karaokegal (karaokegal) wrote,

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MMOM Day 18-RPF John Barrowman/Eve Myles NC17 Wordcount-1485

Title: Angel Of The Morning
Fandom: Torchwood RPF
Pairing: John Barrowman/Eve Myles (Reference to John/Scott) Special appearance by Captain Jack.
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 1485
Notes/Warnings: Here we go again people. THIS IS RPF. It involves real people, significant others, etc. If you think it's sick, disgusting, nasty, evil, etc...don't read it. If the idea of John thinking sexually about a woman is a problem for you...don't read it.
So much love for my comrade, compadre, partner-in-crime, and beta_goddess for picking out the flaws and letting this one shine.

Summary: John can't sleep. "Captain Jack" shows up to help.

Night shoots were a bitch.

The second unit had spent hours filming him running down alleys, tossing off exposition and witty one-liners as he went. The most grueling part was trying to remember which scene went with which episode and what Jack’s feelings were regarding whomever he happened to be running with.

He couldn’t complain too much. Scenes of running in the coat always made him look great onscreen. Too bad he’d ended up totally knackered, his 40-year-old legs begging for mercy.

John had practically collapsed with relief when they dismissed for the night, looking forward to some well deserved sleep, only to hear Gareth utter the fateful words, “Anybody fancy going out for a drink?”

His initial reaction was to beg off, but the four of them had ganged up and reminded him that as the leader of the pack, he could hardly let the troops go into battle without him. Perhaps he’d allowed ego to influence his decision when Burn threw the phrase “old man” into the discussion. Eve had promised him that it would only be one drink.

He hadn’t anticipated that one drink would turn into several, or that Burn would decide they should try an after-hours place he’d heard of, much less that Gareth and Naoko would get up to dance and that he and Eve would be compelled to try and match them move for move, and Gareth definitely had some moves.

I’m getting too old for this, he thought, as he pulled the curtains closed against the encroaching light. It had gone from late to early and he desperately needed to get some sleep.

Even the Barrowman party gene had to admit defeat when it came to keeping up with co-stars who could still dance, dance, dance all night, not to mention drink, drink, drink. He was actually starting to think there might be such a thing as too many vodka martinis.

He got a bottle of Evian out of the fridge and took several gulps, hoping to hydrate away the impending hangover.

After water, sleep was the biggest priority. It shouldn’t be difficult. He was exhausted, barely able to stay on his feet long enough to take off his clothes. They hit the floor and stayed there. Normally he wasn’t such a slob, but all he could think of was getting into bed. Never mind pyjamas. Just soft sheets and the blanket against his skin.

John closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind of anything that could possible keep him awake, but in the immortal words of Rocky J. Squirrel, “that trick never works.”

His brain picked that moment to start fussing about the final draft of the book. Carol was threatening to disown him if he asked for any more changes. Could a sister disown you?

Then he started thinking about the set-list for the concert tour, and worrying about getting into shape in time for the panto and wondering what Scott was doing right this minute, maybe just getting up and feeding the dogs?

Sleep, he commanded himself.

Could he really sell out all those concert dates, including Portsmouth? Would the flying carpet work? He missed Scott, he missed the dogs and he couldn’t fucking sleep!

Okay, Fine. John knew how to handle this. He was naked anyway, and there was lubricant in the drawer. Best soporific in the world. There were some Hothouse DVDs around, but why bother when he had a head full of vivid memories to work with?

Making love with Scott on that beach in Santorini, or the craziness of doing it while hanging from a tree on Cameron’s estate, or the way they’d clung to each other the first time they were alone together after the commitment ceremony?

Did you see Eve’s tits?


Eve’s tits. Boobs. Headlights. Knockers.

John opened his eyes cautiously, hoping he was not going to see Jack Harkness standing there while he was naked in bed and about to jerk off. Well, at least he wasn’t standing. The captain was perched on the chest of drawers against the far wall of John’s bedroom, wearing his usual WWII regalia and smiling.

“Don’t do that. I need to get some sleep.”

I’m here to help you.

“I know how to do this.”

So, about those tits…

The guy really was insufferable, not to mention persistent.

“I’m not interested in Eve or her tits. She’s like my kid sister.”

I don’t see you running around Carol with the big guy hanging out, and you haven’t taken a gander at her boobs since she stopped breast-feeding. Whereas you and Eve are in some kind of contest to see who can flash their bits at the most people without getting arrested or ending up on YouTube. And you’re the one who said he likes a good titty wank.

“Joke! Do they still have those in the 51st century?”

There was something very wrong with this conversation, aside from the fact that he was having it with a fictional character. Jack’s innuendos always left him slightly confused, whether he was encouraging John to pursue an affair with David, which he shouldn’t be doing, or encouraging him to lust after Eve, which he definitely shouldn’t. And didn’t, he reminded himself.

Since you seem to have forgotten, let me remind you. When you guys were dancing, she got a little overheated and started undoing her blouse. She was wearing this black silk bra with lace at the edges. Black against white skin, and you were looking for just the hint of pink, weren’t you?

“Oh god!”

What’s that? Could be a bit of Torch…Wood! And you think we don’t have humor in my time.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Oh come on, it’s bad enough you won’t do it in real life. The least you could do is think of her now. Wouldn’t you love to have her here, stripped down to all that silk and lace? Actually, skip the knickers and you can undo the bra yourself.

He could see it. What was worse, he could feel it. His dick was responding, practically throbbing in his hand. He found the gel and squeezed some onto his fingers. Just a fantasy, right. Like Billy Joel said, certainly not the real thing.

That’s right. The bra’s off and you’re sucking on those tits, making each nipple get hard in your mouth. You’re making her moan like crazy.

Really? He’d never done that, not even with Marilyn. All the jokes really were jokes. At least, they were supposed to be, but here he was imagining Eve’s breasts against his face, her body underneath him and no one was laughing.

When you’ve got it all nice and juicy, you tell her to push them together and then you straddle her, fucking that hot, wet space.

“Fuck!” he gasped, fisting himself faster. He couldn’t fight the power of the image in tandem with the lewd caress of Jack’s voice.

That’s it. She sticks out her tongue and licks the head each time you get close to her mouth.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted to fuck Eve properly. Go where no gay man should ever go. He pulled her legs apart and held them over her shoulders so he could thrust into her and watch while it happened, his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. It would be soft, and wet, and hot…

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…oh…!…AAAAAHHHHHHH!”

The release left him breathless, sticky and deeply ashamed. He needed to have a word with Jack and tell him never to pull a stunt like this again. He looked at the bureau by the wall and saw…nobody.

“Jack? Jack! Where the hell are you?”

Something was wrong. He didn’t remember Jack orchestrating that last bit and the idea that it might have come from his own mind was one he didn’t like very much.

“Come on, Jack, I mean it.”

John could hear rising panic in his own voice, although he didn’t know which was more worrisome, the idea that he’d been hallucinating Jack or the idea that he hadn’t.

Sorry, did you say something?

He was back, this time on the edge of John’s bed, Cheshire cat smile and all.

“I just came thinking about fucking Eve.”

I knew you had it in you. Maybe now we can work on getting it in her.

“Was that me or you?”

Jack started examining his boots.

You should be able to sleep now.

“What about tomorrow…today? I’ve got to see her on the set. We’re working together all morning. I have to practically throw her into a wall!”

And you’ll be exactly the same man you were before. Maybe you’ll sparkle a bit more is all.

That would have to do for reassurance. He was finally starting to doze off.

“G’night, Jack.”


“Hey, why Eve? Why not Gareth? I mean…Jack and Ianto, right?”

Don’t believe everything Russell tells you.

Tags: fanfic, john barrowman/eve myles, mmom, mmom 2008, nc17, rpf

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  • Still up; still torturing myself.

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