Written for the weekend challenge at 1 million words. Prompt - C is for Chafing
It always seemed to happen on a Saturday, it was just the way of things, like how the rift had certain days that you could set your watch by or how aliens always seemed to make a play for the Earth at Christmas. The cause was often different, this time it was a slime emitting alien, but Saturdays always ended up with the same outcome.
Owen really should know better by now, and he should prepare for what really is an eventuality, he needed to keep his locker stocked with more underwear. Changes of jeans and tops didn't seem to be a problem, but he never had enough boxers. Somehow for the last few weeks he had ended up running around Cardiff chases rift alerts commando under his jeans as a result of an earlier incident. Today was an alien that had covered them almost head to toe in slime, something to do with the proper form of greeting on its planet, last Saturday he had fallen into the bay trying to catch a weevil and had been soaked. The week before that he had gotten caught on a fence and had managed to rip both his favourite jeans and the boxers that he had been wearing underneath them. Saturdays just really weren't a fan of his undergarments.
Running through a crowded shopping mall in search of their suspect who was selling dangerous alien technology to the highest bidder Owen made a promise to himself. He was either going to remember to keep his locker fully stocked with spare boxers or he was going to stop wearing jeans to work. The denim of his jeans was unforgiving and he was getting irritated by the constant chafing on a weekly basis, it was so bad that he had actually considered admitting his situation to either Jack or Ianto and begging to borrow some boxers. With a plan in mind he continued his chase of their suspect, knowing that the following Saturday would not get the better of him he would be prepared for whatever mishap happened and he would cover his own ass by making sure he had an adequate supply of boxers.