There, Wolf [7/13]

[robling-t.livejournal.com]

Title: There, Wolf
Rating: teen [language and sexual situations]
Characters: Gwen, Ianto, Jack, PC Andy
Spoilers: post-Exit Wounds
Advisories: crossover with Being Human; also if you think about the werewolf thing a little too hard, um... yeah, but not on-screen
Disclaimer: I am apparently a very silly person at this hour

Summary: Torchwood has adopted a stray...

Note: At least she's cracking right along on it, I try to tell myself...



**********

She'd almost got used by now to waking from a doze with Andy's naked bulk sprawled across her, reassurance to them both that skin was back to skin and limbs in the proportion that one should expect. It was the part where Gwen's own hide was bare against his that sent her starting up in panic. Oh. Oh, no. ...Yeah. Yeah, you did. Oh, god.

Start with the obvious, you're at his and it looks as if you were both well and pissed? Andy had been melancholy lately, since they'd worked out that there simply wasn't anything obvious to be done about his situation, no virus or mutagen or nanotechnological cause to this that any of Torchwood's powers to research it could uncover. Which wasn't any more than he'd been expecting all along, as he'd said from the beginning, but Gwen had been holding out for some slim hope...

None of which exactly explained how they seemed to have ended up shagging on the floor in front of his telly. Come on, Gwen, piece it back together --

Keeping him company on a bad night with videos and a pizza and not-completely-awful wine, a bit past pleasantly mellow and on to somewhere it seemed to make sense that Andy had nuzzled into her hair to murmur, "You smell really... nice, tonight."

"Get out."

"No, it's, I dunno, it's just... nice." Whuffling at her like the wolf now, playful yet a little... Well, he smelt nice himself, for that matter, the building change within him spiky with pheromones to rival Jack's own private blend, almost enough to make a girl think of --

Yeah. Think of that. The probability that they'd remembered to think of much else sinking further with every returning flash of the view from her hands and knees in front of the settee, ecstatic howls from two human throats --

Andy murmured as Gwen extracted herself from his outflung arm and opened sleepy eyes to gaze up at her in muzzy post-wolf confusion. No, post-coital confusion, the full moon proper wasn't until the next night. (Was he even contagious except at the very brink of the change? And what the hell had they been thinking --) "Gwen? You're still, you're, tits, erm..."

"Yeah. We did."

She could see the bricks dropping one by one behind his eyes, until the last one finally hit some important lever and he started grabbing at his own scattered garments. "Shit, shit, Rhys is going to have me neutered --"

"You? I'm only turning him into the advert for everyone your partner's partner's shagged."

Andy gave her a look, frantically trying to dress with hands shaking so badly they might as well have been paws. "I usually do have more sense than this. And not even as if I've been about much... since... but, but, yeah. The other. God."

Her own fingers weren't working so well to sort buttons either. "So what do we do? Call Martha to start some blood-tests or just wait about to see if I turn into a werewolf in a few hours?"

"I don't think it would be, not so soon, I know it wasn't until the next full moon that I -- Don't think we can do anything but watch you. And... Erm. Rhys."

The schedule she kept it wasn't as if she'd seen much of her husband in the last few weeks as it was, not too much of a stretch to find ways to put him off until she could be sure that she was... Safe. Or not. Sleeping with someone from work in a moment of insanity, well, that almost made sense, that would be a joy to explain again compared to and, erm, may have dragged home this STI, sweetheart... Rhys would be the one to have puppies over that. He'd make that bloody Torchwood face, and he'd rant, and then he'd ask her to bite him so she didn't have to do this alone. Because he was Rhys, and his heart was so much bigger than his brain. She'd put silver bullets into her own gun before she'd let it come to that, she would.

Andy had most of his clothes back on by now, although in a minute or two he was going to notice he'd got the shirt inside-out. "I can think of one thing could possibly have been worse than this but I can't look the neighbours' dog in the face as it is --"

"You didn't."

"What? No, 's a, a toy, I'd crush -- Never mind! Not sexually attracted to poodles, for christ's sake!"

"Jack knows this bloke," Gwen said, and then decided it was probably better not to finish that sentence.

"I like women. Human women. Okay, and the occasional human bloke, I'm not going to, I thought he was human, you're hardly going to think of asking a thing like that before you shag somebody! I mean, look at me, would you..."

He trailed off, maybe not wanting to hear Gwen's answer now that she was sober. "You're human, Andy. You're more human than a lot of people I know. Than a few I've shagged, come to think of it." (She was not thinking of Owen. Not even if she'd spent most of yesterday having to listen to Andy's half of a screaming argument about whether Tosh could have learnt something useful from all the downloaded porn that was still knocking around the mainframe --) "It'll be all right. I mean, whatever happens... It will be all right."

He knew her too well to look all that convinced by her wan grin, but he let her draw him into a hug before she went to skulk out, and even pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead as he let her go. He still smelt good enough to shag, at that. She could see anyone hopping into bed with a werewolf and not even too many pints in them, with that provocation. Put into perspective all those jokes about gnawing your own leg off to get away in the morning, this did...