This popped into my head last night as I was falling asleep. So I wrote it today. This is total PWP and that's really unusual for me. (Het sex? Omg!) So this is most probably a one-time thing.
Their affair works out perfectly. Neither is looking for anything but a release, a way to get off without a connection. Owen's the reason she's started wearing skirts to work. She couldn't give a shit about femininity. She works for Torchwood, remember? But skirts are less hassle than trousers, so Suzie utilizes them.
Their couplings are hot, and Suzie looks forward to them in a vague sort of way. He's her own personal dildo, and she knows Owen's just really into making bad decisions right now.
They meet down in the lower levels where others won't go. There isn't much dawdling or foreplay. There never is; this is about quick release before they go back up to the cold world of Torchwood that's crawling with pain. It's about five minutes of pressing your misery into another person and pretending it's pleasure, and faking that you feel better when it's over.
Suzie's already got her skirt hiked up and her panties down around one ankle as Owen unbuckles his belt and shoves his jeans and boxers down past his hips. He's already half-hard and she reaches out to stroke him to fullness as he steps closer to her and holds onto her waist.
Owen kisses her, sucking on her tongue, and she slides her right leg up the cold wall for a moment before wrapping it around his waist. She's lucky they're nearly the same height; he barely has to adjust at all. The head of his cock nudges at her entrance, rubbing. It sends tingling sparks of pleasure about her body. She kisses him languidly, then bites down a little on his bottom lip, tugging gently, and he gasps in surprise at the pleasure-pain, grunts, pushes his way inside.
They thrust in counterpoint to each other, the only sounds their panting breaths and the slap of skin on skin. She's glad he's a doctor; he knows the anatomy of women and doesn't neglect her clitoris one bit, even if his thrusts falter in counterpoint to his fingers when he loses concentration. Suzie bites at Owen's lips again, making him shudder and jerk. He growls at her. In response, she rakes her fingernails down his back, knowing the red welts that will rise in their wake. He has one hand tangled in her thick hair, and she slides her left hand down to feel where they connect. His hand grips her wrist gently and he guides her first two fingers inside her beside his cock so she can feel the wet slip and glide of him.
They groan and pant and grip at each other's skin, sweat making it hard to find a hold. Tingling pleasure is arcing up Suzie's spine and builds solidly in her belly and groin; she can feel it strengthening and spreading like fire. Owen sucks a bruise onto the skin of her throat, and her body tenses. She pulls his head down as her orgasm rushes through her. Suzie kisses him to hide the vulnerable moan, pushing her pleasure down his throat so he may swallow it as her muscles clench and convulse around him. Moments later, he spits the groan back into her with his own orgasm, warm spilling inside her.
They don't look at each other once he slides out of her, don't talk while they clean up. They never do. They're Torchwood; they can handle aliens and near-deaths, but human connections in these vulnerable moments are to be feared.
Back in the main Hub, if the others notice Suzie's messed, tangled hair or the bite on her neck, or Owen's flushed face and bright eyes, they let it alone. There's not much between them, anyway. Just tiny intermissions of release and unwise choices. They glance at each other from across the Hub, and she sees Owen's eyes flick to his mark on her throat. Then they turn away from each other and get back to work.