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.

Comments

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"We do." Jack nods, utterly sure of it. "It doesn't matter what we are, but what we do. What we make of what we've got. That's what we should be proud of."

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."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Well, yes. He has a very large, extremely pointy point there. Not that she'd ever say it out loud. But she quite agrees. Quite.

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.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"How old am I?" Jack repeats, not expecting the question. He shrugs a little and looks back to her. "I try not to think about it. About..." he trails, looking thoughtful. "About a hundred and seventy, seventy five. Something like that, give or take a few years, I guess."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Her first thought is oh, so not too much older than I am, which is swiftly tempered by her ability to do arithmetic.

"You were more than twice my age when we got married? You old perv!"

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack laughs at that. He knows not to take it really seriously. She of all people can understand how years and age start to mean less and less.

"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."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

She glances at him sidelong, half-laughing at the look on his face, half pretending to be coolly assessing him. "Oh, not too terrible. I rather miss the facial hair, though, I do confess."

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."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Hides the jawline." Jack says, deadpan and serious. "And I just can't have that." He grins, smiling at her privately.

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.

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"It is a good jaw," Mina acknowledges, tracing her fingertips coolly, still unsure of quite where he's taking mention of his latest love. "I rather thought the facial hair accentuated it, but I shall confess that less bristly kisses are somewhat preferable."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

Jack gives her a wry look out the corner of his eye. "I know. I used to be a poster boy you know." He laughs warmly.

"This is more me. Mina. This is how I look."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

"And you're very handsome either way."

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.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"Glad to hear you approve."

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."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Mina's smile is impossibly tender; she ducks her head, still a little bashful after all these years. "You were mine." You and our son.

She glances up at him through her lashes, a faintly impish edge tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I used to love that you'd watch me. Oh, I'd pretend not to notice, but it was... it was always wonderful to feel your eyes like that. I could have done my hair in half the time it always took, but I liked to take my time. To bask in your gaze."

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

"I'm glad you did," he whispers as he stares at her as though she's a mirage before him.

"It was erotic, you know. The way you'd twist your hair and pin it back with that clip you had. The way you'd show the skin at the back of your neck and the line of your shoulders. All of it. It had me enthralled. And trust me, for me? That's saying a lot."

[mrsharker.livejournal.com]

Just because she can, because he likes it so very much, she runs her hands through her hair, letting the chestnut waves spill against the red of her blouse-necked dress. It's not quite the pallor of her skin, or the soft cream of her petticoats and corsets, but it's a deeply tender, utterly flirtatious gesture.

(They'd never stopped flirting once they were married, never stopped taking the time to hold hands or kiss. She remembers Doctor van Helsing being gruffly amused at them more than once.)

"I promise I wasn't hypnotizing you," Mina teases softly.

[quitehomoerotic.livejournal.com]

He watches her and now, even now after all those years, he finds himself just as intoxicated as the very first time he laid eyes on her.

His hand shifts up and rests on her back, on the red silk at the top of her dress, the tips of his fingers upturned into her hair.

"Oh I think you were. I think you still are." Jack responds. His gaze, on first glance, appears soft. But in his eyes there's fire and heat, just waiting to explode.

[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."