starfishstar (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
starfishstar) wrote2015-06-25 05:04 pm
starfishstar) wrote2015-06-25 05:04 pm
Entry tags:
Crossover fic: Space Cowboys in a Space Bar
SPACE COWBOYS IN A SPACE BAR
Summary: Three space cowboys, three oversized egos, one bar.
Fandoms: Torchwood, Star Wars, Firefly
Characters: Jack Harkness, Han Solo, Mal Reynolds
(Jack Harkness/Han Solo, Jack Harkness/Mal Reynolds, implied Jack Harkness/Han Solo/Mal Reynolds)
Words: 700
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Okay...time for silly crossover fic!
(Then I swear I'll get back to focusing on my big, long, serious Harry Potter story.)
Spoilers: None as far as I can tell. (Aside from, y'know, the fact that Jack hits on everyone in the known universe, and then some!)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jack sized up the man nursing an alarmingly chartreuse-colored drink at the other end of the grungy space bar, and felt a slow grin spread across his face. Sexy loner with an outsized attitude? Chiseled features under a mid-twentieth-century mop of hair, radiating a surly charm that was at delightful odds with the aggressively cheerful hue of the drink in his hand? Yup, Jack liked what he saw.
“Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, sliding onto the next stool over and offering his hand. “And you are?”
The man looked down at the hand, then up at Jack. “None of your business, frankly.”
Now Jack really grinned. Oh, he liked the feisty ones.
The man took a sip of his drink, then grimaced and thwacked the glass back down onto the bar.
Jack pitched his voice to a low purr. “Say you’re willing to get out of here, and I’ll take you to a place where the drinks are ten times as good, for half the price. Somewhere with drinks this century hasn’t even invented yet.” The man was still giving him a skeptical scowl, so Jack tapped a finger against his wriststrap. “I’m from the future,” he clarified, in case the point wasn’t getting across.
The man rolled his eyes. “Do people really fall for that?”
“Yes!” Jack said. “People do, actually. Because it happens to be true.”
The man smirked at him. “All right, cowboy. Prove it to me. Take me to the future.” In a single fluid motion, he tossed back the rest of his drink, shuddered, and rose from his seat, one smooth arc of coiled masculine energy. Jack noted the blaster pistol at his hip, then got distracted again by that sexy, lopsided smirk.
“How about Áfengi? Good planet for cocktails.” Jack was trying to focus on the task at hand, but the powerful grace with which the man moved was very discomposing.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
There was flat disbelief that tone, so Jack resolved to blow the man’s mind. Not just Áfengi. Not any planet, even. He’d take this skeptical stranger to that solar-orbit viewing platform his Time Agency colleagues were always going on about, as a place to really wow your date.
They were halfway to the door, Jack a half step behind this man who didn’t even know their destination yet seemed determined to look like he was in the lead, when a ruckus broke out by the door.
“Keep your gorram hands where I can see them!” someone hollered, and Jack, laughing in delighted disbelief, broke into a run, straight toward the cause of the commotion.
“Mal Reynolds?” he demanded, pushing into the increasingly agitated crowd pressing around a brown-haired man in a long brown coat.
“Jack!” the man called back. “Been a mite since I saw you!”
“Trouble here, captain?” Jack asked, casually shoving aside a heavyset man who was winding up to punch Mal.
“Nothin’ I can’t handle, captain,” Mal replied with a shrug, as a beer glass sailed past his ear.
“Even so.” Jack glanced through the crowd to where his handsome stranger waited, now just outside the door of the bar, with arms folded and eyebrow raised. Then he turned again to survey Mal’s broad chest and those charming blue eyes. Jack had always had a bit of a thing for Mal’s eyes. “I think you ought to come with us.”
He grabbed Mal’s wrist and they both ducked beneath the flailing punches, danced and dodged their way out the door.
“This is Malcolm Reynolds, captain of the slowest little charming tin can spaceship in the galaxy,” Jack explained, once they’d caught up to the stranger outside. “And this is…I never got your name.”
The smirk was back. “Yeah, all right. I suppose you’ve earned it. Han. Han Solo.”
Someone inside the bar shouted, and another fast-flying beer glass exploded at their feet. Jack picked up the pace. “Han, meet Mal. Mal, meet Han. Everybody good? Okay.” He grabbed them both by the arm and, with no hands left available, used his chin instead to tap the button on his wriststrap. “Hang tight, gentlemen. We’re setting course for the sun, and it’s going to be hot.”
Summary: Three space cowboys, three oversized egos, one bar.
Fandoms: Torchwood, Star Wars, Firefly
Characters: Jack Harkness, Han Solo, Mal Reynolds
(Jack Harkness/Han Solo, Jack Harkness/Mal Reynolds, implied Jack Harkness/Han Solo/Mal Reynolds)
Words: 700
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Okay...time for silly crossover fic!
(Then I swear I'll get back to focusing on my big, long, serious Harry Potter story.)
Spoilers: None as far as I can tell. (Aside from, y'know, the fact that Jack hits on everyone in the known universe, and then some!)
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Jack sized up the man nursing an alarmingly chartreuse-colored drink at the other end of the grungy space bar, and felt a slow grin spread across his face. Sexy loner with an outsized attitude? Chiseled features under a mid-twentieth-century mop of hair, radiating a surly charm that was at delightful odds with the aggressively cheerful hue of the drink in his hand? Yup, Jack liked what he saw.
“Captain Jack Harkness,” he said, sliding onto the next stool over and offering his hand. “And you are?”
The man looked down at the hand, then up at Jack. “None of your business, frankly.”
Now Jack really grinned. Oh, he liked the feisty ones.
The man took a sip of his drink, then grimaced and thwacked the glass back down onto the bar.
Jack pitched his voice to a low purr. “Say you’re willing to get out of here, and I’ll take you to a place where the drinks are ten times as good, for half the price. Somewhere with drinks this century hasn’t even invented yet.” The man was still giving him a skeptical scowl, so Jack tapped a finger against his wriststrap. “I’m from the future,” he clarified, in case the point wasn’t getting across.
The man rolled his eyes. “Do people really fall for that?”
“Yes!” Jack said. “People do, actually. Because it happens to be true.”
The man smirked at him. “All right, cowboy. Prove it to me. Take me to the future.” In a single fluid motion, he tossed back the rest of his drink, shuddered, and rose from his seat, one smooth arc of coiled masculine energy. Jack noted the blaster pistol at his hip, then got distracted again by that sexy, lopsided smirk.
“How about Áfengi? Good planet for cocktails.” Jack was trying to focus on the task at hand, but the powerful grace with which the man moved was very discomposing.
“Sure. Whatever you say.”
There was flat disbelief that tone, so Jack resolved to blow the man’s mind. Not just Áfengi. Not any planet, even. He’d take this skeptical stranger to that solar-orbit viewing platform his Time Agency colleagues were always going on about, as a place to really wow your date.
They were halfway to the door, Jack a half step behind this man who didn’t even know their destination yet seemed determined to look like he was in the lead, when a ruckus broke out by the door.
“Keep your gorram hands where I can see them!” someone hollered, and Jack, laughing in delighted disbelief, broke into a run, straight toward the cause of the commotion.
“Mal Reynolds?” he demanded, pushing into the increasingly agitated crowd pressing around a brown-haired man in a long brown coat.
“Jack!” the man called back. “Been a mite since I saw you!”
“Trouble here, captain?” Jack asked, casually shoving aside a heavyset man who was winding up to punch Mal.
“Nothin’ I can’t handle, captain,” Mal replied with a shrug, as a beer glass sailed past his ear.
“Even so.” Jack glanced through the crowd to where his handsome stranger waited, now just outside the door of the bar, with arms folded and eyebrow raised. Then he turned again to survey Mal’s broad chest and those charming blue eyes. Jack had always had a bit of a thing for Mal’s eyes. “I think you ought to come with us.”
He grabbed Mal’s wrist and they both ducked beneath the flailing punches, danced and dodged their way out the door.
“This is Malcolm Reynolds, captain of the slowest little charming tin can spaceship in the galaxy,” Jack explained, once they’d caught up to the stranger outside. “And this is…I never got your name.”
The smirk was back. “Yeah, all right. I suppose you’ve earned it. Han. Han Solo.”
Someone inside the bar shouted, and another fast-flying beer glass exploded at their feet. Jack picked up the pace. “Han, meet Mal. Mal, meet Han. Everybody good? Okay.” He grabbed them both by the arm and, with no hands left available, used his chin instead to tap the button on his wriststrap. “Hang tight, gentlemen. We’re setting course for the sun, and it’s going to be hot.”
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I love it!
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Thank you!
Volume 101, Issue 068
Volume 101, Issue 068
Volume 101, Issue 068