Ficlet: Owning
Story: Owning
Author: wmr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness
Rated: M for Mature. WARNING: possible questionable consent
Disclaimer: No, they'd never allow this on DW (Maybe Torchwood). Characters still not mine
Summary: Now, he’s got the Doctor at his mercy and he’s damn well going to enjoy it.
Written for the Frottage Comment-Porn Challenge on
51stcenturyfox's LJ; takes place during The Sound of Drums. Reiterating, in case you missed it the first time: this contains a scenario involving questionable consent, so read at your own risk.
Owning
A few hours before dawn, Jack stands and stretches. Martha’s still curled up in an alcove in the underpass, his and the Doctor’s trench-coats over her. The Doctor, after hours of sitting utterly motionless staring at nothing, seems to have dozed off.
He needs some air. This place stinks. Plus yesterday was both fantastic and shitty, and tomorrow’s going to be even shittier.
A dozen or so paces takes him to the edge of the path leading towards a housing estate. The only light’s from a moon half-hidden by clouds. He doesn’t need light, though. Just time and space to think, to reflect, to come to terms with being wrong.
Clouds drift across the sky, obscuring the moon completely. An owl hoots. The shuffling sound of light footwear on concrete comes from behind him.
His senses on full alert, Jack withdraws silently further into the shadows; waits until the dark figure has passed him, then moves into position. One arm around the stranger’s neck, pressing against his throat, the other arm pinning the man’s arms to his chest and pushing his prisoner’s body back against his own.
A slender, whipcord-thin body, wearing a woollen suit.
“Jack.” He already knows who this is, but the voice confirms it. “You can let me go now.”
Even before the Doctor’s finished speaking, he knows he’s not going to. Ever since he heard the TARDIS out on the Plas, he’s been the one at a disadvantage. Clinging to the outside of the ship; waking up on the ground on Malcassiro with the Doctor’s new body standing over him; having to beg for answers to his questions; being told he didn’t matter enough for the Doctor to wait for him, to care what happened to him, to help him. Being told he’s wrong.
Now, he’s got the Doctor at his mercy and he’s damn well going to enjoy it.
With a twist of his body, he turns the Doctor and pushes him up against the side wall of the underpass, in the same movement leaning into him and pressing his crotch against the Doctor’s arse. He’s already hard, and the contact sends a shiver through him. He’s never been this up close and personal with the Doctor before. Ever.
“Jack.” Hearing his name in the Doctor’s new voice sends another shudder through him. The fact that the Doctor’s annoyed only makes it better. The Doctor’s not shouting, though - he’s sensible enough to know they can’t risk attracting attention or waking Martha up.
He grinds and thrusts, shifting and moving until his dick is exactly where he wants it: sliding back and forth against the crack of the Doctor’s arse. Freeing one hand, he reaches around and down to the Doctor’s groin. Bastard was holding out on him all this time, huh? Asexual? Like hell. The guy’s got a raging hard-on.
“Jack, stop it,” the Doctor says through obviously gritted teeth. He doesn’t answer. It’s better, much better if he doesn’t say a word. Speak and he cedes control.
His hand squeezes and strokes, rubs and pinches, and all the time he’s grinding and thrusting himself into the Doctor. Doesn’t matter that they’re still fully clothed. It’s enough to know that he could rip the Doctor’s clothes out of the way and fuck him. It’s enough to know that the Doctor couldn’t - wouldn’t - stop him.
Time Lords and humans aren’t very different, are they, when it comes to arousal? The Doctor’s breathing heavily, and now he’s thrusting back against Jack’s cock, thrusting forward into Jack’s hand. One more clever twist of his fingers, one more squeeze with his palm...
...and the Doctor comes with a muffled groan.
Immediately, Jack breaks away and tidies his clothes. He didn’t come, and it was deliberate. He’s in control.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jack,” the Doctor snaps before walking away.
But Jack knows the truth. The Doctor could have freed himself at any time. Superior Time Lord strength. That he didn’t...
“Not so wrong after all, am I, Doctor?”
Barely stifling a smirk, he saunters back into the underpass, to find Martha getting awkwardly to her feet and handing the Doctor his coat. “So, what’s the plan?”
- end
Author: wmr
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Jack Harkness
Rated: M for Mature. WARNING: possible questionable consent
Disclaimer: No, they'd never allow this on DW (Maybe Torchwood). Characters still not mine
Summary: Now, he’s got the Doctor at his mercy and he’s damn well going to enjoy it.
Written for the Frottage Comment-Porn Challenge on
51stcenturyfox's LJ; takes place during The Sound of Drums. Reiterating, in case you missed it the first time: this contains a scenario involving questionable consent, so read at your own risk.
Owning
A few hours before dawn, Jack stands and stretches. Martha’s still curled up in an alcove in the underpass, his and the Doctor’s trench-coats over her. The Doctor, after hours of sitting utterly motionless staring at nothing, seems to have dozed off.
He needs some air. This place stinks. Plus yesterday was both fantastic and shitty, and tomorrow’s going to be even shittier.
A dozen or so paces takes him to the edge of the path leading towards a housing estate. The only light’s from a moon half-hidden by clouds. He doesn’t need light, though. Just time and space to think, to reflect, to come to terms with being wrong.
Clouds drift across the sky, obscuring the moon completely. An owl hoots. The shuffling sound of light footwear on concrete comes from behind him.
His senses on full alert, Jack withdraws silently further into the shadows; waits until the dark figure has passed him, then moves into position. One arm around the stranger’s neck, pressing against his throat, the other arm pinning the man’s arms to his chest and pushing his prisoner’s body back against his own.
A slender, whipcord-thin body, wearing a woollen suit.
“Jack.” He already knows who this is, but the voice confirms it. “You can let me go now.”
Even before the Doctor’s finished speaking, he knows he’s not going to. Ever since he heard the TARDIS out on the Plas, he’s been the one at a disadvantage. Clinging to the outside of the ship; waking up on the ground on Malcassiro with the Doctor’s new body standing over him; having to beg for answers to his questions; being told he didn’t matter enough for the Doctor to wait for him, to care what happened to him, to help him. Being told he’s wrong.
Now, he’s got the Doctor at his mercy and he’s damn well going to enjoy it.
With a twist of his body, he turns the Doctor and pushes him up against the side wall of the underpass, in the same movement leaning into him and pressing his crotch against the Doctor’s arse. He’s already hard, and the contact sends a shiver through him. He’s never been this up close and personal with the Doctor before. Ever.
“Jack.” Hearing his name in the Doctor’s new voice sends another shudder through him. The fact that the Doctor’s annoyed only makes it better. The Doctor’s not shouting, though - he’s sensible enough to know they can’t risk attracting attention or waking Martha up.
He grinds and thrusts, shifting and moving until his dick is exactly where he wants it: sliding back and forth against the crack of the Doctor’s arse. Freeing one hand, he reaches around and down to the Doctor’s groin. Bastard was holding out on him all this time, huh? Asexual? Like hell. The guy’s got a raging hard-on.
“Jack, stop it,” the Doctor says through obviously gritted teeth. He doesn’t answer. It’s better, much better if he doesn’t say a word. Speak and he cedes control.
His hand squeezes and strokes, rubs and pinches, and all the time he’s grinding and thrusting himself into the Doctor. Doesn’t matter that they’re still fully clothed. It’s enough to know that he could rip the Doctor’s clothes out of the way and fuck him. It’s enough to know that the Doctor couldn’t - wouldn’t - stop him.
Time Lords and humans aren’t very different, are they, when it comes to arousal? The Doctor’s breathing heavily, and now he’s thrusting back against Jack’s cock, thrusting forward into Jack’s hand. One more clever twist of his fingers, one more squeeze with his palm...
...and the Doctor comes with a muffled groan.
Immediately, Jack breaks away and tidies his clothes. He didn’t come, and it was deliberate. He’s in control.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jack,” the Doctor snaps before walking away.
But Jack knows the truth. The Doctor could have freed himself at any time. Superior Time Lord strength. That he didn’t...
“Not so wrong after all, am I, Doctor?”
Barely stifling a smirk, he saunters back into the underpass, to find Martha getting awkwardly to her feet and handing the Doctor his coat. “So, what’s the plan?”
- end