Please don’t mind the pterodactyl and try some of Ianto’s coffee while we take a brief tour of Torchwood-Three.
You only have visitor clearance. This means you are limited to certain areas of the Hub and there are some features you can't use.
Our game is currently invitation only, however we welcome visitors - retcon is optional!
Join our community!
If you're already a member please log in to your account to access all of our features:
|Need; Andy and Owen's altered memories. (Adam)|
|Topic Started: Sep 6 2009, 03:42 PM (234 Views)|
|Owen Harper||Sep 6 2009, 03:42 PM Post #1|
Jack hadn’t been best pleased about the Axelmalin transfer, and their reaction to Jack’s initial suggestion that they could work in separate parts of the Hub to help them individuate again had elicited identical expressions of shock. Still, it was a convenient smoke screen for the way Ianto had played conduit to get Jack back into his own body. Andy knew his unease at that omission was more complex for being two-fold; the Retcon issue, and how it played into the present moment distressed him even more. He and Owen had formulated it together, worked side-by-side even though the idea of using it made both their gorges rise.
He waited for the door to close behind Jack before he turned Owen’s way. “You alright?”
Owen felt -- empty. Pearl had promised, more than anything else, that he wouldn't be alone again. But she was gone, Andy had thrown himself into the ring instead, and the idea of having to part from that, again, gnawed at him.
"Fuck no," he said at last, with a weak chuckle. His voice sounded different, Welsh pronunciation creeping in. But he kept thinking there should be more. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. "Hell, whatever Jack did to get us back, I don't ever want to have to do again. I'll take the cryos next time, thanks."
The room was too small.
"Ninety years in a box," Andy scoffed quietly. The thought of it was almost enough to invoke panic. Alone in the dark, alone for years, not again, not like the Dark... He moved nearer to Owen almost out of reflex. "Not exactly my idea of a good time, even if I thought they'd have let us. Not that Mr. Toad's Wild Ride was much better. This wrist is bad enough."
"It's not like you're awake for it," Owen reminded him. "Like that better than not being able to fucking breathe." He couldn't remember much, but he could remember that, not being able to breathe.
Andy gave Owen a conspiratorial grin. "The lead-in was pretty alright, though. You seemed to enjoy it, at least." Much as this sort of thing should feel alien, he felt more inclined to congratulate him. That kiss had been bloody hot.
Owen frowned. "What? There wasn't any lead-in. What're you talking about?"
Andy blinked. His furrow and frown at being caught out was a near mirror to Owen's. "You don't remember?" he said, and felt his earlier panic bleeding into a new sort of worry that somehow he could know something that Owen didn't. He reached out as Jack had reached out to touch Owen's face just along the hairline before he cupped Owen's face lightly. "He kissed you. He kissed all of us."
Owen stared at Andy. His hand against his face was soft but warm, and he remembered the way it had burned when Andy had grabbed his ankle. The way it had felt to grab his ankle. "I think --" he stopped, licking his lips. "I think I'd remember that. You're having me on."
"I'm not. I wouldn't," Andy said, and stole a glance Ianto's way to check that he was still asleep before he wet his lips a little. Owen hadn't pushed him away, which made him nervous, but not so nervous he didn't risk getting closer. "I can show you if you want. So you remember."
Andy's adamant insistence that he wouldn't lie sent a wave of -- something -- through Owen. It wasn't like he could read Andy's thoughts — he couldn't, wished he could, he was still too alone — but he recognized the insistence, knew the mind behind it, and he believed him.
"Yeah," he said, moving closer as well. He put a hand on Andy's chest. "Show me."
Owen's hand was warm even through the fabric of Andy's t-shirt. He imagined that Owen could feel the ache beneath it, and for all he knew, maybe Owen could. The brush of breath when Owen spoke bolstered his courage even as he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Owen's. Not alone now. Never alone, he thought fervently as he reached down to touch Owen's hip as Jack had. This was novel and new, but he owed Owen the little cues in hopes that they would spark some memory.
And plus... well. Hadn't he always wanted someone who knew him, that he wouldn't have to explain it all to?
Up close, Owen could smell Andy, familiar and right, all his senses reaching out to find those nuances that he'd been missing ever since he'd woken up in a bed of straw, ninety years ago. The hand on his hip and the lips against his weren't enough, he wanted to crawl inside him, never leave. Owen fisted his hand in Andy's shirt and tugged him down to deepen the kiss, tongue lapping against teeth, pressing and seeking.
Mine mine mine, he thought, but it wasn't possessive. It just ... was.
This was more like the second kiss than the first, but accuracy as a concept was suddenly less appealing. Owen clung to him and Andy used his grip on Owen's hip to guide him further onto the bed. He broke the kiss only by accident, managed to gasp a quick "I want --" but didn't finish his sentence before his mouth met Owen's again. Andy dropped his hand from Owen's cheek so that he could touch the rest of him: throat and chest, belly, hip, thigh. All of it was familiar, all of it was new. He slid a leg in between Owen's and pushed him down onto his back.
Owen let Andy push him down, pulling him along before yanking Andy's tee up. Not enough to break the kiss, he couldn't, almost afraid to stop. But he needed his hands on skin, that skin. He could feel Andy's ribs expanding and contracting as he breathed, traced the line of his vertebrae as they shifted. His hands slid down again over warm skin, past the flat of his back to rest at the top of the curve of his arse, hips shifting in restless circles against Andy's thigh.
Part of him wanted to ask what the hell he thought he was doing, and another part was trying to ask why, but all of him wanted. Andy was here and he wasn't alone. He groaned low in his throat, the noise half arousal, half pleading. He kissed harder, tugging at Andy's lip.
Andy gloried a little at the sound Owen made. He wasn't sure he cared whether or not that feeling was one he'd have had on his own before. Instead he put his own hand up under Owen's shirt as he pressed his growing hard-on into Owen's hip. It was sex, but not just sex. That wasn't like this. He hadn't expected to be turned on by a man he could remember being, or being more or less indifferent to (and that was on the good days). He'd just wanted to be nearer.
Not much nearer than this, he thought, and chuckled into Owen's mouth as his fingertips found one of Owen's nipples.
He wondered what the rest of Owen tasted like.
Owen gasped, breaking away at last. "More," he demanded, breathless, before leaning back in to mouth along Andy's throat, trailing along the tendons and suckling at his pulse point, feeling its thundering beat under his tongue, trying to absorb it, match it. He knew his own heart was racing, but he was too wrapped up in Andy to tell if they were in sync, and he didn't want to break away and find out he was wrong.
He squeezed Andy's arse again and slid one hand between himself and Andy, gliding over the sleek hipbone to wrap around Andy's cock. It was familiar but not, but he knew what Andy liked best and he knew what Andy hadn't tried, he knew just what he wanted to do.
Andy was all too happy to bare his throat to Owen while he toyed with the hard nub of Owen's nipple. He groaned, eager when Owen's hand gripped his cock. "You're wearing too many clothes," Andy told him, and pulled at Owen's shirt. He wanted to feel everything.
"Heh. You too," Owen said, too pleased at their parallel trains of thought as they sat up. He let Andy tug his shirt over his head, then promptly dove back in, pressing his mouth to Andy's as he loosened his trousers and pushed them down past his hips. Hands on Andy's torso again -- smooth muscle and more hair than he was used to, but it'd always been there -- he reversed their positions as he pushed Andy down again.
His tongue traced a circle around Andy's belly button, and he worked his way up in a meandering path, exploration more like rediscovery. He was spread out above Andy, skin to skin the entire length of their bodies, and it was good, so good.
Andy fought his way out of his jeans and kicked them off onto the floor. God, this was mad. Glorious and mad. He let himself be pushed down onto his back and watched, breathless, as Owen mouthed a path down his body. He reached out to touch Owen and let out a groan of frustration when the trail reversed itself and Owen came closer into reach. It was obscene, the way those lips felt on his skin, partly because he knew what it felt like to do those things. Andy scratched lightly up along Owen's ribcage, then slid his hands down to squeeze at Owen's hips and pull him closer. Teasing, Andy nuzzled along Owen's collar bone and licked lightly over the pulse in his throat.
Owen rocked his hips eagerly against Andy's, hard as anything, but this wasn't about getting off. He reached up to tweak a nipple slightly, twisting and teasing before soothing over with his tongue. He ran a hand through Andy's hair, cupping the back of his skull and pressing him closer as Andy's breath played over his throat.
Andy bit lightly, just at the base of Owen's throat, then kissed at the dents his teeth had left. The familiarity (and the difference) in the pattern of his teeth on skin made his head swim. His edges felt blurred and ill-defined, like his selfhood had shattered open and he was rubbing up against his own skin. Overwhelmed, he clung tighter and bit again, slightly harder, on Owen's shoulder.
Owen gasped at the feel of Andy's teeth against his skin. He wanted, so badly -- He could hardly keep a thought in his head as he opened up, hands clutching at whatever skin he could reach, mouth trailing along the curve of Andy's neck. "Please --" he managed, breathless. "You --"
Andy wedged a hand in past their hips and between Owen's legs to cup his balls and squeeze as he licked over the newer bite mark. From there he let his fingertips glide up feather-light from the base of Owen's cock to its tip before he took it in hand and stroked it in time with, well, he wasn't sure anymore. Who he was, who wanted what, which of them was which had ceased entirely to matter. Their bodies were only half the story now, but this was like the perfect whole of it, the ideal expression. Andy buried his face in the crook of Owen's neck and murmured soft nonsense. This. This. Only and ever this.
Owen was so close, right on the edge of -- something. His senses were wrapped up in Andy until he couldn't think of anything else, and that was exactly how it needed to be. His own hand snaked down to stroke Andy's cock, mirroring his motions, and yes, that was exactly it, indistinguishable and the same, who was who didn't matter, was gone. He turned his own head, lips just brushing against Andy's ear, muttering affirmatives and imprecations to every word he spoke. He was here.
Andy's breaths came in short gasps. The sense that they'd completed a circuit nudged him nearer to the point of no return. His balls were tight and his stomach tensed as he thrust in time with Owen's strokes, which were his own as well. He felt the way Owen's muscles had grown taut, and he could taste their sweat mingled on the skin of Owen's neck and shoulder when he kissed and bit at it.
Andy was trembling in his hands, energy and need pouring like an electric current into Owen, connecting the two of them, and he gave it right back. The scent of his arousal was thick, indistinguishable from his own as Owen breathed it in. Andy's mouth against his skin made him jerk and rock harder, and Andy matched him, move for move. Owen groaned and traced his own teeth over the delicate skin above the carotid artery, needing to press closer.
Andy imagined for a second that he could feel the sharpness of teeth on his own neck before he came in Owen's fist, trembling. He made a sound that could have been a word, though he couldn't say if he'd tried to say 'yours' or 'mine.' He clung to Owen and frantically sought his mouth to kiss again.
Owen pumped harder, needing all of it. "Yes, yes," he whispered, opening his mouth for Andy, wanting to give him everything. "Everything --" he managed, before his own climax hit him, and there was nothing else, nothing else but Andy.
Andy panted, forehead pressed to Owen, spent but unwilling to disentangle himself. After a minute he reached for the sheet to clean his hand. He was filthy with sweat and his belly was sticky with his and Owen's come, but he wasn't ready to let go. He imagined that an older version of him would be embarrassed or apologetic, but what was there to be shy over with Owen?
Instead he kissed Owen lightly on the jaw. "Thank you," he said, glad and tired. "Stay?"
Owen shifted closer, wrapping an arm around Andy. His reply was garbled, a mixture of 'No, you,' and 'of course,' and 'yes,' but his last word was clear: "Please," he said, simple and unabashed. He tucked his head under Andy's, not ready to deal with anything that wasn't the two of them. His hand stroked absently along Andy's spine.
|« Previous Topic · Employee Logs · Next Topic »|