Character: Owen Harper (Mentions of Jack, Gwen, Diane, Ianto)
Notes/Warnings/Spoilers-Takes place after Series one. Spoilers thru End Of Days. Inspired by a wank that broke out over the equvilance of retcons and roofies, which ended up raising the spector of alien sex spray and roofies. Thanks to beta_goddess for pushing me toward clarity and focus, but I'm not sure I got there.
Summary: Owen tries not to think of Jack; fails dismally.
Owen sat at home, staring out at the Bay. He had a bottle in one hand, but his mind was back at the Hub, specifically on the safe in Jack’s office.
It had taken nearly three days for the truth to sink in. Jack was gone. Hadn’t left a note or a video message, at least not where anyone could find it. Didn’t bother saying goodbye to any of them, although apparently he had the wherewithal to take his coat and the hand in a jar. Owen wouldn’t be sorry to see the last of that thing. It always gave him the creeps.
They’d combed the city, Gwen calling on all her police contacts and Owen going into the hospitals and checking the morgues one by one, although that seemed the least likely place to find a man who apparently had a hard time staying dead. Ianto had insisted he knew all of Jack’s hiding places in the Hub itself and came back with a particularly stricken look when none of them produced anything.
Doesn’t need you so much, after all. Could have told you that.
Not a charitable thought, but given what they’d all been through, he wasn’t in the mood for any. Faith and hope were out the window as well.
Fuck you, Jack Harkness.
He’d lost track of how many times those words had run through his mind, if not past his lips. Certainly the night he’d been forced to turn in the sex spray. God, that bloody pissed him off. It wasn’t like he actually needed the stuff. Owen Harper had done just fine with the ladies, and sometimes the gents, thank you very much. He’d never used the stuff on someone he wasn’t sure wouldn’t have eventually given in anyway. Just a bit of a time-saver, you know? Something to level the playing field between him and a guy like Jack who could just smile and have every Tom, Dick and Ianto falling at his feet.
Not him though. If he wanted Jack, he’d walk up and ask. Be a man about it, not a sniveling toady who could watch his girlfriend killed and end up falling into in the arms of the guy who’d done it. Revolting spectacle that had been. Made him a bit mad just thinking about it, which he was trying not to do.
Now Jack was gone and Owen knew combination to the safe. Rhea Silva was the only thing that stood between him and a quick pull at the pub, someone he could take home and have it off with. A way not to remember how Jack’s arms had felt around him when he was being forgiven for shooting Jack dead, even though it wasn’t. He’d have to ask Jack how that worked. If Jack ever came back.
Yeah. He definitely needed to not think about Jack and the way to that lay in the safe. Nobody at the Hub right now. Gwen had asserted herself as the de facto leader in Jack’s absence and sent everybody home. She’d even pulled rank on Ianto, who’d claimed he needed to stay there in case Jack showed up. So transparent, and so gratifying to watch Gwen Cooper read him the riot act and practically frog-march him out of the Hub with orders not to come back for twenty-four hours.
That was his PC Cooper. Okay, not his. Not anymore. Not ever, really. Just a few fun times, and no spray necessary. Too bad about her conscience getting to her later on.
He took a deep breath and another swallow.
A few fleeting images of Gwen’s face that first night, when he was doing his best to live up to some braggadocio about how good it was going to be, had gone right to his groin. He rubbed the growing erection through his jeans, wondering if he could talk it down before heading to the Hub or if he should just finish this now and go for the spray another time.
He’d loved fucking Gwen, really loved it, even if he hadn’t quite loved her. Just as well, really. Look where love left you. He’d prefer not to think about Diane just now either, but his mind and cock had other ideas.
Owen dug around the cushions of the sofa, hoping to find something to smooth things along without having to get up. There was a tube of something that smelled a bit like lip-gloss but had the right consistency and he’d ask questions later.
Diane. Beautiful, beautiful, sexy, brave, brilliant Diane, who’d managed to make him feel like a better man than he had since he lost Katie and then took it all away from him, leaving a hole in his heart and memories that made his cock stand up and wonder when the hell that pussy and its bag of tricks were coming back to town.
Damn. He was so hard and so very fucking alone and there was no time to get down to the Hub, so he’d finish this alone like the sad wanker he really was, he thought, unzipping his jeans.
He would get back to the Hub though. Get that spray. He didn’t think Jack was coming back soon and there was no way in hell he planned to spend all those nights alone, cock in hand, stroking for all he was worth, trying to focus on an image that wouldn’t hurt.
What if Ianto caught him after he’d gotten his hands on the spray? Oh, that would be rich. He could just imagine the expression of self-righteous smugness at having apprehended Owen in an act that made Ianto feel even more superior. Owen decided he’d take a minute to feign contrition and pretend he was about to put the canister into Ianto’s waiting hand, only to switch to a smirk, letting Ianto know exactly what was about to happen as he pointed the spray at himself.
Seconds later, Owen would have the pleasure of seeing Ianto, Jack’s loyal servant, bear down on him with rampant lust, feel the crushing of lips and the pressing of bodies. That was it, all of Ianto Jones’ pent up frustration and longing focused on him with no inhibitions left to stop what had already been brewing for so long.
He doubted either of them would last very long, and all it took was an image of Ianto grabbing for his swollen cock while grinding roughly against his leg for him to throw his head back and close his eyes, letting the scene play out as his body throbbed through its release.
Well, that was interesting.
Owen knew enough psychology to admit what had to lay behind the resentment and sniping. Maybe the whole “I kick you in the head, you shoot me in the shoulder,” thing had actually been a twisted mating ritual. Stranger things had happened at Torchwood, he was sure, probably with Jack right at the heart of it.
Great. Thinking of Jack again.
Definitely time for that trip to the Hub. There was a safe with a spray in it and possibly a Welshman trying to keep him out.
Either way, he’d get what he wanted.