slashthedrabble | 300-word Torchwood ficlet, Jack/Owen

Abstain
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: PG-13, language
Pairing: Jack/Owen (pre-slash-ish).
Disclaimer: I'd like to come up with something witty to say here, but I'm fresh out. They should employ someone to come up with witty disclaimers. Anyhow, the BBC is the owner(s) of these folks.

Owen was the sort of guy Jack liked to drink with, if he were to drink anymore. Owen had that fuck-all attitude that came with years of getting fucked over. His tongue was thick with a rough accent that became thicker with drink. He was loud, obnoxious, and conceited. He was intelligent and self-deprecating. He bordered on self-abusive. He had a leather jacket that kept out the cold and other people. He hunched over when he sat at a table and mumbled as the night wore on. He dwelled on the past without letting you know it. In short, he did a lot of things that reminded Jack of his last regular social companion (who he wasn’t going to think about.) He reminded Jack of himself, as well.

All this was more than enough for Jack to want to steer clear of the kid, except that he didn’t. It didn’t happen very often, not often enough to call it a habit. When it happened, though, it wasn’t completely unexpected, nor was it unwelcome. It passed on as it was.

Some nights, as Jack walked Owen home, he’d cling to the stumbling body a little more than usual. He’d let Owen lean into him, and he’d bury his face in his hair as he rummaged for his spare key. He’d take in his scent and his warmth. It was on these nights that Jack realized he was so alone.

It would have been easy to sleep with him, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t ruin it. He refused to ruin it, whatever “it” was.

Besides, Jack had a feeling Owen was much more lively in the sack when sober. He wouldn’t want to waste a good time simply because the conquest was easy. (He needed to laugh in order not to cry.)