Living With The Consequences: Jack/Owen, NC-17
Title: Living with the consequences
Author: Becky_H
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Breath-play.
Spoilers: None, really.
Summary: No plot, just 784 words of un-beta'd porn. Set after Combat
Disclaimer: I wish.
Author's Note: Silver_X_Cross wanted to read Jack/Owen. I wanted to write porn. It was a match made in tw_fic_request
Owen's neck feels fragile in Jack's hands - like a bird's. Like it would be easy, so easy, to snap. The skin there's thin, and he can feel the frantic beat of Owen's heart against his fingers.
Owen's excited and for a moment - just a moment - Jack wonders if Owen knows just how fragile life - his life - is. Jack wonders if Owen has any idea just what kind of risk he's taking, here.
Then Jack realizes, with clarity that's sharp enough to make him bleed for Owen, that Owen knows exactly how much danger he's putting himself in.
And his heart isn't beating like that because he's afraid.
Jack's a little slow on the uptake, but it doesn't take long for him to figure it out. His grin when he catches on is feral. Predatory, threatening, and it's what Owen's looking for.
Jack strokes down Owen's throat with both thumbs and when Owen swallows he can feel it under his palms. When he starts to apply pressure to that fragile (beautiful) throat, Jack stops grinning.
There's a flash of fear in Owen's eyes when his air's restricted, but what follows the fear is a lot more desperate and a lot hotter than Owen's cock against Jack's leg.
Jack presses his knee between Owen's thighs and forces him to spread his legs, but Jack never looks away from Owen's eyes. If eyes are windows to the soul Owen is laid completely bare before Jack, no matter that they're both fully dressed.
He can feel every beat of Owen's heart under his hands echoed in the intimate press of Owen's cock against him. Life in his hands and God has he ever wanted anything more?
He doesn't let go of Owen's throat when he sucks Owen's lower lip into his mouth and runs his tongue just along the inside. He does ease up when he bites down, and the sudden gulped breath is as much startled pain as it is life giving -- life hurts.
When Jack's tongue sweeps into Owen's mouth, warm, slick, and demanding, Owen's hands go to Jack's shoulders. He's not pushing Jack away, he's just holding on. When Jack's takes his air again, with his hands and his kiss, Owen doesn't fight, he just holds on harder.
Jack lets Owen hang on to him, but when Owen starts to try to move against him Jack pulls back and takes his mouth away. Owen's eyes are closed, and that can't happen. Jack presses his body against Owen's, shoves him harder into the wall and pins him there with terrible ease.
He releases the pressure against Owen's throat, just enough. The threat is that those hands are going to be taken away. It's enough, because when he tells Owen to open his eyes in a voice gone deadly soft Owen does.
His reward from Jack is the pressure from the warm hands against his throat and the thigh against his cock, both executed with the same exquisite care. There's no motion, only relentless pressure.
A soft sound escapes Owen, almost a whine. He's still getting air, he's just not getting enough of it. From the tension in his body he's not getting enough of something else, either. Jack grins again, that same feral grin that shows his teeth.
He tightens his hands just that fraction more and cuts of all of Owen's air. His nails bite into the skin at the back of Owen's neck right over his spine, and he flexes the thigh he's got tight against Owen's thigh - painfully tight because that's the point.
Owen's mouth falls open in a cry that can have no sound because Owen has no breath, his body tenses up just a fraction more, and then there's a warm flood of dampness that Jack doesn't have time to feel. He doesn't need to feel it, because he can see the relief and release in Owen's eyes, just before they're blanked by darkness.
It's the relief that tells Jack more than he wants to know - that this isn't a game for Owen, not really.
Jack's hands go from choking to supporting before Owen's too fast heart can beat more than twice. Before Jack has to see the relief in his eyes turn to disappointment. Jack's arms around Owen aren't pinning him now, they're just holding. His hand in Owen's hair is infinitely tender.
Owen's crying, Jack's almost sure. Owen came to him looking for death, and maybe that makes sense. Who better than a dead man?
Who better than a dead man to understand the beauty of living, even when it hurts?
Owen put his life in Jack's hands. Now he's just going to have to live with the consequences.
Author: Becky_H
Pairing: Jack/Owen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Breath-play.
Spoilers: None, really.
Summary: No plot, just 784 words of un-beta'd porn. Set after Combat
Disclaimer: I wish.
Author's Note: Silver_X_Cross wanted to read Jack/Owen. I wanted to write porn. It was a match made in tw_fic_request
Owen's neck feels fragile in Jack's hands - like a bird's. Like it would be easy, so easy, to snap. The skin there's thin, and he can feel the frantic beat of Owen's heart against his fingers.
Owen's excited and for a moment - just a moment - Jack wonders if Owen knows just how fragile life - his life - is. Jack wonders if Owen has any idea just what kind of risk he's taking, here.
Then Jack realizes, with clarity that's sharp enough to make him bleed for Owen, that Owen knows exactly how much danger he's putting himself in.
And his heart isn't beating like that because he's afraid.
Jack's a little slow on the uptake, but it doesn't take long for him to figure it out. His grin when he catches on is feral. Predatory, threatening, and it's what Owen's looking for.
Jack strokes down Owen's throat with both thumbs and when Owen swallows he can feel it under his palms. When he starts to apply pressure to that fragile (beautiful) throat, Jack stops grinning.
There's a flash of fear in Owen's eyes when his air's restricted, but what follows the fear is a lot more desperate and a lot hotter than Owen's cock against Jack's leg.
Jack presses his knee between Owen's thighs and forces him to spread his legs, but Jack never looks away from Owen's eyes. If eyes are windows to the soul Owen is laid completely bare before Jack, no matter that they're both fully dressed.
He can feel every beat of Owen's heart under his hands echoed in the intimate press of Owen's cock against him. Life in his hands and God has he ever wanted anything more?
He doesn't let go of Owen's throat when he sucks Owen's lower lip into his mouth and runs his tongue just along the inside. He does ease up when he bites down, and the sudden gulped breath is as much startled pain as it is life giving -- life hurts.
When Jack's tongue sweeps into Owen's mouth, warm, slick, and demanding, Owen's hands go to Jack's shoulders. He's not pushing Jack away, he's just holding on. When Jack's takes his air again, with his hands and his kiss, Owen doesn't fight, he just holds on harder.
Jack lets Owen hang on to him, but when Owen starts to try to move against him Jack pulls back and takes his mouth away. Owen's eyes are closed, and that can't happen. Jack presses his body against Owen's, shoves him harder into the wall and pins him there with terrible ease.
He releases the pressure against Owen's throat, just enough. The threat is that those hands are going to be taken away. It's enough, because when he tells Owen to open his eyes in a voice gone deadly soft Owen does.
His reward from Jack is the pressure from the warm hands against his throat and the thigh against his cock, both executed with the same exquisite care. There's no motion, only relentless pressure.
A soft sound escapes Owen, almost a whine. He's still getting air, he's just not getting enough of it. From the tension in his body he's not getting enough of something else, either. Jack grins again, that same feral grin that shows his teeth.
He tightens his hands just that fraction more and cuts of all of Owen's air. His nails bite into the skin at the back of Owen's neck right over his spine, and he flexes the thigh he's got tight against Owen's thigh - painfully tight because that's the point.
Owen's mouth falls open in a cry that can have no sound because Owen has no breath, his body tenses up just a fraction more, and then there's a warm flood of dampness that Jack doesn't have time to feel. He doesn't need to feel it, because he can see the relief and release in Owen's eyes, just before they're blanked by darkness.
It's the relief that tells Jack more than he wants to know - that this isn't a game for Owen, not really.
Jack's hands go from choking to supporting before Owen's too fast heart can beat more than twice. Before Jack has to see the relief in his eyes turn to disappointment. Jack's arms around Owen aren't pinning him now, they're just holding. His hand in Owen's hair is infinitely tender.
Owen's crying, Jack's almost sure. Owen came to him looking for death, and maybe that makes sense. Who better than a dead man?
Who better than a dead man to understand the beauty of living, even when it hurts?
Owen put his life in Jack's hands. Now he's just going to have to live with the consequences.