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m_findlowTitle: History repeating
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Greg Bishop
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: Pre-canon
Author notes: Written for Challenge 204 - Reminiscence at![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly
Summary: : 1,000 words
Fandom: Torchwood
Characters: Jack, Greg Bishop
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 1,000 words
Content notes: Pre-canon
Author notes: Written for Challenge 204 - Reminiscence at
fandomweeklySummary: : 1,000 words
Summary: Greg is perplexed by Jack’s sudden acquiescence.
Greg squirmed on the narrow cot, pushing himself up slightly so that his head was wedged more comfortably between the back wall and the pillow he was currently forced to share with his lover. ‘Tough day,’ he said, before a yawn stole away his ability to say anything more on the matter.
‘Mmm,’ Jack hummed, head resting against Greg’s shoulder. His eyes remained closed and the only sound was that of the ocean just a few dozen yards away. Even with the door of the tiny bathing box closed against the sea breeze, there was still the distinct sound of the waves crashing up on the shore, regular and repetitive like a heartbeat. Were it a little warmer, it might have been pleasant, but there was a chill inside that was omnipresent here as it was anywhere in Wales, that didn’t permit them to imagine that they were on a beach anywhere tropical. Greg attempted to pull up the thin blanket they shared but most of it was trapped in a tangle between their bodies. He made do with wrapping his free arm tighter across Jack's bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slow up and down motions of his chest as he breathed, almost in time with the ocean waves outside.
‘You’re unusually quiet,’ Greg remarked. Normally, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways with Jack, and it was even rarer for him to remain as still as he was now. Jack was all about roaming hands and insatiable lips, especially if he thought he had Greg all to himself, as he did right now. It was one of the many reasons Jack no doubt insisted on living in such bizarre quarters. A bathing box was not made for human occupation, nor had Greg even seen so much as another soul along the windswept stretch of sand. The half dozen other bathing boxes dotted along the shore were nothing more than relics housing dusty fishing rods and cobweb-laced rowing oars and paddle boards. A relic from another time, much like the man lying on top of him.
‘Jack?’ Greg had let the silent hang between them for as long as he could bear it.
‘Shhh,’ came the reply, nestling closer, Jack turning over like an expert on cramped bedspaces, nudging their bodies tighter together.
Greg snorted in reply to the request for silence. ‘I didn't see you wanting me quiet when you dragged me in here,’ he said. In fact, Jack had demanded that he be as loud as he liked, given that no one would hear them, and that as was tradition after a particularly challenging investigation, Jack liked to celebrate in the sort of conjugal delights that could have had them both arrested for homosexual practices. Greg had always been extremely cautious about such things in the past, but Jack made it feel both normal and accepted despite the dangers.
‘I just want to enjoy this,’ Jack said, cracking open one eye to look up at Greg's face. ‘It’s been a long time since…’
‘Since what? Since you dragged a man down to your little sea shanty to have sex with him?’ Probably been at least a week, Greg thought with some bemusement. ‘How many flies have you lured into your web, Jack? Your little seaside boudoir?’
‘That’s a story for another time.’
‘Too many,’ Greg offered.
‘I’m falling in love with you, Greg Bishop,’ came the sudden admission. ‘I haven’t fallen in love with anyone for such a long time.’
‘1940?’ Greg quipped, unable to imagine Jack being solitary for more than a year.
‘1912,’ Jack murmured unashamedly.
‘Rubbish. Jack, you can’t have not fallen in love in thirty years,’ he said, flushing with embarrassment that he should earn that right.
‘It’s true.’
Greg turned his head towards Jack’s, searching those ancient blue eyes for any hint of insincerity and found none. He reached across and combed his fingers through Jack's floppy fringe. ‘Who was he?’
‘She.’
‘Ah, so it’s true you bat for both teams then,’ Greg teased before turning serious. ‘Tell me about her?’
Jack’s arms around him tightened again. ‘She was beautiful. So alive. She could have had any man she wanted, but she only wanted me. She said she couldn't see the monster, no matter how much I told her it was there. We were only together a few weeks before she begged me to ask her father for her hand in marriage.’
That surprised Greg. ‘And did you?’
‘I never could have imagined feeling happier than I did that day. All of it was perfect. Just as soon as we could, we were going to have a horde of children.’
Greg didn’t fail to notice the use of past tense. ‘She died, didn't she?’
Jack made a rueful sound and buried his head deeper against Greg's shoulder. ‘I killed her,’ he stated plainly. ‘Killed her with love. The monster inside was there to do the deed. I vowed I'd never let it happen again.’
Greg sympathised, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on Jack’s forehead, brushing his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. ‘There’s no monster, Jack. I’ve looked and it doesn’t exist.’ He didn't like to admit it but he was falling in love with Jack as well, try as he might to resist its pull. ‘Love is all we have to drive out the monsters.’
Jack’s lips pressed against his skin, setting his collarbone alight with desire. ‘That’s what made me remember her. You have so much life inside you that it’s burning me to ashes.’
Greg grabbed his face and kissed him deeply. All the chill in the room between their bodies disappeared in an instant. He didn't want to reminisce about dead lovers anymore, only to create something new between them which had been as far from his mind as he could have imagined, but now which intensified into a deep longing to love the man just as much as he could.
Greg squirmed on the narrow cot, pushing himself up slightly so that his head was wedged more comfortably between the back wall and the pillow he was currently forced to share with his lover. ‘Tough day,’ he said, before a yawn stole away his ability to say anything more on the matter.
‘Mmm,’ Jack hummed, head resting against Greg’s shoulder. His eyes remained closed and the only sound was that of the ocean just a few dozen yards away. Even with the door of the tiny bathing box closed against the sea breeze, there was still the distinct sound of the waves crashing up on the shore, regular and repetitive like a heartbeat. Were it a little warmer, it might have been pleasant, but there was a chill inside that was omnipresent here as it was anywhere in Wales, that didn’t permit them to imagine that they were on a beach anywhere tropical. Greg attempted to pull up the thin blanket they shared but most of it was trapped in a tangle between their bodies. He made do with wrapping his free arm tighter across Jack's bare chest, feeling the warmth of his skin and the slow up and down motions of his chest as he breathed, almost in time with the ocean waves outside.
‘You’re unusually quiet,’ Greg remarked. Normally, he couldn’t get a word in edgeways with Jack, and it was even rarer for him to remain as still as he was now. Jack was all about roaming hands and insatiable lips, especially if he thought he had Greg all to himself, as he did right now. It was one of the many reasons Jack no doubt insisted on living in such bizarre quarters. A bathing box was not made for human occupation, nor had Greg even seen so much as another soul along the windswept stretch of sand. The half dozen other bathing boxes dotted along the shore were nothing more than relics housing dusty fishing rods and cobweb-laced rowing oars and paddle boards. A relic from another time, much like the man lying on top of him.
‘Jack?’ Greg had let the silent hang between them for as long as he could bear it.
‘Shhh,’ came the reply, nestling closer, Jack turning over like an expert on cramped bedspaces, nudging their bodies tighter together.
Greg snorted in reply to the request for silence. ‘I didn't see you wanting me quiet when you dragged me in here,’ he said. In fact, Jack had demanded that he be as loud as he liked, given that no one would hear them, and that as was tradition after a particularly challenging investigation, Jack liked to celebrate in the sort of conjugal delights that could have had them both arrested for homosexual practices. Greg had always been extremely cautious about such things in the past, but Jack made it feel both normal and accepted despite the dangers.
‘I just want to enjoy this,’ Jack said, cracking open one eye to look up at Greg's face. ‘It’s been a long time since…’
‘Since what? Since you dragged a man down to your little sea shanty to have sex with him?’ Probably been at least a week, Greg thought with some bemusement. ‘How many flies have you lured into your web, Jack? Your little seaside boudoir?’
‘That’s a story for another time.’
‘Too many,’ Greg offered.
‘I’m falling in love with you, Greg Bishop,’ came the sudden admission. ‘I haven’t fallen in love with anyone for such a long time.’
‘1940?’ Greg quipped, unable to imagine Jack being solitary for more than a year.
‘1912,’ Jack murmured unashamedly.
‘Rubbish. Jack, you can’t have not fallen in love in thirty years,’ he said, flushing with embarrassment that he should earn that right.
‘It’s true.’
Greg turned his head towards Jack’s, searching those ancient blue eyes for any hint of insincerity and found none. He reached across and combed his fingers through Jack's floppy fringe. ‘Who was he?’
‘She.’
‘Ah, so it’s true you bat for both teams then,’ Greg teased before turning serious. ‘Tell me about her?’
Jack’s arms around him tightened again. ‘She was beautiful. So alive. She could have had any man she wanted, but she only wanted me. She said she couldn't see the monster, no matter how much I told her it was there. We were only together a few weeks before she begged me to ask her father for her hand in marriage.’
That surprised Greg. ‘And did you?’
‘I never could have imagined feeling happier than I did that day. All of it was perfect. Just as soon as we could, we were going to have a horde of children.’
Greg didn’t fail to notice the use of past tense. ‘She died, didn't she?’
Jack made a rueful sound and buried his head deeper against Greg's shoulder. ‘I killed her,’ he stated plainly. ‘Killed her with love. The monster inside was there to do the deed. I vowed I'd never let it happen again.’
Greg sympathised, leaning forward to place a tender kiss on Jack’s forehead, brushing his cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. ‘There’s no monster, Jack. I’ve looked and it doesn’t exist.’ He didn't like to admit it but he was falling in love with Jack as well, try as he might to resist its pull. ‘Love is all we have to drive out the monsters.’
Jack’s lips pressed against his skin, setting his collarbone alight with desire. ‘That’s what made me remember her. You have so much life inside you that it’s burning me to ashes.’
Greg grabbed his face and kissed him deeply. All the chill in the room between their bodies disappeared in an instant. He didn't want to reminisce about dead lovers anymore, only to create something new between them which had been as far from his mind as he could have imagined, but now which intensified into a deep longing to love the man just as much as he could.
