Title: Survival of the Fittest (2/3)
Characters and Pairings: Nine/Rose/Jack, Nine/Rose
Warnings: Violence, threesomes, explicit sexual activity
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world where the undead have taken over, what will it take for Rose, Jack, and John Smith to survive? AU, with an appearance of characters from Torchwood as well.
Author’s Notes: Inspired by Max Brooks fantastic “The Zombie Survival Guide” and “World War Z”. I’ve tried to be true to the genre and hopefully this fits shengirl’s request for the pairings and the alternate universe, and I’ve tried to keep the angst to a minimum. Many thanks and a lovely bottle of wine to develish1 for the Brit-picking, editing, and assuring me that the story works. :) Thanks, dear. I couldn’t have done this without you.
Word Count: 11,431 in total
There were more of them -- this surprised John, thinking that Rose and Jack had carved out for themselves a little love nest somewhere in the outskirts of the city. It turned out that their base of operations was somewhere three hours away from the city, and was accessible only through a dirt road that was carefully masked by a scraggly growth of trees.
“We call this piece of junk the TARDIS,” Jack was saying as he manuevered the bulky vehicle through the brush.
“Stand for something?” asked John, holding the side of his seat in a white-knuckled grip as his teeth chattered with the violent movements of the truck.
“‘Terrestrial Assault, Retrieval, and Defense Intelligence Systems’,” said Rose from the front seat. Despite all efforts of the truck to throw its inhabitants out of their seats, she remained firmly in place, held down by her seatbelt, her hair neatly pulled back from her head into a tight knot at the base of her neck. “Jack made it up.”
“Better than calling it a piece of junk,” he said, twisting the wheel as he navigated a particularly patchy piece of earth masquerading as a road.
“Don’t let his tone fool ya,” she said. “He’s been known to call her ‘Sexy’ when she does something particularly brilliant.”
“Jealous, Rose?” asked Jack.
“I call you lots of other names as well.” He winked at her. “And you can call me ‘god’ anytime, sweetheart.”
She laughed. “Only on good days.”
“Must be a lot of good days lately, then.”
John listened to them banter with the ease of a couple long used to each other’s personality and quirks. And he didn’t really mind -- despite the disappointment settling in his gut, they seemed suited to each other. Jack’s brashness seemed to be tempered by Rose’s temperament and humour, and in turn, Jack seemed protective of the girl, despite her ease at handling weapons and destroying the undead.
“Almost home,” said Jack as the vehicle rolled down a ramp that suddenly appeared in the middle of the dirt road. John let out a gasp as the road twisted down, like a circular parking lot ramp, once, twice, thrice. Above them, the entrance slid back into place silently. Mining lamps embedded against the wall flashed at intervals as the TARDIS rolled to a complete stop in the middle of an underground cavern. It was brightly lit by more of the mining lamps and a floating illumination ball hanging in the middle of the ceiling, suspended by its own combusting gases inside the sphere.
Rose and Jack jumped out of the truck; John followed at a slower pace. The bunker, for lack of a better word, was large and could easily house twenty families. It seemed that they had only occupied a fraction of the space -- he noted the smooth cemented floors and ceilings, which definitely indicated that the bunker was hollowed out for something like a nuclear meltdown or World War 3.
From where the TARDIS sat, humming (do trucks hum?) at the side of the ramp, John could see that the area of the bunker they had cleared out was clearly delineated into different areas. There was the tech and weapons -- guns hung on walls, ordered by size and firepower; an assortment of blades and knives, all gleaming in the fluorescent light; boxes filled with explosives stacked on tables; a small cannon and a flame thrower sat unattanded, their respective parts scattered on a metal table. On the other side, opposite the weapons section, were a bank of computers jury-rigged to each other to form a grid of nine screens, as well as a glass touchscreen about the size of a classroom chalkboard showing a map of the United Kingdom. Glowing red dots clustered around urban areas: some were steady, and the others were moving slowly. An Asian girl in a lab coat and specs was perched on a stool in front of the screens, her fingers moving rapidly across two keyboards, her eyes tracking the data scrolling across all the screens.
Beyond this space were the barracks, with beds evenly spaced and partitioned with curtains. Rose gave John’s arm a squeeze as she peeled away from them and ducked behind one of the curtains. Following Jack, he noted the mess space -- two cafeteria-style tables in front of what was obviously a gas-powered stove and a large icebox -- and a white curtain covered what was sure to be the medbay. Tables bordered the space, filled with maps and documents and at least three laptops in various states of booting up. Jack stopped in front of these tables and clapped his hands. “Guys!” he yelled, his voice reverberating around the bunker. “We’ve got a new one!”
Aside from Rose and the Asian girl, John noted three other heads popping out -- one from behind the medbay curtains and the two others from the partitioned-off barracks -- and breathed a sigh of relief. Six people. He could deal with six people.
Rose had changed out of her uniform and into a t-shirt and jeans, her blonde hair still swept back, although a few tendrils had escaped, framing her face. She stood on John’s other side. “Don’t worry,” she said, grinning. He could get used to her grins. “They don’t bite. Well, maybe Owen.”
“Team,” Jack was saying. “This is John. We met him during one of the sweeps -- he was holding back a horde on his own, and doing a damn fine job of it. ‘Course, we just helped him along, and figured we’d need another pair of hands on this team anyway.” He gestured to the rest of the group. “John, this is the rest of the team. That’s Tosh, tech and base support,“ -- he gestured to the Asian girl, who gave him a shy smile beneath her glasses -- “and Owen, who patches us up after fights” -- this to the man in scrubs with thin lips and a calculating expression in his eyes -- “and Gwen, who does reconnaissance and weapons and does a mean curry as well.” Gwen, who had dark hair and a pleasant expression, gave him a gap-toothed grin in greeting.
Jack hauled another person beside him, slinging an arm across the younger man’s shoulders. John raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “This is Ianto,” he said. “He built the TARDIS.”
John reached out to shake Ianto’s hands. “Pleasure to meet ya.”
Ianto nodded. “Thanks, sir.” He spoke with a decidedly Welsh accent.
Rose slipped an arm into the crook of his elbow and led him towards the barracks. She gestured to one of the curtained spaces towards the end of the row. “I think we’ll give you David’s old space.” She nibbled her lower lip nervously, and John wanted nothing more than to bend down and taste that lower lip himself. “He’s... he should be about your size, and he’ll have some clothes in his locker. Don’t worry, we do the laundry here,” she assured him.
“Dead man’s clothes,” he commented lightly.
“‘M sorry,” she said. “‘S just, we don’t have much, and then we blew up your house...”
He gave her his best smile, the one that his mam used to say lit up the whole room. “‘S all right, Rose. You saved me, you ‘n Captain Jack, and I’m thankful for that.”
“Captain Jack,” she giggled. “I think I’ll call him that.”
She pushed the curtains aside, walked to the side of the bed, and flicked on the bedside lamp. The curtained space was filled with a calming yellow glow. Aside from the single camp bed -- and how that brought him back to his days in the army, serving Queen and country -- and the bedside table and lamp, there was a small locker beneath the bed which held neatly folded clothes, trousers and boxers and jumpers and a leather jacket that had seen better days. A small portable laundry stand stood at one side, with a threadbare towel hung across the metal crossbar. It was spare and clean and John felt a surge of thankfulness that he’d survived one more day.
Rose gestured down the hallway, beyond the medbay. “The bathroom’s over there. Well, cubicles, really, like in gym class. Girls shower in one room, boys in the other. There’s soap and antibac and other stuff there if you want to clean up.” She gave him a saucy wink. “Though personally, I think you look nice with the scruff.”
John reached up and rubbed the growth on his jaw. “Itches like hell, though.”
She shrugged. “To each his own, then.” Rose stood up from her crouch and watched as he removed a jumper, a pair of tough black trousers, and the leather jacket from the locker. Placing the items on the bed. he began stripping off his weapons and armor. The leather chest piece and bracers were tough enough to stop a zombie bite, but he’d been wearing them for weeks, and the edges had scored the skin beneath into bright red bands. Rose winced as he removed the straps, letting the pieces of leather fall to the floor. Beneath the armor, he wore a ragged pair of denims and a filthy black shirt. She gestured to his items. “I’ll have these cleaned then, yeah?”
John turned around to look at her. In the lamplight, his eyes glittered like shadowed sapphires. “Rose,” he breathed, bending down so close that their noses almost touched. “Thank you.”
And with that, he took his fresh clothes and towel with him and, with the curtain flapping behind him, made his way to the showers.
“So,” said Owen, a fresh mug of tea cradled between surprisingly graceful fingers as he sat down on one of the benches in the mess area, “what do you think of Jack’s new pet?”
Gwen rolled her eyes. “He’s quite striking, eh? I mean, under all that dirt and grime.”
“Man’s been living by himself for a year, what were you expecting?” Jack sat opposite Owen, nudging Gwen as he claimed the empty spot beside her. Ianto passed him another cup of tea, and a packet of biscuits from their last supply raid. “Saw the place he was staying in. I’ve seen pig sties cleaner than that place.”
“Rose seems to like him,” Ianto commented, sitting beside Owen and reaching across the table for a biscuit. Jack mock-slapped his hand and there was a bit of a tussle for the packet; finally, Gwen grabbed it from the boys and quickly opened the plastic, distributing the biscuits. Ianto chewed his share thoughtfully. “A bit stale, but surprisingly well-preserved.”
“How’s the garden growing anyway, o contrary one?” inquired Jack. “Oh, and Rose likes everyone, anyway.”
“Not Suzie,” said Owen.
“Nobody liked Suzie, Owen,” said Gwen.
“I liked her!” he said defensively.
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “You also like blowing stuff up.”
“And putting things back together,” he said, waggling his brows at her. Gwen stuck her tongue out at him and laughed.
“Anyway,” said Ianto smoothly, turning his attention back to Jack. “The garden should be ready to harvest in two or so weeks. We’ve been planting patches of edibles all over the brush, and covering them at night in case of raiders, but so far, it looks like we’ll have fresh vegetables soon.”
Jack nodded. “Good. So far, we’ve got enough stocks for at least four more months before supplies start going low. But we can’t adopt any more strays. As far as I’m concerned, John’s the last one.”
Gwen shifted uncomfortably at Jack’s last words. “But what about Rhys -- ?”
“Gwen, honey, look, we’ve been searching for him for weeks.” Jack’s eyes were brimming with compassion. “But we gotta face facts. Rhys is probably dead or worse, turned into one of them. And I’m sorry, but we don’t have the resources to keep looking.”
“He’s my husband, Jack.”
“We all lost people in the war. We’re still losing humans, day by day.”
“You don’t understand,” Gwen said, her voice low and dangerous. “I made a promise. And until I find proof that he’s dead, I’m going to keep looking.” She slid off the bench and strode off, her heels clacking against the cement floor. They heard her talking to Tosh softly, the snick of weapons as she loaded up, and the roar of her motorcycle as she raced up the ramp towards the surface. Jack released a deep breath. “Tosh,” he yelled out. “Keep her on radar at all times!”
“On it!” Tosh replied loudly, her fingers already rapidly clacking over the keyboard.
John finally emerged from the bathroom, his hair trimmed to a soldier’s buzzcut, his jaw and chin freshly-shaven. David’s clothes fit him well enough: the trouser legs were folded over his boots and the forest-green jumper stretched over his chest, but the leather jacket fit him like a glove. Now that he was clean and they could see his face, Jack could appreciate the severe beauty on the features of the man. He had a gaze that could cut diamonds, those blue eyes almost laser-like in their intensity.
“Close your mouth, Jack Harkness, you’re drooling,” said Owen, a trace of amusement in his voice.
Ianto laughed. “I’ll go tidy up.” He stretched his legs and gathered up the empty mugs and remnants pf the packet of biscuits and walked back to the sink to wash up. Jack watched as John walked back to his section and closed the curtains behind him. In the dim lights of the barracks, he could see the lanky older man put away his clothes, hang his towel to dry, and sit on the bed. His shadow was still, like a suspended moment in time. Jack cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on him.”
Owen gave him a thumbs-up. “You go and do that, boss.”
Jack gave him the finger, and walked down towards the barracks, pausing by Rose’s bed to see if she was there. The younger girl was nowhere to be seen, but her dirty clothes and make-up and other bits and bobs were strewn all over the place. A lavender lace G-string hung at the corner of her bed frame, evidence of the previous night’s activities. He grinned at the memory. She was enthusiastic, no doubt about that.
Jack slipped the heavy curtains back into place and moved towards the end of the barracks. He remembered David, who stayed here for only a few weeks but left an indelible mark on the entire group. He felt tears prickling the corners of his eyes and hastily wiped them away with the back of his hand. It wouldn’t do any good for the morale of the group if the new guy saw him cry.
He could hear Rose’s voice behind John’s curtain, her murmuring cadence rising and falling as though she was telling a story. He peered behind the curtain and saw John sitting on the bed, the leather jacket carefully folded on his lap, and Rose sitting across him, cross-legged, the lamplight glinting off her hair like spun gold. Her hands were moving animatedly as she spoke. While he couldn’t see her face, he could see John’s amusement and gratitude that she was keeping him company, entertaining him, and probably easing whatever darkness the older man held. Jack wasn’t a novice from war; he served his time and learned the art of killing a man, of killing men. But he wasn’t prepared for this. Nobody was.
“Jack.” John’s voice, a deep Northern burr that warmed the other man instantly. “Everything all right?”
Rose twisted on the bed to look at him over her shoulder in alarm. “Is there an alert?”
“No, no. It’s all good. Gwen went up to get some air.” Jack stepped inside the space, and for a moment, the air around them was alight with energy, an invisible spooling of thread that seemed to draw the three of them together. Jack could feel it surround him, surround John, surround Rose, as though they were three pieces of an interlocking puzzle. Jack was no believer in fate; he rested his faith on the choices of people, on people making the best choices they could given the circumstance,, but this -- this had the air of something else at work.
Rose raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Well, are you goin’ to stand there all night or are y’ goin’ to sit down here?” She patted the space on the bed besides her.
“I suggest that you don’t turn down her invitation, Captain. She’s very persuasive when she puts her mind to things,” said John with a wry grin.
“I’d never dream of doing that, Mr. Smith,” he said, shedding his coat and toeing off his boots as he made himself comfortable on the bed. Rose snuggled up beside him and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Doctor Smith,” he said.
Jack looked surprised. “Medicine?”
“Literature and history, actually.” He gave a bark of a laugh, sharp and sad. “Not exactly the most useful thing when you’re trying to survive the undead.” His eyes flickered to where Jack and Rose were pressed together, hips to hips, thighs to thighs, and Jack saw a pool of unutterable longing open up in the other man’s eyes. Could it be...?
“I was tellin’ John about that time we were in Leadworth and that crazy kissogram made us think she was the police an’ was callin’ for backup -- “
“Oh Christ,” swore Jack, laughing. “Yeah, I remember her. She was nuts. But she had gorgeous red hair, and legs that went on forever -- “
John laughed, a proper laugh this time. “Sounds like you had your priorities right.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Doc, we were running for our lives and this kissogram pops out in the middle of nowhere and starts screaming bloody murder, that we’d killed her boyfriend or whatever, and really, it wasn’t our fault that there was an outbreak at the Royal Leadworth Hospital.”
“It was sad though,” said Rose. “He was a nurse an’ he was just tryin’ to help. But the books says that its mostly health workers ‘n doctors -- not the academic kind, like you, Doctor -- that usually get turned first during an outbreak. An’ we tried to help her, tried to convince her to get out of town, to join us in the TARDIS, but she was too stubborn, that one.”
“So if you see a ginger zombie in a police uniform, chances are, that’s our kissogram from Leadworth,” added Jack.
The three of them started giggling -- there was really no other word for it, and neither the Captain nor the Doctor would ever admit to doing anything of the sort, but there they were, tumbling over each other on the narrow, uncomfortable cot, giggling.
And the John immediately sobered up. “Who did you lose?” he asked quietly.
Rose sat up, her face pained. “I... I don’t want to talk about it.”
John nodded. “I lost my whole family. My whole world, really.” He stared at his hands, at the abrasions and bruises and calluses decorating his fingers and palms and the skin at the back of his hands. These were not the hands of a teacher, not anymore. They were the hands of a killer. “I had to kill them,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I had to kill them all and take their heads off so they wouldn’t reanimate.”
“How did you...?” Rose was aghast.
“I read about it, when it first started mutating. Can’t miss that kind of news, not in a research university. And the woman I was with at the time, she... well, she had her own ideas about what to do with it.” John trained his gaze downwards, not wanting to meet the others’ eyes. “She was one of the first infected.
“At first, it was just a quarantine. We were just asked to go home, on paid leave, until the government had the virus contained. Romana said she’d call as soon as they gave her the all clear. But it never happened. So we stayed home, made my youngest brother leave school. Each mornin’ we’d be watching the news, hoping for a sign that things were goin’ back to normal.
“But they weren’t, see. And when I learned that we’d been all but abandoned, I went out and bought guns. Knew how to use them too, served in the Army for five years before goin’ back to school. Taught my whole family how to use ‘em, practised on straw dummies out in the field. My mam thought I was mad -- but she got good with a gun too. Not that it meant anything.” His shoulders sagged with the weight of his story.
“What happened?” asked Jack, wondering when he actually made the decision to open his mouth and ask. He could feel the familiar thump of fear in his chest.
John spread his fingers out, bones and veins and skin expanding like a star. “I... they were already... “ He looked up, his blue eyes anguished. “I had to kill them, you understand? Otherwise they would’ve spread the virus to everyone in town. But it didn’t work, in the end. Everyone died. Everyone except me.”
Rose disentangled herself from Jack and flew at John as he crumpled, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He was trembling in her arms. “Oh, John,” she murmured in his ear, her heart breaking. “I’m so sorry.” He tucked his face into the curve of her neck, his arms around her, holding on to her as though she was the only anchor he had against the storm inside his own mind.
And then Jack was there, holding on to both of them, his chest against Rose’s back, his arms around John, enclosing the two of them into the circle of his arms. “It’s all right, Doc,” he said quietly. “We’re here.”
They stayed wrapped around each other for what seemed like an eternity. Rose rested her cheek against John’s shorn head, feeling the bristles tickle her cheek. He smelled of soap and cotton and the city streets after rain. There was something right about this entanglement; she could feel the thump-thump-thump of his heart in his ribcage, could feel Jack above her, keeping her in place. She felt a surge of adrenaline course through her body as the air around them became heavy with possibilities.
She could feel John’s lips press against the soft skin of her neck, and trembled at the first touch of his tongue, curious and careful. She carefully grasped the nape of his neck to keep him in place, the slight pressure of her fingers indicating that she wanted him to continue. She felt his teeth slowly bite down on her soft flesh, only to be immediately soothed by his tongue, and she could feel herself getting wet.
Jack could feel her shaking with need beneath him, and for a moment, thought that he’d stepped out of reality and into a dream. He couldn’t deny John’s attractiveness -- the man would never win any awards for conventional good looks, but there was something about the starkness of his features, the sharp angles of his jaw and nose and the cords on his neck that flowed smoothly into collarbones and shoulders that made Jack want to trace the outline of the other man’s entire body with his tongue and fingers. As John carefully mapped out Rose’s neck with his tongue and teeth, Jack leaned over to place an open-mouthed kiss on the side of John’s exposed neck, just below his ear.
John stilled, pulling back, disentangling himself from Rose and Jack’s embrace. “I... I’m sorry, I -- ”
“If you apologise one more time, Doctor, I’m going to kick you out and send you back aboveground and I’m telling you, the zombies aren’t anywhere near as sexy as Rose here,” said Jack, his voice a mixture of amusement and sincerity. “Now, unless you’re not interested, come over here and we’ll start getting you naked.”
John’s eyes widened, and he chanced a look at Rose, who gave him a wide grin, her tongue peeking out between her teeth, mahogany eyes sparkling. Her fingers grasped the edge of the worn pink t-shirt she was wearing and pulled it upwards, revealing a slim, smooth torso and her breasts encased in a simple butter-yellow bra decorated with little red roses. “I take my name seriously, Doctor,” she said impishly.
“That what we’re callin’ me now?”
“Suits you,” said Jack, as he moved closer, kneeling between John’s open legs, and leaning down to press a kiss against the other man’s lips. For a moment, Jack thought he’d misread the situation entirely -- and then John was kissing him back, his lips parting underneath the older man’s questing lips and tongue. His breath was warm, toothpaste-fresh, and Jack felt his entire body respond to the kiss. Hands bracketed the sides of John’s face, keeping him in place as Jack learned the taste of him.
They broke apart, breathing hard. Rose was sitting on the end of the bed, eyes wide as saucers and a blush staining her cheeks and the pale expanse of her chest. Jack shifted and allowed her to crawl towards John, tracing the curve of her spine with his fingertips as she moved forward on her hands and knees, her skin warm and pliable beneath his touch.
John looked at her with wonderment and sorrow in his eyes. “Just one night, yeah?”
Rose gave him a beatific smile as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him towards her. Her lips found his, and she smiled as he bent forward, hands around the small of her back, his nose inhaling the scent of her skin, his lips trailing downwards from her lips to her chin to the slope of her neck and the hollow between her collarbones. She tilted back, giving him access as his tongue traced the scalloped edge of her bra. Behind her, Jack knelt, supporting her weight and reached up to release the small hooks of her underwear. Four hands slid off the cotton cups confining her breasts, and John’s lips immediately went for the bared nipples, pink and puckered and asking for attention. His mouth was wet and warm and she shuddered as he suckled her, all tongue and teeth scraping the sensitive skin. Jack’s hand lifted her breast as though in offering, fingers curving around the heavy swell, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, his hand searching for the button of her trousers.
John’s lips moved from one breast to another, and she moaned as his lips found the other nipple and started playing with it, drawing out the taut string of her pleasure as his tongue tasted and licked and suckled; his free hand joined Jack’s in playing with the other, their fingers and palms playing with her overheated skin. “You two,” she breathed as she leaned back, resting her head against Jack’s shoulder and tilting her head to accept a sloppy kiss form him, “are ridiculously overdressed.”
“You heard the lady,” chuckled Jack as he and John disentangled themselves from Rose, tumbled off the bed, and started removing their clothes. Rose shimmied off her trousers and threw her bra to the floor as the two man bared their bodies to her gaze. She couldn’t ask for two more gorgeous blokes in the world, and if this truly was the end of the world -- and she knew it couldn’t be anything other than what it was -- then she swore she’d go down swinging.
Jack was the first to fully remove his clothes -- practise makes perfect, after all, and Jack had definitely been practising -- and moved towards Rose, pushing her on the bed so she was lying down on the rumpled sheets with Jack over her. His weight over her chest and belly was familiar and dear to her, and she spread her legs to accommodate his body between hers. His fingers traced the almost-invisible scars across her chest and stomach, and she felt a rush of tenderness towards Jack as he made his way down her body.
John had carefully folded his clothes and placed them on a nearby stool, and turned back to watch Jack and Rose on the bed, Jack’s face between Rose’s legs. He watched as the younger man hooked his thumbs underneath the scrap of cloth masquerading as Rose’s knickers and yanked them down her legs. With the ease of a man who knew exactly what he was doing, Jack positioned himself in front of Rose’s core and carefully took a long, slow lick. Her hips arched off the bed to follow the movement of his tongue, and John watched in fascination as Rose undulated in the lamplight, her body trembling with pleasure. Eyes closed, her fingers tangled in Jack’s hair, her plump pink lips open in an “O” of amazement as Jack got to work. On legs that were increasingly weakening with desire, John moved forward, fascinated as Jack’s pink tongue curled between Rose’s folds, seeking her clit. She spasmed once, twice, her body pressing insistently against Jack’s lips, her fingers tightening around Jack’s head as she slowly spiralled upwards.
Jack’s hands wrapped around Rose’s hips, pulling her closer as his tongue sought entrance inside her sex. John’s own fingers wrapped around his cock, impossibly hard and hot in his palm, and starting pumping up and down in time to Jack’s rhythmic licking of Rose’s core. She was squirming and panting underneath him, trapped by Jack’s fingers and lips and tongue, her legs braced on the younger man’s shoulders as he insistently sought for that moment --
And then her back arched off the bed and she let out a muffled shriek as Jack’s tongue swirled across her slit and curled around her clit with just the right amount of pressure. John was already halfway towards his own release as Rose gently came down from her high and Jack crawled back up her body, his own lips wet and shiny with her juices. She kissed him happily, tasting herself on him. They both looked up at John, who was standing by the bed, a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment colouring his features. “That was beautiful,” he said quietly.
“Need help with that?” asked Jack, gesturing to John’s erection, as he held out a hand in invitation. John shuffled forward and as he came towards the end of the bed, Rose moved towards him, pulling him forward so that the head of his cock was level with her face. Before John could say anything, Rose’s lips wrapped around his erection and he almost stumbled and lost his balance at the sudden rush of pleasure. Her tongue traced the length of his cock, her small fist wrapped around the base as she started working on him with teeth and fingers. Jack helped her tug John closer, until he was on the bed, leaning against Jack’s bare chest with Rose between his legs, her knees tucked underneath her, the fall of her golden hair covering her face as she started sucking the length of him. Jack’s hands were everywhere -- playing with John’s taut nipples, tracing the lines of his abdomen, the scars and bruises on his arms and shoulders. “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” Jack whispered into his ear.
“What, with this daft old face?” he asked in surprise.
Jack responded by tilting his face and kissing him passionately.
Just then, the moment was shattered by the sound of a siren.
“Fuck!” exploded Jack as Rose raised her head, her eyes still foggy with lust. “That’s a Level 2 alert.”
John swung his lanky legs over the bed and started moving towards his clothes. Less than three minutes later, all of them were dressed, Rose running her fingers through her hair in an effort to remove the tangles. John’s eyes were flint-dark, his face a mask. Rose wondered where the tenderness had gone; inside, she mourned the loss of what could have happened. If only we had more time, she thought briefly as they hurried towards Tosh, where Owen and Ianto were already gathered.
Owen gave them a knowing grin. “Hope you had fun.” Rose mock-punched him on the shoulder.
Tosh was already giving a rundown of the situation, her delicate fingers moving across the screens. On the map, they could see a mass of red dots swarming towards the south, where the underground bunker was located. A small green dot was moving away from the red dots, moving southwards. “That’s Gwen,” said Tosh. “She probably did something that alerted them somehow.”
“Fuck,” swore Jack. “I told her!”
Ianto moved towards the weapons array and started taking down a few of the heavier guns carefully and efficiently. “John,” he called out over his shoulder, “what’s your poison?”
“I’ve got my sword, but a secondary and tertiary weapon would be good as well.”
Ianto nodded and started rummaging through the crates as Rose and Owen rushed to the barracks to suit up. Jack placed a hand on John’s shoulder, a silent promise of things to come, and moved towards the barracks as well.
Tosh looked up, and her dark eyes were sad behind her spectacles. “Don’t get too attached, John,” she said. “Jack doesn’t do well in a monogamous relationship.”
“She’s the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. One of these days, Jack’s going to go too far and he’s going to break that precious girl’s heart.”
John nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Continue to Part 3