Fic: Time; past (2/9)
title: Time; past
author: mimarie
characters Rose Tyler/Jack Harkness, The Doctor (ninth)
rating: NC-17 overall - adult themes and language
spoilers/warnings: nothing past DW S1. This was canon-compliant when I started it, but has become slightly AU since Torchwood S1 - and as I’m all out of retcon we’ll be sticking with that ‘slightly AU’ theme here.
word count: c.4,600 (/c. 37,300)
summary: He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
notes: Once upon a time, what seems like a very long time ago, I posted a short fic called Time; present (which you really need to read first, because otherwise this will make very little sense). At the time a few nice people asked for a sequel, and I, being oh-so young *cough* and naïve, said ‘yeah, of course - coming right up...’
Claimed for the 100_situations challenge. Prompt 14 - table
Huge thanks to my wonderful betas aeshna-uk and jwaneeta, and to mallory_x and text_life for reading very early versions of this and heaping on the encouragement.
part one: Time; present
part two: Time; past (1/9)
Time; past
(2/9)
Jack’s eyes are still shining when they come back up for air. He’s not laughing any more though; the smile knows better than to bother his mouth while it’s busy. And while the handsome comes as standard and the combination of dimples and twinkle is as distracting as ever, now this... this is different. Intent’s a good look for him, but did he just stop for breath or is something wrong? Maybe it is, because her lungs don’t seem to be working properly and her heart doesn’t usually sound this loud. It’d be so much easier if he’d grin, or push her off onto the floor and run out screaming, or grab her and snog her again or just ... something.
And then he smiles, and it’s a good job he didn’t let go, because when she breaks he’s right there to catch her. Gaudy arms half-covered in shades of cockatoo, beach and palm tree; hips rising beneath her, broad shoulders above. He’s good to cling to, all solid flesh and bone, muscle and cloth shifting as clever fingertips remind her back of its lack of straps, drawing her down to kiss her again, harder. And then again - and she’s sure it was her turn for a breath then, so stealing it to say things like that has to be cheating, even if he is as serious as he sounds. Especially if he’s as serious as he sounds, because it’s not like she isn’t already sitting on his lap.
Bloody man and his filthy bloody tongue and his bloody stupid fiddly buttons. She won’t be denied though; a firm twist and tug and one hand knots his hair, catching him on the in-gasp and kissing him quiet as the other finds skin, the faint double rattle of plastic on lino no more than the multi-coloured monstrosity deserved for covering him up like that. He’s wide open - at last - and yeah, he’s green, but he’s hardly Kermit. He’s hot to the touch, and she’s seen him before but now she just needs to see -
Which is good, because evidently he does too. Either that or he’s impatient to make good on his threat - which, all things considered, would be significantly better than good about now.
Blue cotton slides softly away as she shuffles back, scraping whispers from denim. A softer noise - rough in his throat and entirely eloquent - makes her shiver, his grip tightening to lift; helping and guiding and making her wriggle at the bite of elastic. There are so many hands there that she’s balancing on his knees, broad fingers fumbling at her knickers as his last button gives way, zip burring quietly under his stutter, knees shifting wider, hips bruised by agitated fingers as overstretched elastic groans and finally breaks -
Air, presumably, happens. There must be breathing; this can’t be a dream, because how many dream lovers have ever dropped her? And he’s sorry - he’d better be, that hurt - but he’s doing his best to make up for it. As soon as she can feel her fingers again she’s pretty sure she’ll forgive him. Although, if she’s hurt everywhere he’s insisting on kissing better, then maybe she needs an ambulance instead, or maybe -
“Oh god, Jack. Really - here?”
Maybe even a gynaecologist? But he’s not getting this all his own way. And not just because the table creaks, either.
He’s not impressed, she can tell. And she’s sure it is his turn to be kissed-better, but it is bloody funny - who would’ve thought a teaspoon would be clever enough to wait until he was trying to part her from her knickers in order to sneak up on him? Oh really? It would, would it? Well, maybe she will. But not until he’s stopped threatening to bite her bum if she keeps giggling.
“That’s not fair, Rose, look at me. I’m on my knees here for you - and one of them hurts. If I can’t have kisses, then surely I deserve that cute little ass to bite? I don’t ask for much. Food, water - your thighs round my face...”
And he wants her to stop giggling? But she’s already holding her trousers up, so if all he wants is her bum...
He moves a lot faster than she expected, what with him having such a poor sore knee and all that. And if he didn’t know there was ketchup on the floor then why is he sniggering? Right. But if he could grab something other than her sore wrist next time he decides to ‘save’ her, then that would be nice, okay?
By the time the ice makes it as far as her hand she’s been kissed considerably better in more places than she ever imagined finding a Harkness - or even a pair of lips for that matter - and so breathless that she can’t mind if the table does creak. And then, yes - maybe it would be a good time to find somewhere a little less kitchen-y to continue this, but watching Jack’s bum move while he wipes the floor is more fun than thinking. Even more so when he stands up; because he never did do his shirt up again - or his jeans - and the look he’s giving her is heated enough to fry eggs on.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“I dunno.” They really do need to get out of the kitchen; lightly-oiled Jack is a very nice idea, but lard is not something she wants in the same thought. “Why, would you like to be?”
“Depends. Is there more kneeling involved?”
“Only if you’re good.”
And then there’s butter on her bra - which can’t be hygienic - although it could be worse: she might still be wearing it. And yes, she’s sure he is good - he tells her so often enough - but this table’s getting really loud, and it’s really uncomfortable. Yes, that does mean she’d like to get down, thanks. Yes, it probably would help if he got off first. And then? Well, she’s open to suggestions, did he have anything in mind?
Ask a silly question. Was he intending to work his way through, or is she supposed to pick one? And it’s all very well him being all ‘well, you asked,’ about it - how was she supposed to know he’d got her pencilled in to his daily wish list? Did he ever tell her? Well, yes, but seriously. And there’s her point exactly - how’s she supposed to take ‘but I’ve wanted you since about five minutes before I met you’ as any kind of serious proposition? Her fault? How does that work?
“What, I’m supposed to wander in to breakfast and chuck a casual ‘excuse me Jack, but do you have time for a quick shag today? I’m horny, and you don’t need batteries,’ in between the tea and toast?”
“That’d do it.”
“You are such a tart.”
“Says the woman with her hand in my pants.”
Well... yes. But actions speak louder than words, don’t they. So if he wouldn’t mind sitting down and shutting up now? Thanks - he was too bloody tall up there. Yes, he’s much better to sit on than the table - but she still can’t kiss him if he keeps on talking. No? Fine, if he insists on driving her less-than-quietly insane - and she’s not objecting, mind - then she’ll just have to think of something else to do with her mouth.
It’s not working. Well, it obviously is, it’s just not making him any quieter. It’s okay though, he gives good soundtrack, much better than any of Mickey’s porn. And not only that but he tastes good too; salt-sweet - strawberry bubble-bath and sex - enough to make her mouth water, even if she does end up with green lips.
And if she has to surface for air - because if it’s a cold coming then it’s his fault, after all - then he could just try and stop gasping and kiss her back properly, couldn’t he...
Ah.
That’s really big.
Really - that’s the biggest love-bite she’s ever seen. It’s all over his neck. And down, and across - and it’s red and purple and it doesn’t match his shirt at all, so she’d have seen it if it was there before. Also, her lips and tongue are tingling - which is a dead give away, almost as much as the urge to sink her teeth in and suck and see if she can make him make that noise again. But, if the breathless demands that she ‘bite - harder’ are anything to go by, the only thing Jack’s objecting to is that she’s stopped.
“Oh god, that’s huge.”
“I told you, it’s all yours. But my neck...?”
“Yeah, well, about that - I’m sorry; I just... got a bit carried away.”
“You made a mess of me?” He shrugs when she nods, fingering the darkened skin with a shiver. “Oh yeah, that’s nice.”
“It’s really red.”
“Mm-hmm.” It doesn’t look like it’s worrying him, he’s too busy rubbing it. “You want to do that some more?”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Oh yeah.”
Teeth bared, his eyes narrowed to black, he’s biting her fingers before she can squeak; sucked wet and dragged down to rub hard over heated skin. There are bites there and bruises, long bloody streaks from the angle of his collarbone to the nape of his neck, trapped blood covering the pulse trembling under his jaw. He looks good enough to eat. Stained skin bronzed with blood, shiny with excitement, and hopelessly, vulnerably erect.
She did that. And he was beautiful before, when he was so much in control, but like this...
His groan hits her low in the belly, a frantic tangle of hands catching her as she bites down again, pulling and pushing her back and away and back into his arms before she can get her teeth into the tender muscle at the back of his neck. Hair standing on end, his lips are as dark as his throat and he’s holding too tight; steel-bar grip grinding bone into already sore flesh as he’s dragging her hands away, pulling her off him and swearing - laughing and swearing -
“Come on Rose, get up - we need to go.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere else. Flatter. Get up, come on.”
“Aw, why? Ah -”
Okay, maybe she asked for that, but even the bitten lip’s worth it to watch him sweat; he’ll be Mr. In-Control again by the time she gets him to her bedroom, and this is fun.
“Because, Miss Tyler -” Okay, so maybe not too much; that hurt. “- you’ve already fallen off me once and the table creaks.” Another bite; another muffled squeak smoothed down with a kiss. “And I don’t just want a quick fuck with you. I want you sweating; I’m going to drive you as crazy as you do me.” Another kiss, and then another as he’s pulling her closer; soothing a bitten earlobe; the shadow under her nose becoming reddened skin as she blinks off the cross-eyed blur of yet another sharp nip. “But we need to go now. Come on, before I stop caring how noisy the table is, let’s just go and - fuck -”
Didn’t he say he wanted to be bitten? Oh, sorry - but look, there’s a poor, taut tendon. Maybe it’s feeling neglected; she should really pay that some attention too. And if he’d just stop wriggling, then -
Bugger.
Note to self: Jack moves fast. Also? He’s pretty strong. She ought to remember that. She probably will. Partly because his mouth ought to be illegal, but mainly because it’s really hard to move with a hand clamping her wrists together and her arms tangled back in the sleeves of her top.
He looks up after a while. His mouth is wet and her nipples ache, an urgent pulse under the green stain making his prick fluoresce like a bronzed neon tube where her shadow lies over him. When he kisses her this time their teeth clash together. It’s uncomfortable and sloppy and his mouth is so hard that her jaw’s beginning to creak; his fingers so perfectly rough-soft that she doesn’t care - just so long as he doesn’t stop... No - no -
“No - you bastard.”
“Yes, bitch? What’s the matter? I’m not turning you on, am I?”
Bloody man. Fine - yes, he’s winning, okay? What more does he want? Yes, it does. Yes, it does. Okay, if that’s what it takes... Yes. Her clit is throbbing. He likes that, does he? Should she say it again? He’s making her clit throb. Yes. And her cunt. Yeah, soaked - okay? Is he happy now? He’d better be; if he doesn’t do something else soon she’s going to have to - to -
- swear at him until he sniggers, because she really can’t move. He’s just too strong. He’s evil - a dark grin skimming tender, bitten flesh and back up to claim her mouth, pulse slamming through every breath, dragging almost-pleasure out of not-quite pain as his grip tightens again. And then again: her grunt makes him chuckle and bite, the ‘bastard’ following it simply sucked off her tongue and swallowed down with the last of her air.
She can’t shake him off; all she gets is kissed harder. She can hardly move, which is kind of scary in a sexy-as-fuck sort of way - or maybe that’s the other way around, because the hand strumming her nipples into a finely-tuned meltdown is trembling, his kisses growing harder as sticky-blunt flesh catches and slides, slickly reaming her navel.
At this rate he’ll be done before he even manages to get her knickers off. But if all she can do is bite...
His groan tastes so good she just has to do it again, a sharp pinch and release tightening her triumph to a squeak even as it’s making her pant. No retreat though, and never surrender - just an exchange of feral grins before she goes back for more.
Why the hell haven’t they done this before? This is the most fun she’s had since forever.
“Is that it? I thought you said you were good at this. I could sue, y’know - false advertising -”
“Yeah? You get that to court you’d better hide these then.”
The next pinch twists harder, her bite bitten back then kissed better, and then bitten again as Jack reclaims his lip, laughing as she swears. She’s light-headed, too busy panting around a tongue that’s not her own to realise she’s moving until blood slices into her hands, numb fingers making everything fuzzy and sore to the touch. But she’s not letting go now, not again. Not while he’s under her; hard and growling. Not while he’s dragging at what’s left of her trousers, grip-clumsy fingers getting tangled in cotton and broken elastic, pulling it loose -
She shouldn’t be shaking like this - it’s only Jack, she’s known him for ages - but her arms are trembling too, legs yammering like caught nerves as her aching thighs fall wide. She’s shivering so hard that it takes him two goes to find his way in. Past wet cotton, the slow kiss of fingertips turning rapid and raw. It’s too hard, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just the two - god, three - broad fingers being wetted and tested: one and then two and then three and a groan sucked down and bitten, wide-knuckled and deeper than the tongue fucking her mouth, hooked forward and down to the gasp -
“Jack, please -”
“No. Let me. I need to see you.”
More hands but no more kisses. Hands everywhere, stopping her. She only wants to hold him. Her palms are itching, he’s so hard. Please? Another try - nails and all - slapped off with a ‘no. Wait’ - she’s got to open her eyes. Got to look at him. She’s got to. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Riding him. Riding his hand, wet all over. Beautiful. Spread wide - can he watch? He’s going to have her naked and he’s going to watch. They’ll find a mirror, she’s got to see him in her - No, don’t touch. Soon. It’s his turn now. Come on. Let go. Just feel -
More knuckles. His hands are made of knuckles. Wet knuckles. Hard - too hard - it sounds more like ‘umph’ around a mouthful of kiss, but wide eyes and a gasp are easy to translate and then there -
There it is.
There - -
“God, Rose.... Get up.”
“J- Jack - what?”
“Stand up.”
Wet fingers retreat and then return; moving to grip one hip and pushing her backwards. She’s still panting and her legs are shaking. One of her feet has gone dead. It takes him a second to free his finger from a button hole - she doesn’t know how it got there, does it matter? - but by then her trousers are a deep blue sigh at her feet and he’s just looking at her, holding on to her shirt as if he’s afraid to let go.
“Take your panties off.”
“You think I’ll run away?”
“No. Take your panties off.”
“I might. Might make you chase me.”
“Please. Just take them off, Rose. Don’t make me wait any longer.” The chair creaks as he settles lower, one hooked thumb angling his prick an impressive twenty degrees or so towards upright before he’s having trouble breathing again. “Please?”
“What about a condom?”
“We don’t need one. Trust me?”
“Well, yeah, but.... I bet you’ve got some in your bedroom. It’d be comfier there, too. You’re just scared I’ll run off. I mean - if I wanted. I don’t, but - - and it’s a big ship, so you’d take ages to find me...”
“Rose, please...”
He could at least argue. Not just sit there. Oozing. All hard and sweaty and bitten and begging. And hard.
Bloody man. If he drops her this time she’ll make sure she takes him with her. She wouldn’t do this for anyone else. He does know that, doesn’t he?
“Me neither.”
“Liar.”
“Not today.” The hand tugs her forwards but it’s the smile that makes her move, practical white cotton falling sticky and unnoticed on a tangle of blue. “Not for you. I’m not losing you. And if you run off I’m going to find you, right? Anywhere...”
There’s a quiet, fleshy slap as his prick hits his stomach; a green wrist shimmering under her nose and then his face freezes over, his voice stopping dead. He’s still holding her hand though; grip tightening until he’s crushing her fingers and tugging her off balance. His arm is right under her nose. It looks weird without the wrist-strap there; paler green too, and hairless - but it’ll look weirder in a minute, because if he keeps staring at it, she’s going to bite it. She’s slipping; he doesn’t want her to fall off again does he?
“Don’t tease, Jack. Come on, I’m not going anywhere - don’t you want me?”
“No.” He hasn’t moved, just staring at his arm. “I’ve got to go.”
“That’s not funny. Here, come on -”
“No. No shit it’s not. Rose, just - put your clothes on.”
The backwards shunt nearly lands her on her bum again, leaving her flailing at the table before he hauls her to her feet. A second later he’s upright too, staggering, jeans tangling his knees. She can’t help; it’s all she can do to hold herself up, dead foot, wobbly knees and all. And then with two wandering steps and a solid thunk his elbows hit the table; one hand cradling his head as a well-shaped and decidedly green arse vanishes under pale denim, the formica placidly absorbing a stream of insults she’s sure it doesn’t deserve.
Yeah, well, it might not, but she’ll reserve judgement on him - yes, and she might even put her clothes on if he’s going to ask her so fucking nicely - but only after he tells her what the fuck is going on?
“Shush, Rose. Can you hear anything?”
“Yeah - us not shagging. Jack -”
“Quiet. He’s got ears like radar. Do yourself up... I’m sorry, Rose. Just, look, please; put your clothes on. You’re not making this any easier. He’s probably out there now, programming a new setting; seven-oh-two ‘rip Jack a new one’ - do you have any idea how much persuading it took for him to let me near Her again after the extrapolator? I’m going to be scrubbing that sump with my toothbrush if he catches us now.”
She could get upset if it wasn’t so funny. No. She’s just going to get upset. He’s hard and she’s horny and he’s dressing her. Yes, is probably is a first. Is she supposed to be impressed? And now what the fuck does he think he’s doing? Oh, right. She’s got to put her clothes back on, but he’s got time to do the washing up. Oh, that’s very sweet. Thank you very much.
“I’ve got to do something. You do know how good his sense of smell is, right?”
“Yeah. Right.” Is that it? “Jack... I’m not his y’know.”
“What? Of course you’re not. What’s that got to do with it? I’m working. Would be. Should be. Not here with you. Not now. I promised him. If I let him down... You understand, right? Tell me you do, please. I’ll make it up to you later, I will, I promise. Just...”
Soapy water slops as he turns, glancing back and dripping suds over the floor. She can almost see him debating whether sticking his head in would be too much. Bloody idiot. Bloody lovely idiot, but idiot all the same; was he planning to pass a mirror on the way?
“So what’s that on your neck then, a sudden allergy to Fairy Liquid?”
“Shit - thanks. Okay; if he comes looking just tell him I went to the bathroom. Quick detour past the med-lab I’ll be good as new.”
“Right.”
“You’ll just have to start again when I’m done.”
“Right.”
“Don’t be mad at me. Well, not too mad. He asked me to help - what am I going to say?”
“Right, but… No, no - I know, just...”
Would ‘don’t be too long’ sound utterly desperate? She doesn’t want to have to start again, not if it means stopping first. Everything tingles and some of it burns, and if he doesn’t go soon then she’s going to cry. It’s hormones, of course it is, that and all that bare skin right there under his clothes, but... bloody man and his tangled timelines and his bloody green prick. The first one of him wouldn’t have let cleaning the bloody sumps out stop him - just because he’s right is hardly a good reason for her to be reasonable.
No. It isn’t, is it. That’s a really good point -
“You’re right. It’s okay, you promised him, you go, take your time. ‘Sides...” Shrug first, then wait for the frown and... There it is - sniff. That’s it. Good sniff too; resonant, meaningful - her mum’d be proud of that sniff. “No, really, it doesn’t matter. I’ll manage without you. Shame you won’t be there, of course, ‘cause I was hoping you liked to watch, but...”
“That’s not fair. You know I don’t want to go. Rose, come on, give me a kiss, please? I’ll go, I’ll come back...”
“Yeah? I don’t know. I mean, if you’re just going to abandon me when I’m all worked up like this then I’m not sure you deserve me at all.”
“Yeah? Well...” Oh look, he’s brought his stoic face. That’s really bad. He needs to try it without the drool. And the wandering hands. Well, he can leave the hands... “Okay, maybe you don’t deserve me. You thought about that?”
“And what do I need you for? I can do just as well without you. I’ve got everything I need in my bedroom. I thought you’d looked in my bottom drawer, you must know - Jack...”
There goes the stoic. And the butter dish. And - look, he’s already broken the elastic, is he trying to rip her pyjamas now too?
“Oh yeah. Right off. Tell me, Rose, come on - detail.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to upset you, talking about something you can’t have, not if you’re busy...”
“I am. Oh, I really am - with you. We’re decent, right? Well, I know I am... If he turns up now I’ll just blame you. Details, Rose - You’ve got to give me details. Are you talking toys? What have you got? If I bring mine can I play too? This is really not fair - you’re evil. Making me imagine you, playing with yourself while I’m working so hard...”
“You’re still going, aren’t you.”
“I’ve got to. He’s relying on me.”
“Yeah?” Bloody man. “Well, I’m still doing it, see?”
“And I’m still imagining it. See?”
Not really, no; not with him holding her hand in the way like that. But it’s okay, just give her a minute, she’s always been good at this game, she’ll work it out. What’s about eight inches long, hard and wrapped in denim with a zip running down one side? Button at the top, damp at that end too and... yup, still hard - makes him groan when she squeezes...
Unfair? How’s that unfair? Now, letting her have a feel but no kiss, that’s unfair. Yeah, just one, she’s not greedy. Okay, two, if he insists - or - yeah? All right, well, her legs were getting a bit tired. No, of course he’s not too heavy - does she sound like she’s complaining? That? That’ll be the table legs -
“God, Rose...” A shaky laugh almost lost under the creak, he slithers back onto his feet, pulling her up after him and folding her into his arms, tightening around her like he’ll never let go. “Don’t you dare quote me - it’s the lack of blood to the brain, right? All this - everything - I don’t even know if you should trust me, but you still do...”
When the kiss comes, it’s tender and slow, made somehow - oddly - sweeter by the way Jack’s trying to stop himself humping her thigh. His touch-activated groan-and-gasp feature isn’t doing him any favours, but how can she resist? All those kisses: she’s drowning in kisses. She’s drowning in him - and he’s already had his warning; this time she’s taking him down with her: kissing and holding him, guiding his erratic progress until he’s sitting on the table, laughing breathlessly as she parts his thighs to wriggle him closer.
“How am I supposed to keep my hands off you, woman? It was hard enough before, but you....”
“Me? I thought it was you. It feels like you...”
“Don’t. No; do. Just...” He’s panting, holding her off with one hand and tugging her back with the other, his head dropping onto her shoulder; lips twitching and worrying at her throat as his breathing slows.
“Rose...” Another kiss; a nip and suck gentled with lips and tongue, and then the dark-blue gaze rises from the depths of her collar-bone, holding her tight as his arms. “You know, don’t you? This isn’t just sex for me - not with you.” The zip scratching her stomach says he’s a liar, but that smile can’t lie now; shiny with joy and even brighter than the need in his face. “It’s been so long since I felt like I could trust anyone - more than a year and I don’t know how long before - but you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I woke up with a two-year hole in my head.”
next (3/9)
author: mimarie
characters Rose Tyler/Jack Harkness, The Doctor (ninth)
rating: NC-17 overall - adult themes and language
spoilers/warnings: nothing past DW S1. This was canon-compliant when I started it, but has become slightly AU since Torchwood S1 - and as I’m all out of retcon we’ll be sticking with that ‘slightly AU’ theme here.
word count: c.4,600 (/c. 37,300)
summary: He won’t remember talking to her, buying her a drink, laughing, dancing, flirting. He won’t remember anything he said...
notes: Once upon a time, what seems like a very long time ago, I posted a short fic called Time; present (which you really need to read first, because otherwise this will make very little sense). At the time a few nice people asked for a sequel, and I, being oh-so young *cough* and naïve, said ‘yeah, of course - coming right up...’
Claimed for the 100_situations challenge. Prompt 14 - table
Huge thanks to my wonderful betas aeshna-uk and jwaneeta, and to mallory_x and text_life for reading very early versions of this and heaping on the encouragement.
part one: Time; present
part two: Time; past (1/9)
Time; past
(2/9)
Jack’s eyes are still shining when they come back up for air. He’s not laughing any more though; the smile knows better than to bother his mouth while it’s busy. And while the handsome comes as standard and the combination of dimples and twinkle is as distracting as ever, now this... this is different. Intent’s a good look for him, but did he just stop for breath or is something wrong? Maybe it is, because her lungs don’t seem to be working properly and her heart doesn’t usually sound this loud. It’d be so much easier if he’d grin, or push her off onto the floor and run out screaming, or grab her and snog her again or just ... something.
And then he smiles, and it’s a good job he didn’t let go, because when she breaks he’s right there to catch her. Gaudy arms half-covered in shades of cockatoo, beach and palm tree; hips rising beneath her, broad shoulders above. He’s good to cling to, all solid flesh and bone, muscle and cloth shifting as clever fingertips remind her back of its lack of straps, drawing her down to kiss her again, harder. And then again - and she’s sure it was her turn for a breath then, so stealing it to say things like that has to be cheating, even if he is as serious as he sounds. Especially if he’s as serious as he sounds, because it’s not like she isn’t already sitting on his lap.
Bloody man and his filthy bloody tongue and his bloody stupid fiddly buttons. She won’t be denied though; a firm twist and tug and one hand knots his hair, catching him on the in-gasp and kissing him quiet as the other finds skin, the faint double rattle of plastic on lino no more than the multi-coloured monstrosity deserved for covering him up like that. He’s wide open - at last - and yeah, he’s green, but he’s hardly Kermit. He’s hot to the touch, and she’s seen him before but now she just needs to see -
Which is good, because evidently he does too. Either that or he’s impatient to make good on his threat - which, all things considered, would be significantly better than good about now.
Blue cotton slides softly away as she shuffles back, scraping whispers from denim. A softer noise - rough in his throat and entirely eloquent - makes her shiver, his grip tightening to lift; helping and guiding and making her wriggle at the bite of elastic. There are so many hands there that she’s balancing on his knees, broad fingers fumbling at her knickers as his last button gives way, zip burring quietly under his stutter, knees shifting wider, hips bruised by agitated fingers as overstretched elastic groans and finally breaks -
Air, presumably, happens. There must be breathing; this can’t be a dream, because how many dream lovers have ever dropped her? And he’s sorry - he’d better be, that hurt - but he’s doing his best to make up for it. As soon as she can feel her fingers again she’s pretty sure she’ll forgive him. Although, if she’s hurt everywhere he’s insisting on kissing better, then maybe she needs an ambulance instead, or maybe -
“Oh god, Jack. Really - here?”
Maybe even a gynaecologist? But he’s not getting this all his own way. And not just because the table creaks, either.
He’s not impressed, she can tell. And she’s sure it is his turn to be kissed-better, but it is bloody funny - who would’ve thought a teaspoon would be clever enough to wait until he was trying to part her from her knickers in order to sneak up on him? Oh really? It would, would it? Well, maybe she will. But not until he’s stopped threatening to bite her bum if she keeps giggling.
“That’s not fair, Rose, look at me. I’m on my knees here for you - and one of them hurts. If I can’t have kisses, then surely I deserve that cute little ass to bite? I don’t ask for much. Food, water - your thighs round my face...”
And he wants her to stop giggling? But she’s already holding her trousers up, so if all he wants is her bum...
He moves a lot faster than she expected, what with him having such a poor sore knee and all that. And if he didn’t know there was ketchup on the floor then why is he sniggering? Right. But if he could grab something other than her sore wrist next time he decides to ‘save’ her, then that would be nice, okay?
By the time the ice makes it as far as her hand she’s been kissed considerably better in more places than she ever imagined finding a Harkness - or even a pair of lips for that matter - and so breathless that she can’t mind if the table does creak. And then, yes - maybe it would be a good time to find somewhere a little less kitchen-y to continue this, but watching Jack’s bum move while he wipes the floor is more fun than thinking. Even more so when he stands up; because he never did do his shirt up again - or his jeans - and the look he’s giving her is heated enough to fry eggs on.
“So, am I forgiven?”
“I dunno.” They really do need to get out of the kitchen; lightly-oiled Jack is a very nice idea, but lard is not something she wants in the same thought. “Why, would you like to be?”
“Depends. Is there more kneeling involved?”
“Only if you’re good.”
And then there’s butter on her bra - which can’t be hygienic - although it could be worse: she might still be wearing it. And yes, she’s sure he is good - he tells her so often enough - but this table’s getting really loud, and it’s really uncomfortable. Yes, that does mean she’d like to get down, thanks. Yes, it probably would help if he got off first. And then? Well, she’s open to suggestions, did he have anything in mind?
Ask a silly question. Was he intending to work his way through, or is she supposed to pick one? And it’s all very well him being all ‘well, you asked,’ about it - how was she supposed to know he’d got her pencilled in to his daily wish list? Did he ever tell her? Well, yes, but seriously. And there’s her point exactly - how’s she supposed to take ‘but I’ve wanted you since about five minutes before I met you’ as any kind of serious proposition? Her fault? How does that work?
“What, I’m supposed to wander in to breakfast and chuck a casual ‘excuse me Jack, but do you have time for a quick shag today? I’m horny, and you don’t need batteries,’ in between the tea and toast?”
“That’d do it.”
“You are such a tart.”
“Says the woman with her hand in my pants.”
Well... yes. But actions speak louder than words, don’t they. So if he wouldn’t mind sitting down and shutting up now? Thanks - he was too bloody tall up there. Yes, he’s much better to sit on than the table - but she still can’t kiss him if he keeps on talking. No? Fine, if he insists on driving her less-than-quietly insane - and she’s not objecting, mind - then she’ll just have to think of something else to do with her mouth.
It’s not working. Well, it obviously is, it’s just not making him any quieter. It’s okay though, he gives good soundtrack, much better than any of Mickey’s porn. And not only that but he tastes good too; salt-sweet - strawberry bubble-bath and sex - enough to make her mouth water, even if she does end up with green lips.
And if she has to surface for air - because if it’s a cold coming then it’s his fault, after all - then he could just try and stop gasping and kiss her back properly, couldn’t he...
Ah.
That’s really big.
Really - that’s the biggest love-bite she’s ever seen. It’s all over his neck. And down, and across - and it’s red and purple and it doesn’t match his shirt at all, so she’d have seen it if it was there before. Also, her lips and tongue are tingling - which is a dead give away, almost as much as the urge to sink her teeth in and suck and see if she can make him make that noise again. But, if the breathless demands that she ‘bite - harder’ are anything to go by, the only thing Jack’s objecting to is that she’s stopped.
“Oh god, that’s huge.”
“I told you, it’s all yours. But my neck...?”
“Yeah, well, about that - I’m sorry; I just... got a bit carried away.”
“You made a mess of me?” He shrugs when she nods, fingering the darkened skin with a shiver. “Oh yeah, that’s nice.”
“It’s really red.”
“Mm-hmm.” It doesn’t look like it’s worrying him, he’s too busy rubbing it. “You want to do that some more?”
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Oh yeah.”
Teeth bared, his eyes narrowed to black, he’s biting her fingers before she can squeak; sucked wet and dragged down to rub hard over heated skin. There are bites there and bruises, long bloody streaks from the angle of his collarbone to the nape of his neck, trapped blood covering the pulse trembling under his jaw. He looks good enough to eat. Stained skin bronzed with blood, shiny with excitement, and hopelessly, vulnerably erect.
She did that. And he was beautiful before, when he was so much in control, but like this...
His groan hits her low in the belly, a frantic tangle of hands catching her as she bites down again, pulling and pushing her back and away and back into his arms before she can get her teeth into the tender muscle at the back of his neck. Hair standing on end, his lips are as dark as his throat and he’s holding too tight; steel-bar grip grinding bone into already sore flesh as he’s dragging her hands away, pulling her off him and swearing - laughing and swearing -
“Come on Rose, get up - we need to go.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere else. Flatter. Get up, come on.”
“Aw, why? Ah -”
Okay, maybe she asked for that, but even the bitten lip’s worth it to watch him sweat; he’ll be Mr. In-Control again by the time she gets him to her bedroom, and this is fun.
“Because, Miss Tyler -” Okay, so maybe not too much; that hurt. “- you’ve already fallen off me once and the table creaks.” Another bite; another muffled squeak smoothed down with a kiss. “And I don’t just want a quick fuck with you. I want you sweating; I’m going to drive you as crazy as you do me.” Another kiss, and then another as he’s pulling her closer; soothing a bitten earlobe; the shadow under her nose becoming reddened skin as she blinks off the cross-eyed blur of yet another sharp nip. “But we need to go now. Come on, before I stop caring how noisy the table is, let’s just go and - fuck -”
Didn’t he say he wanted to be bitten? Oh, sorry - but look, there’s a poor, taut tendon. Maybe it’s feeling neglected; she should really pay that some attention too. And if he’d just stop wriggling, then -
Bugger.
Note to self: Jack moves fast. Also? He’s pretty strong. She ought to remember that. She probably will. Partly because his mouth ought to be illegal, but mainly because it’s really hard to move with a hand clamping her wrists together and her arms tangled back in the sleeves of her top.
He looks up after a while. His mouth is wet and her nipples ache, an urgent pulse under the green stain making his prick fluoresce like a bronzed neon tube where her shadow lies over him. When he kisses her this time their teeth clash together. It’s uncomfortable and sloppy and his mouth is so hard that her jaw’s beginning to creak; his fingers so perfectly rough-soft that she doesn’t care - just so long as he doesn’t stop... No - no -
“No - you bastard.”
“Yes, bitch? What’s the matter? I’m not turning you on, am I?”
Bloody man. Fine - yes, he’s winning, okay? What more does he want? Yes, it does. Yes, it does. Okay, if that’s what it takes... Yes. Her clit is throbbing. He likes that, does he? Should she say it again? He’s making her clit throb. Yes. And her cunt. Yeah, soaked - okay? Is he happy now? He’d better be; if he doesn’t do something else soon she’s going to have to - to -
- swear at him until he sniggers, because she really can’t move. He’s just too strong. He’s evil - a dark grin skimming tender, bitten flesh and back up to claim her mouth, pulse slamming through every breath, dragging almost-pleasure out of not-quite pain as his grip tightens again. And then again: her grunt makes him chuckle and bite, the ‘bastard’ following it simply sucked off her tongue and swallowed down with the last of her air.
She can’t shake him off; all she gets is kissed harder. She can hardly move, which is kind of scary in a sexy-as-fuck sort of way - or maybe that’s the other way around, because the hand strumming her nipples into a finely-tuned meltdown is trembling, his kisses growing harder as sticky-blunt flesh catches and slides, slickly reaming her navel.
At this rate he’ll be done before he even manages to get her knickers off. But if all she can do is bite...
His groan tastes so good she just has to do it again, a sharp pinch and release tightening her triumph to a squeak even as it’s making her pant. No retreat though, and never surrender - just an exchange of feral grins before she goes back for more.
Why the hell haven’t they done this before? This is the most fun she’s had since forever.
“Is that it? I thought you said you were good at this. I could sue, y’know - false advertising -”
“Yeah? You get that to court you’d better hide these then.”
The next pinch twists harder, her bite bitten back then kissed better, and then bitten again as Jack reclaims his lip, laughing as she swears. She’s light-headed, too busy panting around a tongue that’s not her own to realise she’s moving until blood slices into her hands, numb fingers making everything fuzzy and sore to the touch. But she’s not letting go now, not again. Not while he’s under her; hard and growling. Not while he’s dragging at what’s left of her trousers, grip-clumsy fingers getting tangled in cotton and broken elastic, pulling it loose -
She shouldn’t be shaking like this - it’s only Jack, she’s known him for ages - but her arms are trembling too, legs yammering like caught nerves as her aching thighs fall wide. She’s shivering so hard that it takes him two goes to find his way in. Past wet cotton, the slow kiss of fingertips turning rapid and raw. It’s too hard, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. Just the two - god, three - broad fingers being wetted and tested: one and then two and then three and a groan sucked down and bitten, wide-knuckled and deeper than the tongue fucking her mouth, hooked forward and down to the gasp -
“Jack, please -”
“No. Let me. I need to see you.”
More hands but no more kisses. Hands everywhere, stopping her. She only wants to hold him. Her palms are itching, he’s so hard. Please? Another try - nails and all - slapped off with a ‘no. Wait’ - she’s got to open her eyes. Got to look at him. She’s got to. She’s beautiful. Gorgeous. Riding him. Riding his hand, wet all over. Beautiful. Spread wide - can he watch? He’s going to have her naked and he’s going to watch. They’ll find a mirror, she’s got to see him in her - No, don’t touch. Soon. It’s his turn now. Come on. Let go. Just feel -
More knuckles. His hands are made of knuckles. Wet knuckles. Hard - too hard - it sounds more like ‘umph’ around a mouthful of kiss, but wide eyes and a gasp are easy to translate and then there -
There it is.
There - -
“God, Rose.... Get up.”
“J- Jack - what?”
“Stand up.”
Wet fingers retreat and then return; moving to grip one hip and pushing her backwards. She’s still panting and her legs are shaking. One of her feet has gone dead. It takes him a second to free his finger from a button hole - she doesn’t know how it got there, does it matter? - but by then her trousers are a deep blue sigh at her feet and he’s just looking at her, holding on to her shirt as if he’s afraid to let go.
“Take your panties off.”
“You think I’ll run away?”
“No. Take your panties off.”
“I might. Might make you chase me.”
“Please. Just take them off, Rose. Don’t make me wait any longer.” The chair creaks as he settles lower, one hooked thumb angling his prick an impressive twenty degrees or so towards upright before he’s having trouble breathing again. “Please?”
“What about a condom?”
“We don’t need one. Trust me?”
“Well, yeah, but.... I bet you’ve got some in your bedroom. It’d be comfier there, too. You’re just scared I’ll run off. I mean - if I wanted. I don’t, but - - and it’s a big ship, so you’d take ages to find me...”
“Rose, please...”
He could at least argue. Not just sit there. Oozing. All hard and sweaty and bitten and begging. And hard.
Bloody man. If he drops her this time she’ll make sure she takes him with her. She wouldn’t do this for anyone else. He does know that, doesn’t he?
“Me neither.”
“Liar.”
“Not today.” The hand tugs her forwards but it’s the smile that makes her move, practical white cotton falling sticky and unnoticed on a tangle of blue. “Not for you. I’m not losing you. And if you run off I’m going to find you, right? Anywhere...”
There’s a quiet, fleshy slap as his prick hits his stomach; a green wrist shimmering under her nose and then his face freezes over, his voice stopping dead. He’s still holding her hand though; grip tightening until he’s crushing her fingers and tugging her off balance. His arm is right under her nose. It looks weird without the wrist-strap there; paler green too, and hairless - but it’ll look weirder in a minute, because if he keeps staring at it, she’s going to bite it. She’s slipping; he doesn’t want her to fall off again does he?
“Don’t tease, Jack. Come on, I’m not going anywhere - don’t you want me?”
“No.” He hasn’t moved, just staring at his arm. “I’ve got to go.”
“That’s not funny. Here, come on -”
“No. No shit it’s not. Rose, just - put your clothes on.”
The backwards shunt nearly lands her on her bum again, leaving her flailing at the table before he hauls her to her feet. A second later he’s upright too, staggering, jeans tangling his knees. She can’t help; it’s all she can do to hold herself up, dead foot, wobbly knees and all. And then with two wandering steps and a solid thunk his elbows hit the table; one hand cradling his head as a well-shaped and decidedly green arse vanishes under pale denim, the formica placidly absorbing a stream of insults she’s sure it doesn’t deserve.
Yeah, well, it might not, but she’ll reserve judgement on him - yes, and she might even put her clothes on if he’s going to ask her so fucking nicely - but only after he tells her what the fuck is going on?
“Shush, Rose. Can you hear anything?”
“Yeah - us not shagging. Jack -”
“Quiet. He’s got ears like radar. Do yourself up... I’m sorry, Rose. Just, look, please; put your clothes on. You’re not making this any easier. He’s probably out there now, programming a new setting; seven-oh-two ‘rip Jack a new one’ - do you have any idea how much persuading it took for him to let me near Her again after the extrapolator? I’m going to be scrubbing that sump with my toothbrush if he catches us now.”
She could get upset if it wasn’t so funny. No. She’s just going to get upset. He’s hard and she’s horny and he’s dressing her. Yes, is probably is a first. Is she supposed to be impressed? And now what the fuck does he think he’s doing? Oh, right. She’s got to put her clothes back on, but he’s got time to do the washing up. Oh, that’s very sweet. Thank you very much.
“I’ve got to do something. You do know how good his sense of smell is, right?”
“Yeah. Right.” Is that it? “Jack... I’m not his y’know.”
“What? Of course you’re not. What’s that got to do with it? I’m working. Would be. Should be. Not here with you. Not now. I promised him. If I let him down... You understand, right? Tell me you do, please. I’ll make it up to you later, I will, I promise. Just...”
Soapy water slops as he turns, glancing back and dripping suds over the floor. She can almost see him debating whether sticking his head in would be too much. Bloody idiot. Bloody lovely idiot, but idiot all the same; was he planning to pass a mirror on the way?
“So what’s that on your neck then, a sudden allergy to Fairy Liquid?”
“Shit - thanks. Okay; if he comes looking just tell him I went to the bathroom. Quick detour past the med-lab I’ll be good as new.”
“Right.”
“You’ll just have to start again when I’m done.”
“Right.”
“Don’t be mad at me. Well, not too mad. He asked me to help - what am I going to say?”
“Right, but… No, no - I know, just...”
Would ‘don’t be too long’ sound utterly desperate? She doesn’t want to have to start again, not if it means stopping first. Everything tingles and some of it burns, and if he doesn’t go soon then she’s going to cry. It’s hormones, of course it is, that and all that bare skin right there under his clothes, but... bloody man and his tangled timelines and his bloody green prick. The first one of him wouldn’t have let cleaning the bloody sumps out stop him - just because he’s right is hardly a good reason for her to be reasonable.
No. It isn’t, is it. That’s a really good point -
“You’re right. It’s okay, you promised him, you go, take your time. ‘Sides...” Shrug first, then wait for the frown and... There it is - sniff. That’s it. Good sniff too; resonant, meaningful - her mum’d be proud of that sniff. “No, really, it doesn’t matter. I’ll manage without you. Shame you won’t be there, of course, ‘cause I was hoping you liked to watch, but...”
“That’s not fair. You know I don’t want to go. Rose, come on, give me a kiss, please? I’ll go, I’ll come back...”
“Yeah? I don’t know. I mean, if you’re just going to abandon me when I’m all worked up like this then I’m not sure you deserve me at all.”
“Yeah? Well...” Oh look, he’s brought his stoic face. That’s really bad. He needs to try it without the drool. And the wandering hands. Well, he can leave the hands... “Okay, maybe you don’t deserve me. You thought about that?”
“And what do I need you for? I can do just as well without you. I’ve got everything I need in my bedroom. I thought you’d looked in my bottom drawer, you must know - Jack...”
There goes the stoic. And the butter dish. And - look, he’s already broken the elastic, is he trying to rip her pyjamas now too?
“Oh yeah. Right off. Tell me, Rose, come on - detail.”
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to upset you, talking about something you can’t have, not if you’re busy...”
“I am. Oh, I really am - with you. We’re decent, right? Well, I know I am... If he turns up now I’ll just blame you. Details, Rose - You’ve got to give me details. Are you talking toys? What have you got? If I bring mine can I play too? This is really not fair - you’re evil. Making me imagine you, playing with yourself while I’m working so hard...”
“You’re still going, aren’t you.”
“I’ve got to. He’s relying on me.”
“Yeah?” Bloody man. “Well, I’m still doing it, see?”
“And I’m still imagining it. See?”
Not really, no; not with him holding her hand in the way like that. But it’s okay, just give her a minute, she’s always been good at this game, she’ll work it out. What’s about eight inches long, hard and wrapped in denim with a zip running down one side? Button at the top, damp at that end too and... yup, still hard - makes him groan when she squeezes...
Unfair? How’s that unfair? Now, letting her have a feel but no kiss, that’s unfair. Yeah, just one, she’s not greedy. Okay, two, if he insists - or - yeah? All right, well, her legs were getting a bit tired. No, of course he’s not too heavy - does she sound like she’s complaining? That? That’ll be the table legs -
“God, Rose...” A shaky laugh almost lost under the creak, he slithers back onto his feet, pulling her up after him and folding her into his arms, tightening around her like he’ll never let go. “Don’t you dare quote me - it’s the lack of blood to the brain, right? All this - everything - I don’t even know if you should trust me, but you still do...”
When the kiss comes, it’s tender and slow, made somehow - oddly - sweeter by the way Jack’s trying to stop himself humping her thigh. His touch-activated groan-and-gasp feature isn’t doing him any favours, but how can she resist? All those kisses: she’s drowning in kisses. She’s drowning in him - and he’s already had his warning; this time she’s taking him down with her: kissing and holding him, guiding his erratic progress until he’s sitting on the table, laughing breathlessly as she parts his thighs to wriggle him closer.
“How am I supposed to keep my hands off you, woman? It was hard enough before, but you....”
“Me? I thought it was you. It feels like you...”
“Don’t. No; do. Just...” He’s panting, holding her off with one hand and tugging her back with the other, his head dropping onto her shoulder; lips twitching and worrying at her throat as his breathing slows.
“Rose...” Another kiss; a nip and suck gentled with lips and tongue, and then the dark-blue gaze rises from the depths of her collar-bone, holding her tight as his arms. “You know, don’t you? This isn’t just sex for me - not with you.” The zip scratching her stomach says he’s a liar, but that smile can’t lie now; shiny with joy and even brighter than the need in his face. “It’s been so long since I felt like I could trust anyone - more than a year and I don’t know how long before - but you’re the best thing that’s happened to me since I woke up with a two-year hole in my head.”
next (3/9)