"Guilt Trip" Torchwood/Dr. Who Jack/Martha NC17 Wordcount-2815
Title: Guilt Trip
Fandom: Torchwood/Dr. Who
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 2815
Notes: Written for the Torchwood/Dr. Who Porn Battle. Thanks so much to rose_cat for awesome beta with immensely quick turn-around, especially for correcting my quotes and keeping my POV tight. Themes for the Porn Battle are: edging, threesomes and drunken!sex. I think I got some of all three in there, along with way too much plot and angst.
Warning: Rimming.
Summary: Martha comes to Cardiff to get answers.
Martha knew she was going to feel guilty.
She already did, and nothing had happened yet. Nothing except her taking the train to Cardiff without mentioning anything to Tom. Nothing except sitting at a table, having a glass of wine in a hotel restaurant, listening to one of his stories. Something about Gertrude Stein and an especially garish cravat, if Martha got the gist correctly, which she might not have.
The words weren’t important. What mattered was that she’d come to see him on her own. Not for UNIT, but for herself. Because he was the only other person in the world who knew how she felt about the Doctor, and with less than two weeks to the wedding, she’d decided to come and wallow in it.
Self-pity was dangerous territory, especially with Jack and a bottle nearby.
The drinking had started with a toast to Owen and Tosh, leaving Martha distraught, thinking of how painful it must have been for Jack to lose both of them, yet when she asked after the remaining members of Torchwood, Jack’s reply was, “Gwen sends her love.”
“What about Ianto?” she pressed, only to get a slightly rueful shrug followed by Jack’s signature grin.
She drew her own conclusions and didn’t like them at all. How could a man be so callous about the people who cared for him so deeply? Jack had to know; he just chose not to care. And for now, Martha chose not to care either. It was Jack, and things were different when it came to Jack.
She’d been thinking about the first time she’d seen Jack lying on the ground outside the TARDIS at the end of the world.
The moment when she’d felt Jack’s hand on her chin and first heard that voice.
And who are you,” with the emphasis on the word, “you.”
It was the first time she’d felt particularly desirable since she started travelling with the Doctor, and the fact that the Doctor seemed to be annoyed by it had given her just a touch of hope. The hope was quickly shattered when she witnessed Jack and the Doctor’s euphoria over Rose’s survival on the parallel world, but she was still grateful for it, and she’d always wondered what the payoff would be for giving in to one of Jack’s come-ons.
It would be guilt, she reminded herself. Tom was waiting back home. She’d never told him any of it. He just accepted and loved her and practically worshiped the ground she walked on, a heady feeling after all those months of being invisible to the man she’d most wanted.
Martha knew that Jack understood all too well.
You too, huh? he’d said, meeting her gaze, after the Doctor’s blasé remarks about fancying someone who doesn’t know you’re alive, and they’d been on this trajectory ever since.
“I can’t do it,” she said, taking another sip. The feelings were still too real. Too sharp.
“You can’t have a drink with an old friend?”
“A very old friend,” she joked, risking a poke at Jack’s vanity.
“Hey,” he replied in mock umbrage, “watch who you’re calling old there.”
“Says the man who played tiddly winks with Gertrude Stein.”
“Says the woman who played footsie with Shakespeare.”
“Did not! His toes couldn’t have been any nicer than his breath.”
By the time the giggles were under control, her glass had been refilled and the guilt was farther away, as far away as Tom’s most recent trip to Indonesia, or maybe as far as she’d gone with the Doctor, only to end up back in London, where she was going to do the right thing, and also Cardiff, where if she kept drinking, she was certainly going to do the wrong one.
There was food on the table, but the few nibbles were hardly enough and now her head was spinning and Jack was giving her that smile, and it was all for her, at least for now.
Jack was drinking as well, but she doubted that alcohol affected him any more than time did. He’d taken her hand and was making slow circles on her palm with his thumb. Was it the wine or his touch that was making her feel so relaxed and yet slightly dizzy?
“What was your best time with him?” Jack asked, entwining their fingers as he spoke. Even through the growing fog that was clouding her mind, Martha knew that Jack’s question was slightly masochistic. She’d always suspect that Jack envied the months she’d spent with the Doctor, while he’d been on earth, waiting.
She pushed back those awful memories of the Doctor’s time as John Smith and grasped onto her best memory, which was also in a way, the worst.
“We got stuck in 1969.”
“I’ll bet you looked great in those miniskirts.”
His smile said he wasn’t lying and his hand was moving up her arm, but she managed to keep talking, although it took a deep breath and pressing her legs together, because Jack Harkness was touching her, and she was starting to understand why people were willing to put up with his casual cruelty. She tried not to draw the obvious parallel between Jack and the man who’d brought them together, if only by accident.
“I had to get a job. In a bloody shop, thank you very much. But it was brilliant, you know. We had a flat in Chelsea and we went out for chips or curry or something every night. Went for walks, took in the shows. And it was almost like we were really a couple. He actually needed me for something. It was beautiful, Jack. I knew we had to get the TARDIS back and get out of there, but sometimes I wished we could have stayed forever.”
Jack was squeezing her arm so tightly it was almost painful, but she understood.
“You’re so lucky,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied, taking his hand off her arm and kissing the tops of his knuckles, guiding his fingers to her cheek so he could stroke her face. “And I walked away.”
“You had to.”
“But I’ll never stop thinking about him.”
Now Jack had his fingers in her hair, leaning forward, trying to cover the distance across the table.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re the only one who does.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Of course there was an upstairs. Jack Harkness would always have an upstairs, a place to go, because someone was always ready to fall into his bed.
As she followed Jack into a somewhat rickety lift, she couldn’t help saying,
“He wouldn’t like this.”
“But he’d understand,“ said Jack, leading her to a room at the end of the hall. The room had a fireplace, some books and a bar, but most of all, as she had expected, a bed.
Martha nodded. She needed to do this now, before all her good girl instincts could overcome the delicious haze she’d managed to put herself in with the wine and Jack’s eyes and the touch of his hand on her arm.
“Kiss me, Captain Harkness.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha may have given the order, but once Jack’s arms were around her, there was no turning back, not that there ever had been if she was being honest.
Jack’s lips pressed against hers, soft yet persistent and when she opened up to him, it was like a dress rehearsal for the act itself. A gasp escaped her and Martha realised how aroused she’d become without even noticing. He was that good.
She didn’t want to let go or break the kiss. She’d gotten completely swept up in Jack’s skillful tongue, and the strength of his embrace, and the sheer delight of feeling completely free. Even with Tom, there was a sense of responsibility hanging over her, specifically because she cared so much.
Martha knew that Jack didn’t want anything from her but the chance to make her feel good, to heal some of the wounds, maybe even to thank her for saving the earth in his own way. To that end, he’d manoeuvred her onto the bed and had her shirt open, even though Martha could have sworn he’d never broken the embrace.
When the time came that she absolutely had to take a breath, she pushed Jack away slightly and forced herself to look into his eyes. Bloody gorgeous. Had the Doctor really turned down an opportunity like this, or never even acknowledged that it was available to him? Did she have to think about him, even now?
“He’s here, you know,” she admitted. Jack didn’t seem the least bit surprised or fazed.
“Then let’s show him what he’s missing,” he replied, kissing her again, this time far more forcefully, allowing her to close her eyes and let him take charge. If you’ve got an expert…
He soon had her moaning and squirming in the bed, avid to have her clothing removed and his hands on her skin.
She’d expected him to start with her breasts, but Jack clearly intended to discover her in his own way, and once he’d gotten her trousers and knickers out of the way, his first point of interest was her legs, specifically her left ankle. Martha had no idea such a small thing could be so powerful until she felt Jack’s lips and tongue there, and heard herself let out a small gasp.
Maybe that was Jack’s secret, or at least one of them. Anything could be an erogenous zone. Possibly, “avant garde” was nothing more spectacular than bringing attention to something you never expected. Ankles gave way to the back of her knees and then her inner thighs. That wasn’t as much of a surprise and she suspected she knew the next stop on the captain’s itinerary of her body. Once again, she turned out to be wrong, through the power of misdirection.
He was certainly between her legs, making his way upwards, leaving her trembling in anticipation of the first touch of his tongue, only he had another goal in mind.
“OH!”
She hadn’t expected that. Not there. Tom had certainly never done that, not that he wouldn’t if she asked, but she probably wouldn’t ask. And yet there was Jack, his tongue delving into her arse, making her whole body tremble and tense with an impending release, as she also felt his fingers working their way into her pussy, nearly pushing her body toward sensory overload and if there were three in this bed, she could certainly imagine the Doctor both aghast and aroused by what he’d inspired.
She was moaning, making noises far louder than what usually occurred in her bedroom, and she’d probably be getting even noisier soon thanks to Jack’s expert attention. Martha could only hope the walls were well-insulated.
“Shhhhh, honey. Hold on. I’m not done with you yet.”
Jack was holding her again, letting the preliminary tremors subside.
She could feel his erection pressing against her leg, and she decided to do some investigation, purely scientific, of course, because immortal or not, Jack was just a man, right?
Quite a man, as it turned out. She had to explore further, and she moved down, to touch and taste, and once again, show the Doctor what she would have done if he’d only given her a chance. Jack lay back and let her show off a bit. Maybe she didn’t have a hundred years of experience, but she had more than her mother would have liked. Lots more, and Jack was just the man to appreciate it without judging.
He grew even harder in her mouth, swelling and throbbing against her tongue and Martha could sense he was holding himself back from thrusting deeper. She positioned herself so that she could give him the attention he needed, both the suction and depth and he clearly liked that a lot. She sucked hard, knowing he could take it, and stroked his balls, feeling them tighten in her hands.
Fuck you, Doctor, she thought, surprised to find that anger so fresh, and so very satisfied by the crude act of blowing Jack Harkness.
He was getting close, Martha knew. She could let him come in her mouth, but she decided to keep things going longer. She wanted it all, the full Jack Harkness experience.
“Not done with you yet, either,” she quipped, after letting him go.
“Martha Jones, mouth of a cock-sucker.”
It should have sounded filthy, but it was Jack, and it felt like an accolade.
“How can you be such a bastard?” she asked, with the greatest affection.
“We’re a pair.”
A trio,, she thought, and decided that if she was going to feel guilty, she was going to get the most out of it, and she wanted to do it before the last of the alcohol wore off, assuming it hadn’t already. It probably had because the words didn’t come as easily as the first order. Of course it was one thing to ask for a kiss and another to demand the thing she’d actually come here for.
She’d walked the earth; she could say this.
“Fuck me, Jack.”
She didn’t bother saying please. He handed her the condom from under the pillow, and raised his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you do the honours? I want to see you on top of me.” “All right.”
She covered his cock with the latex and then slid down on top of him, feeling him fill her up. His smile was a masterpiece of lewdness and his hands were playing with her nipples, caressing and tweaking. She breathed in and squeezed her muscles around him, producing a singularly gratifying groan.
It was no longer about the Doctor. Now it was just her and Jack giving themselves up to the pleasure as he grabbed her hips for leverage and she began setting the tempo, which he was able to quickly pick up. The only sounds were their names alternated with ragged obscenities and deep groans.
Martha was determined to take this as far as far as she could. Jack was angling himself so that every thrust pushed her closer to the edge. He was keeping the promise of every grin and smirk he’d ever lobbed at her and she was riding him for dear life, moaning, screaming, maybe even crying, for all the things she’d wanted or lost or felt before and all the wasted time and now, this was finally it.
“Now, Martha, now!”
She tensed her buttocks and let herself collapse on top of him and the world went spinning and she no longer cared about insulation, because it was too good to give a damn about anything, but the pleasure that was coursing through her body. “Oh god, Jack…JAAAAACCCKKKK!!!”
Martha screamed until she was hoarse and her ears were ringing and she’d finally gotten it out of her system and she could lie comfortably in Jack’s arms, cradled against his skin, inhaling his scent, and wondering how long it would take for her to feel normal again.
Maybe never. Or maybe she’d lost normal forever when she first set foot in the TARDIS. Not that she’d give up a minute of it, not even a second of the year that never was.
“Doctor,” she murmured, remembering that transcendent moment when the earth had spoken as one, only to realise she must have been dreaming.
Jack was standing next to the bed holding out a glass of something that Martha suspected wasn’t just water.
“Is that my retcon?” she asked pointedly.
Jack looked genuinely hurt at the suggestion.
“This is to help fend off that hangover you’re going to have if you don’t drink lots of water, Dr. Jones.”
“Right, yeah, I’m sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
She took the water and downed it, holding the glass out for more. This time Jack came back with a bottle of Evian.
“Do you want to forget this?” Jack asked, a mite too seriously for Martha’s taste.
“NO!” she said fervently, and then felt even guiltier because now she truly understood something about working for Torchwood and Jack in particular.
“Are we going to do it again?”
“Hey, give a fellow some recovery time.”
“I don’t mean today…necessarily. I mean….ever?”
Jack had gotten back in bed, propping himself up on one elbow, his gentle expression reminding Martha of a priest offering absolution, no matter how inappropriate that was to the situation at hand.
“You’re walking down that aisle, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely. I love Tom and I’m going to marry him. I hope you’ll be there. Just like you were with Gwen,” she said deliberately.
Jack grinned, now looking considerably less ecclesiastical.
“Hopefully no alien monsters at your wedding.”
Martha smiled back.
She’d known she would feel guilty, and now she knew she would again, many, many times.
Because Jack was worth it.
Fandom: Torchwood/Dr. Who
Pairing: Jack/Martha
Rating: NC17
Wordcount: 2815
Notes: Written for the Torchwood/Dr. Who Porn Battle. Thanks so much to rose_cat for awesome beta with immensely quick turn-around, especially for correcting my quotes and keeping my POV tight. Themes for the Porn Battle are: edging, threesomes and drunken!sex. I think I got some of all three in there, along with way too much plot and angst.
Warning: Rimming.
Summary: Martha comes to Cardiff to get answers.
Martha knew she was going to feel guilty.
She already did, and nothing had happened yet. Nothing except her taking the train to Cardiff without mentioning anything to Tom. Nothing except sitting at a table, having a glass of wine in a hotel restaurant, listening to one of his stories. Something about Gertrude Stein and an especially garish cravat, if Martha got the gist correctly, which she might not have.
The words weren’t important. What mattered was that she’d come to see him on her own. Not for UNIT, but for herself. Because he was the only other person in the world who knew how she felt about the Doctor, and with less than two weeks to the wedding, she’d decided to come and wallow in it.
Self-pity was dangerous territory, especially with Jack and a bottle nearby.
The drinking had started with a toast to Owen and Tosh, leaving Martha distraught, thinking of how painful it must have been for Jack to lose both of them, yet when she asked after the remaining members of Torchwood, Jack’s reply was, “Gwen sends her love.”
“What about Ianto?” she pressed, only to get a slightly rueful shrug followed by Jack’s signature grin.
She drew her own conclusions and didn’t like them at all. How could a man be so callous about the people who cared for him so deeply? Jack had to know; he just chose not to care. And for now, Martha chose not to care either. It was Jack, and things were different when it came to Jack.
She’d been thinking about the first time she’d seen Jack lying on the ground outside the TARDIS at the end of the world.
The moment when she’d felt Jack’s hand on her chin and first heard that voice.
And who are you,” with the emphasis on the word, “you.”
It was the first time she’d felt particularly desirable since she started travelling with the Doctor, and the fact that the Doctor seemed to be annoyed by it had given her just a touch of hope. The hope was quickly shattered when she witnessed Jack and the Doctor’s euphoria over Rose’s survival on the parallel world, but she was still grateful for it, and she’d always wondered what the payoff would be for giving in to one of Jack’s come-ons.
It would be guilt, she reminded herself. Tom was waiting back home. She’d never told him any of it. He just accepted and loved her and practically worshiped the ground she walked on, a heady feeling after all those months of being invisible to the man she’d most wanted.
Martha knew that Jack understood all too well.
You too, huh? he’d said, meeting her gaze, after the Doctor’s blasé remarks about fancying someone who doesn’t know you’re alive, and they’d been on this trajectory ever since.
“I can’t do it,” she said, taking another sip. The feelings were still too real. Too sharp.
“You can’t have a drink with an old friend?”
“A very old friend,” she joked, risking a poke at Jack’s vanity.
“Hey,” he replied in mock umbrage, “watch who you’re calling old there.”
“Says the man who played tiddly winks with Gertrude Stein.”
“Says the woman who played footsie with Shakespeare.”
“Did not! His toes couldn’t have been any nicer than his breath.”
By the time the giggles were under control, her glass had been refilled and the guilt was farther away, as far away as Tom’s most recent trip to Indonesia, or maybe as far as she’d gone with the Doctor, only to end up back in London, where she was going to do the right thing, and also Cardiff, where if she kept drinking, she was certainly going to do the wrong one.
There was food on the table, but the few nibbles were hardly enough and now her head was spinning and Jack was giving her that smile, and it was all for her, at least for now.
Jack was drinking as well, but she doubted that alcohol affected him any more than time did. He’d taken her hand and was making slow circles on her palm with his thumb. Was it the wine or his touch that was making her feel so relaxed and yet slightly dizzy?
“What was your best time with him?” Jack asked, entwining their fingers as he spoke. Even through the growing fog that was clouding her mind, Martha knew that Jack’s question was slightly masochistic. She’d always suspect that Jack envied the months she’d spent with the Doctor, while he’d been on earth, waiting.
She pushed back those awful memories of the Doctor’s time as John Smith and grasped onto her best memory, which was also in a way, the worst.
“We got stuck in 1969.”
“I’ll bet you looked great in those miniskirts.”
His smile said he wasn’t lying and his hand was moving up her arm, but she managed to keep talking, although it took a deep breath and pressing her legs together, because Jack Harkness was touching her, and she was starting to understand why people were willing to put up with his casual cruelty. She tried not to draw the obvious parallel between Jack and the man who’d brought them together, if only by accident.
“I had to get a job. In a bloody shop, thank you very much. But it was brilliant, you know. We had a flat in Chelsea and we went out for chips or curry or something every night. Went for walks, took in the shows. And it was almost like we were really a couple. He actually needed me for something. It was beautiful, Jack. I knew we had to get the TARDIS back and get out of there, but sometimes I wished we could have stayed forever.”
Jack was squeezing her arm so tightly it was almost painful, but she understood.
“You’re so lucky,” he whispered.
“I know,” she replied, taking his hand off her arm and kissing the tops of his knuckles, guiding his fingers to her cheek so he could stroke her face. “And I walked away.”
“You had to.”
“But I’ll never stop thinking about him.”
Now Jack had his fingers in her hair, leaning forward, trying to cover the distance across the table.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re the only one who does.”
“Let’s go upstairs.”
Of course there was an upstairs. Jack Harkness would always have an upstairs, a place to go, because someone was always ready to fall into his bed.
As she followed Jack into a somewhat rickety lift, she couldn’t help saying,
“He wouldn’t like this.”
“But he’d understand,“ said Jack, leading her to a room at the end of the hall. The room had a fireplace, some books and a bar, but most of all, as she had expected, a bed.
Martha nodded. She needed to do this now, before all her good girl instincts could overcome the delicious haze she’d managed to put herself in with the wine and Jack’s eyes and the touch of his hand on her arm.
“Kiss me, Captain Harkness.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Martha may have given the order, but once Jack’s arms were around her, there was no turning back, not that there ever had been if she was being honest.
Jack’s lips pressed against hers, soft yet persistent and when she opened up to him, it was like a dress rehearsal for the act itself. A gasp escaped her and Martha realised how aroused she’d become without even noticing. He was that good.
She didn’t want to let go or break the kiss. She’d gotten completely swept up in Jack’s skillful tongue, and the strength of his embrace, and the sheer delight of feeling completely free. Even with Tom, there was a sense of responsibility hanging over her, specifically because she cared so much.
Martha knew that Jack didn’t want anything from her but the chance to make her feel good, to heal some of the wounds, maybe even to thank her for saving the earth in his own way. To that end, he’d manoeuvred her onto the bed and had her shirt open, even though Martha could have sworn he’d never broken the embrace.
When the time came that she absolutely had to take a breath, she pushed Jack away slightly and forced herself to look into his eyes. Bloody gorgeous. Had the Doctor really turned down an opportunity like this, or never even acknowledged that it was available to him? Did she have to think about him, even now?
“He’s here, you know,” she admitted. Jack didn’t seem the least bit surprised or fazed.
“Then let’s show him what he’s missing,” he replied, kissing her again, this time far more forcefully, allowing her to close her eyes and let him take charge. If you’ve got an expert…
He soon had her moaning and squirming in the bed, avid to have her clothing removed and his hands on her skin.
She’d expected him to start with her breasts, but Jack clearly intended to discover her in his own way, and once he’d gotten her trousers and knickers out of the way, his first point of interest was her legs, specifically her left ankle. Martha had no idea such a small thing could be so powerful until she felt Jack’s lips and tongue there, and heard herself let out a small gasp.
Maybe that was Jack’s secret, or at least one of them. Anything could be an erogenous zone. Possibly, “avant garde” was nothing more spectacular than bringing attention to something you never expected. Ankles gave way to the back of her knees and then her inner thighs. That wasn’t as much of a surprise and she suspected she knew the next stop on the captain’s itinerary of her body. Once again, she turned out to be wrong, through the power of misdirection.
He was certainly between her legs, making his way upwards, leaving her trembling in anticipation of the first touch of his tongue, only he had another goal in mind.
“OH!”
She hadn’t expected that. Not there. Tom had certainly never done that, not that he wouldn’t if she asked, but she probably wouldn’t ask. And yet there was Jack, his tongue delving into her arse, making her whole body tremble and tense with an impending release, as she also felt his fingers working their way into her pussy, nearly pushing her body toward sensory overload and if there were three in this bed, she could certainly imagine the Doctor both aghast and aroused by what he’d inspired.
She was moaning, making noises far louder than what usually occurred in her bedroom, and she’d probably be getting even noisier soon thanks to Jack’s expert attention. Martha could only hope the walls were well-insulated.
“Shhhhh, honey. Hold on. I’m not done with you yet.”
Jack was holding her again, letting the preliminary tremors subside.
She could feel his erection pressing against her leg, and she decided to do some investigation, purely scientific, of course, because immortal or not, Jack was just a man, right?
Quite a man, as it turned out. She had to explore further, and she moved down, to touch and taste, and once again, show the Doctor what she would have done if he’d only given her a chance. Jack lay back and let her show off a bit. Maybe she didn’t have a hundred years of experience, but she had more than her mother would have liked. Lots more, and Jack was just the man to appreciate it without judging.
He grew even harder in her mouth, swelling and throbbing against her tongue and Martha could sense he was holding himself back from thrusting deeper. She positioned herself so that she could give him the attention he needed, both the suction and depth and he clearly liked that a lot. She sucked hard, knowing he could take it, and stroked his balls, feeling them tighten in her hands.
Fuck you, Doctor, she thought, surprised to find that anger so fresh, and so very satisfied by the crude act of blowing Jack Harkness.
He was getting close, Martha knew. She could let him come in her mouth, but she decided to keep things going longer. She wanted it all, the full Jack Harkness experience.
“Not done with you yet, either,” she quipped, after letting him go.
“Martha Jones, mouth of a cock-sucker.”
It should have sounded filthy, but it was Jack, and it felt like an accolade.
“How can you be such a bastard?” she asked, with the greatest affection.
“We’re a pair.”
A trio,, she thought, and decided that if she was going to feel guilty, she was going to get the most out of it, and she wanted to do it before the last of the alcohol wore off, assuming it hadn’t already. It probably had because the words didn’t come as easily as the first order. Of course it was one thing to ask for a kiss and another to demand the thing she’d actually come here for.
She’d walked the earth; she could say this.
“Fuck me, Jack.”
She didn’t bother saying please. He handed her the condom from under the pillow, and raised his eyebrows.
“Why don’t you do the honours? I want to see you on top of me.” “All right.”
She covered his cock with the latex and then slid down on top of him, feeling him fill her up. His smile was a masterpiece of lewdness and his hands were playing with her nipples, caressing and tweaking. She breathed in and squeezed her muscles around him, producing a singularly gratifying groan.
It was no longer about the Doctor. Now it was just her and Jack giving themselves up to the pleasure as he grabbed her hips for leverage and she began setting the tempo, which he was able to quickly pick up. The only sounds were their names alternated with ragged obscenities and deep groans.
Martha was determined to take this as far as far as she could. Jack was angling himself so that every thrust pushed her closer to the edge. He was keeping the promise of every grin and smirk he’d ever lobbed at her and she was riding him for dear life, moaning, screaming, maybe even crying, for all the things she’d wanted or lost or felt before and all the wasted time and now, this was finally it.
“Now, Martha, now!”
She tensed her buttocks and let herself collapse on top of him and the world went spinning and she no longer cared about insulation, because it was too good to give a damn about anything, but the pleasure that was coursing through her body. “Oh god, Jack…JAAAAACCCKKKK!!!”
Martha screamed until she was hoarse and her ears were ringing and she’d finally gotten it out of her system and she could lie comfortably in Jack’s arms, cradled against his skin, inhaling his scent, and wondering how long it would take for her to feel normal again.
Maybe never. Or maybe she’d lost normal forever when she first set foot in the TARDIS. Not that she’d give up a minute of it, not even a second of the year that never was.
“Doctor,” she murmured, remembering that transcendent moment when the earth had spoken as one, only to realise she must have been dreaming.
Jack was standing next to the bed holding out a glass of something that Martha suspected wasn’t just water.
“Is that my retcon?” she asked pointedly.
Jack looked genuinely hurt at the suggestion.
“This is to help fend off that hangover you’re going to have if you don’t drink lots of water, Dr. Jones.”
“Right, yeah, I’m sorry. Don’t know what I was thinking.”
She took the water and downed it, holding the glass out for more. This time Jack came back with a bottle of Evian.
“Do you want to forget this?” Jack asked, a mite too seriously for Martha’s taste.
“NO!” she said fervently, and then felt even guiltier because now she truly understood something about working for Torchwood and Jack in particular.
“Are we going to do it again?”
“Hey, give a fellow some recovery time.”
“I don’t mean today…necessarily. I mean….ever?”
Jack had gotten back in bed, propping himself up on one elbow, his gentle expression reminding Martha of a priest offering absolution, no matter how inappropriate that was to the situation at hand.
“You’re walking down that aisle, aren’t you?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely. I love Tom and I’m going to marry him. I hope you’ll be there. Just like you were with Gwen,” she said deliberately.
Jack grinned, now looking considerably less ecclesiastical.
“Hopefully no alien monsters at your wedding.”
Martha smiled back.
She’d known she would feel guilty, and now she knew she would again, many, many times.
Because Jack was worth it.