Title: The John Hart Chronicles: The Soul Trap, Part Two

Author: Emma

Characters: John Hart, OCs

Rating: I TELL YOU THREE TIMES, THIS IS NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!

Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?

Summary: John finds dangerous alien technology in the strangest place…

Author's Note: At the end of Exit Wounds, John Hart told Jack Harkness he was going to see a bit of the Earth. These are his adventures. In the HomecomingVerse they are before AND after A Very Private War but before Homecoming

Part One is here

            “Not my cup of tea,” Hart said easily.

             “Nor mine,” Munro said. “It’s a toad in the flower garden, no matter how pretty it looks.”

            “Still, there seems to be a story behind it.”

            “Oh, there is. One of those tiresome Bronte sort of stories. Working class boy falls madly in love with laird’s daughter and she with him. They are torn apart by family pressure but before he leaves she gives him a family heirloom as a reminder of their love. Boy goes off to make his fortune but never does quite as well as he thinks he should have, so he never returns. On his death bed he summons his solicitor and requests the heirloom be returned to the original owner, who happens to be another of the solicitor’s clients. Turns out he had chosen us for that very reason.”

            “How annoying for you. And was the boy so unsuccessful?”

            “God, no! Well known architect, made an excellent living at it. But he kept measuring himself against six hundred years of history. The Dalgliesh family is old Edinburgh money and Miss Sarah was the apple of her daddy’s eye. Last one left, now.”

            “Sad.” Hart set down his glass and stood up. “But it did get you here, for which I am very grateful. Last chance to back out.”

            Munro smiled up at him. “What’s your cabin number?”

            Hart told him. “Ten minutes?”

            “Maybe less. I find myself… anxious.”

            Hart left the lounge at a brisk pace. Once in his cabin he took off his boots and hung up his jacket. He looked around; there was nothing that could identify him later. Not that he expected any trouble from Cameron Munro, but old habits were hard to break.

            A few minutes later there was a discreet knock on the door. Hart opened it and Munro slid in. He must have stopped by his cabin, because he wore only shirt and trousers and very casual slip-on shoes. Munro was flushed all over and his breath did not seem to quite reach his lungs.  Even without touching, Hart could feel the slight tremors that shook his frame, as if the Scotsman were running a fever.

            “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

            Munro shook his head. “Mister Boring as Oatmeal, that’s me. But when you looked at me and lifted your eyebrow…”

            “Are you married?”

            “Would it bother you if I were?”

            “Not in the least.”

            Munro chuckled. “Well, I’m not. Divorced a year ago. Poor Lily. I should never have married her, feeling the way I do. About this, I mean. Not that I know how it feels…”

            Hart cut off the torrent of words with his lips. Munro stiffened for a moment and then threw himself into the kiss, sucking Hart’s tongue as it entered his mouth, cradling Hart’s head in his big palms.  Hart slid his hands around the Scotsman’s waist and then lower to cup his arse and pull him tight. The feel of their erections rubbing through their clothes made them both moan. Hart pulled his mouth away and licked a path down Munro’s throat and into the opening of his pristine white shirt. He started to undo the buttons.

            “The things I’m going to teach you…”

            “Promise?”

            “Oh, yeah.”

            He stripped away the shirt and threw it carelessly on the floor. Munro toed off his shoes as Hart dealt with the belt and pushed trousers and pants down to the floor. Munro kicked them away and used one hand against the wall to balance as he removed his socks.

            “You’re still dressed,” he complained good-naturedly.

            “More fun that way.” Hart sat down on the berth and held out his hand. “Come here.”

            Munro obeyed, standing close to Hart, arms at his side, legs apart to counter the rocking of the train. Nude he looked even better than he did in his suit, long elegant muscles covered with a delicate white-gold down and a short but very thick penis standing rigidly out above a heavy sac. Hart licked his lips in anticipation and heard Munro’s answering groan. Slowly he leaned in and swiped his tongue across the mushroom-shaped head.

            “Oh God… oh please…”

            Hart kept working, licking up and down Munro’s shaft and taking short sucks at the leaking head. He looked up to see the Munro’s eyes close as the Scotsman’s body folded until he could brace himself against the wall above Hart’s head. The rocking motion of the train made him sway gently, erotically, into Hart’s mouth. The little mewling sounds coming from his throat made Hart’s heart race. It had been a long time since he had wanted to pleasure a partner more than he wanted his own pleasure. There was something about Munro that sparked feelings he had forgotten he had.

            With one hand Hart located the bottle he had stashed under the pillow. Pouring some lube into his palm, he used the fingers of his other hand to spread the warm gel between Munro’s arse cheeks and into his rosette. Slowly, he pushed one finger in, waiting when the Scotsman tensed, then stroking gently in and out, drawing Munro into the rhythm until he was thrusting hard, his hips working helplessly. Only then did he add another finger and used his wrist to twist them as he aimed for Munro’s prostrate. A few strokes was all it took. With a smothered howl, the Scotsman grabbed the back of Hart’s neck with one hand and poured himself down Hart’s throat.

            Hart removed his hand and helped Munro down to the floor. The Scotsman was shaking, his legs unable to hold him, gulping for air as if his lungs were burning, but he started scrabbling at Hart’s belt almost immediately.

            “Let me, please. I want to….”

            “All right, but first, take a deep breath. For me, Cameron. Breathe, ok?” Hart stroked the Scotsman shoulders and back. “Breathe. Good.”

            “I’m all right. Let me, please.”

            Hart lay pliant as Munro peeled him out of his clothes and licked, sucked, and bit all over his neck and chest, working his way down to Hart’s erection. What the Scotsman lacked in experience he more than made up for with enthusiasm. He worshipped Hart, eyes closed, mouth wide open to take his thrusts, doing whatever Hart suggested with the fervor of a new convert. When Hart pushed him away slightly, he opened his eyes and looked at his teacher with reproach.

            “I want to be inside you,” Hart said, caressing the beautiful face with soft, feathery strokes. “Will you let me?”

            There was a moment when Hart thought the Scotsman would bolt, but then Munro pressed his lips to the crown of Hart’s erection. “Yes. Please.”

            Hart slid off the bed. He pulled Munro forward until the Scotsman was kneeling over the berth, arms spread out on the duvet and knees wide-apart on the floor. Kneeling behind him, Hart opened Munro’s arse cheeks and used some more lube to work his fingers in, harder and faster, until the Scotsman was babbling nonsense into the mattress. Then he removed his hand and thrust in, all at once, muzzling Munro’s howl of pleasure and pain with the weight of his body. He settled over the Scotsman, gripping his hands, head tucked into the crook of his neck, teeth gripping Munro’s shoulder gently. A few thrusts and the Scotsman was thrusting back; they found a rhythm and settled into it, unhurriedly, until neither one could bear it any longer and they slid into orgasm.