WIP Meme
I decided to do the WIP meme thing … because maybe that will encourage me to write some of them. Any of them! And I decided I'd do … well, almost all. Which is quite a lot, as you can see. Some of these I know will never get written, some might.
*Now with explanations removed!
1
"Hmm," Jack licked along the crest of Ianto's breast, "you couldn't tell from all the yelling and writhing around?" Ianto's nipples were a pretty tawny pink and Jack licked around one before biting gently, Ianto squirmed and Jack rolled him back, laughing against his skin. "Next time I'll yell louder."
2
The Hub was in evening standby when Ianto stepped over the lip of the airlock and Jack was sitting on the couch, paperwork spread over his lap and eating diced carrots and peas straight from the can. Ianto went over directly and sank to his knees, then lower, to press a kiss to one of Jack's boots then rested his cheek against it with a sigh.
3
“Not much chance of a marriage with you up here like an egg in an eagle’s nest,” the Princess’ Nurse was really a Witch and also a Mother with two handsome sons in the King’s army. Her third son was smarter than he was handsome and he’d put on a dress instead of a sword - better a son in a dress than in a hero's grave – but that is a Fairy for another Tale.
4
Feeding was always the same. Gaveedra grabbed one of the cleaner feeding bowls and elbowed his way to the slop line, sidestepping the subsonic snarls of Heche – singular survivor of its type – and a mystery even to Gaveedra’s inborn knowledge. No one knew anything of Heche, what it was, who had bred it, even how to speak to it but everyone gave the towering creature wide berth. Even the Overseers feared it, using shock sticks to prod it into the arena for battle. Gaveedra had learned the hard way that those heavy, yellowed tusks Heche bared as it swaggered to the top of the line could crush a man’s arm and his wrist ached with memory.
Food was the same, if higher protein that his crèche days, a tepid mash the color of old muscle. Sometimes bits of bone or strands of hair escaped the grinder – but Gaveedra always ate it all, nothing was wasted. Food was another motivation to victory, the most basic sort; eat or be eaten.
5
"You aren't really arresting me for littering?" The flat American accent was astonished but the man's eyes, pale but undefined in the moonlight, were slyly amused. Ianto's breath quickened with the urge to wipe that confident amusement off the man's face.
"It is a crime." He said. "What did you expect?"
"A harshly worded letter?"
"The fact that I'm unlikely to bludgeon you with a gun barrel like an American officer isn't an excuse for mischief." Ianto glanced over to the offensive white paper bag, crumpled on the grass. "Pick it up." He said.
6
“There’s a naked man standing outside the base.” Toshiko said one afternoon when nothing, absolutely nothing, interesting was happening.
“I’m sure the nice police officers will be around shortly.” Jack responded, without even bothering to look up from his rubix cube. “Twenty-two seconds!” He yelled gleefully, tossing the cube onto his desk and raising both hands in Nixon-esque victory signs.
“I’m sure I’ve got a consolation prize somewhere.” Ianto’s voice drifted from the direction of the elevator where he was bundling another box of neglected paperwork to the archives.
7
Ianto rather enjoyed his hours in the Tourist Office, he had remote access to the administrative system and could complete mundane tasks like payroll and supply orders without wondering what practical joke Owen was going to try next. He didn’t mind the occasional tourist, and he even had a window – though it was usually covered with newspaper. Whenever he got too bored, he’d rearrange the informational brochures in a new, bewildering array, make himself a cup of coffee and stand outside the door, watching the parade of people, comfortably smug with the knowledge that all those strangers had him to thank for the continued peaceful existence of the planet.
8
"Requisitions, requisitions, birthday card ..." Jack frowned at it, then turned it over. It had been mailed in 1962 for one of the former directors of Torchwood-Three. Another example of the Royal mail system at its finest. "Formal compliant, informal complaint, formal complaint- thank you Owen - petty cash request ...." Jack tossed each piece of paper from one corner of his desk to the other. He was beginning to wish an alien would drop by, even a Weevil hunt was better than the special hell called 'catching up on paperwork'. He was a man of action, not a gray flannel suit. "Time off request?"
Speaking of suits.
Jack scowled at the neatly printed - and very complete - request, pretty much the first one he'd ever received since everyone else simply came up to ask him. Ianto though ... he and Ianto weren't exactly on speaking terms, just now. Ianto refused to come near him and Jack could barely look at him without thinking of the cyberman he'd hidden away in Jack's base, about how easy Ianto had betrayed them all – and how personally Ianto had betrayed Jack.
9
One hand splayed over his belly and wondering if he was going to star in his very own ‘Alien’ movie, Jack locked the Hub down. Then he sent out a text message giving everyone the day off, with an extra note to Tosh, forbidding her to try and break in. He knew it would be like a red flag to them all but it beat all of them swelling up like black balloons or being eaten by little parasitic aliens, carried in courtesy of Jack’s gut and a psychopathic Time Lord. His fingers curled painfully into his flesh as he shuddered; the Master had thought those little aliens, smeared with Jack’s blood and guts, [i]cute.[/i] Licking his lips, Jack had to admit he was too scared to come up with a convincing lie for his team and, if he was infected with something, he’d have to get the incinerator going, just to make sure nothing survived when he came back. “Maybe it’s just gas,” he breathed, almost like a prayer.
10
Jack swung around to look at him, brows raised scornfully. “Oh, will you?” he said. He leaned against the car, spreading his legs wide, hips out, which brought the slight bulge beneath his pants to prominence. Ianto’s gaze dropped immediately and he licked his lips. Jack pressed his fingers against the cold metal of the car as another hot, frustrated surge of desire ran through him. Seeing Ianto want him so blatantly while the thing on his cock kept him from doing anything about it drove him crazy. “Do you think you can? Do you think I’ll be a –“ Jack’s lip curled, “good boy for you?”
Ianto laughed. He laughed so hard Jack was afraid he was going to get hiccups while Jack scowled irritably at him.
“Not that funny!” Jack snapped, shifting a hip uncomfortably as the edge of the tag dug into his belly.
“No, I don’t expect you to be a good boy,” Ianto said, still snickering. But then he stepped closer and rubbed a thumb over Jack’s cheek. “But the question really is,” he murmured, “do you want to be?”
11
This wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the first time while working for Torchwood. It was the firs time while Jack was Director of Torchwood though and he felt a little … awkward. He still had to be responsible and have conference calls and all that when he’d much rather be playing with his new breasts.
He also really needed a bra. C-cups weren’t meant to fly free.
12
They'd stood in the doorway, afraid to go further, unable to leave, until Ianto jerked and stiffened and pointed. A ripple of light was chasing itself across the mass of flesh and bone; pale gold and uncertain and Gwen's fingers curled with the urge to reach out for it, to catch it up and keep it safe.
They didn't dare move, didn't hardly breathe, watching what no one had ever seen before; Jack Harkness, truly naked. It was frightening and beautiful and horrible, watching him creep back together; blood congealing then thinning again, bits of flesh patching together or simply swelling to existence out of nothing. But the last three hours, Jack had been whole and normal looking, all of him back together again (and naked) but unmoving, unliving. No sign of a heart beating inside chilly flesh, no gasping back to life; nothing. Gwen rested her forehead against Ianto's shoulder and closed her eyes wearily. "Maybe he can't," she whispered. "Maybe this is too much."
13
Jack ducked his head then, mouth twisting before he picked up the flask at his side and took a drink. He was drunk, Ianto realized sourly. Drunk and bitter.
“Don’t owe me a thing,” Jack said lightly. He waved a hand, bottle sloshing. The bones in his wrist were sharp and the dull light gleamed on a scar that ran from the base of his hand to the crook of his elbow. “I should be thanking you, huh? Room, board, something to do. Regular heroes' welcome.”
14
"We can play that game next time," Jack said with a chuckle. "You'd look hot in a priest's collar and I'd come to confess my sins."
Ianto flinched. "It should be the other way around."
Jack came up behind him, close enough for Ianto to feel his breath warm on his shoulder and stroked a hand up his back, then tugged on his hair to bare his throat. "There are no innocents here," he said, calloused fingers resting briefly on Ianto's pulse.
Cool leather slid around his neck and Ianto swallowed back a groan. It wasn't the first time he'd worn a collar but this wasn't something you'd buy at a sex shop, it was plain leather, worn, simple and there were a thousand just like them on the streets every day. He felt Jack fumble with the buckle for a moment, then tug the collar snug, settling it with a satisfied pat. Ianto's heart beat hard against the leather – faster and faster - and the chill tickle of the brass tag drew an excited shudder from him; his already aching cock throbbed and his nipples drew to sensitive points. Jack reached around and pinched them.
15
“There’s some planets out there with years that last millennia, or only days,” Jack said into the silence. “Some whose years are only hours of our time. But every planet, well, almost every planet – every natural planet – has four things in common.”
“Ah!“ Tosh said with sudden understanding and Jack smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Two equinoxes, two solstices. It's December 21st tonight.”
"Yeah," he said as the car rocked its way up the gravel access road to the nature preserve that hid Tanant’s ship. There were already two other cars there and Jack narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and made note of the plates. Being sociable was fine, so long as he knew about it. "Something this home shares with every other planet. Something that you can mark and measure no matter what planet you wash up on.”
“Tonight’s the winter solstice,” Ianto nodded to himself.
“The longest night,” Jack agreed.
16
"Are you thinking about disobeying?" Jack asked, still casual though his attention sharpened and Ianto swallowed, wondering where the control to his collar was.
"No, sir," he said immediately and took an obedient if hesitant step closer, onto the thick rubber pad. "Is this going to be ... a surprise?"
"A good one," Jack grinned then. "You'll like it - whether you like it or not."
That didn't sound promising. Ianto opened his mouth to speak and choked back a cry as the sharp zap of his collar went off. "No more questions," Jack said firmly and Ianto snapped his mouth shut.
"Kneel down."
17
Maybe the reason he was just furniture tonight was that he'd failed both of them.
Jack twitched, his cock deflating despite the harness, the teacup sloshed hot tea onto his back, the bells on his nipples rang out their little alarm and several papers slid off his arse to spill onto the floor. Toshiko took her feet off him.
"What's this about?" she said, annoyance clear in her voice.
Jack stiffened, going still, he was sorry. He tried to moan apologetically. Another shiver wracked him; he couldn’t even be an adequate piece of furniture. Tosh was going to turn him in for some laminate birch from IKEA.
18
“I do, don’t I,” he said, glancing at her and the smile he had made Gwen flush with anticipation. Rhys set his cooking spoon down and leaned against the back of her chair to whisper in her ear. “I’m a very long suffering husband and I deserve something to lighten up my life of drudgery and toil.”
19
Sellwood had been his home well before Bentley's and Greg knew the school Jeannie went to and the path she cut through the park to get there. He darted across the street, no different from a half-dozen other folks risking their lives for coffee or a short cut; the cars hardly bothered to honk as he cut them off. A couple hardly bothered to stop, either.
*Now with explanations removed!
1
"Hmm," Jack licked along the crest of Ianto's breast, "you couldn't tell from all the yelling and writhing around?" Ianto's nipples were a pretty tawny pink and Jack licked around one before biting gently, Ianto squirmed and Jack rolled him back, laughing against his skin. "Next time I'll yell louder."
2
The Hub was in evening standby when Ianto stepped over the lip of the airlock and Jack was sitting on the couch, paperwork spread over his lap and eating diced carrots and peas straight from the can. Ianto went over directly and sank to his knees, then lower, to press a kiss to one of Jack's boots then rested his cheek against it with a sigh.
3
“Not much chance of a marriage with you up here like an egg in an eagle’s nest,” the Princess’ Nurse was really a Witch and also a Mother with two handsome sons in the King’s army. Her third son was smarter than he was handsome and he’d put on a dress instead of a sword - better a son in a dress than in a hero's grave – but that is a Fairy for another Tale.
4
Feeding was always the same. Gaveedra grabbed one of the cleaner feeding bowls and elbowed his way to the slop line, sidestepping the subsonic snarls of Heche – singular survivor of its type – and a mystery even to Gaveedra’s inborn knowledge. No one knew anything of Heche, what it was, who had bred it, even how to speak to it but everyone gave the towering creature wide berth. Even the Overseers feared it, using shock sticks to prod it into the arena for battle. Gaveedra had learned the hard way that those heavy, yellowed tusks Heche bared as it swaggered to the top of the line could crush a man’s arm and his wrist ached with memory.
Food was the same, if higher protein that his crèche days, a tepid mash the color of old muscle. Sometimes bits of bone or strands of hair escaped the grinder – but Gaveedra always ate it all, nothing was wasted. Food was another motivation to victory, the most basic sort; eat or be eaten.
5
"You aren't really arresting me for littering?" The flat American accent was astonished but the man's eyes, pale but undefined in the moonlight, were slyly amused. Ianto's breath quickened with the urge to wipe that confident amusement off the man's face.
"It is a crime." He said. "What did you expect?"
"A harshly worded letter?"
"The fact that I'm unlikely to bludgeon you with a gun barrel like an American officer isn't an excuse for mischief." Ianto glanced over to the offensive white paper bag, crumpled on the grass. "Pick it up." He said.
6
“There’s a naked man standing outside the base.” Toshiko said one afternoon when nothing, absolutely nothing, interesting was happening.
“I’m sure the nice police officers will be around shortly.” Jack responded, without even bothering to look up from his rubix cube. “Twenty-two seconds!” He yelled gleefully, tossing the cube onto his desk and raising both hands in Nixon-esque victory signs.
“I’m sure I’ve got a consolation prize somewhere.” Ianto’s voice drifted from the direction of the elevator where he was bundling another box of neglected paperwork to the archives.
7
Ianto rather enjoyed his hours in the Tourist Office, he had remote access to the administrative system and could complete mundane tasks like payroll and supply orders without wondering what practical joke Owen was going to try next. He didn’t mind the occasional tourist, and he even had a window – though it was usually covered with newspaper. Whenever he got too bored, he’d rearrange the informational brochures in a new, bewildering array, make himself a cup of coffee and stand outside the door, watching the parade of people, comfortably smug with the knowledge that all those strangers had him to thank for the continued peaceful existence of the planet.
8
"Requisitions, requisitions, birthday card ..." Jack frowned at it, then turned it over. It had been mailed in 1962 for one of the former directors of Torchwood-Three. Another example of the Royal mail system at its finest. "Formal compliant, informal complaint, formal complaint- thank you Owen - petty cash request ...." Jack tossed each piece of paper from one corner of his desk to the other. He was beginning to wish an alien would drop by, even a Weevil hunt was better than the special hell called 'catching up on paperwork'. He was a man of action, not a gray flannel suit. "Time off request?"
Speaking of suits.
Jack scowled at the neatly printed - and very complete - request, pretty much the first one he'd ever received since everyone else simply came up to ask him. Ianto though ... he and Ianto weren't exactly on speaking terms, just now. Ianto refused to come near him and Jack could barely look at him without thinking of the cyberman he'd hidden away in Jack's base, about how easy Ianto had betrayed them all – and how personally Ianto had betrayed Jack.
9
One hand splayed over his belly and wondering if he was going to star in his very own ‘Alien’ movie, Jack locked the Hub down. Then he sent out a text message giving everyone the day off, with an extra note to Tosh, forbidding her to try and break in. He knew it would be like a red flag to them all but it beat all of them swelling up like black balloons or being eaten by little parasitic aliens, carried in courtesy of Jack’s gut and a psychopathic Time Lord. His fingers curled painfully into his flesh as he shuddered; the Master had thought those little aliens, smeared with Jack’s blood and guts, [i]cute.[/i] Licking his lips, Jack had to admit he was too scared to come up with a convincing lie for his team and, if he was infected with something, he’d have to get the incinerator going, just to make sure nothing survived when he came back. “Maybe it’s just gas,” he breathed, almost like a prayer.
10
Jack swung around to look at him, brows raised scornfully. “Oh, will you?” he said. He leaned against the car, spreading his legs wide, hips out, which brought the slight bulge beneath his pants to prominence. Ianto’s gaze dropped immediately and he licked his lips. Jack pressed his fingers against the cold metal of the car as another hot, frustrated surge of desire ran through him. Seeing Ianto want him so blatantly while the thing on his cock kept him from doing anything about it drove him crazy. “Do you think you can? Do you think I’ll be a –“ Jack’s lip curled, “good boy for you?”
Ianto laughed. He laughed so hard Jack was afraid he was going to get hiccups while Jack scowled irritably at him.
“Not that funny!” Jack snapped, shifting a hip uncomfortably as the edge of the tag dug into his belly.
“No, I don’t expect you to be a good boy,” Ianto said, still snickering. But then he stepped closer and rubbed a thumb over Jack’s cheek. “But the question really is,” he murmured, “do you want to be?”
11
This wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the first time while working for Torchwood. It was the firs time while Jack was Director of Torchwood though and he felt a little … awkward. He still had to be responsible and have conference calls and all that when he’d much rather be playing with his new breasts.
He also really needed a bra. C-cups weren’t meant to fly free.
12
They'd stood in the doorway, afraid to go further, unable to leave, until Ianto jerked and stiffened and pointed. A ripple of light was chasing itself across the mass of flesh and bone; pale gold and uncertain and Gwen's fingers curled with the urge to reach out for it, to catch it up and keep it safe.
They didn't dare move, didn't hardly breathe, watching what no one had ever seen before; Jack Harkness, truly naked. It was frightening and beautiful and horrible, watching him creep back together; blood congealing then thinning again, bits of flesh patching together or simply swelling to existence out of nothing. But the last three hours, Jack had been whole and normal looking, all of him back together again (and naked) but unmoving, unliving. No sign of a heart beating inside chilly flesh, no gasping back to life; nothing. Gwen rested her forehead against Ianto's shoulder and closed her eyes wearily. "Maybe he can't," she whispered. "Maybe this is too much."
13
Jack ducked his head then, mouth twisting before he picked up the flask at his side and took a drink. He was drunk, Ianto realized sourly. Drunk and bitter.
“Don’t owe me a thing,” Jack said lightly. He waved a hand, bottle sloshing. The bones in his wrist were sharp and the dull light gleamed on a scar that ran from the base of his hand to the crook of his elbow. “I should be thanking you, huh? Room, board, something to do. Regular heroes' welcome.”
14
"We can play that game next time," Jack said with a chuckle. "You'd look hot in a priest's collar and I'd come to confess my sins."
Ianto flinched. "It should be the other way around."
Jack came up behind him, close enough for Ianto to feel his breath warm on his shoulder and stroked a hand up his back, then tugged on his hair to bare his throat. "There are no innocents here," he said, calloused fingers resting briefly on Ianto's pulse.
Cool leather slid around his neck and Ianto swallowed back a groan. It wasn't the first time he'd worn a collar but this wasn't something you'd buy at a sex shop, it was plain leather, worn, simple and there were a thousand just like them on the streets every day. He felt Jack fumble with the buckle for a moment, then tug the collar snug, settling it with a satisfied pat. Ianto's heart beat hard against the leather – faster and faster - and the chill tickle of the brass tag drew an excited shudder from him; his already aching cock throbbed and his nipples drew to sensitive points. Jack reached around and pinched them.
15
“There’s some planets out there with years that last millennia, or only days,” Jack said into the silence. “Some whose years are only hours of our time. But every planet, well, almost every planet – every natural planet – has four things in common.”
“Ah!“ Tosh said with sudden understanding and Jack smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Two equinoxes, two solstices. It's December 21st tonight.”
"Yeah," he said as the car rocked its way up the gravel access road to the nature preserve that hid Tanant’s ship. There were already two other cars there and Jack narrowed his eyes thoughtfully and made note of the plates. Being sociable was fine, so long as he knew about it. "Something this home shares with every other planet. Something that you can mark and measure no matter what planet you wash up on.”
“Tonight’s the winter solstice,” Ianto nodded to himself.
“The longest night,” Jack agreed.
16
"Are you thinking about disobeying?" Jack asked, still casual though his attention sharpened and Ianto swallowed, wondering where the control to his collar was.
"No, sir," he said immediately and took an obedient if hesitant step closer, onto the thick rubber pad. "Is this going to be ... a surprise?"
"A good one," Jack grinned then. "You'll like it - whether you like it or not."
That didn't sound promising. Ianto opened his mouth to speak and choked back a cry as the sharp zap of his collar went off. "No more questions," Jack said firmly and Ianto snapped his mouth shut.
"Kneel down."
17
Maybe the reason he was just furniture tonight was that he'd failed both of them.
Jack twitched, his cock deflating despite the harness, the teacup sloshed hot tea onto his back, the bells on his nipples rang out their little alarm and several papers slid off his arse to spill onto the floor. Toshiko took her feet off him.
"What's this about?" she said, annoyance clear in her voice.
Jack stiffened, going still, he was sorry. He tried to moan apologetically. Another shiver wracked him; he couldn’t even be an adequate piece of furniture. Tosh was going to turn him in for some laminate birch from IKEA.
18
“I do, don’t I,” he said, glancing at her and the smile he had made Gwen flush with anticipation. Rhys set his cooking spoon down and leaned against the back of her chair to whisper in her ear. “I’m a very long suffering husband and I deserve something to lighten up my life of drudgery and toil.”
19
Sellwood had been his home well before Bentley's and Greg knew the school Jeannie went to and the path she cut through the park to get there. He darted across the street, no different from a half-dozen other folks risking their lives for coffee or a short cut; the cars hardly bothered to honk as he cut them off. A couple hardly bothered to stop, either.