Title: Blackout Dancing
Author: bigtitch
Characters: Jack/Algy
Rating: NC-17

A/N: Written for slashygood for the Jack Harkness ficathon. The requirements were Angst, Jack in a relationship, mention of Algy. I'm afraid all my muses read were Jack, Algy, Angst. I hope this is still OK.

Thanks to lastrega for the emergency beta.

Cross-posted to galactic_conman



Jack paused in the doorway to the bar at The Dorchester and looked around to see if he could find Algy in the mass of khaki uniforms. Was that a familiar red head over there in the corner? He moved closer and found himself doing the familiar left-step, right-step dance with a grey-haired general. The general evidently decided that this was too much like exercise and stopped in front of him.

"Decent show, you RAF chaps are putting on at the moment," he said, ponderously.

"Decent?" Jack volleyed back immediately. "We're brilliant. Last sortie I was up in I shot down three, three! Germans. Two Heinkels and a Messerschmidt." Jack plunged into an animated description of a completely imaginary engagement.

Blending into 1941 had turned out to be trickier than he had imagined. He'd done rudimentary research, picked the branch of the military that explained his accent and gave him the greatest freedom. He'd got the right uniform for the right time. He'd even given himself a medal. Anyone within reach of the psychic paper completely accepted him as being an American volunteer in the 133 RAF Eagle Squadron.

That was fine, until he found that the RAF didn't blend in anywhere in 1941. At the height of the blitz the RAF were the people's heroes. And to the military they were the only branch having any kind of success. He wasn't exactly cheered on the streets but it came close at times. And while, he was quite happy with that personally, professionally anonymous would be better, if only because it lessened the chance of meeting someone who actually was with 133 Squadron and being exposed as an impostor.

And that, he admitted to himself, he'd got completely wrong at the beginning. Asked what he'd done in the previous night's raid he'd replied 'Oh nothing much'. This had been taken as evidence of modesty on his part, he'd been carried shoulder high to the bar and had drinks bought for him all night.

Eventually he'd stumbled on a good method of laying low and was employing it now. The general's eyes had glazed over half-way through the details of his second 'kill' and he was now edging away. Jack brought his story to a close.

"Jolly good," the general said and walked out of the door. "Bloody yank," Jack heard him mutter as he walked away.

Jack smiled, he didn't understand why, but it worked every time. Now, where was Algy?

He found Captain Algernon Williams of the Monmouthshire Regiment in a quiet corner of the bar. His friend was alone with a half-empty bottle of whisky on the table in front of him.

Jack clapped Algy on the shoulder. "How're you doing, old sport?" he asked heartily. The rest of his greeting died on his lips as he saw the expression on his friend's face.

"Who?" Jack asked, as he sat down at the table. There was never any need to ask 'What?' in these times. Sudden death was everywhere.

Algy drained his glass. "Middleton," he said. "Captain Peter Middleton, DLI. We were at Sandhurst together."

"A bomb?"

"An accident," Algy said bitterly. "Manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain. He was demonstrating how to deal with land mines. The dummy he was using had a fault and the spring-loaded detonator fired a spike through his eye and into his brain."

"Oh God," said Jack. "That's…" he groped to find the right words.

"That's a sodding waste! You didn't know Peter; he shouldn't have gone like that. If he had to go, it should have been leading a charge in battle, some death or glory mission. He deserved that. Not in a stupid field because of a faulty detonator!" Algy's voice rose and attracted attention from nearby tables. He reached for the bottle again.

"I think you've had enough," Jack warned.

"Oh no," Algy replied. "Not enough. You see there's a place about here," he pointed to a spot about an inch from the bottom of the bottle, "where either it all starts to make sense, or I stop caring. And that leaves me with about two and a half inches to go. So no," he turned haunted eyes on Jack, "I haven't had enough."

"Algy," Jack started and then the air-raid siren interrupted him. "Oh, crap! We can't stay here," he stood up and helped his drunken friend to his feet. "Come on."

Algy held on to his bottle while Jack held on to him and they made it into the hotel lobby in a passable imitation of a three-legged race. Algy expected to follow the crowd into the hotel's bomb shelter, but Jack pulled him towards the stairs. "My room," he said. They would be as safe there as anywhere in London. The Dorchester didn't suffer a direct hit throughout the whole war; it was why Jack had picked it as his base.

In his room, Jack deposited Algy (and bottle) on the bed, while he switched off the light and pulled back the blackout curtains. The moon was nearly full and flooded the room with its pale, cold light. He produced two tooth glasses from the night stand and Algy poured whisky into both of them.

Jack raised his glass in a silent toast before drinking. "What was your friend like?" he asked, settling into the over-stuffed armchair.

"Middleton?" Algy shut his eyes, remembering. "He was always so full of life. He never seemed to hesitate about anything. Put him in any situation and he'd jump straight in. Like a cat that knows it's always going to land on its feet. We were friends from our first day at the Academy. Not sure why. We were so different. He always had all the confidence. I was never that brave. I was always the conventional one. You remind me of him in many ways."

A suspicion began to form in the back of Jack's mind about this unknown soldier.

Algy held out the bottle in an invitation, but when he tried to pour into Jack's glass he spilled more than made it into the glass. "God, I'm drunk," he said.

"That you are," Jack agreed.

"He offered, you know," Algy said. "He wanted to - you know - with me. I said no. I was too conventional. Too scared. And now he's gone. And it's too late!" His voice broke at the tears finally fell.

Jack put down his glass, sat on the bed and put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Algy reached up and took hold of Jack's hand. He raised his eyes to Jack's and his face was calm, determined. "Would you?" he asked.

"Algy?"

"It's too late for me and Peter. But you and I. We could… Couldn't we?"

"Oh, Algy," Jack started, trying to find a way to let his friend down gently.

Algy let go of Jack's hand and looked away. "You don't want to. I'm sorry."

Jack took hold of his hand again. "It's not that," he said. "But you're drunk and upset. And I don't want you to do anything you'll regret. And I'm not going to be sticking around."

"I know you flyboys don't stay for long," Algy said, misunderstanding what Jack meant. "I know that. But no one knows when they're going. But that's the same for all of us; a bomb could get us at anytime. But now I know that if it happens, what I'll regret isn't what I've done. It's what I haven't done. And maybe I have to be drunk to say this, but I want you, Jack. And in six days' or in six months' time I don't want to be at the bottom of another bottle of whisky regretting what never happened."

A tear was falling from Algy's eye. Jack reached up with his thumb and brushed it away. "If you're sure?" he said.

Algy nodded and Jack leaned in for a kiss. It was sweet and soft with a promise of more to come.

"Oh," Algy said in wonderment, when Jack broke off.

"Good 'oh' or bad 'oh'?" Jack asked.

"Good," Algy said and pressed forward for another kiss.

Jack let this one deepen, increasing the pressure and sliding his tongue gently into Algy's mouth. Algy made a little hungry sound in the back of his throat and squirmed closer in Jack's arms. The passion and need built between them as the kiss progressed and Jack let the momentum carry them down on to the bed together.

Given his first choice Jack preferred an experienced sexual partner so that the giving and taking of pleasure could be mutual. He started this encounter determined to make it the best he possibly could for Algy, but not expecting to get much out of it himself. He was wrong.

The concentration required lifted the whole experience on to a different level. Jack showed Algy as many of the different pleasures of sex with a man as he could. Lacking a trustworthy source of lube, he kept away from penetration, but ran through as many other pleasures as he could.

He shared the secrets of a slow undressing, where every new exposed area of skin is treated to loving licks and nibbles. He took Algy into the realm of slow, extended kisses where every sense is heightened and slow stroking and touching makes every part of the body an erogenous zone. Then there were specific erotic areas to explore and Jack initiated his friend into the pleasures of neck and nipple.

Jack had not intended to bring Algy off with oral sex, but on taking Algy's cock in his mouth, Algy had moaned and tossed with such abandon that Jack couldn't resist it. He brought all of his experience to bear, and with a combination of lip, tongue and hand reduced his friend to a quivering, whimpering mass of need and desire. A final increase in suction and Algy was bucking, crying out his name and coming in his mouth in a climax that went on for a gratifying amount of time.

Then Jack taught Algy another pleasure. What it is like to be held in strong arms while a partner fulfils their urgent need against you. And when Jack had come, one final lesson: being held in a lover's arms in mutual content and satisfaction.

"Regrets?" Jack asked.

The moon had departed from the window and they were in darkness now, so Jack only caught a glimmer of white as Algy smiled. "No," he said. "Or only not doing this before now."

They were silent a while. A mechanical wailing sounded outside.

"All clear," Jack said.

"Yes," Algy replied and snuggled in closer to his lover.

The End