Prompt Response: Love and other moments (are just chemical reactions)
who_topia: Few men desire liberty; most men wish only for a just master. - Sallust, Roman historian, c. 40 B.C.
The Doctor has sex with Jack sometimes. And Jack doesn't mind, and Jack sure as hell doesn't complain, and of course Jack enjoys it, but it's not the way he'd prefer things.
Because the Doctor and Jack, they don't have sex. Jack doesn't have sex with the Doctor. It's always the Doctor, hands on his hips and mouth on his, pushing him to the bed, or the wall, or whatever else happens to be nearby and convenient. The Doctor's broad hands, the Doctor's tongue and teeth and when Jack reaches out to reciprocate, the Doctor twists easily away from under his hands like a cat, like liquid, like smoke. Jack ends up naked and gasping and spent, and the Doctor walks away, never having even taken off his jumper, with a smirk that Jack is certain never wavered through the whole thing.
Sometimes he thinks it's just another way of keeping him in line, asserting dominance, that distant look in his eyes Jack catches sometimes, focused, intent, evaluating. Systems of reward, a pat on the head or a hand settled on the back of his neck means the same as sucking his cock, just a matter of degree. But then he'll catch a different look in the man's eyes, just as intent, but warmer, and almost fond, almost...
Jack gets sex, the same way he gets most complex tech, tactical war games, the same way he gets torture, because it's all the same in the end, the body's reaction to one stimulus or another, too intertwined to properly separate the one from the other. What he doesn't get is this, where he stands, what game they're even playing and if it's a game at all. All he knows is that he comes when the Doctor calls, falls to heel when the Doctor snaps, and whatever they are doing, game or challenge or tactical campaign, the Doctor's always, always winning.
Muse: Jack Harkness
Word Count: 324
Journal Link
The Doctor has sex with Jack sometimes. And Jack doesn't mind, and Jack sure as hell doesn't complain, and of course Jack enjoys it, but it's not the way he'd prefer things.
Because the Doctor and Jack, they don't have sex. Jack doesn't have sex with the Doctor. It's always the Doctor, hands on his hips and mouth on his, pushing him to the bed, or the wall, or whatever else happens to be nearby and convenient. The Doctor's broad hands, the Doctor's tongue and teeth and when Jack reaches out to reciprocate, the Doctor twists easily away from under his hands like a cat, like liquid, like smoke. Jack ends up naked and gasping and spent, and the Doctor walks away, never having even taken off his jumper, with a smirk that Jack is certain never wavered through the whole thing.
Sometimes he thinks it's just another way of keeping him in line, asserting dominance, that distant look in his eyes Jack catches sometimes, focused, intent, evaluating. Systems of reward, a pat on the head or a hand settled on the back of his neck means the same as sucking his cock, just a matter of degree. But then he'll catch a different look in the man's eyes, just as intent, but warmer, and almost fond, almost...
Jack gets sex, the same way he gets most complex tech, tactical war games, the same way he gets torture, because it's all the same in the end, the body's reaction to one stimulus or another, too intertwined to properly separate the one from the other. What he doesn't get is this, where he stands, what game they're even playing and if it's a game at all. All he knows is that he comes when the Doctor calls, falls to heel when the Doctor snaps, and whatever they are doing, game or challenge or tactical campaign, the Doctor's always, always winning.
Muse: Jack Harkness
Word Count: 324
Journal Link