theydrewfirstblood | [PERCHANCE TO DREAM] in the mood

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verse: perchance to dream

[PERCHANCE TO DREAM] in the mood

Still got my doubts on if giving you any heads up will keep my duds in one piece, but figured I'd give it a shot.

Now you’re in trouble. When I finish up work? Give me an hour, plus time for a shower, and meet me downstairs. Then you’ll be sorry.

The photo Jack included with his little message made it a hard fucking threat to make—but the last couple of times Jack ambushed him with this shit gave him ideas, things he’d been considering since the beginning. That first day at the house, the box of photos…dancing in the living room.

So…John’s been planning a little ambush of his own. He just needed a chance to set some stuff up—things he couldn’t keep on hand. And, of course, because he made the mistake of not asking Jack to amuse Estelle for a couple hours that afternoon while he groomed her?

John really needed that shower.

So after he finished up with work for the day, he made his arrival back at the house audible. He grabbed a couple things, headed outside, then slipped upstairs when he heard Jack in the bathroom to make sure he didn’t spoil the reveal. Grabbing some clothes, he showered in the downstairs half bath, taking a little extra time to…well, dressing up wasn’t something he was really good at, but he tried to at least match the effort. He tied his hair back, put on his best pair of boots, and put on a pair of black jeans he’d found in the city a little while back, along with a snug fitting black Henley t shirt he didn’t bother to button.

It felt a little…much, but when he realized the end of one of his scars was visible if he left it open, he couldn’t help the little flare of warmth that lit in his chest—one that came with the immediate visual in his head of Jack seeing it and getting that one particular look in his eye. The one that made it clear he found shirts offensive—mostly when John was wearing them.

For the first time, John was actually anticipating that look.

Once he put his jade pendant back on and decided he was ready, John amused himself with looking through his records while waiting for Jack. He wasn’t going to use any of them tonight—not since he’d discovered the miraculous little contraption that held actual hundreds of songs and could even make something like a mixtape—but if he spotted something he wanted to add at the last minute, he was pretty sure he could figure out how to add it in to the songs he’d picked out…

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Now you're in trouble.

Jack couldn't help grinning at that message the entire time he was getting ready. Considering that had been at least half the point in this venture. He wasn't expecting this dress to stay intact much longer than the others, but it was fun to be able to wind John up that much more.

(He supposed being able to do something like that was one point in the favor of the damn 'smart phones' that were taking over back home, even if he found how fast they changed off putting. Most communication devices had become pretty set in their functions by the time he was born, but getting stuck in the time when the most basic stuff got more and more complicated every six months or? Not fun.)

He'd been mostly put together by the time he messaged John, not being sure how long the man's patience would hold out. He's just finishing up the makeup; simpler this time; a pale pink for the lip, eyeshadow a near-match for the pale blue lace on the dress, and is putting the last touches on a pretty passable cat eye. Stepping back a little, heels clicking on the linoleum, he smiles at his reflection and makes a quick adjustment to the chain of the jade pendant a little better to lay over the tags, and steps out to head downstairs--

Stopping a few steps from the bottom and just. Staring at the vision of John in a shirt that was already stirring things and had to be at least twice as devastating seen from the front, and oh hell those jeans.

Yep, definitely in trouble.

John only just catches the footfall and glances up, then over his shoulder…

…and as he turns around, giving Jack the full picture, realizes this might have been a bad idea because of course it is.

He’s gorgeous. He’s deadly fucking gorgeous, showing off the full picture, and all John wants to do is drag him right back upstairs…or maybe over to the living room couch. God, yes, Jack in that dress, riding him slow…

John is at the foot of the stairs before he’s fully aware of what he’s doing, and can’t help but grin at Jack even with his eyes glittering with heat.

“I made plans, y’know.” He warns, catching Jack’s hand and pulling him into John’s arms with a vaguely breathless laugh. “You’re threatening to ruin those plans, looking like this.”

And holding him isn’t helping matters, sliding his hands over that lace laying so beautifully over Jack’s waist and narrow hips…God, the sounds he could pull out of Jack just by pinning him to the wall and kissing him until he couldn’t talk, only whimper and moan…

It is absoultely absurd how fantastic it feels when John pulls him into his arms like that, all but dragging him down the stairs. Not unlike the first time he'd dressed up like this, when he'd felt like he might honest-to-goodness swoon when John pulled him close. It's bloody fantastic, but also slightly alarming now that the man seems to be figuring out just how good he is at ravishing.

But even if he weren't literally indestructible, Jack would still very happily let John wreck him. Especially when he's wearing that shirt.

"Hey, I tried to give you time to steel yourself against my girlish figure," he says, wrapping his arms about John's neck with a gentle laugh of his own. "And might I say, you're looking pretty threatening yourself."

“Yeah, well—I did promise you trouble.” John reminds him with a grin—and through a shaky sigh as Jack winds his arms around John’s neck. Everything in him wants to just sweep him up, cart him upstairs, and not let Jack up until he’s begging John to—

With a growl, John’s eyes screw shut and he leans his forehead against Jack’s, still smiling.

“If I kiss you, we’re just gonna end up screwing and I. Have. Plans, you sexy bitch.” John laughs, impulsively lifting Jack off his feet and swinging him away from the stairs before setting him back down again. Letting him go—with great reluctance—John catches Jack’s hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm.

“C’mon. We’re goin’ out…sorta.” John declares, his smile turning secretive as he leads Jack towards the front door.

He’s true to his word. Rather than leading Jack down the main path, he steers Jack around the house and out towards the barn, which has been left uncharacteristically open. Once they’re inside, Jack will see that a lot of equipment has been moved to the back, and about three or four strands of lights have been strung across the rafters, rustic bare bulbs giving the space a dim, atmospheric glow. On an overturned crate, there’s a Bluetooth speaker set up with an mp3 player docked into it.

Lifting Jack’s hand to press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, John lets him go for a second and crosses over to the speakers. It takes a few moments of struggle, but soon music starts to fill the air.

Straightening, John crosses back over to Jack and offers him his hand.

“May I have this dance?”

It probably says a great deal about his character that Jack finds himself feeling just a little nostalgic hearing John call him 'bitch' but there really is something different about that than the male equivalent he gets far more often, and also damn near anything would sound hot with that laugh and--

Before his thoughts can go much further down that path, Jack finds himself staring into a space that he knows is the barn but can't help seeing as something far closer to one of the smaller dance halls he'd frequented over the years and--

He laughs, loud and bright. "Ridiculous," he says, grinning as he puts his hand in John's and takes a step closer.

“Yeah, so you keep telling me.” John replies with a grin, pulling Jack into his arms again. Wrapping one arm around his waist, he laces their fingers together with his other hand and starts moving with the music…

And for a little while, he just doesn’t talk. He just dances, watching Jack as they move together, as John holds him…as, at one point, he executes a spin with Jack that takes him back to that first afternoon.

“I’ve wanted to do this for you for a while.” He finally admits as he pulls Jack back into his arms. “Since that first dance. Us, you all dressed up like you talked about…”

He trails off with another shaky sigh, leaning his forehead into Jack’s.

“…I just didn’t realize angels could be so damn chaotic.” He chuckles. “One look at you like this, and I lose my mind.”

For a minute, Jack doesn't feel the need to get smart or flirtatious, content to just fall into a completely different sort of rhythm with John than their usual variety. It really does feel more natual to follow in heels, but that's probably thanks to nights in a few dark bars that really would have made the barn look like a big dancehall in comparison. Halls he hadn't seen since in some forty years.

And he'd very, very rarely felt as close to any of the dance partners he'd had in those places than he does right here with John. He beams as John spins him, laughing as John pulls him close.

"Mmm, well. That has kinda always been the point," he murmurs, keeping his mouth just far enough to not actually touch John's. Yet. "Once I got a glimpse of how hot it is when you let go like that on the boat, I had to see if I could get you to dial it up a notch. Or ten."

That gets a smile out of John—would have gotten a laugh, but Jack has him more than a little distracted. Close enough to share his air, the lace detailing of his dress playing hell with John’s self control as he slides his hand up Jack’s back to pull him just a little bit closer…

“Nah, that was all you.” John insists softly, shaking his head. “Just…couldn’t handle you, y’know? I was too scared that day. Scared outta my mind—not because I wanted you, I was okay with that, but…”

He trails off, looking into Jack’s eyes with a sudden surge of emotion so intense that it’s hard to breathe for a second. Remembering the fear of that day, reaching for Jack’s hand and not just wanting, but reaching for it, and for someone as strong, as gorgeous as Jack Harkness…

“I didn’t think it was possible you could want me even—even half as badly as I wanted you.” He admits quietly, sheepishly. “It was like…you could have literally anyone you wanted, y’know?”

While he's known since the first time that John really doesn't see how stunning he is, it still yanks at Jack's heart to hear it put like that. It's not like Jack hasn't something similar from a handful of lovers, and it's always been upsetting, but it's different with someone like John who had come out of the most horrific experiences humanity could live through.

Sighing, Jack leans in a little closer as he smooths his hand over John's shoulder. "Yeah, I could," he murmurs, "which is why that's exactly what I did. For one thing, you're really hot," he says, grinning. "For another...I could see pretty clear the day we met that you hadn't been able to have that, and I kinda selfishly wanted to be the one to do that for you, if you wanted to take the chance, even if it wound up only happening once. Wanted to make sure it was with someone who'd do it really well," he can't help it, laughing a little--he knows he's really hot and really good in bed and has yet to see good cause to be modest--before his face goes gently sober again.

"...and someone who wouldn't be a complete asshole if you needed to put on the breaks."

John can’t help the way he blushes under Jack’s praise, but he’s grinning even as he ducks his head a little. The protests are right there on the tip of his tongue…but with Jack pressed close like this and those memories of his feverish praise still so fresh in his head, when he can still feel those sensuous touches and the way Jack reacted to John’s own fingers sliding over every scar and writhing in Jack’s arms…

It’s enough that he can’t quite make himself voice them. Not when, just for a sliver of a second…he sort of believes Jack.

The more Jack talks, though…John finally meets his gaze again with a furrow of his brow as his smile turns bemused.

“…you still don’t know, do you?” He realizes aloud, shaking his head a little. “What I was asking for that first day on the boat—I wanted to sleep with you, of course I did, but I wasn’t asking for sex. I was asking for…”

Your heart. Your affection. All those little glimpses I’d gotten of the man you are, the best of you.

None of it feels like the right answer…so gazing into Jack’s eyes, sparkling brighter against the frame of his flawless make up, holding him close wrapped in silk and lace, John kisses his forehead to point to this little seen, carefully guarded thing that’s part of Jack. The real Jack.

“…for this. Even if it was just for that trip, or just for that night.”

The song chose that moment to end, segueing into the next.

“I wanted you…and I never thought for even a second that you could want me that way as badly. And…”

Here he is. Sharing his home, in his bed…in his arms, temptation personified and calling him ‘ridiculous’ every time he actually means ‘beloved.’

And the only way John can find to properly communicate that—and what it means to him—is to kiss Jack and keep kissing him.

Jack only has a moment for a rush of fond amusement when the song changes. Because just like that day, John's words are pulling him back to a dance hall in 1941 and another man who had wanted and deserved so much more than a single night.

Make the most of now.

He sighs against John's mouth, barely holding back the impulse to pull the tie out of his hair as he returns the kiss with equal fervor.

"If you haven't noticed," he murmurs when he's finally able to break away. "I am actually very bad at not falling for people fast and hard."

Yeah, that phrasing is intentional. Even dolled up like this--and not entirely, strictly speaking, him--Jack still has to blunt the edges of his emotions with crass charm.

"And it was kinda difficult to stop myself from doing precisely that when you tried to get me to leave you with that--nightmare of yours. Even when I wasn't so hard to knock down, there weren't many people who would've done that. Especially when they hadn't known me all that long."

There was another man who might have, if things had gone differently--

He stops that train of thought before it can lead to some pretty depressing places by leaning in for another lingering kiss.

John wants to tell him--how he couldn't hide, even when they first met. The careful way he approached so he could be known without surprising him, the comfort he didn't have to offer a stranger...that day, trapped at the gates of his own private hell, when Jack had donned a costume he wasn't fond of in order to try and save him when John knew he didn't deserve saving.

From Teasle, and his own guilty conscience. From grief, that first day, from the burden of carrying the horrors of Washington all by himself.

John wants to tell him, because he doesn't think Jack understands that he showed John everything he needed to know that very first day, hearing what war John fought and giving him the one thing even Colonel Trautman never truly could: understanding.

He wants to, but Jack's kissing him, and the song has changed...so when the kiss breaks, John just leans in, presses his cheek to Jack's, and shuts his eyes. He stays silent.

He lets the music speak for him, about staying, about falling in love...about how some things are meant to be.

John lets the music speak for him, until the last notes are floating through the air, when he takes the hand of Jack's he's holding and brings it to his lips, silently pressing every single word into the delicate skin on the inside of Jack's wrist.

For a few wonderful moments, Jack's able to stay entirely in the present. In this barn he'll probably always see as a dim dancehall, with John who keeps seeing new, awful things about his past but still wants him.

But as the song fades out and John lifts his hand, for just a moment there's another set of fingers lacing between his, silently asking for…

With a quiet sigh, Jack moves the hand he has on John's shoulder to curve against the back of his neck, using the familiar warmth of his skin to stay grounded.

"Little while before I came here," he starts, voice soft and just a little distant, "I wound up back in 1941 for an evening. The why and how's a whole mess all its own. Important thing is, I wound up meeting the man I took my name from. Before, when it wasn't supposed to be for longer than a couple weeks."

It's strange now, to think how just a few small decisions made in his haste to get away from the Agency had set him on such an impossible course--changed everything about who he was, what he was, and gave him reasons to care about things more substantial than getting drunk or laid.

"He was just one more name on a list before that. Maybe would've stayed that way, if it wasn't for two things. First being the fact I knew he'd die the next day, how it'll happen."

He can't bail out because his whole plane is on fire.

Jack swallows down a swell of pain extremely close to what he'd felt that night, turning his head just slightly so his mouth is just under John's ear.

"Other thing was…don't know what word he would've used to describe it, but he wanted something it wasn't safe for him to have. And I was only able to give him a fraction of it, before I had to leave and--"

Before the grief he doesn't have any right to is able to grab hold and ruin this lovely thing John's done for him, Jack presses his lips to his jawline, hoping at least some of the point of all that's sunk in.

John slows, then stops dancing even as the next song drifts softly through the air. Instead he just wraps his arms around Jack, holding on tight with one hand coming up to cradle the back of his neck protectively. He leans into the press of Jack’s lips on his jaw, then twists to mirror the gesture, kissing the hinge of his jaw right beside his ear with a sigh.

He understands, all right—and he’s pretty sure there’s something about the whole thing that Jack either blames himself for, feels unentitled to, or thinks he could have changed. He would…

“Do you ever stop saving people?” He sighs against his skin. “From danger, from loneliness, from ourselves…you care for us, you save us, you remember us…you fight so hard for us, our guardian angel.”

John draws back just enough to lean his forehead into Jack’s with a smile.

“It’s time someone fought for you—good thing I’m here, huh?”

The impulse to start listing off all the times he's failed, how much he screwed up when he was still mortal to say nothing of after, is a hard one to fight back. He wouldn't even bother with the self-depreciating tirade in the first place, with most people, but John…he understands just enough to know why that night had been equally wonderful and heartbreaking, that Jack doesn't need to tell him how tempting it had been to disregard any thoughts of what it would do to the entire damn universe if he did something to save one man.

But the hand at the back of his neck and John's warm breath brushing over his face calms enough of the guilt and pain to let him give a tiny smile back and meet John's gaze with clear eyes (thank fuck, he really doesn't want his eyeliner wrecked unless it's for way sexier reasons).

"Yeah, it is." His voice is just a little rough but nowhere near breaking, and when he leans in for another quick kiss a bit more of sorrow filling his chest melts away. "And even if I thought I had a chance in hell of shaking you off now, even I'm not foolish enough to give up a guy who put in the work of rigging up lights and teaching himself tech that is still pretty new when I showed up from all to show me a good time."

That gets a laugh out of John, one that brings a grin to his face, hard enough to jostle them both as he hangs on to Jack—and since he’s moving, he starts dancing again, though it’s not much more than a rhythmic sway.

“What can I say? I was built for war, I was trained to win.” John replies, expression soft and open as he gazes into Jack’s face, grateful to see the shadows he can hear in his slightly strained voice fading. He wants to see that light again, wants to see Jack happy—and he’ll do anything to make that happen.

With a sigh and a smile, John takes the hand of Jack’s he holds and lifts it so both of Jack’s hands are on his shoulders. It frees him to run the backs of his fingers over Jack’s cheek without having to let him go.

“And you’re the war now, Jack. Never forget that.”

John's brilliant smile and heavy laughter does even more than his touch to dissolve all of the lingering sorrow over something Jack knew in his bones he couldn't have changed. Gods and Goddesses and anything else that might possibly hold any power over the universe, the man really does have a gorgeous smile.

With a small chuckle of his own, Jack turns his face into John's touch, allowing him to press his lips to his knuckles. It won't leave quite as prominent of a stain as the red lip he'd worn on the other occasions, but it should still be obvious to someone who knows what to look for. Like a very observant, very hot soldier. "Pretty sure even if I wanted to, you'd never let me," he says, smiling against John's hand to make it very clear this is the opposite of a problem.

Lifting his head to meet John's eyes again to let him see that the shadows have left his features as much as they ever do, Jack leans in to give him a much more solid kiss, drawing back slowly and only enough so he can murmur against his mouth. "And I know you'll say it's not necessary, but I'm gonna do it anyway: thank you, for this. It's…fantastically normal."

Which would probably sound like the most contradictory statement in the universe to nearly anyone else. But with John he's sure it will, somewhat depressingly, make complete sense.

John is very aware of the lipstick left behind by the press of Jack’s mouth, and it never fails to leave a little flare of warmth in his stomach. Not as vivid as the siren red, but he almost likes it better for an evening like this. Maybe when they get back to the house, Jack will leave a few others somewhere a little more visible…

“Normal was what I was shooting for. Y’know. Special normal.” John replies with another little chuckle. Impulsively, he catches Jack’s hand and urges him into a little twirl, not a full spin, so when he pulls Jack close again, his back is against John’s chest as they sway to the music.

“But you’re welcome.” John adds softly, right in Jack’s ear before pressing a kiss to the skin just below it, and another to the side of his neck. “I’m glad you like it.”

Jack lets out a soft, contented sigh as John pulls him close like that--and then almost immediately draws in a sharp breath when that wonderful mouth is pressed against his neck.

"'Like's one helluva an understatement," he laughs, turning just enough to allow him to brush his mouth against John's hair. "It's been a real long time since my life's been calm enough to allow anything that requires much planning and I've been with anyone who would've thought to do something even close to this for me. I'm usually the one who springs the big romantic gestures on folks. Or at least the drop dead gorgeous outfits." He grins, letting his body relax just a little more against John's.

"And as fun as it is to get practically tackled when I spring this stuff on you, it was definitely worth giving you a little heads up this time."

John sighs a little as Jack relaxes against him, leans back into his chest a little more. Between that and the beautiful little hiss of breath when John kisses his neck…yeah, he’s getting a little distracted again. The warmth of that gorgeous body in his arms melting into him, the sturdy planes of that familiar, alluring body wrapped in silk and lace as he slides a hand against Jack’s stomach…God, he even smells good.

Then again, Jack always smells good. Alarmingly good—John always forgets about those pheromones…

Bending his head to kiss Jack’s bare shoulder, he drags his lips up along the curve of Jack’s neck until he can whisper in his ear again.

“Night is young—plenty of time to do some tackling yet.” He murmurs. “Unless I finally hit on something tackle-worthy myself. Drop dead gorgeous, you say? That’s a lotta praise for jeans and a t-shirt, Angel…”

A wonderful shiver runs down Jack's spine as John's lips touch his shoulder. Bloody hell, the man is dangerously close to working him into a proper swoon. Not that Jack has any plans to complain when that happens.

He laughs softly as John's warm breath rushes over his ear. "Despite my own sartorial choices, I really do believe that the basics can do a whole lot for the right person. And you," he murmurs against John's hair, "really make jeans and a t-shirt praise-worthy."

To drive the point home a bit more, Jack shifts his weight to press just a bit closer up against John's chest. "Hell," he says, laughing, "even just the jeans. Especially when you're soaking wet."

“Yeah, Estelle figured out just how much you like that pretty quick.” John chuckles, curling a hand over Jack’s shoulder as he presses closer, gently keeping him trapped there between that and the hand settling on Jack’s hip, making sure he’s pulled flush back against John’s body.

“But, uh—you don’t have your wing woman on hand to help you now.” He murmurs, raking his teeth lightly over the hinge of Jack’s jaw. “So I’m just gonna have to stay bone dry and fully clothed unless you got some master plan I don’t know about.”

Even without John's firm grasp, Jack has absolutely no intention of putting any more distance between them and while he does really like getting his hands all over that gorgeous chest, he's just as happy to be able to press up close in this position, in this dress, while John's wearing those nice jeans.

Which is why he lets out a long, shuddering sigh as John's teeth scrape against his jaw and lets his body get a little more slack in his arms, tilting his head to the side to expose more skin to John's mouth. "You're the one with the plans tonight," he almost purrs. "I'm mostly just interested to find out just how long you can go without actually tearing my clothes off this time."

“What, you’re not impressed with my self control yet?” John teases, nuzzling Jack’s jaw as the hand on his hip slides up to curl around the curve of Jack’s rib cage, not just holding him closer but getting a little more distracted.

His breath is coming a little heavier, and he’s pretty sure Jack’s going to be able to feel John’s self control waning pressed against him, if he can’t already.

“Maybe I wanna see if I can get you to tear mine off first—I can’t always be the sex maniac in this relationship.” He continues through a laugh, the sound humming against Jack’s skin as John presses a slow, open mouthed kiss to the pulse fluttering at his throat.

Jack's own short, breathy laugh cuts off with a hitched gasp when John's mouth touches his throat and he lets his eyes fall closed.

"Not a bad idea," he murmurs, sounding just a little distracted himself as he is now quite aware of John's increasing lack of control. "And one I am starting to wonder if I could execute without changing our current positions."

He probably won't--probably, he could manage it but it'd be a lot of work without the benefit of actually seeing much of John--but it's a good thing to throw out just to get John a little more flustered. He's caught the reaction smaller things like the creative way he's undone his shirt cuffs has on the man.

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