(no subject)
Title: Show and Tell
Author: mad_jaks
Characters: Nine/Jack
Genre: PWP
Rating: NC17
Summary: Jack has something to prove
Notes: unfeathered very graciously lent me her Jack and Nine to play with - so I hope I haven't stuffed this up too much...
You'll have to readunfeathered's Lessons Learned first and Day After last to enjoy the the full effect.
Word count: 2007
Disclaimer: Not mine - making no money
Beta: The marvellous becky_h who I interrupted many, many times. Thanks!
Show and Tell
"All right then, Captain." The Doctor slithers down a bit, grabs an extra pillow to cushion his back against the bars, and looks at Jack tauntingly. "Come on. Show me what you've got."
Settling himself as comfortably as he is able the Doctor tries not to notice Jack's wolfish grin as he winds the discarded ties neatly round his fist, testing the thin fabric of each one briefly, never taking his eyes off the Doctor's face. Jack shimmies onto the Doctor's lap - almost absently not paying his crotch any attention - before dropping the neat coils of silk into the drawer beside the bed with a sigh. Tries for nonchalance and a raised eyebrow at Jack's weight resting across his thighs but he's out of practice at it - at least in the bedroom. Jack merely cups his cheek in one rough hand - thumb grazing whisper soft across his lips - in passing. His other hand fisting, lazily, into the Doctor's shirt front, as Jack twists himself onto one leg beside him, his knee pressing into the Doctor's left hip, holding him still against the pillows while he rifles through his things. Not that the Doctor has the slightest intention of giving him pointers. Empty handed Jack closes the drawer with a decisive snap and the Doctor forces himself not to let the disappointment show on his face, biting the inside of his cheek instead, as Jack's eyes narrow.
The bed lurches sickeningly as Jack lets go of him and then the Captain is looming over him. Standing there like he's totally oblivious to the dark smudges of the Doctor's handprints blossoming on the ridges of his hips as the sweat dries and cools on his body and the flush fades from his skin. Jack's eyes fix darkly on the Doctor's face for a long moment before he speaks.
“Strip? Or be stripped?”
And just like that the Doctor's breath catches in his throat and he can't answer.
“Do I need to give you permission to speak as well?” Jack's back-stepping away from him down the bed, the fingers of one hand ghosting down his arm as he lays there; firmer on his thigh when he remains passive; hard between his legs when he still hasn't spoken. “Well?”
“Strip,” he manages thickly, sitting up and groping for the bottom of his shirt in the same movement, suddenly hungry for it, even if it will only be a game to Jack. He's worked with less before.
Jack smiles slowly, nodding as if it's about what he expected, then wraps his hands over the Doctor's to haul him upright, dropping to his knees as the Doctor's feet clear the bed.
“But not there, where I can't see all of you,” Jack says, looking up at him through dark lashes as he strips the Doctor of his boots - launching them under the bed, along with the Doctor's socks, where they can't be seen. “Over there, against the wall.”
Padding across the cold floor the Doctor listens to Jack make himself comfortable on the bed and tries not to think about what it'll be like to have those fingers - that long, hard cock - filling him up, because he wants to enjoy this moment. Needs to make the most of it because... Because it's been so long since he's been able to do this and...
He needs to stop thinking.
So he does - simply letting himself react when Jack, more hesitant than the Doctor cares to hear, tells him to turn and face the wall.
Hands by his sides the Doctor waits - mind going dark - while Jack decides what he's going to lose first. By the time he's finally allowed to pull his shirt off over his head he's almost surprised to find himself painfully hard and aching, hands trembling as he tries not to brush the front of his jeans with his fist. Goosebumps prickle on his skin as Jack has him turn back - this isn't, after all, the best body he's ever had and next to Jack's it's-
“Uncross your arms.”
Jack sounds breathless sitting over there with one foot on the bed. He's hugging his knee to his chest - though whether that's by accident or design the Doctor can't be sure as he lets his arms drop back to his sides.
“How slowly can you lose those pants?”
The Doctor doesn't ask 'How slow would you like?' because it's a moot point. The question's really can he lose them at all, his fingers feel so thick and clumsy. Time was he could've thumbed open the top button with one hand - not taking his eyes from whoever it was watching him from across the room - slid the zipper down one tooth at a time and kept on smiling.
Head down, the Doctor doesn't see Jack get off the bed and cross the room to him. So when he looks back up - the waist of his jeans hanging ridiculously down round his knees - it's to find Jack less than three feet away. The outline of the other man's cock hard and dark against the pale skin of his thigh, one hand mid-air - reaching out. Obediently the Doctor stops what he's doing and waits for the touch but instead Jack takes a step backward, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.
“Your rules...,” Jack says, voice ragged, eyes drinking the Doctor in, looking everywhere, in fact, but at his face. “Do I get to touch you?”
The Doctor can see how Jack could be confused - he has after all just spent the preceding hour teaching him exactly who's in charge.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want--.” Jack swallows, raising his gaze as he rakes his fingers through his hair - making it look more startled than ever. “To fuck you in the worst possible way,” he breathes, softly.
“So what's stopping you?” the Doctor whispers back, hoping Jack gets the message.
Jack's on the floor in an instant, crouching between the Doctor's legs, hot hands grabbing at the Doctor's calves and ankles to free him from his jeans, kicking the heavy fabric across the floor as he gets back up. Spinning the Doctor round Jack nudges his feet apart, bending rather than pushing him up against the wall of the TARDIS, so he has to scrabble for a handhold on one of her beams.
Jack's amazingly uncomplicated the Doctor thinks dazedly - spread out and waiting - while Jack makes the round trip to the bed and back: returning with a handful of cold lube, that doesn't get a chance to grow warm, before Jack's slicking careful fingers over him from behind. The soft-hard leather strapped to Jack's wrist scrapes over his balls as Jack reaches for his erection - making the Doctor want to hiss and moan. Instead he closes his eyes and lets his mind float free again as Jack wraps cool fingers round his shaft, the buckle of the strap catching painfully - beautifully - on all too sensitive flesh as Jack rolls his thumb over the already leaking head.
Jack's other hand settles on the Doctor's back, tracing patterns into the Doctor's sweat damp, overheated skin with his nails - that he wipes away with his tongue - before applying his teeth. Biting - less and less cautiously - over the ridges of the Doctor's spine till he finds the soft flesh of the Doctor's shoulder. Jack's fingers seek out the hard curve of the Doctor's hip, holding him still - though he's absolutely no intention of moving - as Jack's other hand drags back between his legs. Callused fingers squeeze the Doctor's balls hard - sending tremors down his thighs and white lights to dance behind his still closed eyelids - as Jack eases a pre-come slick thumb inside him.
Exchanging two long fingers for the thumb that's buried inside him Jack works them in, down to the knuckle, letting the pressure build - dark, heavy heat pooling low in the Doctor's belly - before pulling back, slow and steady. Jack's, apparently, not bothering to hunt for the Doctor's prostate, but he finds it anyway as he slides another finger in alongside, stretching him wide. White lights turn sickeningly purple when Jack slides his fingers completely out of him, leaving him feeling hollowed out with wanting.
Jack's breath rasps loud in his ear as the Captain thrusts inside him - rolling his hips in one long fluid motion.
***
The Doctor doesn't feel when it changes, can't say when it shifts from Jack thrusting into him - the strong muscles of his thighs slapping into the back's of the Doctor's own. Forcing him into Jack's fist - over and over - to some internal drumbeat of Jack's own. The Doctor only knows that, at some point, it does - must have - because he's grinding back, helplessly - bone shakingly - hard, into Jack's hips. And Jack's there, powering in to meet him at every stroke and somewhere? There's sound.
Harsh, wet, sounds and laboured breathing; the TARDIS humming in her sleep and words. Words lost in a stream of incoherent babble - it might be him - pleading for release. The Doctor simply doesn't care.
He's past caring.
He's past knowing where he or Jack - or even the TARDIS - begin and end.
He's past everything except the rising ocean of burn and stretch and the hot darkness inside his head that pours down his body to meet it - scalding the words out of his mouth and leaving him gasping for air. Leaving him with here and now and *take* and *give me*.
He's riding Jack's fist, with nothing to do but feel, and it's killing him.
The Doctor comes with Jack's voice ringing in his ears - silently, mouth stretched wide, eyes screwed shut - and Jack still hard inside him.
***
Hours later the Doctor wakes in a rush to find the bed growing cold beside him and an almost fully dressed Jack grovelling around on the floor in the half dark.
“Running out on me Captain?”
“Can't find my other boot,” Jack mutters, crawling closer, “can I get a little more light here?”
“So run barefoot, or hop or skip or whatever it is you do,” the Doctor growls, throwing an arm out and hitting the switch, which has the benefit that he can now see perfectly well, but doesn't stop Jack rooting around.
“I'm not running anywhere and you know it,” he says from beneath the edge of the covers.
The Doctor does, he really does, but that's not the point.
“I do?” He can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I wake up; it's the middle of the night; and there you are - fully dressed - obviously intending to leave me - without a note, or a goodnight kiss-.”
Jack's head jerks back into view at that one.
“You want a kiss *goodnight*?” He squawks, putting both hands on the bed and pushing himself up. “That's why you're mad at me?”
“Who said I was mad with you?” the Doctor counters, his chin going up.
“You did, when you opened your mouth that second time.” Jack's smirking as he sits himself down beside him.
“Perceptive little ape aren't you?”
“And that just proves it.” Jack shifts closer, cupping the Doctor's face.
“I call you an ape so now you're going to kiss me?” the Doctor challenges, licking his lips.
Jack leans in - eyes gleaming. “I am,” he says softly, lips finding the corner of the Doctor's mouth. “And then I'm going go back to my room.” He cradles the back of the Doctor's skull in one hand, stroking the Doctor's cheek with the other. “Because it's the right thing to do,“ he says, drawing him in to softest of dry mouthed kisses. “And tomorrow morning we'll wake up and have breakfast with Rose. And maybe during the day we'll save a planet or two...”
The Doctor snorts, he can't help himself.
“And I'll do as I'm told,” the Captain adds, hand on the Doctor's chest. “I'll try to anyway.” He's grinning as he stands up. “And if I don't succeed - well - I'll know what to expect, won't I?”
Author: mad_jaks
Characters: Nine/Jack
Genre: PWP
Rating: NC17
Summary: Jack has something to prove
Notes: unfeathered very graciously lent me her Jack and Nine to play with - so I hope I haven't stuffed this up too much...
You'll have to readunfeathered's Lessons Learned first and Day After last to enjoy the the full effect.
Word count: 2007
Disclaimer: Not mine - making no money
Beta: The marvellous becky_h who I interrupted many, many times. Thanks!
Show and Tell
"All right then, Captain." The Doctor slithers down a bit, grabs an extra pillow to cushion his back against the bars, and looks at Jack tauntingly. "Come on. Show me what you've got."
Settling himself as comfortably as he is able the Doctor tries not to notice Jack's wolfish grin as he winds the discarded ties neatly round his fist, testing the thin fabric of each one briefly, never taking his eyes off the Doctor's face. Jack shimmies onto the Doctor's lap - almost absently not paying his crotch any attention - before dropping the neat coils of silk into the drawer beside the bed with a sigh. Tries for nonchalance and a raised eyebrow at Jack's weight resting across his thighs but he's out of practice at it - at least in the bedroom. Jack merely cups his cheek in one rough hand - thumb grazing whisper soft across his lips - in passing. His other hand fisting, lazily, into the Doctor's shirt front, as Jack twists himself onto one leg beside him, his knee pressing into the Doctor's left hip, holding him still against the pillows while he rifles through his things. Not that the Doctor has the slightest intention of giving him pointers. Empty handed Jack closes the drawer with a decisive snap and the Doctor forces himself not to let the disappointment show on his face, biting the inside of his cheek instead, as Jack's eyes narrow.
The bed lurches sickeningly as Jack lets go of him and then the Captain is looming over him. Standing there like he's totally oblivious to the dark smudges of the Doctor's handprints blossoming on the ridges of his hips as the sweat dries and cools on his body and the flush fades from his skin. Jack's eyes fix darkly on the Doctor's face for a long moment before he speaks.
“Strip? Or be stripped?”
And just like that the Doctor's breath catches in his throat and he can't answer.
“Do I need to give you permission to speak as well?” Jack's back-stepping away from him down the bed, the fingers of one hand ghosting down his arm as he lays there; firmer on his thigh when he remains passive; hard between his legs when he still hasn't spoken. “Well?”
“Strip,” he manages thickly, sitting up and groping for the bottom of his shirt in the same movement, suddenly hungry for it, even if it will only be a game to Jack. He's worked with less before.
Jack smiles slowly, nodding as if it's about what he expected, then wraps his hands over the Doctor's to haul him upright, dropping to his knees as the Doctor's feet clear the bed.
“But not there, where I can't see all of you,” Jack says, looking up at him through dark lashes as he strips the Doctor of his boots - launching them under the bed, along with the Doctor's socks, where they can't be seen. “Over there, against the wall.”
Padding across the cold floor the Doctor listens to Jack make himself comfortable on the bed and tries not to think about what it'll be like to have those fingers - that long, hard cock - filling him up, because he wants to enjoy this moment. Needs to make the most of it because... Because it's been so long since he's been able to do this and...
He needs to stop thinking.
So he does - simply letting himself react when Jack, more hesitant than the Doctor cares to hear, tells him to turn and face the wall.
Hands by his sides the Doctor waits - mind going dark - while Jack decides what he's going to lose first. By the time he's finally allowed to pull his shirt off over his head he's almost surprised to find himself painfully hard and aching, hands trembling as he tries not to brush the front of his jeans with his fist. Goosebumps prickle on his skin as Jack has him turn back - this isn't, after all, the best body he's ever had and next to Jack's it's-
“Uncross your arms.”
Jack sounds breathless sitting over there with one foot on the bed. He's hugging his knee to his chest - though whether that's by accident or design the Doctor can't be sure as he lets his arms drop back to his sides.
“How slowly can you lose those pants?”
The Doctor doesn't ask 'How slow would you like?' because it's a moot point. The question's really can he lose them at all, his fingers feel so thick and clumsy. Time was he could've thumbed open the top button with one hand - not taking his eyes from whoever it was watching him from across the room - slid the zipper down one tooth at a time and kept on smiling.
Head down, the Doctor doesn't see Jack get off the bed and cross the room to him. So when he looks back up - the waist of his jeans hanging ridiculously down round his knees - it's to find Jack less than three feet away. The outline of the other man's cock hard and dark against the pale skin of his thigh, one hand mid-air - reaching out. Obediently the Doctor stops what he's doing and waits for the touch but instead Jack takes a step backward, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't.
“Your rules...,” Jack says, voice ragged, eyes drinking the Doctor in, looking everywhere, in fact, but at his face. “Do I get to touch you?”
The Doctor can see how Jack could be confused - he has after all just spent the preceding hour teaching him exactly who's in charge.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want--.” Jack swallows, raising his gaze as he rakes his fingers through his hair - making it look more startled than ever. “To fuck you in the worst possible way,” he breathes, softly.
“So what's stopping you?” the Doctor whispers back, hoping Jack gets the message.
Jack's on the floor in an instant, crouching between the Doctor's legs, hot hands grabbing at the Doctor's calves and ankles to free him from his jeans, kicking the heavy fabric across the floor as he gets back up. Spinning the Doctor round Jack nudges his feet apart, bending rather than pushing him up against the wall of the TARDIS, so he has to scrabble for a handhold on one of her beams.
Jack's amazingly uncomplicated the Doctor thinks dazedly - spread out and waiting - while Jack makes the round trip to the bed and back: returning with a handful of cold lube, that doesn't get a chance to grow warm, before Jack's slicking careful fingers over him from behind. The soft-hard leather strapped to Jack's wrist scrapes over his balls as Jack reaches for his erection - making the Doctor want to hiss and moan. Instead he closes his eyes and lets his mind float free again as Jack wraps cool fingers round his shaft, the buckle of the strap catching painfully - beautifully - on all too sensitive flesh as Jack rolls his thumb over the already leaking head.
Jack's other hand settles on the Doctor's back, tracing patterns into the Doctor's sweat damp, overheated skin with his nails - that he wipes away with his tongue - before applying his teeth. Biting - less and less cautiously - over the ridges of the Doctor's spine till he finds the soft flesh of the Doctor's shoulder. Jack's fingers seek out the hard curve of the Doctor's hip, holding him still - though he's absolutely no intention of moving - as Jack's other hand drags back between his legs. Callused fingers squeeze the Doctor's balls hard - sending tremors down his thighs and white lights to dance behind his still closed eyelids - as Jack eases a pre-come slick thumb inside him.
Exchanging two long fingers for the thumb that's buried inside him Jack works them in, down to the knuckle, letting the pressure build - dark, heavy heat pooling low in the Doctor's belly - before pulling back, slow and steady. Jack's, apparently, not bothering to hunt for the Doctor's prostate, but he finds it anyway as he slides another finger in alongside, stretching him wide. White lights turn sickeningly purple when Jack slides his fingers completely out of him, leaving him feeling hollowed out with wanting.
Jack's breath rasps loud in his ear as the Captain thrusts inside him - rolling his hips in one long fluid motion.
***
The Doctor doesn't feel when it changes, can't say when it shifts from Jack thrusting into him - the strong muscles of his thighs slapping into the back's of the Doctor's own. Forcing him into Jack's fist - over and over - to some internal drumbeat of Jack's own. The Doctor only knows that, at some point, it does - must have - because he's grinding back, helplessly - bone shakingly - hard, into Jack's hips. And Jack's there, powering in to meet him at every stroke and somewhere? There's sound.
Harsh, wet, sounds and laboured breathing; the TARDIS humming in her sleep and words. Words lost in a stream of incoherent babble - it might be him - pleading for release. The Doctor simply doesn't care.
He's past caring.
He's past knowing where he or Jack - or even the TARDIS - begin and end.
He's past everything except the rising ocean of burn and stretch and the hot darkness inside his head that pours down his body to meet it - scalding the words out of his mouth and leaving him gasping for air. Leaving him with here and now and *take* and *give me*.
He's riding Jack's fist, with nothing to do but feel, and it's killing him.
The Doctor comes with Jack's voice ringing in his ears - silently, mouth stretched wide, eyes screwed shut - and Jack still hard inside him.
***
Hours later the Doctor wakes in a rush to find the bed growing cold beside him and an almost fully dressed Jack grovelling around on the floor in the half dark.
“Running out on me Captain?”
“Can't find my other boot,” Jack mutters, crawling closer, “can I get a little more light here?”
“So run barefoot, or hop or skip or whatever it is you do,” the Doctor growls, throwing an arm out and hitting the switch, which has the benefit that he can now see perfectly well, but doesn't stop Jack rooting around.
“I'm not running anywhere and you know it,” he says from beneath the edge of the covers.
The Doctor does, he really does, but that's not the point.
“I do?” He can't keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “I wake up; it's the middle of the night; and there you are - fully dressed - obviously intending to leave me - without a note, or a goodnight kiss-.”
Jack's head jerks back into view at that one.
“You want a kiss *goodnight*?” He squawks, putting both hands on the bed and pushing himself up. “That's why you're mad at me?”
“Who said I was mad with you?” the Doctor counters, his chin going up.
“You did, when you opened your mouth that second time.” Jack's smirking as he sits himself down beside him.
“Perceptive little ape aren't you?”
“And that just proves it.” Jack shifts closer, cupping the Doctor's face.
“I call you an ape so now you're going to kiss me?” the Doctor challenges, licking his lips.
Jack leans in - eyes gleaming. “I am,” he says softly, lips finding the corner of the Doctor's mouth. “And then I'm going go back to my room.” He cradles the back of the Doctor's skull in one hand, stroking the Doctor's cheek with the other. “Because it's the right thing to do,“ he says, drawing him in to softest of dry mouthed kisses. “And tomorrow morning we'll wake up and have breakfast with Rose. And maybe during the day we'll save a planet or two...”
The Doctor snorts, he can't help himself.
“And I'll do as I'm told,” the Captain adds, hand on the Doctor's chest. “I'll try to anyway.” He's grinning as he stands up. “And if I don't succeed - well - I'll know what to expect, won't I?”