Torchwood FF: Cold (Owen/Tosh/Ianto, NC-17)
Reposting from oxoniensis's Porn Battle VI.
Title: Cold
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Owen/Tosh/Ianto
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Length: 777 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to RTD and the BBC
Spoilers: Set after 'Something Borrowed'.
Summary: Owen probably wouldn’t have started complaining about his undead inability to get an erection in front of Jack or Gwen. Tosh should probably be insulted by that. Prompt was archives, originally here.
The three of them were just drunk enough to think investigating the archives was a good idea. Tosh blamed Gwen, and then felt bad for doing it. But if Gwen wasn’t on her honeymoon, and Jack wasn’t moping because Gwen was on her honeymoon, it wouldn’t have left the three of them to their own devices.
Also, Owen probably wouldn’t have started complaining about his undead inability to get an erection in front of Jack or Gwen. Tosh should probably be insulted by that. For now, though, she was mostly giggling and covering her eyes with Ianto’s suit jacket.
“Ianto,” Owen asked carefully.
“Yes?”
“Not exactly what I meant.”
“You wanted to know if we had any alien equipment that might help.”
“Yes,” Owen said. “Not whether you had been stockpiling tentacle porn in case of sudden emergency.”
Tosh couldn’t help it. “What kind of emer-?”
“Not the point, Tosh.”
It was strangely hypnotic. Ianto pulled out another box, and changed the video feed. More scales than tentacles this time. Blue was nice. The three of them inattentively prodded at the contents of the box: twisted metal and alien plastics in all the wrong kinds of shapes. Tosh was the responsible one, she should be arguing against reckless poking in boxes marked ‘erotica?’ with unsure pencil. But it was hard to think straight when Owen’s face was right there when she turned around to protest.
His lips were cold when she kissed them. He groaned, frustrated and unhappy, pulling away.
“Tosh.”
“Yes?”
“Cold lips, sweetheart. Cold everything.” He pulled her against him, proving the point. “Not gonna do you much good, unless you’ve always had a thing for corpses.”
“You’re not a corpse,” she objected, because she couldn’t think of him that way. Tosh settled down beside him, wrapping her warm arm around his cold waist. Ianto was being quiet and efficient in the background, and then he came to sit down too. He craned his head, like he wasn’t sure the angles on the screen were possible. Owen didn’t seem fazed, but then he was the de-facto expert in alien physiology.
Ianto lifted his hand and pressed the back of it to Owen’s forehead. He looked at Tosh. “Try again.”
“I’m sorry?”
Ianto raised his eyebrow at Owen. “You’re not cold, Owen, you’re room temperature.” He shrugged. “I turned the heat up.”
When Tosh shifted, her shirt was sticking to her. Ianto frowned at his own shirt, and started to peel it off. Owen looked at them both. Tosh looked at Owen, and stripped out of her shirt. Her hands made nervous motions to cover herself up, but she knew her voice was steady. “Does it do anything for you?”
“Tosh, you know I can’t…”
“Yes. But is there anything that…”
His eyes were wide and his smile a mocking curl. It always looked like that and lately it was mostly directed at himself.
Ianto walked up behind her. He met Owen’s eyes over her shoulder. “She’s asking,” Ianto said, “if you want to kiss her.” Ianto slipped his hand up her skirt, and Tosh nearly screamed. Her head fell back against him, thighs parting to give him better access.
Owen said, “Yeah, I do,” and crossed the space. It was still… different, than it was when she kissed him before. But it wasn’t tentacles or feathers or blue scales. Owen wasn’t the strangest person she’d kissed. His hands tracked down to meet Ianto’s. He hesitated; she reassured him with more kissing, and a strain to get closer to them both.
They turned her around, so that Owen’s mouth was on her neck and Ianto was pressed hard against her. Tosh squirmed out of her underwear and let Ianto push her skirt gently out of the way. When she looked down, Owen’s hand was on Ianto’s cock. She felt like she could come just from this, but Owen shifted behind her and she was reminded again that he couldn’t. He sounded… he sounded like Owen: angry and horny and his mouth all filth and need. His hands pulled on Ianto, who was no more complaining about the cold than she was.
Ianto asked the question with his eyes; she nodded. He pushed in, slow and slick, Owen’s hands still wrapped around him. One of Owen’s knuckles, in a fist around Ianto’s cock, rubbed again and again at that place inside her. She clenched, and shuddered, and Ianto pulled Owen’s hand free. They can’t bruise him. Ianto frowned at something on Owen’s face she couldn’t see, and then they were kissing, bent around her shoulder. Owen’s sigh when they came was a cold breath on her ear.
FIN.
Title: Cold
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Owen/Tosh/Ianto
Rating: NC-17 to be safe
Length: 777 words
Disclaimer: All belongs to RTD and the BBC
Spoilers: Set after 'Something Borrowed'.
Summary: Owen probably wouldn’t have started complaining about his undead inability to get an erection in front of Jack or Gwen. Tosh should probably be insulted by that. Prompt was archives, originally here.
The three of them were just drunk enough to think investigating the archives was a good idea. Tosh blamed Gwen, and then felt bad for doing it. But if Gwen wasn’t on her honeymoon, and Jack wasn’t moping because Gwen was on her honeymoon, it wouldn’t have left the three of them to their own devices.
Also, Owen probably wouldn’t have started complaining about his undead inability to get an erection in front of Jack or Gwen. Tosh should probably be insulted by that. For now, though, she was mostly giggling and covering her eyes with Ianto’s suit jacket.
“Ianto,” Owen asked carefully.
“Yes?”
“Not exactly what I meant.”
“You wanted to know if we had any alien equipment that might help.”
“Yes,” Owen said. “Not whether you had been stockpiling tentacle porn in case of sudden emergency.”
Tosh couldn’t help it. “What kind of emer-?”
“Not the point, Tosh.”
It was strangely hypnotic. Ianto pulled out another box, and changed the video feed. More scales than tentacles this time. Blue was nice. The three of them inattentively prodded at the contents of the box: twisted metal and alien plastics in all the wrong kinds of shapes. Tosh was the responsible one, she should be arguing against reckless poking in boxes marked ‘erotica?’ with unsure pencil. But it was hard to think straight when Owen’s face was right there when she turned around to protest.
His lips were cold when she kissed them. He groaned, frustrated and unhappy, pulling away.
“Tosh.”
“Yes?”
“Cold lips, sweetheart. Cold everything.” He pulled her against him, proving the point. “Not gonna do you much good, unless you’ve always had a thing for corpses.”
“You’re not a corpse,” she objected, because she couldn’t think of him that way. Tosh settled down beside him, wrapping her warm arm around his cold waist. Ianto was being quiet and efficient in the background, and then he came to sit down too. He craned his head, like he wasn’t sure the angles on the screen were possible. Owen didn’t seem fazed, but then he was the de-facto expert in alien physiology.
Ianto lifted his hand and pressed the back of it to Owen’s forehead. He looked at Tosh. “Try again.”
“I’m sorry?”
Ianto raised his eyebrow at Owen. “You’re not cold, Owen, you’re room temperature.” He shrugged. “I turned the heat up.”
When Tosh shifted, her shirt was sticking to her. Ianto frowned at his own shirt, and started to peel it off. Owen looked at them both. Tosh looked at Owen, and stripped out of her shirt. Her hands made nervous motions to cover herself up, but she knew her voice was steady. “Does it do anything for you?”
“Tosh, you know I can’t…”
“Yes. But is there anything that…”
His eyes were wide and his smile a mocking curl. It always looked like that and lately it was mostly directed at himself.
Ianto walked up behind her. He met Owen’s eyes over her shoulder. “She’s asking,” Ianto said, “if you want to kiss her.” Ianto slipped his hand up her skirt, and Tosh nearly screamed. Her head fell back against him, thighs parting to give him better access.
Owen said, “Yeah, I do,” and crossed the space. It was still… different, than it was when she kissed him before. But it wasn’t tentacles or feathers or blue scales. Owen wasn’t the strangest person she’d kissed. His hands tracked down to meet Ianto’s. He hesitated; she reassured him with more kissing, and a strain to get closer to them both.
They turned her around, so that Owen’s mouth was on her neck and Ianto was pressed hard against her. Tosh squirmed out of her underwear and let Ianto push her skirt gently out of the way. When she looked down, Owen’s hand was on Ianto’s cock. She felt like she could come just from this, but Owen shifted behind her and she was reminded again that he couldn’t. He sounded… he sounded like Owen: angry and horny and his mouth all filth and need. His hands pulled on Ianto, who was no more complaining about the cold than she was.
Ianto asked the question with his eyes; she nodded. He pushed in, slow and slick, Owen’s hands still wrapped around him. One of Owen’s knuckles, in a fist around Ianto’s cock, rubbed again and again at that place inside her. She clenched, and shuddered, and Ianto pulled Owen’s hand free. They can’t bruise him. Ianto frowned at something on Owen’s face she couldn’t see, and then they were kissing, bent around her shoulder. Owen’s sigh when they came was a cold breath on her ear.
FIN.