RP for mrsharker

[quitehomoerotic]

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.

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[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

She remembers that look in his eyes. She remembers it so very, very vividly. Remembers that it often led to him chasing her through the house, or even sometimes, through the Stacks in the middle of a late-night research session. She remembers his hand over her mouth, keeping her quiet when it was to the back of the Stacks he'd chased her. But she remembers that look, perhaps, most of all.

(And if there were any true regret at yielding to his wishes to see him, it dies in that instant, smoldering under the heat of those blue eyes.)

"Well, if that's the case, what's the excuse for your eternal hold on me, Jack?" Mina asks. She runs her hands through her hair again, brushing his fingers tenderly, and plucking out the remaining hairpins. She reclines, leaning backwards to set the pins down on the little bedside table.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

As Jack watches her, it's as if he's in a daydream. His mind focused and distant all at once. He sees her and sees memories of her. Of her standing in front of him in their home, dressed in silk and lace.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, smiling slowly, "were you saying something?"

He laughs a little, and a blush rises to his cheeks. For a fleeting moment he looks almost bashful. A look that most would call alien on his features.

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"Nothing important," Mina murmurs affectionately, leaning up on her elbows, enjoying the lazy recline a little much. "Come here," she says, leaning up on the pillows and stretching out her legs, black lace stockings vividly dark against the pale sheets.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack glances down the length of her leg, catching the sight of her stockings as he legs peek out from under her dress. Almost inviting, he thinks. His gaze flicks back to her face and he nods, brief, but there. Before he moves though he shifts his attention down, removing his shoes in silence. It's almost awkward, the silence, it would be were it anyone else, but not here.

When he's done he looks back to her and rests his hand on her leg. Slowly, he moves his body along the bed, making his way over to her, lowering himself beside her. As he goes his hand slides up her leg, coming to rest at her hip. His face just a breath from hers. "I'm here."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

It doesn't occur to her to think of the silence as awkward. Not even a little. Sometimes, there are just no words necessary. Her invitation had initially been (mostly) a simple this-is-more-comfortable, come-here-and-hold-me offer. His hand on her leg, on the other hand, makes her shiver.

It occurs to her then, suddenly, that he's never seen her in a short skirt before. That her legs were almost always hidden behind long skirts, layers upon layers of petticoats, thick woolen stockings and her drawers. It seems almost obscene, in a way that short skirts haven't since the 1920's. She blushes, just a little, and touches his cheek. "Here you are."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack settles himself comfortably next to her, lying on his side with his head rested on his palm, propped up on his elbow. He glances up and down her body, seemingly unable to keep his eyes off her. His hand falls against her stomach, resting in a way that while hardly sexual, is incredibly intimate. It dawns on him too now, how astounding it is to see her dressed like this. In a manner that back when he knew her, would have only been confined to his most naughty dreams. Never reality.

"I'm so glad you're here." He whispers. "I'll spend tomorrow with you. Every moment before you have to leave again." Torchwood can wait. He can sort that.

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"That's right," Mina remembers, "I said I would call Rupert and tell him I'm going to be here a few more days. He and Thomas can take care of London for a little longer, keep an eye on the house." She tucks the thought away for the morning, although she's not quite sure what she's going to tell Galvin.

"I'm glad I'm here, too, my love. I wouldn't trade this for anything in the world."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack frowns for a moment, and his grip on her stomach becomes barely perceptibly firmer. "Who is this Rupert guy anyway? Why's he so important?" It's a rather juvenile reaction, but he can't help it. It's instinct. Possessive again, just as he was before but now without the anger and heat.

He turns a little, so he looms over her a little more than before. His hand moving from her stomach, a little higher. "You don't need to justify yourself to him, do you?"

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Actually, Mina frequently felt the need to justify herself to Rupert. It was something she appreciated in their friendship -- that he had become a genuinely close and personal friend, someone to keep her on the rails because there was someone she was afraid to let down.

"What's this?" she murmurs, tracing that much-discussed jaw with her fingertips. It's a non-answer. Soothing. Sweet. Loving the looming.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"What's what?" He whispers back, attempting innocence, but his voice falling lower, closer to one he used earlier. One he knows she liked.

His hand slides all over her waist, across her stomach, along her side, claiming every inch. He can feel the shape of the corset underneath and even that is alluring. So much more than modern underwear, he thinks. So strange a man from the future, in so many ways stuck in the past.

"Do you have -any- idea how you look to me right now?" He all but purrs. "You know I used to have this dream about you. Didn't think I'd see it in reality."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

He's as mercurial as ever, Mina thinks, surprised by the rapid switch from near-petulance to seductive. She arches into his hands, shifting gently, the better to allow him unobstructed access. She can't help but feel horribly old fashioned and fusty in her corselet as he runs his hands over it, imagining his modern lover in the brief, primary-coloured scraps of polyester that pass for underwear nowadays.

"What dream is that, my love?"

It's his voice. It's almost always his voice that drives her absolutely wild. Always was his voice that coaxed her into naughty, forbidden sorts of behaviors that she would, of course, enjoy for all that even thinking about them to this day made her blush.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'd dream of you in things like this." He grins a little, wicked, as he gazes back up at her. "I'd dream of watching you remove your dress and then of walking in and removing your undergarments. I'd dream of so many things. You dressed in wicked little clothes that wouldn't exist for decades to come. And what was best? Was that you were -mine-"

The last word is a firm growl, proof that no he hasn't dropped that, and he'll have her remember it. He moves his hand to the bare skin displayed where the blouse top of her dress comes together above her chest. His finger trailing up and along. Across her neck and throat. He remembers what he said earlier and it fills him with a moment of anger. He doesn't act on it, but it flashes in his eyes as he lets his hands run over her skin, re-learning every inch.

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Of course, she thinks: you're a time-traveler. A fact he had shared earlier, finally making sense in the details -- both the fantasy he's admitting to, and the slightly-archaic turn of phrase in 'undergarments'. He's as much of an anachronism as she, dressed in his forties idol glamour and still displaying the possessiveness of an old-fashioned husband.

"I've had one other man in my bed since you," she whispers softly. (When she said there had been no one else, she meant it. Jon hadn't quite fully gotten into her heart by the time that Wolf politics necessitated their parting. And he had been the only one to come close. To share her bed.) "I'm still yours."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I don't want to hear about anyone else in your bed." Jack growls, a little throaty. He's aroused and it heightens his emotion, heightens his reaction. "Or of anyone else taking anything from you that's not theirs to take. You hear me, Mrs Harker?" An even more blatant use of her surname than the time he used it prior.

His fingers run along her decolletage, a feather light touch. He whispers down low. "You're an interesting woman, you know that? You never stop amazing me."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Their bed, she remembers suddenly. It's still the heavy oak four poster bed he had built especially for their townhouse. Oh, the mattress has changed many times in the intervening ninety years, and the sheets more often than that, but it was still their bed.

His rough voice and deeply territorial language leave her a little breathless and she lowers her lashes coyly in response to his demands. "Yes, sir," she murmurs. "I'll do my very best to never stop doing that." She's deeply curious, though, as to what in particular has him so amazed, but it would be immodest to ask, so she doesn't.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

It's as though he can't take it any more. Without warning Jack kisses her. Suddenly lowering himself down until he's leaning right over her, his lips pressed hard against hers.

"I could watch you forever," he whispers against her lips.

"You drive me mad and I love it."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"It's really quite mutual, I assure you," she breathes, caught off-guard by the sudden kiss. Mina wraps her arms around his neck -- she'd wrap her legs around him, too, bold and daring, but for her tight little skirt.

She can feel the warmth of his body so very close to her. Her eyes dart down to the fluttering jugular vein, the perfect spot just in shadow right below that chiseled jaw...

No. She re-focuses her attention on his lips, kissing, nibbling, enjoying his closeness. Enjoying feeling so very wanted. Enjoying, most of all, the fact that it's him.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack moves right back into the kiss, hungry as it is. He lets out almost obscene little noises against her lips. Nothing he'd have ever warranted himself so easily in their past life. So much more free now, much more ready to let himself go. He grips his hand at her waist, holding tight into the fabric of her clothes. Controlling and domineering.

He wants to prompt a little of her dominant side too. The one he saw before. Always liking that in a partner. Jack always does such a good show of being on top. Of being the leader. He likes it when that's challenged. So he whispers something provocative, something to get a reaction. "Mina, I want to lick my tongue over every inch of your skin."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

He's a very different man in so very many ways -- and still, somehow, utterly her Jonathan. A logical sort of progression, if one is willing to overlook the lack of that Scottish burr in his voice. She misses it, faintly, just like the whiskers that are no longer there to rasp against her skin. She's sure that she's as peculiar to him as he is to her.

His fingers dig the boning of her corselet into her ribs and she squirms a little beneath him before going quite still at his words. Her eyes widen like saucers. No, like dinner plates.

"Jack!" she breathes, halfway between shocked and titillated.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack laughs. A warm, naughty little laugh under his breath. "What?" He smirks, ghosting the words against her lips. "Are you surprised?"

"Would you prefer I stay quiet and passive? No. No I already know the answer to that. You've got fire in your soul, Mina. We both have."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"I'm still not going to bite you," she retorts, nuzzling his neck regardless. He smells wonderful, a very old fashioned men's cologne intermingling with the scent of his skin and some other things she can't place. He smells like home.

"And 'quiet' was never your style. Why start now?"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack smirks a little at that, his eyes glancing down to her with a laugh playing on his lips. He shakes his head a little and laughs. "Don't worry. I'm not about to."

He considers for a moment and then leans in, whispers low. "And by the way. I don't believe you."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"Don't start that again," Mina scolds, tracing the line of his jugular with the tip of her tongue.

She can feel the racing of his heart, a drumbeat under her mouth. It's very alluring.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Who's starting?" Jack asks, seemingly genuinely intrigued.

A whisper again. "I'm finishing."

The cool damp of her tongue sends a shiver down his spine, and his eyes flutter closed. It feels good, very good. He could so easily lose himself here.

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

She presses her knee up between his legs, smiling privately at the feel of him pressing back against her. "Apparently, not just yet you're not," she retorts, vaguely filthy and smiling against his throat.

A tiny little nip, that's all it is. The flats of her front teeth. Innocent, human teeth. Harder than she might've otherwise -- just over that vein.