The meme can be found HERE
Pairing request: Owen/Doctor. (Your choice of which one.)
"Well what have we here?"
It was hardly an auspicious beginning, since Owen couldn't honestly say what he was or how he'd managed to end up being alive, once again.
"Owen Harper," he said, since he was at least sure of that much.
"I'm the Doctor," came the reply.
The broad grin gave way to a look of confusion.
“Martha’s Doctor?” he tried hopefully, which only seemed to compound the bewilderment. The Doctor shook his head so vociferously it made his curls bounce.
“It’s OK,” he said, actually meaning it, even if he didn’t understand.
“Good, good. Shall we take a look around then? Not sure where we are, exactly. Crab nebula, maybe. Or possible the Lobster. Some sort of crustacean anyway. Should be something interesting out there.”
With that, the door of the impossible vessel opened and Owen found himself following in the wake of yet another hero in a ridiculous coat. This time he felt oddly comforted by the fact, possibly wanting to touch it and wondering if there was the possibility of touching the man underneath.
Owen Harper had found his Doctor.
For 51stcenturyfox and aeron_lanart
Title: Disorderly Conduct
Pairing request: Capt. John Hart/PC Andy
This was bad.
Exceptionally bad, if Andy did say so himself, which he most certainly would, if he didn’t have a gag in his mouth, of the sort he imagined they only sold in the disreputable parts of town.
Without the ability to make himself heard, there was only the possibility of communicating through a disapproving glare, except of course for the blind-fold. The hand-cuffs were hardly worth mentioning, even if he could talk.
Thus it was that a routine disorderly conduct call from a pub had turned into this particularly disturbing state of affairs. He remembered approaching the suspect, easily recognizable by his outlandish attire, and asking him politely to come away and stop harassing the clientele.
The suspect, a rather imposing fellow, who appeared to be adopting military airs, had responded by giving Andy an absolutely indecent look and practically crooning the words, “Oh, yummy,” before lashing out with an unexpected right-cross, after which Andy had awoken to find himself in the current predicament.
Aside from the gag, blindfold and cuffs, Andy detected a lack of clothing, both his own and that of the suspect, who he could still recognize by his insolent voice, which could now be heard directly against Andy’s ear speaking some filth regarding what exactly was being done and how much he could tell Andy was liking it.
“You are a pretty PC, aren’t you Andy? You’re going to look even prettier when you’re coming with my cock inside you.”
The body against his was strong and muscular and although the words were crude, he was at the very least pressing into Andy slowly enough to make things tolerable, maybe a bit too slowly. Perhaps if he pressed back a bit, the bloke might speed things up. Andy knew he was in a lot of trouble, and there’d be hell to be pay if any word of this got out, but he was only human and right now he knew exactly what he wanted, which was what he was getting, only more of it.
Yes, this was definitely bad.
Why did it have to be so very good?
Pairing request: Tosh/Martha
Slightly sequelicious to This scene which I wrote for last years Kissing Meme
Martha was used to surprises, but tended to prefer they not come to her front door without at least ringing up first.
She’d assumed if anyone from Torchwood got in touch, it would be Jack. They’d always share the bond of loving the Doctor and knowing how helpless it was. Martha had Tom and Jack had pretty much anyone else he wanted, but sometimes they liked to get together and share a few drinks and a bit of self-pity. Even Owen Harper would have been more likely, possibly looking for more information on his condition, but it wasn’t Owen, which was probably just as well. Tom might not understand, or he’d understand too well.
Martha kept her voice bright, but the tone was a lie. Owen might be a walking corpse, but Tosh was a permanent mourner, and just seeing her brought up the guilt Martha felt for what had happened, among other feelings.
Things had ended oddly last time. A kiss on a train platform that shouldn’t have meant anything, but Martha wasn’t Jack. Her kisses always meant something.
“Is everything all right?” she asked. “Did Jack send you? Is it Owen?”
Tosh shook her head. She looked completely worn out and a bit over-dressed for this time of day in the middle of London.
“Gwen and Rhys got married yesterday.”
There were a lot of things Martha could say about that, none of which were going to be the least bit helpful. Having Tosh come in to see her life with Tom wouldn’t either. They’d go out and have coffee. Or tea. Maybe lunch.
Any of those would have been good, sensible plans, if Martha had been able to look at Tosh and be her sane, sensible self.
Instead there was a kiss, barely a block from Martha’s house, one that found Tosh pushing Martha against a doorway, and taking her lips by force of weakness, if such a thing were possible. Thus did sensibility and the hope of a rational discussion over hot beverages go out to the door. Instead a cab to a hotel and only the faintest vestige of propriety while they groped at each other in the back seat.
Martha had no idea why Tosh affected her this way, but it wasn’t something she could fight, or anything she wanted to.
Eventually there would be consequences, but now there was only them.
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