(no subject)
Title: Naked
Author: Becky_H
Gift for: by_starkiller
Beta: Matsujo9, you are my sanity and salvation.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nine/Jack
Word count: 2216
Spoilers: None
Warnings: BDSM - of the safe, sane, and loving variety. (D/s with a bit of S/M), Fisting, hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer: Jack and the Doctor are not my property, and I make no profit from playing with them.
Author's Notes (if any): Brand new member, crosspoted fic.
Summary: Jack's harder than you'd imagine to get naked.
______________________________
It isn't hard to get Jack out of his clothes. In fact, sometimes it’s hard to get him to leave them on. The Doctor doesn't blame him. Or mind. Jack has very nice body - even if Jack says so himself.
Naked's something else entirely. Jack's hard to get naked. He'll drop his trousers with a grin, but he won't drop the grin.
It makes sense. Jack has more than enough experience to be sure of himself. Sex is a game and Jack's a top notch player.
Sex isn't a game for the Doctor; he wants Jack naked
______________________________
Jack's face down on the bed with three of the Doctor's fingers inside him before he seems to catch a clue and realize that maybe, just maybe, things aren't going according to plan. Not that Jack is complaining. Of course he's not - he's Jack.
He puts his arms above his head and crosses them at the wrist. He watches rather dumbly when the Doctor reaches forward and, with the fingers of one hand still buried inside him, moves to unfasten his wrist comp. Jack pushes up on his elbows and opens his mouth to protest.
The fingers inside him flex, a downward curl that's followed by a painfully slow corkscrewing twist out. Whatever Jack was going to say is lost in a deep groan and he collapses back down and returns his arms to their position. When the Doctor pushes those three fingers back into him - strong, steady and slow - Jack's fingers curl into fists and his eyes close. When he opens them again, the comp is gone and his wrist is bare.
The Doctor wraps his fingers around the same spot in symbolic restraint and brushes his thumb across the pale, sensitive skin. Jack moans again, this time much more softly. There's a trace of vulnerability in his expression that wasn't there before. He doesn't try to speak but nips gently at the Doctor's forearm when he releases his hold.
The fingers inside him have gone still again, but the hand that left his wrist moves to the inside of Jack's thigh. It presses outward, warm and a little rough and Jack accommodatingly pulls his knees under himself. The hand keeps pressing outward in silent demand and Jack works to get his legs spread further apart. He's not really flexible and he's feeling the strain in his hips and thighs by the time the Doctor stops pressing and switches to light strokes.
The position's uncomfortable but not really painful and the gentle touches are both soothing and distracting. He's not the sort to complain about discomfort, but, even if he was, the way the Doctor lightly brushes his cock every so often is more than enough to hold him there quite happily.
The fingers inside him maintain their steady pressure; he can’t forget that they're there, but they're not moving. He pushes back against them with a low frustrated growl, and the hand that's been petting his thigh goes away.
Jack frowns and looks back at the Doctor, and the Doctor pulls his fingers entirely free of Jack's body. Jack clenches and shudders when the fingertips drag lightly over his prostate and starts to pull his knees back under himself, anticipating what's coming.
Anticipating incorrectly.
The Doctor growls and pins him with a look that's just a little dark and the places his hand back on Jack’s thigh, pressing again. This time the push is a half step closer to pain before it stops and the Doctor resumes stroking, the back of his knuckles dragging roughly along Jack's cock. Jack's a bright boy and this time he doesn't try to move - just groans loudly and, lacking anything else to hold onto, curls his hands into fists again.
"Good boy," the Doctor tells him. Jack can hear the grin in his voice and he'd like to answer, maybe regain some of his dignity, but then the fingers are back against him - cool and slick from more lube and pressing into him with excruciating slowness and all he can do is shudder and groan through clenched teeth.
The Doctor is still moving his hand against Jack’s leg, tracing the taunt tendon at his thigh, brushing over his balls and along his erection. The fingers inside him match the slow pace, twisting out and pressing inward, but somehow never quite moving fast enough or deep enough and Jack … Jack can't do a damn thing about it. Attempts to move mean the stroking is replaced with that silent demand for him to spread his legs even further apart.
He's panting, there's sweat running into his eyes and his hands are fisted so tightly that his blunt nails are starting to dig into his palms. The burning stretch in his thighs has become background noise, the base his arousal is building on. Constant and steady while everything else comes and goes with the gentle-rough touches and the slick movements inside of him.
Jack loses everything but those sensations and arousal and need. His focus narrows to his body and the hands that are touching him. He doesn't notice that the Doctor is using more lube, only that it’s cold. He doesn't really notice when the Doctor adds a fourth finger, but he is aware of the increased stretch and the quickly fading burn.
He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until the Doctor calls his name. "Jack. Jack. Open your eyes and look at me." His voice isn't loud, but it’s commanding and Jack responds to it. He opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder; the position strains his neck but he doesn't care.
The Doctor is sitting behind him, fully clothed, his expression dark, intense. Jack whimpers - not from embarrassment, because he's not embarrassed - but from arousal and simple, acute awareness. Awareness that the Doctor has his knuckles pressed very intimately against him in a manner that's threatening enough to make Jack want to pull away.
Something sparks in the Doctor's eyes when Jack whimpers, and he puts his free hand on Jack's hip to steady him. The other doesn't move at all. Jack knows somewhere in the very back of his mind where his brain's not lust-fogged that he could pull away easily. All of his brain realizes he's turned on as hell, that he trusts the Doctor not to hurt him and that he wants to please the other man.
The Doctor must have seen some of that decision in Jack's responses, or felt it in the minute relaxation of the muscles under and around his hands because the darkness fades from his expression and there's a flicker of a smile before he speaks again. His voice is low, steady and very clear. "Deep breath, push back and keep looking at me."
Jack thinks in the second before he follows the Doctor's instructions that there's something vaguely ridiculous about anyone instructing him in sex, but he doesn't actually mind. In fact, right now, he downright appreciates it.
He returns the smile, nods very slightly and does as he's told. Deep breath in that he holds until he feels the pressure increasing slowly and very steadily. He lets it out and it's shuddering because he's shuddering.
Arousal fades when the stretch turns to a sharper burn that makes his eyes water and puts him on the wrong side of the pain/pleasure line. He wants to close his eyes but the Doctor's gaze is holding his and he keeps them open.
The hand at his hip strokes, gentle and soothing, and he relaxes just enough. He gasps softly and begins to shake at the sensation of Doctor's hand inside him.
There's an unbelievable sense of being completely filled that makes Jack afraid of moving. The Doctor's moves his hand from his hip and strokes over Jack's back. There's a bit of roughness in the calluses but the hand's warm and it just feels nice. The petting moves from his neck along his spine and then to the inside of his thighs. Neither one of them looks away as the Doctor touches him over and over, gentling him, until his trembling has been eased out.
Then the Doctor moves his hand again, brushing along Jack’s stomach, fingers running along the length of his cock and drawing soft throaty moans and gasps from him. Arousal returns, resumes building, though it’s not so urgent now.
The hand inside him stretches, slowly and carefully. Jack's still not moving but the sensation is unbelievable. There's no thrusting, just the slow shift and curl of fingers inside him, brushing and pressing against his prostate. The Doctor smirks a bit when Jack's eyes widen and curls his fingers around Jack's cock.
It's everything Jack can do to keep his eyes open, to keep from collapsing entirely. Trying to move never occurs to Jack and he leaves his orgasm firmly in the Doctor's hands - pun intended.
The Doctor glides his hand over Jack’s cock, brushing fingers over the head in time with the movements of the hand inside him. A push against, a glide up, fingers sliding over his prostate, ghosting over the head of his cock. The sensation is so intense, Jack is so overwhelmed and tightly connected, that he can barely breathe.
His climax is like that too. Breathless. The only sound Jack's soft snarl. The only motion, muscles rippling under skin. The unbelievable feeling of trying to tighten around something and not being able to. His eyes never leave the Doctor's but they're unfocused and he's not really seeing anything at all.
The Doctor stays with him through his climax, slowing and lightening his touch until Jack's shaking again, this time with exhaustion.
The only warning Jack gets before the Doctor pulls his hand free is a slight softening of his expression as he presses his other hand flat against the small of his back. There's a twisting sliding pull that feels for a moment as if it's going to turn Jack inside out and then it's gone.
Jack collapses slowly forward and presses his face into the blanket between his arms - arms that are still crossed just above his head. The mattress shifts and he's vaguely aware that the Doctor is moving around somewhere behind him. He doesn't know what he's doing, and he doesn't ask. Instead he makes a conscious effort to unclench his fists and to control his breathing. He feels empty in a way that sex hasn't made him feel in a long, long, time. He's cold and starts to shiver.
The bed dips down again, on the other side, but somehow Jack's still surprised by the hand smoothing its way down his back. It stops at his hip and pulls slightly, urging him up on his side and Jack moves without protest. The Doctor presses against him, still dressed - denim, cotton and leather rough against Jack's bare skin.
He slides one arm under Jack's head and after a moment moves the other over Jack's waist. His breath caresses Jack's face when he leans over him, but Jack keeps his eyes closed. He's feeling raw and, illogically, he thinks that if he opens his eyes the Doctor is going to see way, way, more than Jack wants him to.
The Doctor fumbles with Jack's wrist, fingers brushing incidentally against his pulse before there is the soft touch of leather, metal fastenings and a very familiar weight. Jack opens his eyes for that and turns to look at the Doctor with a sudden grin that's blindingly brilliant.
The Doctor returns the grin and slides his hand just a few inches above the black leather at Jack's wrist as he lies down again. Jack's left looking at the Doctor's hand curled possessively above the returned wrist comp.
He can't help it - he laughs.
The Doctor bites the back of his neck, just hard enough to sting.
"Stupid ape." The voice is gruff, but he sounds happy too.
It's enough for Jack. He gives in to the need for touch, putting his hand over the Doctor's and curls back against him. All that's left is to surrender to sleep. Jack does so without reservation and with the Doctor's breath warm against his neck.
Author: Becky_H
Gift for: by_starkiller
Beta: Matsujo9, you are my sanity and salvation.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nine/Jack
Word count: 2216
Spoilers: None
Warnings: BDSM - of the safe, sane, and loving variety. (D/s with a bit of S/M), Fisting, hurt/comfort.
Disclaimer: Jack and the Doctor are not my property, and I make no profit from playing with them.
Author's Notes (if any): Brand new member, crosspoted fic.
Summary: Jack's harder than you'd imagine to get naked.
______________________________
It isn't hard to get Jack out of his clothes. In fact, sometimes it’s hard to get him to leave them on. The Doctor doesn't blame him. Or mind. Jack has very nice body - even if Jack says so himself.
Naked's something else entirely. Jack's hard to get naked. He'll drop his trousers with a grin, but he won't drop the grin.
It makes sense. Jack has more than enough experience to be sure of himself. Sex is a game and Jack's a top notch player.
Sex isn't a game for the Doctor; he wants Jack naked
______________________________
Jack's face down on the bed with three of the Doctor's fingers inside him before he seems to catch a clue and realize that maybe, just maybe, things aren't going according to plan. Not that Jack is complaining. Of course he's not - he's Jack.
He puts his arms above his head and crosses them at the wrist. He watches rather dumbly when the Doctor reaches forward and, with the fingers of one hand still buried inside him, moves to unfasten his wrist comp. Jack pushes up on his elbows and opens his mouth to protest.
The fingers inside him flex, a downward curl that's followed by a painfully slow corkscrewing twist out. Whatever Jack was going to say is lost in a deep groan and he collapses back down and returns his arms to their position. When the Doctor pushes those three fingers back into him - strong, steady and slow - Jack's fingers curl into fists and his eyes close. When he opens them again, the comp is gone and his wrist is bare.
The Doctor wraps his fingers around the same spot in symbolic restraint and brushes his thumb across the pale, sensitive skin. Jack moans again, this time much more softly. There's a trace of vulnerability in his expression that wasn't there before. He doesn't try to speak but nips gently at the Doctor's forearm when he releases his hold.
The fingers inside him have gone still again, but the hand that left his wrist moves to the inside of Jack's thigh. It presses outward, warm and a little rough and Jack accommodatingly pulls his knees under himself. The hand keeps pressing outward in silent demand and Jack works to get his legs spread further apart. He's not really flexible and he's feeling the strain in his hips and thighs by the time the Doctor stops pressing and switches to light strokes.
The position's uncomfortable but not really painful and the gentle touches are both soothing and distracting. He's not the sort to complain about discomfort, but, even if he was, the way the Doctor lightly brushes his cock every so often is more than enough to hold him there quite happily.
The fingers inside him maintain their steady pressure; he can’t forget that they're there, but they're not moving. He pushes back against them with a low frustrated growl, and the hand that's been petting his thigh goes away.
Jack frowns and looks back at the Doctor, and the Doctor pulls his fingers entirely free of Jack's body. Jack clenches and shudders when the fingertips drag lightly over his prostate and starts to pull his knees back under himself, anticipating what's coming.
Anticipating incorrectly.
The Doctor growls and pins him with a look that's just a little dark and the places his hand back on Jack’s thigh, pressing again. This time the push is a half step closer to pain before it stops and the Doctor resumes stroking, the back of his knuckles dragging roughly along Jack's cock. Jack's a bright boy and this time he doesn't try to move - just groans loudly and, lacking anything else to hold onto, curls his hands into fists again.
"Good boy," the Doctor tells him. Jack can hear the grin in his voice and he'd like to answer, maybe regain some of his dignity, but then the fingers are back against him - cool and slick from more lube and pressing into him with excruciating slowness and all he can do is shudder and groan through clenched teeth.
The Doctor is still moving his hand against Jack’s leg, tracing the taunt tendon at his thigh, brushing over his balls and along his erection. The fingers inside him match the slow pace, twisting out and pressing inward, but somehow never quite moving fast enough or deep enough and Jack … Jack can't do a damn thing about it. Attempts to move mean the stroking is replaced with that silent demand for him to spread his legs even further apart.
He's panting, there's sweat running into his eyes and his hands are fisted so tightly that his blunt nails are starting to dig into his palms. The burning stretch in his thighs has become background noise, the base his arousal is building on. Constant and steady while everything else comes and goes with the gentle-rough touches and the slick movements inside of him.
Jack loses everything but those sensations and arousal and need. His focus narrows to his body and the hands that are touching him. He doesn't notice that the Doctor is using more lube, only that it’s cold. He doesn't really notice when the Doctor adds a fourth finger, but he is aware of the increased stretch and the quickly fading burn.
He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes until the Doctor calls his name. "Jack. Jack. Open your eyes and look at me." His voice isn't loud, but it’s commanding and Jack responds to it. He opens his eyes and looks over his shoulder; the position strains his neck but he doesn't care.
The Doctor is sitting behind him, fully clothed, his expression dark, intense. Jack whimpers - not from embarrassment, because he's not embarrassed - but from arousal and simple, acute awareness. Awareness that the Doctor has his knuckles pressed very intimately against him in a manner that's threatening enough to make Jack want to pull away.
Something sparks in the Doctor's eyes when Jack whimpers, and he puts his free hand on Jack's hip to steady him. The other doesn't move at all. Jack knows somewhere in the very back of his mind where his brain's not lust-fogged that he could pull away easily. All of his brain realizes he's turned on as hell, that he trusts the Doctor not to hurt him and that he wants to please the other man.
The Doctor must have seen some of that decision in Jack's responses, or felt it in the minute relaxation of the muscles under and around his hands because the darkness fades from his expression and there's a flicker of a smile before he speaks again. His voice is low, steady and very clear. "Deep breath, push back and keep looking at me."
Jack thinks in the second before he follows the Doctor's instructions that there's something vaguely ridiculous about anyone instructing him in sex, but he doesn't actually mind. In fact, right now, he downright appreciates it.
He returns the smile, nods very slightly and does as he's told. Deep breath in that he holds until he feels the pressure increasing slowly and very steadily. He lets it out and it's shuddering because he's shuddering.
Arousal fades when the stretch turns to a sharper burn that makes his eyes water and puts him on the wrong side of the pain/pleasure line. He wants to close his eyes but the Doctor's gaze is holding his and he keeps them open.
The hand at his hip strokes, gentle and soothing, and he relaxes just enough. He gasps softly and begins to shake at the sensation of Doctor's hand inside him.
There's an unbelievable sense of being completely filled that makes Jack afraid of moving. The Doctor's moves his hand from his hip and strokes over Jack's back. There's a bit of roughness in the calluses but the hand's warm and it just feels nice. The petting moves from his neck along his spine and then to the inside of his thighs. Neither one of them looks away as the Doctor touches him over and over, gentling him, until his trembling has been eased out.
Then the Doctor moves his hand again, brushing along Jack’s stomach, fingers running along the length of his cock and drawing soft throaty moans and gasps from him. Arousal returns, resumes building, though it’s not so urgent now.
The hand inside him stretches, slowly and carefully. Jack's still not moving but the sensation is unbelievable. There's no thrusting, just the slow shift and curl of fingers inside him, brushing and pressing against his prostate. The Doctor smirks a bit when Jack's eyes widen and curls his fingers around Jack's cock.
It's everything Jack can do to keep his eyes open, to keep from collapsing entirely. Trying to move never occurs to Jack and he leaves his orgasm firmly in the Doctor's hands - pun intended.
The Doctor glides his hand over Jack’s cock, brushing fingers over the head in time with the movements of the hand inside him. A push against, a glide up, fingers sliding over his prostate, ghosting over the head of his cock. The sensation is so intense, Jack is so overwhelmed and tightly connected, that he can barely breathe.
His climax is like that too. Breathless. The only sound Jack's soft snarl. The only motion, muscles rippling under skin. The unbelievable feeling of trying to tighten around something and not being able to. His eyes never leave the Doctor's but they're unfocused and he's not really seeing anything at all.
The Doctor stays with him through his climax, slowing and lightening his touch until Jack's shaking again, this time with exhaustion.
The only warning Jack gets before the Doctor pulls his hand free is a slight softening of his expression as he presses his other hand flat against the small of his back. There's a twisting sliding pull that feels for a moment as if it's going to turn Jack inside out and then it's gone.
Jack collapses slowly forward and presses his face into the blanket between his arms - arms that are still crossed just above his head. The mattress shifts and he's vaguely aware that the Doctor is moving around somewhere behind him. He doesn't know what he's doing, and he doesn't ask. Instead he makes a conscious effort to unclench his fists and to control his breathing. He feels empty in a way that sex hasn't made him feel in a long, long, time. He's cold and starts to shiver.
The bed dips down again, on the other side, but somehow Jack's still surprised by the hand smoothing its way down his back. It stops at his hip and pulls slightly, urging him up on his side and Jack moves without protest. The Doctor presses against him, still dressed - denim, cotton and leather rough against Jack's bare skin.
He slides one arm under Jack's head and after a moment moves the other over Jack's waist. His breath caresses Jack's face when he leans over him, but Jack keeps his eyes closed. He's feeling raw and, illogically, he thinks that if he opens his eyes the Doctor is going to see way, way, more than Jack wants him to.
The Doctor fumbles with Jack's wrist, fingers brushing incidentally against his pulse before there is the soft touch of leather, metal fastenings and a very familiar weight. Jack opens his eyes for that and turns to look at the Doctor with a sudden grin that's blindingly brilliant.
The Doctor returns the grin and slides his hand just a few inches above the black leather at Jack's wrist as he lies down again. Jack's left looking at the Doctor's hand curled possessively above the returned wrist comp.
He can't help it - he laughs.
The Doctor bites the back of his neck, just hard enough to sting.
"Stupid ape." The voice is gruff, but he sounds happy too.
It's enough for Jack. He gives in to the need for touch, putting his hand over the Doctor's and curls back against him. All that's left is to surrender to sleep. Jack does so without reservation and with the Doctor's breath warm against his neck.