Captain Jack Harkness (
quitehomoerotic) wrote2009-04-24 01:52 am
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Entry tags:
RP for
mrsharker
It's early evening and in the half light the Bay has a comfortable quiet. Jack sent the team off to have a little social time. They've all worked so hard lately and they could do with it. He went for a walk, somewhere with a high roof and a vantage point for him to look over the city.
He's back on his way home now, taking a slow stroll down Lloyd George Avenue and back towards Butetown and the Bay. Outside the Millennium centre are couples and people milling around, all preparing for an evening of entertainment. It makes Jack smile as he seems them all, all safe in this city he loves so much.
On his way across the Plass he takes a slight de-tour to one of the poster boards, to take a look at just what these people are waiting to see. The sight before him though is not one he expects, and one he's far from prepared for.
The face is familiar, oh so familiar, and his breath gets caught in his chest, taking him a moment or two to realise he isn't breathing at all.
"It can't be," he whispers, but there's nobody there to listen.
Jack's eyes are swimming and he's glued to the spot. This can't be right, he's sure this can't be right. Just an odd co-incidence. Someone who happens to look similar. It has to be. It can't be her.
But it doesn't hurt to make sure. So instead of back to the Hub, Jack heads into the Millennium center and with the aid of the word 'Torchwood', he goes backstage.
He's back on his way home now, taking a slow stroll down Lloyd George Avenue and back towards Butetown and the Bay. Outside the Millennium centre are couples and people milling around, all preparing for an evening of entertainment. It makes Jack smile as he seems them all, all safe in this city he loves so much.
On his way across the Plass he takes a slight de-tour to one of the poster boards, to take a look at just what these people are waiting to see. The sight before him though is not one he expects, and one he's far from prepared for.
The face is familiar, oh so familiar, and his breath gets caught in his chest, taking him a moment or two to realise he isn't breathing at all.
"It can't be," he whispers, but there's nobody there to listen.
Jack's eyes are swimming and he's glued to the spot. This can't be right, he's sure this can't be right. Just an odd co-incidence. Someone who happens to look similar. It has to be. It can't be her.
But it doesn't hurt to make sure. So instead of back to the Hub, Jack heads into the Millennium center and with the aid of the word 'Torchwood', he goes backstage.
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His voice turns south. A sultry almost evil sounding whisper. "So what do you want, Mina Harker? What are you trying to get from me?"
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It's intoxicating to keep herself poised on the very edge of her extremely precarious control like this -- to take whatever he's throwing at her and not retaliate, not because she can't but because she chooses not to. Because she chooses to watch him take the reins. Because he's her husband, and she was always a good wife, loving and tender and submissive to his will.
"Could you, really?" she smiles, realising that she has no answer for his question and isn't ready to give him her silence just yet.
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He tests her just a little, his thumb pressing down against her throat, just slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be felt. He can feel her blood racing underneath, and that too spurs him on. She likes this, he thinks. She's enjoying it. And maybe, maybe he can admit that he is too.
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Yes, she absolutely likes this side of him. She likes the danger. And on some level, she likes the fact that he might just be able to handle her vampire side.
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But he doesn't want to, not to her. Not unless it's completely necessary.
"Push me all you like," he grits out. "But I'll never hurt you. Never."
The hand on her stomach rises though. A move that's utterly sexual. Follows the line of the corsetry beneath, coming to rest over her breast, just holding there. The other hand still poised on her neck.
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She arches into his touch, though, feline and sensuous.
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"If I need to stop you, then I'll be here to do that. But until then I'm not harming a hair on your head." His voice softens too, matches the tone in hers.
And then an almost warning. "Just trust me. I could."
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"Do you promise?" Mina murmurs, and finally lowers her hands from the position he'd held them pinned before. She strokes her fingertips across his cheek.
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And gently. "I'll protect you from yourself. When I have to. Not until then."
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She doesn't expect that. Doesn't really know how to handle it: she's been alone a long time now. But it's good to know that there's someone out there who might be capable of stopping her forcibly if she required stopping.
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"Just me and you here, okay?" He whispers. Ever so gently referencing he pre-mentioned lover. "We deserve tonight."
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"I -- I apologize for my earlier behavior. It was uncalled for."
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He shifts over with her, reaching for her hand, shaking his head as he sits.
"Don't. I prompted it. If anything it's my fault for asking you to see me. I shouldn't have reacted to it. But I did. There's no blame here."
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It doesn't stop her from clasping his hand in her own, or from leaning against him. She's feeling every one of her one hundred and fifty years.
"How old are you?" Mina asks, seemingly from nowhere.
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"You were more than twice my age when we got married? You old perv!"
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"But hey, I looked good for my age, right?" He grins. "And I still do."
He looks down a little, wondering if the following is too close to the bone, but risks it anyway, better to be open than closed. "And anyway, count yourself lucky, that's a pretty small gap compared to the one I've got now."
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It is close to the bone and faintly painful, but Mina carries it off with a graceful nod and an attempt at wry humour: "A mere what, five or six and twenty years between us? Shockingly little compared to whatever little trollop you're making time with."
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The air with which she holds herself just makes him respect her more. It can't be comfortable conversation. But then it's best not avoided too. "Hey now! Less of the trollop. I don't do trollop. You should know that." Up to now, Jack's been very careful not to use a pronoun. Not quite sure of how she'd take that.
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"This is more me. Mina. This is how I look."
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Relaxing a little, she plucks those gorgeous five-and-a-half-inch heels off and sets them down beside the bed, tucking her small feet up beside her.
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Jack grins and elbows her gently, just teasing. He turns to her a little and reaches a hand up to her hair, draping it over her shoulders.
"I always loved how this falls against your neck. I remember watching you when you'd get ready if we had an evening out. You'd set your hair and I'd be transfixed. You were my world."
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