Pairing: Jack/Owen (mention of others)
Notes: Written as Christmas gift!fic for the fantabulous paperclipbitch. What could be more festive than hate!sex for the holidays? From the prompt: But no words ever could sell you, sell you on me after all that I have done.
Spoilers if you haven't seen most of the first series.
Beta'ed by Beta Goddess Carol who once again pushed me to get every word exactly right because we both love this fandom and these characters so much.
Summary: What Jack wants, Jack gets.
Owen squinted at the clock, hoping his eyes were lying as the numbers came into focus. Quarter to five in the bloody morning? Too early to be this wide awake, but no way he could stay in bed. He’d dozed off with his hand resting on the small of Gwen’s back, in that small window of pure relaxation when nothing mattered but the warmth of their bodies together, but now he was up and his brain was asking all sorts of questions he didn’t want to answer.
Leave it to Gwen to show up when the night was more than half over, which meant she’d waited until Rhys was asleep instead of troubling her conscience with another lie. No doubt she thought she’d cleverly talked herself past security with charm and her old Cardiff Police Department I.D. Actually he’d given them her picture weeks ago with instructions to let her up whenever she appeared. It had taken longer than he’d thought, but he reckoned the time she’d spent in hospital shouldn’t count.
Before they could hit the sheets, there was a bit of that old song and dance Owen called the Torchwood Tango. Knock back a few drinks, piss and moan about how Torchwood is making you crazy and then prove it by jumping in the sack with a co-worker as screwed up as you are. Repeat over weeks and months until you find yourself surrounded by burnt bridges.
He’d made good on his promises, if Gwen’s screams were anything to go by. Rogered her rigid, he had. Left her smiling and dead to the world. Lucky girl. He could definitely do with a few more hours of unconsciousness, but he wasn’t used to his lady friends coming up to the apartment, much less staying the night. If Gwen expected the whole “sleeping in each other’s arms” thing, she should have stayed home with her boyfriend and left him alone.
The loo was calling urgently. Leaving Gwen to her slumber, he got up, taking a minute to appreciate the view of Cardiff Bay. Good job that there was still a bit of money in the family. According to Jack, Torchwood could only pay its employees what they’d be making in their previous occupations. Wouldn’t want to alert Inland Revenue, he supposed, although it could just as easily be Harkness’s way of keeping them in line.. Either way, he had enough to afford this place instead of the dump he’d have had on an NHS salary, without the relentless drudgery of treating those ungrateful bastards.
There weren’t a whole lot of pats on the back in the current gig either, but he’d be damned if he was going to grovel for the boss’s approval like some people he could mention.
He waved at the window on the way to the bathroom, in case any of his nosier neighbors had their telescopes pointed his way. Get a load of this, you wankers. It was one thing to have the local perverts see his willy and another thing to look at his own face in the mirror.
Well, he’d never been a pretty boy, had he? Or a flash dresser for that matter. Just a bloke getting by on talent, charm and the odd bit of alien sex spray.
Whatever he saw in his reflection, it sure as hell wasn’t guilt. If Ms. Cooper with all her regard for “humanity” wanted to put the horns on her chap, it was no skin off his arse.
So, what’s the problem then, stud?
“No problems here. Everything’s come up bloody fucking roses, thank you very much,” he answered, before realizing that he’d spoken out loud to a voice in his head that had an American accent.
Suzie used to say that Torchwood got into your head and under your skin. Owen had always assumed she was being metaphorical, but that was before…
No, he thought, heading back to bed to wake up Gwen and do it again. And again. As many times as it took to convince himself and the voice in his head that this had nothing to do with that.
For a change, Jack was actually glad that the Doctor wasn’t here. How would he explain this? A Cyberwoman in the basement. Brought there by one of his employees
He knew exactly what the Doctor would say -- “That’s Torchwood” -- and he’d be right. Jack’s plans to change Torchwood, make it something that could actually help the human race, everything he wanted to do for the Doctor… it all could have been lost because one man wouldn’t let go of his obsession. Jack understood, but he couldn’t forgive, not yet.
Jack couldn’t say he felt betrayed because that would imply trust, which hadn’t been his strongest suit over the last century or so. He was angry, though. Good and angry.
Sometimes he wondered if Queen Victoria had any idea what she was unleashing back in 1879 and if she would have done anything different if she had known. Jack had never met the old girl personally, but he’d spent enough time in her era to know that those Victorians weren’t nearly as repressed as he’d been led to believe. It just took a little more work to get them out of all those corsets and petticoats. And you should have seen the women. (Damn, he missed vaudeville.)
Aside from brilliant comic timing, he’d learned a few things over the years. Whether it’s 1897, 2007 or 5207, everybody likes a good fuck. In fact, he could really use one right now. He glanced at the hand. The Doctor might not approve, or maybe he would. He’d been willing to turn a blind eye to what was happening between Jack and Rose, at least until he wasn’t, and that was when things got really good. Just before they got really bad. Jack didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to turn his frustration into a good time before he had to face the team. It wasn’t going to be easy making them whole again and it would be better if he wasn’t walking around with all this anger.
Stop kidding yourself, Jack.
Why did his conscience have to have a Northern accent? Fine, he wanted to get laid and wasn’t all that particular about who or what.
He came out of his office and looked around for the first likely warm body. Telling everyone to go home was generally taken as an invitation to hang around indefinitely, so he expected to find Gwen or Tosh in close proximity. If it was Gwen, he’d tell her he really needed to talk and within minutes she’d be cradling him to her chest and other parts, barely stopping to phone Rhys and say she was going to be late again. For Tosh, the “are you okay?” strategy was more likely to get her defenses down. A little sympathy and she’d be on his lap, legs spread and…but Tosh wasn’t here either. Maybe she’d actually gone and gotten a life while he wasn’t paying attention.
Ianto then? They’d have to deal with each other eventually and the sooner he put Ianto on his knees, the sooner he might be able to let him up again, but there was no sign of Mr. Jones either. Jack was actually relieved. He was still too sincerely furious to effectively act the part.
That left the last person he’d normally consider, who was currently sitting in front of one of the computer stations, deeply engrossed in something that Jack doubted very much was work-related.
“You’re going out, then, are you?” Owen asked.
Jack shrugged. There was no point telling himself he’d never thought about having sex with Owen because he thought about having sex with everyone. Owen didn’t fall into the “gorgeous” category, but Jack wasn’t quite as shallow as Tosh thought and Owen did possess a certain craggy allure. However, sometime between the words “Doctor” and “Harper” during the first interview, Jack had decided his new employee would be a bad choice for off-duty fun and games. He was an obviously angry person and angry people did stupid things. Like looking for sex, just because they’re… Jack felt a grin coming to his face. Something considerably less pleasant than the “Hello there” smile that had gotten him laid on more planets than he could count.
This was going to be good, for him at least, and over the years he hadn’t had too many complaints, although it wasn’t like he ever hung around long enough to hear them if there were.
“Can’t anyone around here obey an order?” he asked gruffly, gauging exactly how much persuasion this would take. Something had happened while Gwen and Owen were playing Hide-and-Go-Cyberwoman, but he didn’t know exactly how far things had gone or if it really mattered.
“Yeah, well, the whole, ‘go home and let me brood in peace’ thing is getting a bit old.”
Did he brood? And who was Owen to give him grief about it anyway?
“I appreciate your concern for my well being.”
That produced the anticipated eye-roll.
“Had to do some research. Covering up Tanizaki’s death’s gonna be a little harder than the usual nobodies we tuck away in a drawer. “
“Why isn’t Tosh working on it?”
“She was. I was helping out. Now she’s gone home and I’m…”
“Sitting on your ass doing something with a computer that you probably shouldn’t be.”
“You got something better for me to do?”
Was that a sexual challenge or just Owen being his usual insolent self?
“What? You want me run round the corner and get some curry?”
Just being insolent.
He moved in closer, close enough to let Owen know he was doing it on purpose, then hit him with the smile while placing one hand on his shoulder.
“Oh for Christ’s sake, Harkness,” Owen groused, trying to shrug Jack’s hand away and then attempting to push it off when Jack clamped down. “Yeah, we all get it. You’re the Casanova of Cardiff. Shag anything with a postal code. Go take it somewhere else. If you’re that hard up, have a nice wank. That hand in a jar must be good for something.”
Jack pulled Owen to his feet, roughly, struggling to keep his smile in place, although he almost appreciated Owen saying something that was guaranteed to piss him off. He grabbed Owen’s t-shirt, baring his stomach in the process.
“Look, no offense, but I don’t go that way, you know what I mean?”
Jack could name at least one cab driver that knew differently, but decided to keep that fact to himself.
“Then why do you care if I do?”
“Huh?” Owen looked like a small rodent planning to make a run for it as soon as he could remember exactly how to make his legs work.
“You want to know if I’m straight or gay. I want to know why it matters to you. I hear you don’t think much of the ensemble either, and I can’t tell you how gutted I am over that. Listen to me. As long as I’m doing my job, it shouldn’t matter to you if I’m wearing a spring frock and frilly knickers.”
Owen closed his eyes and shook his head.
“That was a visual I did not need,” he announced, and tried to take a step past Jack.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home. I’m going home, Jack. Not one of your playthings.”
“You could be.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the offer. I know how well that worked out for Suzie. You got bored of her and she ended up with me. She told me everything. I’ve seen what a roll in the hay gets you around here and I’m not…”
The last thing Jack wanted was to hear about how badly he’d let down Suzie when he was still trying to figure out how he hadn’t known about Ianto.
He already had one hand firmly on Owen’s shoulder and a fistful of t-shirt in the other. It only took one sharp, adrenaline-fueled tug to shut up Owen Harper, if only temporarily. . Jack had the upper hand in both strength and leverage and used both to make it clear that he wasn’t planning to take no for an answer. He held on to Owen, pulling him close enough to feel the “flight or fight” instinct giving way to a different kind of heavy breathing, as Jack demonstrated some of the more interesting kissing techniques he’d picked up in his travels, including a little move that got Owen’s lips parted and Jack’s tongue inside before Owen could launch a protest. Once he’d accomplished that, the rest was easy.
By the time Owen was actively cooperating, sucking hungrily at his tongue and pressing a growing erection against his leg, it had occurred to Jack what a bad idea this really was. He’d known about the anger, but he hadn’t expected the desperation. Somebody was going to pay, probably Gwen. Right then, he didn’t care. He did need to breathe, though, and it was getting a little difficult what with his and Owen’s mouths being glued together.
Jack pulled his head away, but couldn’t step back because Owen’s hands were on his backside, fingers pressed firmly against Jack’s ass. He was surprised to realise that the gasping he heard was coming from his own mouth and Owen was looking at him with cold, appraising eyes while grinding his pelvis against Jack’s.
“Suzie thought you loved her.”
Jack had to admire Owen’s ability to sneer and leer simultaneously.
“Well, you’re smarter than that, right?”
He pulled Owen closer, cupping his buttocks through the denim, reminding Owen exactly what was happening here.
“Can we get on with this?” Owen managed to maintain his put-upon demeanor even though the matter had clearly been settled. “Bit knackered. Been busy trying not to get killed by metal monsters brought in by co-workers and all that. You know how it is.”
Leave it to Owen to try and push his buttons while pushing his other buttons.
“Yeah, I do.”
“So, do I get a trip down to the holy of holies?”
“Couch is closer.” He muttered, going for another kiss, tasting again the anger and savoring the extra thrill of knowing just how much the man he was about to fuck both hated and wanted him right now.
“You’re the boss.”
“Dead right I am, now get moving.”
It didn’t take long for Owen to be stripped and sprawled on the sofa, giving Jack the opportunity to run his hands over Owen’s torso and stomach. Scrawny bastard, he thought in passing, as he felt the ribs and abdominal muscles just beneath the skin. He’d never get tired of this. Another body, hot and flushed under his touch. Owen seemed content to let him have his way, possibly deferring to Jack’s status or just enjoying the attention. Torchwood didn’t give Christmas bonuses, so maybe this was as much as Owen thought he’d be getting in the way of employee appreciation. Jack pressed his thumb against a jutting hip-bone and ran his hands up the inner thighs until he felt Owen’s legs starting to quiver with tension.
He looked down at Owen’s face, eyes closed, nostrils flared, completely aroused and utterly conflicted by the fact.
“That’s the idea,” Jack agreed, grinning again, finally touching Owen’s prick, which matched the rest of his physique. With barely a squeeze and a few strokes, Owen looked like he might be in danger of biting through his own upper lip and Jack wasn’t interested in making this any more painful that it might already be. “Turn over, grab the back of the couch and spread your legs.”
The rear-view was practically skeletal, tension visible through the back and shoulders. Someone needed to eat more and drink less, but that’s what Torchwood did to people. The sight of that ass spread out just for him made Jack’s toes curl in anticipation, which reminded him that he was still mostly dressed. He didn’t feel inclined to do much about it, although he knew the braces could be rough on bare skin. The least he could do was take off his shoes, and a few other garments.
Jack caught Owen looking back over his shoulder just as he was undoing his trousers. If there had been doubts in Owen’s mind about how this was going to end, they probably disappeared at the same point he learned that his boss didn’t bother with pants, or maybe when he saw that Suzie hadn’t been lying (assuming she really had told him everything). He had a fairly good idea what Owen might be thinking at this point, and tried to be reassuring without giving up the edge that was driving the whole encounter.
“It’ll be good. I promise.”
Before letting the trousers drop completely, he reached into the pocket for a small tube. He might not be a boy scout, but Jack Harkness was always prepared. Owen didn’t need to know that the stuff Jack was currently spreading onto his fingers came from the same arm of the galaxy as the spray he’d been having so much fun with until daddy took the T-bird away, and those guys really knew a thing or two about lubrication, had to with all the knobby bits.
He wanted to be done with this, and yet he wanted to prolong the moment. One of those paradoxes about sex that he’d never quite figured out. Oh well, he had nothing but time for research and what appeared to be a willing subject whose wallet had already provided a convenient condom.
“Owen,” he half whispered, half crooned, moving closer, reaching around to stroke the prominent collar bone, while sucking hard at what turned out to be a sensitive spot on Owen’s neck, where he could taste sweat and feel the pulse race against his tongue. He closed his eyes in anticipation, his erection tightly pressed between his own belly and Owen’s back.
He let his warm, slick fingers, play over Owen’s cock, now as hard as his. His other hand worked its way down the spine, each step producing another, deeper gasp until he’d arrived at the base.
“Come on, you bastard!”
Owen’s frustration re-fueled his own desire.
“That’s no way for an employee to talk,” he replied between clenched teeth, making the point with his fingers, teasing gently, but not all that gently. Jack was willing to bet this wasn’t the first time Owen’d had something up his ass, not with the way he was pushing back against Jack’s two fingers, spreading himself wider, shaking with need, giving Jack the satisfaction of knowing he’d done that to him.
He pulled his fingers away and the sounds of utter desperation coming out of Owen were nearly magical. His butt jutted upwards, giving Jack the perfect angle to push inside, letting out his own prolonged vocalisation as he felt the heat and heard Owen’s grunts of pain and pleasure.
Owen trembled under him, hands gripping the back of the couch, while Jack started fucking in earnest, experience and instinct leading him to the perfect angle for Owen as well. There was rhythm and the music of mingled shouts and groans. Jack knew his voice tended to rise in pitch the closer he got, which used to make Rose giggle, and he could feel it happening. He had to give Owen credit because he doubted he would have been able to think at a time like this much less talk, but Owen, for all the twitching and trembling and the fact that Jack was fucking him, still had something he needed to say.
“This doesn’t make me gay.”
“No,” Jack replied, barely able to get the words out, pushing in deeper and feeling himself starting to blank out into pure pleasure, “and screwing Gwen won’t make you straight.”
If Owen had anything else to say, Jack missed it in the roar of his own release and the tortured gasps that let him know that Owen would go home satisfied, if not happy.
Sometimes that was the most you could hope for.
Timing is everything.
Jack managed to call just as he had his head between Gwen’s legs. She was shuddering, grabbing his hair and making quite the ruckus. For all he knew, she barely noticed him reaching for his mobile and wiping his mouth before he answered.
“Good morning,” came the familiar voice, sounding far too chipper. He knew. The bastard knew. Probably had all their apartments hooked up with cameras and -- oh shit -- microphones.
“Go to hell, Jack.”
“Been there. Lovely this time of year. You need to come in. We’re getting reports of a banshee.”
“Wouldn’t that be in Ireland?” he asked, trying to make sense of the nonsensical. Typical Torchwood.
“EU. Fewer travel restrictions.”
“Are you sure it’s not some diva from Opera hitting a high C or something?”
“Actually,” there was a deliberate pause, “I thought it might be Gwen.”
Certain opinions to the contrary, Owen was a gentleman, even if they were under surveillance.
“You’d want to ask Rhys about that then, not be waking me up at ungodly hours, taking the piss.”
“If you’re alone, you might as well come in.”
It wasn’t Jack’s voice having that effect on him. It was Gwen’s mouth nuzzling his neck, her hands moving down, clearly offering to return the favor. He’d wanted Gwen from the minute he’d seen her with those ridiculous pizza boxes and he’d gotten her. If Jack didn’t like it, that was tough shit.
“Unless you’ve got a real emergency, I’ll be in at my normal time.”
“Half an hour late?”
“Forty-five minutes, if you don’t mind. And make sure Ianto’s got the coffee ready.”
He disconnected the phone, tossing it aside, as Gwen landed on him in a heap. He closed his eyes, hoping that if he shut them tightly enough he wouldn’t see Jack staring at him or wonder if he still had a mark where those teeth had been, but it was no use. He could sell Gwen, but he couldn’t sell himself.
Jack had been right about him all along.