, across his chest, and down his torso, before sinking to his knees in front of him.
Getting Jack off is often a challenge, because the man has stamina in limitless supply, but tonight Jack seems to empathise with Owen’s mood. Jack’s grip in his hair is tighter than ever, and he thrusts into his mouth, forgetting tenderness, and encouraging Owen to be as quick and rough as he likes. Owen is reminded of that subtle little rush of euphoria he always feels when Jack loses it. The Captain, always calm, always in command, snarling and bucking and coming all over Owen’s hand is still the most erotic sight he’s ever seen.
And then there’s the other impressive thing about Jack; his recovery time. He doesn’t bend Owen over the desk, like he used to, but this time pushes him against the wall, and Owen discovers that Jack is, almost instantly, hard again. Jack kisses him, eloquently, while he strips him, not once breaking the embrace until they’re both naked, pressed together just out of sight from the doorway. Owen almost wants Ianto to walk in and catch them so he can brag, but that isn’t important. Only getting what he needs is important now.
Jack is strong, even for a man of his stature, and he manages to support Owen’s weight with a little help from the wall. Then Jack is pushing into him, lubricated only by saliva and come, and Owen manages to turn his howl of pain and discomfort and exhilaration into a long, low moan. He lets his head fall back, and grasps Jack’s hair, and focuses on the physical sensations of being fucked. The strange aches and the growing core of pleasure, the illogical patterns of Jack’s teeth and lips over his skin. Jack has never been so rough with him, and Owen has never needed him more.
Afterwards, Jack turns his back and dresses in silence. Owen has never slept beside him, never been held by him, and he doesn’t want either. Jack has always known exactly what is required of him, and he has always given it without question. Owen watches him pull his shirt back on, and his shoes, and continues to stare as Jack reaches for his coat.
“Going out?” says Owen. He wonders whether Jack sleeps on his front or his back, if Jack ever sleeps at all, and who last lay awake, listening to him breathe.
Jack doesn’t say anything, but he pauses, and kisses Owen once more before he leaves. And Owen, left on his own in the office, wonders if he’ll ever know what that one is supposed to mean.