Torchwood is the property of BBC and Russell Davies. This work of fiction is mine alone and has no bearing on the characters or the actors who portray the characters. Please don't read this story if you are not of age, or if you have a problem with sex between men.
If you have any other comments or suggestions, drop me a line.
Start:
The medical center at the Torchwood Hub rarely had the same buzz of activity and life (or, more recently, unlife) it had had with Owen Harper in charge, but Jack Harkness still knew his way around rudimentary medical technology.
The tall, strapping Jack, his matinee idol showing a few hints of aging around his eyes and a few hints of gray in his short brown hair, currently had a firm grip on the wrist of Captain John Hart.
"Always highly prized for my wrist action," John grimaced-smiled as he felt a few stabs of pain. He was bottle blonde to Jack's brown, lean to Jack's beefy. They'd shared a lot of years - and beds - together while working in the time police, and if Jack was being honest with himself, as crazy as John was, he was still glad to have him back.
"Almost done," Jack soothed as he removed the bandage. John winced, more from reflex than genuine pain, and looked at his wrist with trepidation.
"It's as good as new," John grinned, his brown eyes lighting up. "It's bloody brilliant!"
The Hub's skin-regenerating capabilities had come through.
Jack nodded, not quite as happy. The extensive scarring had come from a lunatic (who just happened to be Jack's long-lost brother) forcing an explosive device on John's wrist unless he'd helped him break into the Hub and cause chaos that had helped kill Torchwood team members Owen and Tosh. The device had been yanked off when the mission was accomplished.
"Oh. Sorry." John suddenly remembered, his eyes dimming as he furiously blinked away the start of tears.
Jack vigorously shook his head.
"No, John. I didn't mean..."
John's eyes went cold and dark again, betraying no hint of remorse. Remorse was weakness and John hated weakness more than anything else.
"Look at these two marks right here. Almost like vampire bites. I love vampires, don't you?"
Jack wasn't in a laughing mood. He put his large hands on John's tense shoulders.
"We can talk if..."
He was met with a vicious backhand.
"I don't do 'talking'," John spat out, shoving Jack away from him. "Don't try to get into my head. I'm not like fucking eye candy Ianto!"
An incensed Jack shoved John against a wall.
"What do you want, John? A fight? Don't you ever grow up? I care about you, dammit! Why does that frighten you so much?"
As John struggled to free himself from Jack's strong arms, the pale man's nostrils flared and his skin reddened from fury and arousal. His big dick, already prominent enough in his painted-on black jeans, rubbed against Jack's dark trousers.
Jack groaned, and pressed his mouth onto John's. John pulled his head away, scared by the sincerity and warmth in Jack's eyes.
"It's OK, John," Jack whispered, reaching up to push John's military jacket off his shoulders.
John whimpered as Jack recaptured his mouth. Most of the time their sexual encounters had been violent, furious. That was all that John had allowed, and Jack had seemed to need it almost as much. This seemed so different.
John allowed Jack to lift his white T-shirt over his head. Jack ran his fingers over the milky white, almost obsessively sculpted pectorals and six-pack abs.
John was less cautious, and ripped open Jack's blue shirt, buttons echoing across the metallic surfaces as they bounced. His sweaty hands dove into Jack's trousers, shoving them down around his ankles. Since Jack never wore underwear, his thick 8 inches slapped against his flat belly.
"You don't waste much time, Hart," Jack grinned. "I like that."
Jack held John's thinner but still sizable 7 inches in his hand, his other hand stretching the foreskin on his own weapon. He slipped his skin over John's cockhead.
John gritted his teeth, knees locking up from the blinding pleasure.
"I hate when you do that..."
Jack shrugged.
"I can stop if you..."
"NO NO NO NO NO..." John seethed, his hands keeping Jack's hips in place.
"I'll take that as a yes," Jack grinned, before John pulled him into a kiss. They had the usual teeth and anger, but more tenderness this time. More honest affection, more vulnerability.
"It's been so long, Jack..." John panted into Jack's ears. "Not just with you. With anyone. I..."
He cursed under his breath as he shot his load inside the dock Jack had formed with their shafts.
Just as they began to pull apart, John started to milk Jack's rock hard shaft, using his own cum to coat Jack's monster for easier release.
"Oh God...oh God..." Jack cried. He'd forgotten how good John's hands were. So soft, belying all the carnage he'd seen and caused.
As he was near his ejaculation, Ianto, his sort-of boyfriend, walked into the Hub.
Both their eyes went wide. Meanwhile, John could only laugh.
"Sorry, eye candy, your services weren't needed today."
He continued milking Jack, even as Jack feebly attempted to push him away.
"Ianto...I'm so sorry, I...fuuuuuckkkkk..."
He came all over John's stomach, hand, and thigh.
"I can sense how devastated you are," Ianto deadpanned, desperate to hide the trace of heartbreak in his voice.
He walked out of the Hub, Jack racing after him and pulling his pants up, as John merely chuckled and licked the semen dripping from his hand. He was going to like this place.