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WIP Meme. Again.
I've not done any writing for a while. Not that I don't have a million things on the go, still. Many of them that are still on the go from last time (le sigh!).
The usual (of the moment, anyway) - all Torchwood, all the time. Excerpts from works in progress below the cut.
Then of course there's the tropical holiday one, which I've not made ANY progress on whatsoever; the psychic paper wooing one which I still reeeally want to write, with the same deal; the timestamp for the circus AU; the Ianto/Owen/Tosh co-written porn which is happily taking the long road; the orgy-tastic continuation of the space opera universe; and about a million other ideas I'd love to write but have never put words down for.
Hopefully when I get back home I'll be in a headspace where I can properly relax and be inspired to write again.
The usual (of the moment, anyway) - all Torchwood, all the time. Excerpts from works in progress below the cut.
- The desk PWP (working title: Underwood), inspired by vintage secretary porn. Jack/Ianto, just on the cusp of the porn. About 1000 words written. Excerpt:
"Secretary kink," Ianto observes. He casts a knowing look in Jack's direction, before returning his attention to the photographs. "It's funny what used to be considered sexy."
Jack peers over; Ianto's lingering over the one with the young, suited gentleman examining the Underwood typewriter, his secretary perched on the desk alongside it. Her hand is upraised with a casual gracefulness, pencil propped between her fingers, while the other hand points downward at a single key. Both of the figures in the photograph stare down at the typewriter, though her long, smooth legs lounge in the forefront of the photo, skirt rucked up to the tops of her thighs.
"Funny?"
"Well," Ianto amends. "Quaint. I suppose."
"There are nude ones in there too, you know."
"I know." Ianto looks through the photographs again, the card whispering as he slides each one from the front to the back.
Jack puts his hand on Ianto's thigh. "You should show more ankle," he suggests, rubbing Ianto's leg. Ianto's flesh is warm and solid, and the friction stirs up more heat between the thick, woollen weave of fabric and Jack's palm.
Ianto doesn't glance away from the photographs, but Jack feels the muscle flex under his touch. "Would that help you concentrate more or less, sir?"
Jack laughs softly. He moves his hand up a little higher, sliding it around so his fingers splay against Ianto's inner thigh, and then his palm, gliding up until he's rubbing firmly against Ianto's cock. Ianto always dresses to the right. That's why he sits always on the left side of Jack's desk. - Cyberwoman AU. Yes, it's still on the drawing board...
"So what's the plan, then?" Lisa asks, bluntly changing the subject, not wanting to get into the viciousness Ianto and Jack always seem to be skating perilously close to the edge of whenever they converse. "Shall we be sat at our desks and just behave as if we've been here all along when they come back?"
Jack gives a burst of laughter that sounds almost startled, looking at her almost admiringly. It's uncomfortable; the almost-joke certainly hadn't merited such a response. "Great minds," he says, making no sense whatsoever, and, "I knew this was a good idea."
"Have you prepared the contracts, then?" Ianto asks shortly. "I'd prefer to get the paperwork squared away before anyone starts working at any desks again."
"Ah yes, paperwork," Jack says. "I should have known that would have been your first concern. Though, what happened to 'I'll do anything; I'll be your butler'?"
"I'm not your butler," Ianto says, all humour snap-frozen out of his tone.
"Yes, that's rather the heart of the matter, isn't it," Jack says. "Though I will miss the suits."
The addendum is clearly meant to lighten the tone, or at least that's how Lisa initially reads it; Ianto's stony reaction leaves her second-guessing.
"Well, I certainly won't," she interjects, determined to take hold of the rudder again and steer the course of the conversation back into less treacherous waters. Pun bitterly unintended. She strolls down a few steps of her own to the main sunken area of the Hub and looks back up at Ianto, and then to Jack, only a few paces away. "Made him look like an accountant," she confesses.
"Nothing wrong with that," Jack says, and she can't tell if his appraising look is more combative or salacious. - In the bleak December timestamp. No idea where this is going. Possibly nowhere, as it's a timestamp.
“I can't hear you,” he says, loudly and clearly, as if enunciating with volume will make sound any more likely to be transmitted through across the boundaries of the airtight cell. He waves his hands around the side of his head and scowls to elaborate.
She fiddles with a panel out of view alongside the cell, and the white speaker set high in the wall crackles to life. “Can you hear me now?” she says.
Jack nods.
“Good. I, ah. Brought you coffee.” She brandishes the mug awkwardly, then goes through the process of placing it carefully in the airtight drawer on her side of the barrier and keying in the codes to open the drawer on his side. Immediately, the smell of strong, black coffee creeps into the small space. Jack feels like weeping in gratitude.
He stands, walks over to retrieve the coffee. He wraps his hands around the barrel of the mug instead of taking the handle, the ceramic smartingly hot against his palms. He closes his eyes and breathes in the steam; when he opens them again he's still in the white cell, wearing the white scrubs, with a stranger looking in at him from outside.
She is a cute kind of stranger, though. Figure made for that style of high skirt, and she's changed her blouse from the one he first saw her in to one with similarly puffy sleeves and high collar, just a different colour. He smiles at her over the rim of the mug. “Cap'n Jack Harkness,” he says. - ANCIENT ROME omg lol. This started for the recent porn battle (time travel/historical eras prompt) and then, naturally, got too long/ambitious. Oh my god, it cracks me up. Future!Jack, of thousands of years, gets bored and starts jumping around history, seeking out wars to play in. He bumps into a Rift-displaced Ianto and doesn't immediately recognise him. HIJINKS, I tells you (and porn! with olive oil!). Automatically long because Jack's left his wrist strap at his villa and he's in the middle of a campaign. Mainly stalled because my knowledge of ancient rome all comes from watching "Rome" and I'm too lazy to research. And I know it'll be far too long if it ends up being what I want it to be. Anyway...
Inside the pavilion it's moderately cooler, though the respite of the breeze is also cut off. “In here,” John calls from the rear of the tent, behind another draped sheet of canvas, still in jarring English. It's irritating and intriguing all at once. “You've got to see this.”
John's got his sword out, and he doesn't lower it from where it's pointing at the other man in the room, even as he looks back over his shoulder to grin at Jack, teeth white amidst his blood-and-filth smeared face. The other man's not dressed for battle; a politician, maybe, with the fine cut of his tunic and the darker drape of colour over it. Or perhaps a tactician—he's standing behind a desk that's covered with charred papers and a single wax tablet, melted smooth.
The look on his face isn't mulish, or terrified, as it should be in a camp overrun with the enemy. Something tickles at the back of Jack's mind, and he frowns. The man shouldn't even be here, all the other dignitaries have long since fled, as soon as the fight had turned. He steps forward, past John. The man isn't even armed. “Why are you here?” he demands.
The man blinks, gaze fixed on Jack's face. “I heard the rumours... I—I thought it might be you.” He speaks English, despite the fact that Jack had asked in him Latin. “I'd hoped.”
The tickle in Jack's mind is back, something beginning to feel suspiciously like recognition. He's aware of John standing alongside him, observing, radiating an unmistakable sense of vicious glee.
“Jack?” The expression on the man's face slips from hopefulness to a kind of blank resignation and Jack drinks it in avidly, his gaze dragging again over the dark hair, sweat-curled against his temples, the high forehead, bright eyes... That tickle of recognition again, and he's able to grasp the loose end of it this time, pull the thread and like remembering a dream he hadn't realised he'd forgotten—all of it flooding back on the strength of a single recalled detail—he knows who it is. - Jack/Ianto/Jack PWP. Again, for the porn battle (time travel prompt). Riffing on the whole "after Ianto died, Jack would totally go back in time to get in more shags!" by insisting that it wouldn't necessarily have to be while Ianto's Jack wasn't present. (I am convinced that Jacks 'fixed point' overrides any risk of paradox, and he could totally shag himself without destroying the universe.)
Ianto makes a cut-off noise of complaint as Jack backs up, shoving Ianto behind him, then he feels Ianto go still as he realises why Jack's got his gun out.
The other Jack has the audacity to smile. “You can put that away,” the other him says. “Not that it would make any difference anyway. Except to the upholstery.”
Jack doesn't put his gun away. If it's a shapeshifter then it's not doing a very good job; everyone knows what Jack likes to wear and the other Jack is wearing nothing like it. It's either a half-arsed job, or a him from another time, when greatcoats are no longer du jour. As hard as that is to believe. “You expect me to believe that you're me, just like that, no questions asked?”
“After father was killed, you didn't witness his pyre ceremony.”
Jack scowls, flexing his hands around the gun, hesitant despite himself. The other him had spoken in 50th century Galactic Standard, which makes makes Jack feel a guilty tendril of relief that Ianto won't be able to understand it, because it's true. But the truth and the language don't say much at all except that perhaps the other him is accustomed to time travel.
The other him raises an eyebrow. “Instead you hid in the sandhopper and masturbated.”
Jack holsters his gun. Ianto takes it as a signal for the all-clear and peers out over Jack's shoulder. Jack can feel how tense he is, pressed against his back. “I take it you know each other?” Ianto asks dryly.
Then of course there's the tropical holiday one, which I've not made ANY progress on whatsoever; the psychic paper wooing one which I still reeeally want to write, with the same deal; the timestamp for the circus AU; the Ianto/Owen/Tosh co-written porn which is happily taking the long road; the orgy-tastic continuation of the space opera universe; and about a million other ideas I'd love to write but have never put words down for.
Hopefully when I get back home I'll be in a headspace where I can properly relax and be inspired to write again.
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