Title: To the Victor
Author: Aeshna
Fandom: Torchwood
Rating: NC-17, slash
Word count: 820
Characters: Jack Harkness, John Hart
Summary: It had ever been like this with them....
Spoilers: TW 2.01 Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang, TW 2.13 Exit Wounds
Disclaimer: Not mine, no matter how many DVDs and toys I buy! Everything here belongs to RTD and to Auntie Beeb, who already has my licence fee.
Archive: Sure, whoever wants it – just let me know where it ends up!
Notes: Not got much written this last month or so, but just remembered that I still had this clogging up the hard drive! A slightly expanded version of something small and smutty and violent I wrote for oxoniensis's last Porn Battle, prompt "Torchwood, Jack/John, barfight, punch". These two are rather fun to write – they have such a gloriously screwed-up relationship and they both know it....

Thanks as always to mimarie – any remaining weirdnesses are all mine. Feedback of any variety is much appreciated but not compulsory – I'll post anyway! I've suffered for my art, now it's your turn....

It had been a while since John Hart – and he quite liked the name, for all that it had been chosen on a momentary whim – had ventured near Cardiff but temptation had finally drawn him back, the need for something familiar in this too old-new world. The bar's security systems had been ridiculously easy to silence and now he sat, alone at 4am, sampling his way through the bottles that lined the wall, waiting for –

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Bikini Cop!" He tossed back something green and grinned as Jack Harkness threw his coat across a table and stalked towards him. "Waiting for you, stupid."

Jack snorted, batted the glass aside, and kissed him, hard.

This was what John needed, what made his heart clench, his pulse race – Jack, all lips and tongue and biting teeth; fierce and savage and his. Shoving the other man away from him, he twisted off the barstool, sending it to the floor as his fist found Jack's chin... and the game was on, blow exchanged for blow, violent need and adrenaline singing through him like a drug, the urgency mirrored in Jack's eyes.

It had ever been like this with them – all fire and physicality, fighting for dominance with every hissing breath, every curse, grappling and groaning until one finally submitted, surrendered, spread himself wide and willing. John could feel his cock fill as Jack slammed him back against the bar, a snarl twisting his handsome features. "Give it up, pal – you know what they say about old age and treachery...."

"Dream on," he snapped, knowing that he could win this with a bullet and still have a warm body to fuck... but where would be the fun in that? He swung at Jack's face, only to have the blow blocked, his arm twisted, and then his legs were gone and he was down and rolling, scrabbling, pushing chairs aside as Jack came laughing after him. Gasping, he lashed out with a foot –

The kick caught Jack hard in the gut, his choked exhalation ending on a startled cry as his feet tangled with the fallen stool and his skull met the edge of the bar with an audible crack. John was on him, over him, in an instant, fisting one hand in sweat-damp cotton and pressing his advantage with a fierce right hook that snapped Jack's head around before he could recover his bearings. "Not feeling so cocky now, are we?" he crowed, grinning ferally as he backhanded the man struggling at his feet, once, twice, more, revelling in the smack and sting of flesh striking flesh, the gleam of desperation in those blue, blue eyes. "Gonna break you, baby. Gonna have you begging so hard...."

Fingers clawed for his face; missed and found his shoulder. "Fuck you!"

"Yeah? Rather think I'm the one'll be doing the fucking tonight, lover." A darting uppercut landed solid and sharp and impossibly sweet on the sculpted jaw. Jack jerked once... and then slumped bonelessly in his grasp – those blue, blue eyes rolled blankly back, the strong limbs hanging loose, a bloom of blood painting perfect lips and trailing wetly crimson from the suddenly-slack mouth....

Panting with exertion and painful arousal, John took a moment to savour his victory – usually, he was the one beaten bloody and pounded through the furniture – then released his white-knuckled grip on Jack's shirt, stumbling back a step before returning to plant a booted foot on smooth skin exposed by the fight. "Oh, just look at you! You roll over and show that soft, sexy belly to everyone that drops you? Let 'em know who's boss?" He dug his heel in hard, drawing a groan and a spasmodic twitch, felt the play of muscle beneath the skin, felt his cock throb in hungry anticipation. "Or am I just special?"

"Bast—"

"Naughty!" John laughed and pressed his foot up hard under Jack's jaw, covering his throat, gripping the edge of the bar for balance and watching his partner's dazed eyes widen as he slowly increased the pressure, shutting off his breath. "C'mon, you know how this goes – I win, you behave. Give it up, gorgeous."

Jack snarled a response, blood bubbling between bared teeth as he struggled, bucked, choked, his heels beating a rough tattoo against the floorboards. Hands scrabbled helplessly at his captor's leg, short nails clawing and catching on boot leather, and for one dizzying, glorious moment John thought that he might take it all the way... but then Jack shuddered once and met his eyes and John saw the surrender there, the utter submission, and damn near came from that alone.

Oh yeah, he thought as he finally bent his tamed lover over a table, claiming his trophy with short, savage thrusts that had Jack grunting and jerking and begging and bleeding and howling into the grey wool bunched beneath him, it's good to be back....

~ fin ~