Fic: Club Reunion, torchwood, Jack/John, mature
Name: xtricks
Kink: rough sex
Fandom: Torchwood
Story Title: Club Reunion
Character/Relationships: John Hart/Jack Harkness
Notes: this was for a kink_las that I dropped out of, but I never posted the story elsewhere (that I can find, anyway). So, here it is!
It was the smell. Real alcohol made from the piss of a billion dead yeasts, fear and sweat and stinking perfume because these savages had crap noses, and someone had pissed herself when running for the door, poor slag. A blood bath would just make everything that much better, like the wine in the soup, like the toke after the fuck, like ... whatever. John had two guns in hand and he wasn't afraid to use them. Helloo 21st Century. Johnny's here.
It was the smell. Familiar as a warm hand in the fucking dark. A fuck in the dark and John grinned into the mirror as the pheromones in the air came to him like a whisper. It was the smell of his own skin after days and weeks and months and years together -- the two of them so close their mouths tasted the same, their skin smelled the same, their dreams were the same. The floorboards rattled as they rushed together.
It was the taste. Hot and heavy, and the bite of teeth and the push of a tongue John missed like it had been ripped out of his own mouth. Wool under his hands and Jack was already hard, he could smell it. Fucker. He wasn't that easy.
The first punch was another kiss, bloody and hot. And the second and the third, and he twisted to take the kick to his balls on his thigh because yeah, he loved a bit of CBT but it was too early in the night for a stomp on his nuts. The flash of a tongue, fuck Jack knew how to use it, and the soft give of his belly over John's shoulder, then a kidney blow across his back that had John on the floor, arse in the air.
Then it was a knee and a boot, a fist and heavy breathing on his neck, and Jack's bloody grin and John punched his cock -- not too hard. Not yet. He wasn't the only one who liked a bit of CBT and the hitch in Jack's breath told him that hadn't changed.
It was the pain. Bright like stars in his eyes when they slammed into the bar, his split lip throbbing and swelling just like his cock. Jack's hands were leaving bruises 'he was here, he was here'. John hissed, then laughed in Jack's face. Jack rutted against his hip, even as he twisted his hand in John's collar, trying to choke the life out of him.
When they crashed into the dimness behind the empty bar, John made sure he was on top. They grappled, wool and leather, boots thumping clumsily against each others' shins. John got his fucking leg over on Jack, groaning, huffing a laugh at Jack's deeper, longer groan. He pushed down harder, grinding cock to cock, clenching his fists in Jack's good-boy coat, bashing his head to the floor. John could feel the jerk and shiver as Jack's eyes rolled, dazed. "Spread 'em wide, baby," he hissed. Jack bared his teeth then threw him off, the bastard, but then John punched him across the jaw, across the bar, and the shot glasses were lined up like tenpins. He scored every one and glass glinted like needles in Jack's hair.
They could've gone all the way. They should've but the doors crashed wide and Jack's heat and attention went away, leaving John abandoned in the cold. John narrowed his eyes at all the pretty tits and faces lined up against him, then smiled, teeth bared.
It was the smell. Jack on his skin, his blood in John's mouth, the two of them the same where it mattered, underneath.
END
Please comment on Dreamwidth because it isn't run by the Russian Mob!
http://xtricks.dreamwidth.org/88753.html: link to the original post
Kink: rough sex
Fandom: Torchwood
Story Title: Club Reunion
Character/Relationships: John Hart/Jack Harkness
Notes: this was for a kink_las that I dropped out of, but I never posted the story elsewhere (that I can find, anyway). So, here it is!
It was the smell. Real alcohol made from the piss of a billion dead yeasts, fear and sweat and stinking perfume because these savages had crap noses, and someone had pissed herself when running for the door, poor slag. A blood bath would just make everything that much better, like the wine in the soup, like the toke after the fuck, like ... whatever. John had two guns in hand and he wasn't afraid to use them. Helloo 21st Century. Johnny's here.
It was the smell. Familiar as a warm hand in the fucking dark. A fuck in the dark and John grinned into the mirror as the pheromones in the air came to him like a whisper. It was the smell of his own skin after days and weeks and months and years together -- the two of them so close their mouths tasted the same, their skin smelled the same, their dreams were the same. The floorboards rattled as they rushed together.
It was the taste. Hot and heavy, and the bite of teeth and the push of a tongue John missed like it had been ripped out of his own mouth. Wool under his hands and Jack was already hard, he could smell it. Fucker. He wasn't that easy.
The first punch was another kiss, bloody and hot. And the second and the third, and he twisted to take the kick to his balls on his thigh because yeah, he loved a bit of CBT but it was too early in the night for a stomp on his nuts. The flash of a tongue, fuck Jack knew how to use it, and the soft give of his belly over John's shoulder, then a kidney blow across his back that had John on the floor, arse in the air.
Then it was a knee and a boot, a fist and heavy breathing on his neck, and Jack's bloody grin and John punched his cock -- not too hard. Not yet. He wasn't the only one who liked a bit of CBT and the hitch in Jack's breath told him that hadn't changed.
It was the pain. Bright like stars in his eyes when they slammed into the bar, his split lip throbbing and swelling just like his cock. Jack's hands were leaving bruises 'he was here, he was here'. John hissed, then laughed in Jack's face. Jack rutted against his hip, even as he twisted his hand in John's collar, trying to choke the life out of him.
When they crashed into the dimness behind the empty bar, John made sure he was on top. They grappled, wool and leather, boots thumping clumsily against each others' shins. John got his fucking leg over on Jack, groaning, huffing a laugh at Jack's deeper, longer groan. He pushed down harder, grinding cock to cock, clenching his fists in Jack's good-boy coat, bashing his head to the floor. John could feel the jerk and shiver as Jack's eyes rolled, dazed. "Spread 'em wide, baby," he hissed. Jack bared his teeth then threw him off, the bastard, but then John punched him across the jaw, across the bar, and the shot glasses were lined up like tenpins. He scored every one and glass glinted like needles in Jack's hair.
They could've gone all the way. They should've but the doors crashed wide and Jack's heat and attention went away, leaving John abandoned in the cold. John narrowed his eyes at all the pretty tits and faces lined up against him, then smiled, teeth bared.
It was the smell. Jack on his skin, his blood in John's mouth, the two of them the same where it mattered, underneath.
END
Please comment on Dreamwidth because it isn't run by the Russian Mob!
http://xtricks.dreamwidth.org/88753.html: link to the original post