Torchwood fic: Village Outing
Sep. 26th, 2007 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
littledoglaughedWritten for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bringthehappy's Happyfest.
Title: Village Outing
Author: rustydog
Genres: Torchwood and Little Britain crossover, slash
Characters: Owen, Jack, Daffyd Thomas
Rating: PG-13 for some suggestive language
Spoilers: season 1 of Little Britain, none for Torchwood
Words: ~950
Author's note/disclaimer: It's true I don't speak Welsh, but the mistakes in name spellings, like the character Daffyd himself, belong to Matt Lucas and David Walliams. Torchwood also belongs to entities who are not me. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
caerwynx for having a look at this first!
Summary: People who lie to themselves make Owen's teeth itch.
The three had stopped on the street so Jack could take some readings. Owen regarded the baby-faced young man standing beside them. Then he looked across the village lane to where a godlike blacksmith was openly flirting with the milkman and an elderly woman was chatting with a priest as they emerged from what appeared to serve as both newsstand and sex shop. A very kinky object could be seen poking out of the old lady's shopping bag.
Owen looked back at the young man. A net shirt with gold sequined trim hugged the doughy stomach, but it was the combination of haughtiness and fear in his eyes that had said everything Owen needed to know. He'd never seen someone so simultaneously flamboyant and virginal. And the man had been making his ridiculous claims all day. Owen couldn't take it anymore.
"Bloody hell, Jack," he said, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "We find whatever weird alien thing this wanker says he saw—and that's assuming he's not it, let's not rule that out—and then will you PLEASE have a—" he cleared his throat meaningfully, "word with him about reality? 'The only one,' my cock."
The young man's face contorted with well-practiced indignation. "Why, sir," he spluttered, "I am the—"
"No you don't," said Owen, stopping him with a hand upheld like a traffic guard's; there was no collar to grab on the skin-tight net shirt. "Say it one more time and I'll knock you out of this village."
Jack just shook his head. "I'm staying out of this. But you know," he said thoughtfully, "despite your charming imagery, Owen, you make a good point." He took a mobile-sized device out of his pocket. "Mr. Thomas, would you stand still, please?"
Jack scanned the man up and down with practiced motions, then stood and re-pocketed the device. "Nope," he concluded, "you're almost definitely human." He glanced at the man, barely hiding a bemused smile.
Owen could have sworn Daffyd Thomas looked disappointed at the verdict.
*
By nightfall, their alien tracking had turned up nothing, and Owen wondered why he'd been needed on this field trip at all. Surely Jack could have handled one ditch of a village on his own.
To make matters worse, Jack judged the time too late for a drive back to Cardiff. He led Owen and their contact into the local pub, where Jack seemed to know the management already.
"Ladies!" Jack greeted the barmaid and her girlfriend, managing a combination of charm and suggestiveness as expertly as Daffyd managed outspoken homosexuality and stubborn innocence. Owen scanned the room for female prospects in his own quaint categorical range, but there were only a couple of coal miners sitting back in the corner, their grimy cap lamps almost touching as they conversed quietly. Owen noticed their boots inching closer together.
It was just as well. From what he had been able to tell, there was no one under sixty in Llandewi Breffi who was interested in the opposite sex. At least under normal influences. Owen ordered two drinks, then leaned against the bar to watch Jack in action. He had to admire the way the man could have even a woman as sweet but obviously butch as the innkeeper's girlfriend eating out of his hand. Literally.
The drinks came. One of them was a Bacardi and Coke, which was not what Owen had ordered, but he didn't argue. He had made a decision. In lean times, he could do as the locals did. And he'd be damned if he was going to leave this forsaken village having accomplished nothing.
He took the drinks to a table and forced the young man to sit down with him.
"So, Daffyd" he started. He leaned forward, looking the nervous young man directly in the eye and managing to look hungry. "I'm not gay. And I'm from out of town. So we are going to have these drinks, and then I'm going to have some more. And then we're going to a room, where I reckon I can show you a thing or two. After that, if you still want to be the only gay in the bleeding village, it's your loss, mate."
He leaned back and waited for the reaction. This one might take some sweet talking, or Owen's version of it anyway, but it would be worth it. People who lied to themselves made Owen's teeth itch.
*
The next morning, Jack and Owen were in the SUV heading out of the village. They passed Daffyd Thomas walking up toward the sport fields in a pink and white vinyl rugby uniform. He didn't notice the SUV. Owen slowed down and Jack rolled down the passenger's side window halfway. Sure enough, they could hear the rubber outfit squeak.
Jack chuckled. "Myfanwy...that's the barmaid, you know," he clarified.
Ah. Owen had wondered last night why he had found himself involuntarily looking around the pub for a pterodactyl.
Jack continued, "Myfanwy told me Daffyd hosted a couple of 'Gay Nights' at the pub, but he kept the doors locked and then moaned for weeks about how there was no one to attend his gay parties. She let him keep having them because she always hoped he'd get a bit of, ah, 'bumfun'—her word. No luck, apparently."
Owen rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well... I'm guessing the next one will be a bit more of a success." He took one more look up to where the pearish pink figure was disappearing around a hedge. Owen smirked knowingly as he put the vehicle in gear and they drove away.
bringthehappy's Happyfest.Title: Village Outing
Author: rustydog
Genres: Torchwood and Little Britain crossover, slash
Characters: Owen, Jack, Daffyd Thomas
Rating: PG-13 for some suggestive language
Spoilers: season 1 of Little Britain, none for Torchwood
Words: ~950
Author's note/disclaimer: It's true I don't speak Welsh, but the mistakes in name spellings, like the character Daffyd himself, belong to Matt Lucas and David Walliams. Torchwood also belongs to entities who are not me. Thank you to
caerwynx for having a look at this first!Summary: People who lie to themselves make Owen's teeth itch.
The three had stopped on the street so Jack could take some readings. Owen regarded the baby-faced young man standing beside them. Then he looked across the village lane to where a godlike blacksmith was openly flirting with the milkman and an elderly woman was chatting with a priest as they emerged from what appeared to serve as both newsstand and sex shop. A very kinky object could be seen poking out of the old lady's shopping bag.
Owen looked back at the young man. A net shirt with gold sequined trim hugged the doughy stomach, but it was the combination of haughtiness and fear in his eyes that had said everything Owen needed to know. He'd never seen someone so simultaneously flamboyant and virginal. And the man had been making his ridiculous claims all day. Owen couldn't take it anymore.
"Bloody hell, Jack," he said, shifting impatiently from foot to foot. "We find whatever weird alien thing this wanker says he saw—and that's assuming he's not it, let's not rule that out—and then will you PLEASE have a—" he cleared his throat meaningfully, "word with him about reality? 'The only one,' my cock."
The young man's face contorted with well-practiced indignation. "Why, sir," he spluttered, "I am the—"
"No you don't," said Owen, stopping him with a hand upheld like a traffic guard's; there was no collar to grab on the skin-tight net shirt. "Say it one more time and I'll knock you out of this village."
Jack just shook his head. "I'm staying out of this. But you know," he said thoughtfully, "despite your charming imagery, Owen, you make a good point." He took a mobile-sized device out of his pocket. "Mr. Thomas, would you stand still, please?"
Jack scanned the man up and down with practiced motions, then stood and re-pocketed the device. "Nope," he concluded, "you're almost definitely human." He glanced at the man, barely hiding a bemused smile.
Owen could have sworn Daffyd Thomas looked disappointed at the verdict.
*
By nightfall, their alien tracking had turned up nothing, and Owen wondered why he'd been needed on this field trip at all. Surely Jack could have handled one ditch of a village on his own.
To make matters worse, Jack judged the time too late for a drive back to Cardiff. He led Owen and their contact into the local pub, where Jack seemed to know the management already.
"Ladies!" Jack greeted the barmaid and her girlfriend, managing a combination of charm and suggestiveness as expertly as Daffyd managed outspoken homosexuality and stubborn innocence. Owen scanned the room for female prospects in his own quaint categorical range, but there were only a couple of coal miners sitting back in the corner, their grimy cap lamps almost touching as they conversed quietly. Owen noticed their boots inching closer together.
It was just as well. From what he had been able to tell, there was no one under sixty in Llandewi Breffi who was interested in the opposite sex. At least under normal influences. Owen ordered two drinks, then leaned against the bar to watch Jack in action. He had to admire the way the man could have even a woman as sweet but obviously butch as the innkeeper's girlfriend eating out of his hand. Literally.
The drinks came. One of them was a Bacardi and Coke, which was not what Owen had ordered, but he didn't argue. He had made a decision. In lean times, he could do as the locals did. And he'd be damned if he was going to leave this forsaken village having accomplished nothing.
He took the drinks to a table and forced the young man to sit down with him.
"So, Daffyd" he started. He leaned forward, looking the nervous young man directly in the eye and managing to look hungry. "I'm not gay. And I'm from out of town. So we are going to have these drinks, and then I'm going to have some more. And then we're going to a room, where I reckon I can show you a thing or two. After that, if you still want to be the only gay in the bleeding village, it's your loss, mate."
He leaned back and waited for the reaction. This one might take some sweet talking, or Owen's version of it anyway, but it would be worth it. People who lied to themselves made Owen's teeth itch.
*
The next morning, Jack and Owen were in the SUV heading out of the village. They passed Daffyd Thomas walking up toward the sport fields in a pink and white vinyl rugby uniform. He didn't notice the SUV. Owen slowed down and Jack rolled down the passenger's side window halfway. Sure enough, they could hear the rubber outfit squeak.
Jack chuckled. "Myfanwy...that's the barmaid, you know," he clarified.
Ah. Owen had wondered last night why he had found himself involuntarily looking around the pub for a pterodactyl.
Jack continued, "Myfanwy told me Daffyd hosted a couple of 'Gay Nights' at the pub, but he kept the doors locked and then moaned for weeks about how there was no one to attend his gay parties. She let him keep having them because she always hoped he'd get a bit of, ah, 'bumfun'—her word. No luck, apparently."
Owen rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well... I'm guessing the next one will be a bit more of a success." He took one more look up to where the pearish pink figure was disappearing around a hedge. Owen smirked knowingly as he put the vehicle in gear and they drove away.
