51stcenturyfox | Fic: What Time Do You Get Off?

Title: What Time Do You Get Off?
Author:

51stcenturyfox
Characters: Jack, Ianto, Owen, Gwen, Tosh, Suzie
Wordcount: 1,778
Summary: Everybody wanks. Jack likes to watch. Voyeurism, CCTV abuse, and self-pleasure.
Rating: R
A/N: Mucho thanks to

neifile7 and

amand_r for beta and to

copperbadge for timecoding-up the images..

Dr Owen Harper

Owen always looked angry before he came, as if resentfully impatient with the process. Usually he'd get off in the med bay, where he knew no one would stumble in while he was ostensibly organising the antibiotics in the refrigerator, stocking supplies or dissecting something vaguely disgusting. It never seemed to bother him, though, jerking off beside a scale heaping with viscera. He always wanked standing up, and it took ages no matter how furiously he pumped into his hand. There was an economy-sized tube of lubricant in a cabinet, Jack knew, next to the condoms and plasters and acetaminophen, but Owen would often use the pink surgical soap he kept in a dispenser out of convenience... or maybe he just liked the scent. Sometimes he'd face the counter against the wall, near the steps, and that always annoyed Jack because he couldn't see Owen's face.

One morning, Jack saw him grab Gwen's wrist and place her hand on his cock, over his scrubs. She'd snatched her hand away. "Not here," she'd hissed, and looked up at the camera in the corner.

"Come on, don't be paranoid. Nobody's watching."

"Fuck off, Owen. I said, not here," and she'd taken the steps two at a time on her way back to her desk.

That was how Jack found out. After that, when he saw them together, he was surprised he'd missed it in the first place. He knew they'd kissed, but everybody knew that.

After Owen died and came back, Jack was sorry he'd never get to see that angry expression again -- at least not in the same circumstances. Owen tried at least once, but gave up after a minute or two, cursed, pulled out a box of slides and a microscope and went back to work with a dolefully accusatory glance down at his dormant cock.

Jack was very kind to Owen that week.

http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/0005z82b

Toshiko Sato

Tosh was a bright button, Jack knew, so when she'd started the job --indentured servitude with a fat paycheque, really -- she'd twigged immediately that her flat was under surveillance as well as her laptop. She could have easily disabled the devices, but, well, obviously she couldn't. She did find it unnerving that she could be observed at any time, but she never acknowledged the intrusion or indicated that she objected to it.

They hadn't bugged her loo; there was no window, and no reason for surveillance in there. Tosh had no plans to escape, but Jack didn't know that yet... not for sure. Captain Harkness would have known she wasn't prone to despair or self-harm, however. He'd been locked up himself. More than once.

One night, following a hot bath and a heavy read, she dreamed of deep sea diving nude with a former lover and awoke with a cry. She flung the volume on her chest to the floor, gasping, and grabbed for the two-day-old open bottle of water on her nightstand for a deep drink. Tosh realised that for the first time since being co-opted by Torchwood, she was turned on, her nipples hard against the crisp cotton of her pyjama top. She considered heading for the en-suite but cocked an eye at the ceiling fixture and decided, fuck that. She reached to turn off her bedside light and slipped further down under the duvet.

The next morning, when Jack fast-forwarded through the CCTV cache, he noted the light blinking out, then back on ten minutes later, followed by Toshiko flipping the V at the camera in the corner. He laughed to himself and cut the feeds permanently, except the feed from her laptop. He never realized she'd set up a firewall so she could surf the net privately. It didn't occur to him that she wouldn't have spent six hours every night reading the Guardian Online.

Jack might have been surprised at her taste in online porn, but probably not. Rule 34 is a fixed point, too.

http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/0005wqyf

Suzie Costello

Suzie leaned back in her chair and grinned blissfully after inhaling most of a lemon chiffon pastry from the French bakery two blocks off the Plass. She opened her eyes to see Jack staring at her across the conference table.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"No," Suzie said, deliberately. "What? Crumbs or lemon?" She wiped the corner of her mouth.

"Neither," Jack said, stifling a smile by clearing his throat once, then again.

"Well? What?" She demanded.

"I just..." the light in Jack's eyes changed as he continued. "That looked like an orgasmic experience."

"Oh?" Suzie quirked an eyebrow.

"Little bit." He swallowed and dropped his voice into Official Jack Harkness Innuendo Range as one corner of his mouth twisted into a smirk. "Wonder if that's how you look when you-"

Suzie held up a hand. Stop. She quirked her head to one side and regarded him silently, before the hand disappeared with the other under the conference room table. Jack watched, speechless, as she worked open her top button and heard the faint sound of her zip before she sat up slightly, leaned forward and reached inside her jeans.

Suzie stretched and squeezed her eyes shut as she sought the right spot. She writhed hard on her hand and circled her hips slowly, and her smile stretched into an O. She tossed her hair back as she shifted in her chair, one hand flat on the table over her briefing notes and a stack of schematics. Suzie sucked in a rush of air and sent a stack of A4 flying to the floor as she bucked on her fingers and there it was. Suzie's eyes met Jack's as she exhaled. "Oh. Oh yeah. Yeah."

Still panting slightly, she did up her zip and stood in one smooth motion. She strode around the table and approached Jack, who sat stock still as his eyes followed her.

"How was that then?" She whispered in his ear as she brought the last bite of pastry to his lips and waited as he licked her fingers clean of lemon fluff and the faint, savoury traces of Suzie before stalking off towards the hallway.

Jack stayed at the table for ten more minutes and had to think about weevils before he was able to stand.

Jack wouldn't touch a lemon chiffon pastry after she died the first time. One afternoon, feeling peckish, he stumbled across a dented box in the kitchenette. He took one bite and teared up before throwing the rest in the bin.

http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/0005xx6y

Gwen Cooper

Since Rhys now knew... about everything... he was more understanding about long hours. It's important, animal control -- You protecting the public from vicious badgers, he'd say in their own code, laughing and Gwen would too, reassured when she'd ring him with the bad news. "Staying late again, love. Sorry."

"Something for me, eh?" Jack heard her ask Rhys. "Please say it isn't takeaway... I've had that today already." A moment passed for his reply, and Gwen grinned and shifted her thighs together as her fingers fluttered at the neckline of her tee, along the top of her collarbone. "Oh?" she asked, very softly.

When she looked up to see Jack walk past, she forced her mouth into a neutral line. "Ring you right back."

Jack didn't stop - he just nodded amiably and took the stairs. At the top of the landing he watched Gwen glance about, sit back down at her workstation and pick up her mobile. Jack retrieved a key from his pocket and slid it into the locked door on the second level. He sat behind a flickering monitor and adjusted a toggle switch to pull up two views of the clustered desks below before selecting one and adjusting the angle, only to see Gwen stand, phone in hand, and head for a corridor. An unmonitored corridor.

Jack tipped back in his chair and crossed his arms, vexed. He exited the room, carefully locked the door again and strode silently to his own desk.

Four minutes later, he clicked his comm. "Gwen, my office, please. It's important." He was gratified when she turned up breathless and flushed, and stared as she perused the contents of the file he'd handed her and answered his questions.

Jack felt almost guilty as he watched her fidget. Almost.

http://pics.livejournal.com/51stcenturyfox/pic/000604y8

Ianto Jones

Ianto gave the SUV a good clear-out at least once a week. Well, someone had to -- displaying sensitive tech to the lads at the car wash for a detail didn't exactly conform to security protocols. He didn't mind the task, except no one on the team picked up after themselves. He shrugged out of his suit jacket, slipped it over the back of the front passenger seat and rolled up his sleeves.

He grimaced at a upturned styro cup on the back floorboards which had dribbled the remains of Owen's milky tea into the grooves of the floor mat. Fucker. Everyone left personal items or detritus behind; he'd usually find Jack's missing sunglasses under the driver's seat or one of Toshiko's crisps bags, folded during a tense moment into an accordion-shape and forgotten in the crease of one of the back seats. Today he ran across Gwen's mint-emitting chewing-gum wrappers balled up in the coin drawer next to a lone earring.

He pulled the mats, cleaned them, hoovered and then wiped down the windows. After checking his watch, he opened the driver's side door and sat inside. The SUV smelled of leather and the sharp tang of glass cleaner. Ianto pushed the button to electronically adjust the seat by a few inches and tilted back to take advantage of the headrest. Eyes closed, his hand slid along his fly and he exhaled hard. His hand danced across the wool again and he brushed the edge of his thumb against the zip. Ianto deftly opened his trousers and slipped his fingers inside his boxers to withdraw his stiffening cock. He started off slow, tentative even... but urge and want uncoiled within him like a flautist's trick cobra and his hand moved faster, then slowed again, his other nearly depressing the horn as he came, drawing a laugh before he reached for the roll of paper towels on the other seat.

He could have been furtive about it, but he wasn't. Who tapped the CCTV feed from the garage, anyhow? And with tinted windows they'd have to be quite dedicated to catch even a glimpse...

Eyeing Ianto that afternoon, unflappable and whistling as he worked the coffee machine, Jack wondered what he'd thought about. During.

A few weeks later Ianto propositioned Jack with the stopwatch.