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filthgoblinTitle: "Life Changes"
Pairing: Captain Jack Harkness/Rhys Williams
Wordcount: 3,776
Rating: R
Summary: Rhys suspects something, investigates and gets more than he bargained for.
Warnings: Angst, adultery. Nothing painful or dubious.
Writer's notes: Set in Season 2 sometime between Meat and Something Borrowed. Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
karaokegal for the wonderful, patient and thorough beta job and to silvaa for also giving it the once-over and giving encouragement as ever.
Another night; another excuse, blustered by his wayward fiancee as she whirled into her coat like a superhero and cut him off with a kiss before he could tell her he loved her. Painfully aware of the silent audience, Rhys looked sidelong at Jack standing in the doorway with his arms folded, radiating apology and impatience in equal parts before Jack and Gwen broke into a run as they retreated to the SUV.
Alone again on a Friday night. He considered calling someone, going to the pub and getting out of the house but he knew he would be terrible company. Clearing up the abandoned dinner dishes didn't take his mind off things. The television couldn’t distract him either and after staring unfocussed at the screen through two sets of jangling sit-com theme tunes he fired the off button at the set and threw the remote back onto the sofa irritably.
There was only so much of Jack's thinly veiled pity that Rhys could take. Jack tried to treat him with compassion, he could see that, but though he was sure Jack's attempts were sincerely meant, they always felt forced. As far as he could tell, Jack did not see him as an equal, as worthy of the trust Gwen had placed in him by allowing him even the meagre scraps he was tossed about their secret life. The way Jack behaved around Rhys put him in mind of how an adult might talk to a twelve year old who insists on being treated like a grown-up.
This man had taken away part of his life. Sighing, Rhys shook his head. The statement sounded melodramatic, even within the confines of his mind, but it was true. From what he'd gleaned about the others in the team, none of them had any ties: no family or significant other to keep them from doing precisely as they pleased. In enticing Gwen to Torchwood, Jack had not just changed her life, he altered the dynamic of their relationship beyond recognition. Although Rhys had always known that there would be parts of Gwen's job on the Force that she would want to leave behind when she came home, the way she previously glossed over certain parts of her day was nothing compared to the outright duplicity she practised with ease for months, maybe even longer. Somehow he had felt the change before he even consciously knew it had happened.
It wasn’t even just that Jack was keeping Gwen away from him physically with the long hours and the fact that she was always on call for the team. If truth be told, Rhys didn't really know what he suspected Gwen was holding out on telling him. He wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to hear all the weird and wonderful details of their day-to-day freak-show after the tiny snippets he'd seen, but he also wasn't convinced that the bizarre things the team dealt with outside the Hub were the only things that went unspoken. Although Gwen talked about the team as you might expect anyone to talk about a group of workmates with alternating affection and irritation, he was sure he felt a certain charge heat the air when she mentioned Jack's name, even as a throwaway remark. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was or what it might mean, whether it was something obvious or something he couldn’t even imagine. Since he couldn’t define the nature of what he felt excluded from, it was difficult to be precise about how it made him feel other than knowing it was uncomfortable being in the dark and wished he could see clearly.
Aside from the slightly patronising way Rhys thought he was treated by the good Captain, there was something else about how Jack acted that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was even more telling on nights these when he would turn up unannounced at their flat and ask for Gwen by name at the door. The way that Jack held Gwen's name in his mouth made Rhys' stomach lurch. It was almost possessive, like he was reluctant to give it away.
Torn between desperately wanting to know and fear of what he might find out, Rhys paced a rut in the lounge carpet with phone in hand before punching in Jack's number from the scrap of paper pinned to the fridge. Hesitating, he stared at the screen until the backlight went out before stuffing it and his hand into his pocket. What the hell would he say, anyway? As much as he would love to rant at Jack, interrogate him, blame him for everything in his life that had changed so uncomfortably, he knew that whenever they were face to face all the anger seemed to evaporate like morning mist under Jack's calm gaze. That wasn’t the point, he reasoned with himself. He had to try; to ask; to get this out of his system, whatever this was. He needed to understand. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he pressed the call button before he could reconsider...
~*~
Rhys was already more than fashionably late when Jack eventually noticed him through the window. He loitered anxiously at the top of the steps outside the quiet basement bar where Jack had suggested they meet once Torchwood's late night mission was complete, Gwen delivered safely back to the Hub to complete the paperwork. As Jack watched, Rhys bunched his hands into fists and turned several times as if to walk away, his lips moving silently in encouragement or chastisement - Jack couldn't tell which. Swirling the remainder of his drink he watched it settle before draining the glass and considered rescuing Rhys from his apparent inner torment before thinking better of it. Jack had no idea why Rhys had called him or why he might be standing on the pavement trying to talk himself out of running all the way back home without so much as a backwards glance. Truth be told, it was of little consequence to Jack whether he decided to stay or leave. Swiveling on the stool, he flashed a dazzling smile at the bartender and raised his empty glass along with a playful eyebrow. "I'll have another, whisky this time, if you'd be so kind..."
"I'll have what he's having."
Looking to his left, Jack marveled at the speed and stealth Rhys could employ in spite of his broad frame. "And make them large ones" Jack added, addressing the barkeep's back. A smell of alcohol already hung heavy around him; Dutch courage clearly made up the greater part of valour in overcoming whatever reservations he had to make it through the door. With a knowing glance at the bartender, Jack pushed a £50 note across the dark wood of the bar and indicated his desire to take the bottle. He swept up two matching tumblers of whisky with one hand and turned to lead Rhys towards a low, battered brown leather couch next to the open fire in a dimly lit corner of the bar.
They took seats at opposite ends of the couch. With customary ease, Jack threw a casual arm across the vacant cushion between them and turned to rest his ankle on the edge of the seat, pointing his knee towards Rhys who sat ramrod tense and facing forwards just feet away, glaring at his glass. Suddenly, he downed the drink in one. Jack topped up the empty glass liberally, replaced the bottle on the table and settled back in his seat. “Soooo...” he began. “There seems to be an awful lot of liquor in your system and stuff on your mind. And I'm guessing this isn't a purely social call? Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”
Rhys stared into the glass cupped between his hands. “This is probably going to sound stupid…” He paused and emptied the contents into his mouth, wincing. Topping up the empty glass again in one smooth movement, Jack smiled. “Let me be the judge of that. C’mon, Rhys. You’ve made it this far, it’d be good if you could tell me why we’re here before you pass out and I have to carry you home.”
After taking another second to apparently gather his thoughts Rhys began talking, slowly at first, picking up pace as the momentum took hold of his words. “I want to know what's going on, Jack. In Torchwood. And I don't mean all that alien crap – you can keep that stuff for yourselves. I just want to know what Gwen is keeping from me about that place.”
Jack took a slow sip from his glass as he contemplated all the ways he could respond to that question. It seemed that answering a question with a question was the best policy in this instance. “You're going to have to be a bit more specific” he said. “If you don't want to know about our assignments which, for the record, I wouldn't be able to talk to you about anyway, what exactly are you asking?”
The look on Rhys' face gave Jack a very good idea of what exactly he wanted to ask, but there really was no hurry and he wasn't about to put words into his mouth. “I just want her to be honest with me. Since she's started working with you it's like she's always on her guard...”
“Listen, Rhys” Jack began. “You've seen enough of what we get involved with to know that we deal with some things that would probably make your hair curl. I'm sure she's just trying to protect you from the worst excesses of Torchwood. That's all.”
“Like I said, Jack” Rhys continued. “I don't want to know about aliens. I know all I want to know about that and it's more than I ever really wanted to.” He paused and raised the glass to his lips. “It's more about what goes on in the team that I'm interested in. I mean, when she worked with the Police she talked about her workmates, about what they did outside work, about their families and the usual gossip. She never really talks about anyone in Torchwood. Except you.” Jack found himself fixed with an unwavering stare. “She only ever talks about you”.
“Well, we do work together very closely” Jack smiled. “Can't imagine what she'd have to say if it's not about work, though. I don't really do anything else!”
Rhys' eyes narrowed. “Just how close is 'closely'?”
Realisation dawned on as he saw familiar signs of jealousy and insecurity show themselves in dilated pupils and a red flush that spread across Rhys' already pink cheeks. “Close enough” Jack replied carefully. “Not as closely as you seem to suspect.”
“So you and Gwen... you're not..? I mean, I didn't think she would, but then there's you, and I just thought...”
Jack eased back in the seat and with open arms and knees apart. “No, Rhys. I'm not sleeping with Gwen. Nor have I ever.” He paused. “And even though she's very beautiful, and very passionate, I don't intend to either.” Jack allowed Rhys the last bit for his peace of mind, and inwardly thanked his years of expert trickery or Rhys' inebriated state that allowed him to pull off the last statement without a hint that he'd been caught out in his lie. 'Never have' was easy to say with all conviction. 'Never will'? Well, that was a different matter.
Rhys appeared to sag with relief. This had clearly been troubling him for some time. Jack wondered just what Gwen had been saying at home that made Rhys so anxious about what might be going on between them at work. Suppressing the thought that he really should make better use of the covert surveillance equipment at his disposal, Jack shook himself mentally and focused. “You're a very lucky man” he said, matter-of-factly. “And we're very lucky to have Gwen too.”
“Yes, you bloody well are!” Rhys retorted, looking up at Jack for the first time since the conversation had taken this turn. Rhys still looked a little uneasy, but possibly reassured. His glass stood empty again, but he covered it with his hand when Jack gestured to top it up. “I think I've had enough”.
A glance at his watch told Jack that Gwen would probably be on her way home by now. The assignment he'd asked her to finish would only have taken a couple of hours maximum. “Do you feel any better about things now?” he asked, and following Rhys' lead, finished his drink.
“A bit” Rhys replied. “But do me a favour, yeah?”
Jack shrugged. “I'll try.”
“Next time you come round our flat to steal my girl away in the dead of night, try not to look so pleased with yourself?”
“I'll do what I can” Jack laughed. “What can I say? I love my job!” He stood and scooped up the whiskey bottle from the table. “I promise I won't be round tonight, and by my calculations Gwen should be home about now.” Three long strides carried him across the bar to return the bottle and glasses to the bartender with a wink. Looking back over his shoulder at Rhys still sitting on the sofa, he smiled.
“Shall we?”
Rhys nodded and swayed a little as he stood and walked towards the exit. Jack stole a sideways glance at him as the door swished shut behind them, attempting to read his intentions from his face. The atmosphere wasn't aggressive, it didn't feel like a fight was on the cards, but Jack could feel tension radiating like the waves of alcohol-laced breath that carried on the cool night air. So much alcohol that Rhys stumbled on the bottom steps back up to the pavement, landing bodily against Jack with a grunt of surprise. Jack's hands closed firmly around the tops of his arms, steadying him and squinting a little in the darkness as he looked into his eyes, assessing how capable or otherwise he might be of making it home unaided. The expression that met Jack's gaze was familiar to him, but unexpected. “You alright?” Jack asked, stepping back slightly and letting his hands drop to his sides from Rhys' shoulders.
With a half-stumble, half-lunge, the gap closed between them, Rhys' mouth wet on Jack's. Interesting Jack thought, but never one to pass up an opportunity, parted his lips to allow a tongue, heavy with liquor, to touch his own. Having recovered from his surprise at the attack, Jack's compact power matched Rhys' physical presence as he inched him back towards the shadowed wall at the bottom of the stairwell. The kiss broke breathlessly, Jack noting a hint of confusion beneath the arousal in Rhys' expression as he was pushed away with firm hands on his shoulders.
"It's okay, I have that effect on people."
"Shut up," Rhys retorted. "It's not always all about you".
"So what is it about then? Tell me. 'Cause if I'm not mistaken your tongue was just inside my mouth." Jack took a half-step closer and reached to run his hand up the inside of Rhys' thigh and across an immodestly sized bulge in his loose jeans. "And something tells me that there's more where that came from."
A guttural groan of response reverberated off the damp stone walls and Jack watched Rhys' jaw slacken. "Fuck." Jack smirked and took another quarter-step, their chests almost touching. "Is this what you want, Rhys Williams?" he whispered. "Is this what you came for? You want me to fuck you?"
Jack was propelled backwards forcefully. "No, I do not want you to fuck me, you arrogant prick,” Rhys snarled. “You've fucked my life up already. You can't expect to fuck me too".
"So what exactly do you want?" Jack asked calmly. "'cause it seems to me that you either want to fuck me or fight me, and I know which one I'd prefer." Spreading his arms wide and low with palms facing up, Jack crooked his fingers and invited him to step closer. "Now you can either hit me, or you can kiss me. Your choice."
In the dim light, Jack watched Rhys' brows knot, the late night quiet punctuated by heavy breaths: one; two; three. The fourth breath poured into Jack's mouth as Rhys pinned him with his full weight to the wall behind him, lips crushed against teeth painfully and tongue following breath to search and explore. They held each other by the biceps, more of a wrestle than an embrace. Jack attempted to seize the upper hand and found himself equaled and bested in the struggle. Jack's chest heaved with the effort, hand slipping down from shoulder height and squeeze Rhys' erection, taking advantage of the stumble and gasp to press him back against the wall once more. "Good choice" Jack panted, kissing him again as his fingers deftly dealt with his fly.
”No!” Rhys breathed hoarsely and abruptly, grasping Jack's wrist to still his progress and looking into his eyes glinting in the low light. “This can't happen.”
“Well you need something” Jack breathed “or else I'll be sending you home with a spinning head, aching balls and one hell of a lot of explaining to do.” He chanced planting another kiss on Rhys' parted lips. Rotating his wrist to free it, he pressed his palm once more against hardness under denim. “You can't tell me you don't want this” Jack murmured, dragging his fingernails against the grain of the coarse fabric along Rhys' length and hearing him groan. “You don't have to do anything” Jack whispered, and dropped to his knees.
The button and zip offered no real resistance and within seconds the waistband was around his thighs, underwear pushed down before he had another chance to argue. Jack looked up to see Rhys' lips start to form a protest as his own parted and took the head of his cock into his mouth. The dull thud of head connecting with stone wall rang in the passageway and Jack paused, looking up to check if he was alright.
“Now you've started, don't you dare fucking stop” Rhys growled and, threading his fingers into Jack's hair, repositioned him where he could push deeper into his mouth. Jack smirked in spite of his mouthful and felt his eyebrow raise just a flicker. I can see why those two are together he thought with amusement. Always best to fight fire with fire.
Centuries of experience and ample time spent in the company of human men had left Jack in no doubt as to his skill in the particular position he had assumed. The technique he employed was less to do with tricks, although he had plenty of those up his sleeve as anyone could attest if they could infer meaning from the nearly constant stream of sound that was ebbing and flowing from Rhys' lips. No, it wasn't the tricks so much as Jack's ability to read people and bend them to his will. Within seconds he knew exactly what would push Rhys to the edge and how much to hold back so it wasn't over too soon. A twirl of Jack's tongue brought another gasp; a squeeze with his thumb and forefinger elicited a groan of frustrated arousal. Jack measured his pace precisely, every movement of his mouth designed to keep him just where he wanted him, coming only when Jack was ready for him to do so.
Within a few desperate minutes, Jack could tell that Rhys was on the edge. A little teasing and some gentle coaxing from Jack's tongue tipped him over and he was coming, coming hard in Jack's mouth, hands holding Jack's head, stilling him and pulling at his hair.
Rhys’ come-down from the high of his orgasm was even faster than Jack had anticipated. Barely a beat passed before Rhys pushed Jack away to fumble with his jeans, tucking in his shirt and trying to make himself look more decent that he clearly felt. Picking himself up from the floor with as much grace as he could muster, Jack stepped forward to offer a reassuring hand. “Guessing you've never done that with a guy before, huh?”
“Fuck”. Rhys spat the word into the dark, looking anywhere but in Jack's direction. “Fuck!” It was the only word he seemed to be able to remember, but it was a start.
“Listen, Rhys...” he began, ducking his head in an attempt to secure eye-contact. “Rhys!” Jack's tone commanded attention, and this time he looked at Jack's face even though he studiously avoided his eye. “We need to get you home. Gwen wasn't planning on staying at the Hub all night and she'll be wondering where you are.”
Jack paused, waiting for Rhys to agree, to contribute, to say something. Nothing.
“We need to...”
“I bet this is just a big game to you, isn't it?” Rhys mumbled, looking at his shoes. “You can't have Gwen. Gwen's stronger than me in a lot of ways. But you still just take what you want, don't you?”
Jack wouldn't usually argue on that point. If he wanted something he usually did take it, but in this case it was opportunity rather than desire and Rhys seemed to have forgotten how this started. “I can tell you for sure that of all the ways tonight could have turned out, that ending was the one I was least expecting.” Jack sighed. “And I don't want to point the finger of blame here, but if I did I don't think I'd be singling myself out. I seem to remember it was you who lunged at me. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I'm not well-known for passing up open invitations.”
“I don't know what happened” Rhys replied sullenly, and Jack felt him shiver under his hand. The night air seemed colder for their stillness. "Can we just forget this ever happened?" he asked in a low voice, still unable meet Jack's eye.
"Well we can certainly act as though this never happened. But I promised your fiancee that you’d keep your memories." He looked at Rhys, shamefaced and flustered, and wished he could take away the guilt without breaking his word. He couldn't.
"All of them."
Pairing: Captain Jack Harkness/Rhys Williams
Wordcount: 3,776
Rating: R
Summary: Rhys suspects something, investigates and gets more than he bargained for.
Warnings: Angst, adultery. Nothing painful or dubious.
Writer's notes: Set in Season 2 sometime between Meat and Something Borrowed. Thanks to
karaokegal for the wonderful, patient and thorough beta job and to silvaa for also giving it the once-over and giving encouragement as ever.Another night; another excuse, blustered by his wayward fiancee as she whirled into her coat like a superhero and cut him off with a kiss before he could tell her he loved her. Painfully aware of the silent audience, Rhys looked sidelong at Jack standing in the doorway with his arms folded, radiating apology and impatience in equal parts before Jack and Gwen broke into a run as they retreated to the SUV.
Alone again on a Friday night. He considered calling someone, going to the pub and getting out of the house but he knew he would be terrible company. Clearing up the abandoned dinner dishes didn't take his mind off things. The television couldn’t distract him either and after staring unfocussed at the screen through two sets of jangling sit-com theme tunes he fired the off button at the set and threw the remote back onto the sofa irritably.
There was only so much of Jack's thinly veiled pity that Rhys could take. Jack tried to treat him with compassion, he could see that, but though he was sure Jack's attempts were sincerely meant, they always felt forced. As far as he could tell, Jack did not see him as an equal, as worthy of the trust Gwen had placed in him by allowing him even the meagre scraps he was tossed about their secret life. The way Jack behaved around Rhys put him in mind of how an adult might talk to a twelve year old who insists on being treated like a grown-up.
This man had taken away part of his life. Sighing, Rhys shook his head. The statement sounded melodramatic, even within the confines of his mind, but it was true. From what he'd gleaned about the others in the team, none of them had any ties: no family or significant other to keep them from doing precisely as they pleased. In enticing Gwen to Torchwood, Jack had not just changed her life, he altered the dynamic of their relationship beyond recognition. Although Rhys had always known that there would be parts of Gwen's job on the Force that she would want to leave behind when she came home, the way she previously glossed over certain parts of her day was nothing compared to the outright duplicity she practised with ease for months, maybe even longer. Somehow he had felt the change before he even consciously knew it had happened.
It wasn’t even just that Jack was keeping Gwen away from him physically with the long hours and the fact that she was always on call for the team. If truth be told, Rhys didn't really know what he suspected Gwen was holding out on telling him. He wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to hear all the weird and wonderful details of their day-to-day freak-show after the tiny snippets he'd seen, but he also wasn't convinced that the bizarre things the team dealt with outside the Hub were the only things that went unspoken. Although Gwen talked about the team as you might expect anyone to talk about a group of workmates with alternating affection and irritation, he was sure he felt a certain charge heat the air when she mentioned Jack's name, even as a throwaway remark. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was or what it might mean, whether it was something obvious or something he couldn’t even imagine. Since he couldn’t define the nature of what he felt excluded from, it was difficult to be precise about how it made him feel other than knowing it was uncomfortable being in the dark and wished he could see clearly.
Aside from the slightly patronising way Rhys thought he was treated by the good Captain, there was something else about how Jack acted that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was even more telling on nights these when he would turn up unannounced at their flat and ask for Gwen by name at the door. The way that Jack held Gwen's name in his mouth made Rhys' stomach lurch. It was almost possessive, like he was reluctant to give it away.
Torn between desperately wanting to know and fear of what he might find out, Rhys paced a rut in the lounge carpet with phone in hand before punching in Jack's number from the scrap of paper pinned to the fridge. Hesitating, he stared at the screen until the backlight went out before stuffing it and his hand into his pocket. What the hell would he say, anyway? As much as he would love to rant at Jack, interrogate him, blame him for everything in his life that had changed so uncomfortably, he knew that whenever they were face to face all the anger seemed to evaporate like morning mist under Jack's calm gaze. That wasn’t the point, he reasoned with himself. He had to try; to ask; to get this out of his system, whatever this was. He needed to understand. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he pressed the call button before he could reconsider...
~*~
Rhys was already more than fashionably late when Jack eventually noticed him through the window. He loitered anxiously at the top of the steps outside the quiet basement bar where Jack had suggested they meet once Torchwood's late night mission was complete, Gwen delivered safely back to the Hub to complete the paperwork. As Jack watched, Rhys bunched his hands into fists and turned several times as if to walk away, his lips moving silently in encouragement or chastisement - Jack couldn't tell which. Swirling the remainder of his drink he watched it settle before draining the glass and considered rescuing Rhys from his apparent inner torment before thinking better of it. Jack had no idea why Rhys had called him or why he might be standing on the pavement trying to talk himself out of running all the way back home without so much as a backwards glance. Truth be told, it was of little consequence to Jack whether he decided to stay or leave. Swiveling on the stool, he flashed a dazzling smile at the bartender and raised his empty glass along with a playful eyebrow. "I'll have another, whisky this time, if you'd be so kind..."
"I'll have what he's having."
Looking to his left, Jack marveled at the speed and stealth Rhys could employ in spite of his broad frame. "And make them large ones" Jack added, addressing the barkeep's back. A smell of alcohol already hung heavy around him; Dutch courage clearly made up the greater part of valour in overcoming whatever reservations he had to make it through the door. With a knowing glance at the bartender, Jack pushed a £50 note across the dark wood of the bar and indicated his desire to take the bottle. He swept up two matching tumblers of whisky with one hand and turned to lead Rhys towards a low, battered brown leather couch next to the open fire in a dimly lit corner of the bar.
They took seats at opposite ends of the couch. With customary ease, Jack threw a casual arm across the vacant cushion between them and turned to rest his ankle on the edge of the seat, pointing his knee towards Rhys who sat ramrod tense and facing forwards just feet away, glaring at his glass. Suddenly, he downed the drink in one. Jack topped up the empty glass liberally, replaced the bottle on the table and settled back in his seat. “Soooo...” he began. “There seems to be an awful lot of liquor in your system and stuff on your mind. And I'm guessing this isn't a purely social call? Why don’t you tell me what this is all about?”
Rhys stared into the glass cupped between his hands. “This is probably going to sound stupid…” He paused and emptied the contents into his mouth, wincing. Topping up the empty glass again in one smooth movement, Jack smiled. “Let me be the judge of that. C’mon, Rhys. You’ve made it this far, it’d be good if you could tell me why we’re here before you pass out and I have to carry you home.”
After taking another second to apparently gather his thoughts Rhys began talking, slowly at first, picking up pace as the momentum took hold of his words. “I want to know what's going on, Jack. In Torchwood. And I don't mean all that alien crap – you can keep that stuff for yourselves. I just want to know what Gwen is keeping from me about that place.”
Jack took a slow sip from his glass as he contemplated all the ways he could respond to that question. It seemed that answering a question with a question was the best policy in this instance. “You're going to have to be a bit more specific” he said. “If you don't want to know about our assignments which, for the record, I wouldn't be able to talk to you about anyway, what exactly are you asking?”
The look on Rhys' face gave Jack a very good idea of what exactly he wanted to ask, but there really was no hurry and he wasn't about to put words into his mouth. “I just want her to be honest with me. Since she's started working with you it's like she's always on her guard...”
“Listen, Rhys” Jack began. “You've seen enough of what we get involved with to know that we deal with some things that would probably make your hair curl. I'm sure she's just trying to protect you from the worst excesses of Torchwood. That's all.”
“Like I said, Jack” Rhys continued. “I don't want to know about aliens. I know all I want to know about that and it's more than I ever really wanted to.” He paused and raised the glass to his lips. “It's more about what goes on in the team that I'm interested in. I mean, when she worked with the Police she talked about her workmates, about what they did outside work, about their families and the usual gossip. She never really talks about anyone in Torchwood. Except you.” Jack found himself fixed with an unwavering stare. “She only ever talks about you”.
“Well, we do work together very closely” Jack smiled. “Can't imagine what she'd have to say if it's not about work, though. I don't really do anything else!”
Rhys' eyes narrowed. “Just how close is 'closely'?”
Realisation dawned on as he saw familiar signs of jealousy and insecurity show themselves in dilated pupils and a red flush that spread across Rhys' already pink cheeks. “Close enough” Jack replied carefully. “Not as closely as you seem to suspect.”
“So you and Gwen... you're not..? I mean, I didn't think she would, but then there's you, and I just thought...”
Jack eased back in the seat and with open arms and knees apart. “No, Rhys. I'm not sleeping with Gwen. Nor have I ever.” He paused. “And even though she's very beautiful, and very passionate, I don't intend to either.” Jack allowed Rhys the last bit for his peace of mind, and inwardly thanked his years of expert trickery or Rhys' inebriated state that allowed him to pull off the last statement without a hint that he'd been caught out in his lie. 'Never have' was easy to say with all conviction. 'Never will'? Well, that was a different matter.
Rhys appeared to sag with relief. This had clearly been troubling him for some time. Jack wondered just what Gwen had been saying at home that made Rhys so anxious about what might be going on between them at work. Suppressing the thought that he really should make better use of the covert surveillance equipment at his disposal, Jack shook himself mentally and focused. “You're a very lucky man” he said, matter-of-factly. “And we're very lucky to have Gwen too.”
“Yes, you bloody well are!” Rhys retorted, looking up at Jack for the first time since the conversation had taken this turn. Rhys still looked a little uneasy, but possibly reassured. His glass stood empty again, but he covered it with his hand when Jack gestured to top it up. “I think I've had enough”.
A glance at his watch told Jack that Gwen would probably be on her way home by now. The assignment he'd asked her to finish would only have taken a couple of hours maximum. “Do you feel any better about things now?” he asked, and following Rhys' lead, finished his drink.
“A bit” Rhys replied. “But do me a favour, yeah?”
Jack shrugged. “I'll try.”
“Next time you come round our flat to steal my girl away in the dead of night, try not to look so pleased with yourself?”
“I'll do what I can” Jack laughed. “What can I say? I love my job!” He stood and scooped up the whiskey bottle from the table. “I promise I won't be round tonight, and by my calculations Gwen should be home about now.” Three long strides carried him across the bar to return the bottle and glasses to the bartender with a wink. Looking back over his shoulder at Rhys still sitting on the sofa, he smiled.
“Shall we?”
Rhys nodded and swayed a little as he stood and walked towards the exit. Jack stole a sideways glance at him as the door swished shut behind them, attempting to read his intentions from his face. The atmosphere wasn't aggressive, it didn't feel like a fight was on the cards, but Jack could feel tension radiating like the waves of alcohol-laced breath that carried on the cool night air. So much alcohol that Rhys stumbled on the bottom steps back up to the pavement, landing bodily against Jack with a grunt of surprise. Jack's hands closed firmly around the tops of his arms, steadying him and squinting a little in the darkness as he looked into his eyes, assessing how capable or otherwise he might be of making it home unaided. The expression that met Jack's gaze was familiar to him, but unexpected. “You alright?” Jack asked, stepping back slightly and letting his hands drop to his sides from Rhys' shoulders.
With a half-stumble, half-lunge, the gap closed between them, Rhys' mouth wet on Jack's. Interesting Jack thought, but never one to pass up an opportunity, parted his lips to allow a tongue, heavy with liquor, to touch his own. Having recovered from his surprise at the attack, Jack's compact power matched Rhys' physical presence as he inched him back towards the shadowed wall at the bottom of the stairwell. The kiss broke breathlessly, Jack noting a hint of confusion beneath the arousal in Rhys' expression as he was pushed away with firm hands on his shoulders.
"It's okay, I have that effect on people."
"Shut up," Rhys retorted. "It's not always all about you".
"So what is it about then? Tell me. 'Cause if I'm not mistaken your tongue was just inside my mouth." Jack took a half-step closer and reached to run his hand up the inside of Rhys' thigh and across an immodestly sized bulge in his loose jeans. "And something tells me that there's more where that came from."
A guttural groan of response reverberated off the damp stone walls and Jack watched Rhys' jaw slacken. "Fuck." Jack smirked and took another quarter-step, their chests almost touching. "Is this what you want, Rhys Williams?" he whispered. "Is this what you came for? You want me to fuck you?"
Jack was propelled backwards forcefully. "No, I do not want you to fuck me, you arrogant prick,” Rhys snarled. “You've fucked my life up already. You can't expect to fuck me too".
"So what exactly do you want?" Jack asked calmly. "'cause it seems to me that you either want to fuck me or fight me, and I know which one I'd prefer." Spreading his arms wide and low with palms facing up, Jack crooked his fingers and invited him to step closer. "Now you can either hit me, or you can kiss me. Your choice."
In the dim light, Jack watched Rhys' brows knot, the late night quiet punctuated by heavy breaths: one; two; three. The fourth breath poured into Jack's mouth as Rhys pinned him with his full weight to the wall behind him, lips crushed against teeth painfully and tongue following breath to search and explore. They held each other by the biceps, more of a wrestle than an embrace. Jack attempted to seize the upper hand and found himself equaled and bested in the struggle. Jack's chest heaved with the effort, hand slipping down from shoulder height and squeeze Rhys' erection, taking advantage of the stumble and gasp to press him back against the wall once more. "Good choice" Jack panted, kissing him again as his fingers deftly dealt with his fly.
”No!” Rhys breathed hoarsely and abruptly, grasping Jack's wrist to still his progress and looking into his eyes glinting in the low light. “This can't happen.”
“Well you need something” Jack breathed “or else I'll be sending you home with a spinning head, aching balls and one hell of a lot of explaining to do.” He chanced planting another kiss on Rhys' parted lips. Rotating his wrist to free it, he pressed his palm once more against hardness under denim. “You can't tell me you don't want this” Jack murmured, dragging his fingernails against the grain of the coarse fabric along Rhys' length and hearing him groan. “You don't have to do anything” Jack whispered, and dropped to his knees.
The button and zip offered no real resistance and within seconds the waistband was around his thighs, underwear pushed down before he had another chance to argue. Jack looked up to see Rhys' lips start to form a protest as his own parted and took the head of his cock into his mouth. The dull thud of head connecting with stone wall rang in the passageway and Jack paused, looking up to check if he was alright.
“Now you've started, don't you dare fucking stop” Rhys growled and, threading his fingers into Jack's hair, repositioned him where he could push deeper into his mouth. Jack smirked in spite of his mouthful and felt his eyebrow raise just a flicker. I can see why those two are together he thought with amusement. Always best to fight fire with fire.
Centuries of experience and ample time spent in the company of human men had left Jack in no doubt as to his skill in the particular position he had assumed. The technique he employed was less to do with tricks, although he had plenty of those up his sleeve as anyone could attest if they could infer meaning from the nearly constant stream of sound that was ebbing and flowing from Rhys' lips. No, it wasn't the tricks so much as Jack's ability to read people and bend them to his will. Within seconds he knew exactly what would push Rhys to the edge and how much to hold back so it wasn't over too soon. A twirl of Jack's tongue brought another gasp; a squeeze with his thumb and forefinger elicited a groan of frustrated arousal. Jack measured his pace precisely, every movement of his mouth designed to keep him just where he wanted him, coming only when Jack was ready for him to do so.
Within a few desperate minutes, Jack could tell that Rhys was on the edge. A little teasing and some gentle coaxing from Jack's tongue tipped him over and he was coming, coming hard in Jack's mouth, hands holding Jack's head, stilling him and pulling at his hair.
Rhys’ come-down from the high of his orgasm was even faster than Jack had anticipated. Barely a beat passed before Rhys pushed Jack away to fumble with his jeans, tucking in his shirt and trying to make himself look more decent that he clearly felt. Picking himself up from the floor with as much grace as he could muster, Jack stepped forward to offer a reassuring hand. “Guessing you've never done that with a guy before, huh?”
“Fuck”. Rhys spat the word into the dark, looking anywhere but in Jack's direction. “Fuck!” It was the only word he seemed to be able to remember, but it was a start.
“Listen, Rhys...” he began, ducking his head in an attempt to secure eye-contact. “Rhys!” Jack's tone commanded attention, and this time he looked at Jack's face even though he studiously avoided his eye. “We need to get you home. Gwen wasn't planning on staying at the Hub all night and she'll be wondering where you are.”
Jack paused, waiting for Rhys to agree, to contribute, to say something. Nothing.
“We need to...”
“I bet this is just a big game to you, isn't it?” Rhys mumbled, looking at his shoes. “You can't have Gwen. Gwen's stronger than me in a lot of ways. But you still just take what you want, don't you?”
Jack wouldn't usually argue on that point. If he wanted something he usually did take it, but in this case it was opportunity rather than desire and Rhys seemed to have forgotten how this started. “I can tell you for sure that of all the ways tonight could have turned out, that ending was the one I was least expecting.” Jack sighed. “And I don't want to point the finger of blame here, but if I did I don't think I'd be singling myself out. I seem to remember it was you who lunged at me. Not that I'm complaining. I mean, I'm not well-known for passing up open invitations.”
“I don't know what happened” Rhys replied sullenly, and Jack felt him shiver under his hand. The night air seemed colder for their stillness. "Can we just forget this ever happened?" he asked in a low voice, still unable meet Jack's eye.
"Well we can certainly act as though this never happened. But I promised your fiancee that you’d keep your memories." He looked at Rhys, shamefaced and flustered, and wished he could take away the guilt without breaking his word. He couldn't.
"All of them."
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Date: 2009-09-07 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-09 04:06 pm (UTC)