sahiya: Five Days in Dry Dock, 3/5 (R) [Jack/Ten]
Title: Five Days in Dry Dock, 3/5
Author: sahiya
Pairing/Rating: R, Jack/Ten
Word Count: 2600 this part; about 13,000 overall
Disclaimer: Not mine! They belong to Rusty and the BBC.
Summary: The TARDIS needs an overhaul. Jack needs a few days to put himself back together, physically and mentally. Even without a mortgage, it borders on domestic, but the Doctor's feet are mysteriously un-itchy about it.
Author's Note: This is a sequel to Atonement, which I posted here last month, and was written for the "Domesticity" challenge. Many thanks to my beta reader, fuzzyboo03. Warnings for rampant h/c and bits of fluff.
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Jack was right. He didn't know what made the difference - those strangely stretched out minutes he'd spent snuggling with the TARDIS, the Doctor's chicken soup, or just fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep - but his third morning on the TARDIS, he woke feeling almost human.He lay staring up at the ceiling, stretching each limb carefully before curling back up in the warm cocoon of his blankets.
He was grateful his collapse had happened here, and not on a bustling spaceport, but Jack was a former Time Agent - he knew how to stave off that sort of thing until it was safe. He'd have managed to find credit and a place to stay before collapsing into a useless puddle of feverish goo. He'd have made it through in one piece - well, Jack reflected wryly, it seemed he'd make it through anything in one piece, including being sliced into teeny tiny ones. Ending up ill and alone on Glaxon 5 would have been far from pleasant, though.
Not that this had been a day at the beach.
Beach. There was a beach out there, right beyond the TARDIS door. Sunlight, fresh air. Salt breezes - well, maybe. The Doctor had called this planet 'Bellacosa', but Jack had never heard of it. Maybe the breezes were salty, maybe they were sweet. Only way to find out was to venture outside.
He didn't rush himself. He lazed in bed while the TARDIS slowly increased the artificial sunlight in his room, giving him the illusion of a long lie-in on a sunny morning. It felt like the height of luxury - it'd been nuclear winter his entire six months on Earth, and he'd never slept past five or six on his flat, thin bedroll.
At last his bladder forced him up. Jack perched carefully on the edge of the bed and looked around, blinking. The Doctor had assured him that this room was his, untouched since Satellite Five, but it hardly looked it. Except that was the same wardrobe, and it was certainly the same shape with the same vaulted ceilings, and the door to the bathroom was in the same place. The rest of it was very sober and bare. Jack was relieved - he wouldn't have felt at home in his old room - but it was still unnerving.
He peeled off his pajamas, rinsed off two days of feverish sweat in the shower, and changed into a pair of jeans. They were much too big for him, but with a belt they'd at least stay up. None of the rest of his old clothes held much interest - except for the greatcoat, of course - but at the bottom of a drawer he managed to find an old cotton shirt with long sleeves. He'd worn it under his clothes when they'd visited colder planets, but the old him would have never deigned to wear it where anyone might see it.
It was threadbare in places and smelled as though - well, as though it'd spent a year at the bottom of his shirt-drawer. Jack pulled it over his head and sighed, feeling the soft fabric rubbing lightly over his skin. Warm, dry, and comfortable. He wondered if he'd ever take those three things for granted ever again.
He wanted coffee, he decided. And he didn't give a rat's ass if it made him sick.
Someone, either the Doctor or the TARDIS, had read his mind. He stepped into the corridor and immediately smelled strong, fresh coffee, the best smell in ten worlds. He followed it down to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup from the coffepot on the counter. The Doctor had been and gone, judging from loaf of bread left out next to the toaster and the half-full kettle. Jack tidied things up, then took his coffee and went in search of the Doctor.
The console room was empty, though the console itself was reassuringly bright, with floods of incomprehensible Gallifreyan streaming across its screens. Jack ran a hand along the console in passing and paused, just inside the doorway.
He'd come this far just fine, but now his hands were shaking. As long as he was inside the TARDIS, Jack knew he was safe. If he left, if he went outside, he could be left behind. The TARDIS had promised him she wouldn't let that happen, and the Doctor had sworn he'd never abandon him again - they had both done everything they could possibly do. Now it was up to Jack.
If all Jack had had to go on was the Doctor's word, he might not have been able to do it. But he had the TARDIS as well, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't, maybe even couldn't, lie to him. And, well, he hadn't chosen to come along to hide in the TARDIS all the time, had he? Some companion he'd make, afraid to leave his bed.
Artificial sunlight was all well and good, but Jack wanted a beach. He reached out, grasped the doorknob, and turned.
It was bright mid-day. Jack blinked, dazzled by the reflection of sun on blue-green water, then stepped outside, all fears of abandonment forgotten in the face of open sky after days of confinement. He hesitated briefly, then set his coffee cup down in the sand, kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his shirt. He was tempted to strip his jeans off as well, but instead he just rolled them to the knee.
The sand was warm, almost hot, beneath his feet, and some fluke combination of gases in the atmosphere resulted in a light blue-purple sky that reddened as it approached the horizon, a perpetual sunrise. The water was cool, but not cold. Jack sat down, feet in the water and his ass on wet sand, and just breathed.
"Be careful or you'll burn," he heard the Doctor say, right before he collapsed next to him in a tangle of long, thin limbs. He'd forgone the suit jacket and rolled up the legs of his trousers, even cuffed down the sleeves of his shirt. Jack caught a flash of pale wrist, lined with blue veins. "The atmosphere is pretty thin, lets a lot of UV rays through." He produced a tube of suncream and handed it to Jack.
"Thanks," Jack said, squirting a little onto his hand. He spread it across his nose and commenced rubbing it in.
"I take it you're feeling better?"
"Yes, much."
"'Much' like a hundred percent? Ninety?"
Jack considered this as he spread suncream down his arms. "Eighty," he decided at last.
The Doctor nodded. "Eighty isn't bad. 'Course, better to be at ninety at least before trying anything jeopardy-friendly."
"Is that your way of telling me we'll be here a few more days?" Jack asked, smiling.
"Maybe. Here, you have a bit . . ." The Doctor used his thumb to smooth in a streak of lotion across Jack's cheek. Jack blinked, startled by the casually affectionate gesture, then blinked again when the Doctor took the tube from him, squirted some onto his hand and said, "Let me get your back."
Jack certainly wasn't going to argue. The Doctor knelt behind him. His fingers were cool, especially against Jack's sun-warmed skin, but they felt good the way the cool water felt good against his feet. Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. The Doctor slid his hands up and down Jack's back, long after he must have smoothed all the lotion in, at times rubbing firmly, at others almost tickling. Jack shifted, vaguely uncomfortable, then realized with a start exactly why that was.
He had an erection.
Eighty percent was good enough, it seemed, for his body to start bringing some of his less urgent biological functions back online. He should have known this was coming last night, when he was finally able to remember why he'd liked sex so much once upon a time.
One of the Doctor's hands pressed down, low on Jack's spine, and Jack jumped. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Doc," he said, leaning away.
"Right," the Doctor said. His voice sounded a little high and nervous. "Just wanted to be thorough."
"You were," Jack said, hoping it didn't come out too dry. "Very."
"Good." The Doctor flopped down beside him again, feet in the water beside Jack's. Jack tried to take some deep breaths without being obvious about it, but part of him didn't want it to go away. He was turned on for the first time in - hell, probably four months. It felt damn good.
Fortunately, the Doctor seemed strangely uninclined to conversation. At last he sighed deeply, and Jack glanced sideways at him, wondering if he dared ask how the TARDIS was doing. Not well, he guessed by the strained, unhappy tilt to the Doctor's mouth. His eyes were shadowed as well - while Jack had been sleeping practically round the clock, the Doctor apparently hadn't slept at all.
"You looked tired," Jack observed at last, carefully.
The Doctor slumped. "She needs a lot of work, and I can't leave it half done. I thought it'd be easier to push through and rest when I'd finished, but . . ." He grimaced. "It's taking longer than I'd anticipated."
"Let me spend some time with her. Go take a nap."
"Oh, I don't -"
"Doctor," Jack said firmly, "your concentration is going to slip, and that won't be good for either of you. I'll look after her for you."
"Well . . ." The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Just don't rewire anything without asking me first. And don't touch any of the temporal units, they're old and very finicky. And don't go into her engine room without asking her permission, it's rude. And don't -"
"Okay, okay, I won't!" Jack said, lifting his hands in surrender. "You used to let me work on her, you know."
The Doctor sniffed. "With proper supervision."
"I promise I won't break the TARDIS while you're sleeping. C'mon." Jack pushed himself to his feet and offered the Doctor a hand up.
The seat of the Doctor's suit was sandy. Jack shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from brushing it off. His erection from earlier was still very much present. He'd never gotten to more than about half-mast, but he could tell it wouldn't take much. Couple strokes from his hand - or somebody else's -
Oh hell, make that even thinking about a couple of strokes from somebody else's. A certain somebody else, in fact, who happened to at that moment be pushing his key into the TARDIS lock and yawning. Jack followed him into the console room and suddenly found himself revisiting every fantasy he'd ever had about sex with the Doctor. Back then, most of his fantasies had involved Rose, too, but right then all he wanted was Doctor's hands, those long, pale fingers, on him.
No, scratch that. What he really wanted was to shove the Doctor up against the console, go to his knees, and get him out of those trousers. Maybe not even all the way out, just tug them down around the Doctor's knees. He wanted to swallow him all the way down, wring gasps and moans and cries from him until he was helpless. Jack had loved that once, had loved using his mouth on his lovers, and he'd been great at it -
"Jack?"
Jack blinked. "Uh. What?"
"You just look a bit - glassy-eyed." The Doctor brushed his hand over Jack's forehead, checking for fever. "You don't feel warm."
"I'm all right." Glassy-eyed. Jack could only hope he hadn't been drooling. He swallowed. "Go on. I'll be around. Might go for a swim. Spend some time under the console - don't worry! I won't rewire anything," he added hastily at the Doctor's frown.
The Doctor still looked skeptical, but he went with only a single backwards glance. Jack waited until he'd gone, then sagged against the railing. He raked a hand through his hair. "Well. Isn't this just . . . fantastic." His libido couldn't have waited until they were somewhere convenient, where he might have hired a professional. On the other hand, Jack suspected it wouldn't have mattered. The Doctor was the Doctor. He could have paid a handsome, brown-haired bloke to dress up in a pinstriped suit, or a severe man with big ears to wear a leather jacket, but eyes opened or closed, Jack would have known the difference.
It was just one more thing to add in on top of everything else. Jack couldn't trust him, and he hadn't forgiven him. Not by a long shot.
But fuck it all if Jack didn't want the Doctor so bad it hurt. He always had. The Doctor had to know it - Jack hadn't exactly been subtle about it during his first stint on the TARDIS. But he wasn't interested - in Jack or men or humans more generally, Jack never did figure it out. Maybe without Rose around, Jack could bring the Doctor around to his way of thinking . . .
Except . . . trust. Or lack of it. Jack had slept with a lot of people he didn't trust, true, but none of them were the Doctor.
Goddammit it. "Give me a minute, beautiful," Jack said, resting his hand briefly against the TARDIS wall. He went back outside, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down to lie puddled in the sand beside his discarded shoes and shirt. He waded in again, past his knees, then up to his waist. The water was cool against skin warmed by sun and arousal, but not cold enough to calm him down.
That was fine with Jack. He didn't want to calm down. The water hit his shoulders, then his chin, and then his feet left the sandy bottom. He flipped over onto his back and thought about the Doctor's hands stroking down his back to the base of his spine. In his mind, the Doctor's hand drifted lower, to the cleft of his ass, even while his other hand reached to cup Jack's cheek. He imagined the Doctor would taste like tea and something strange. Something ancient and alien, bittersweet on Jack's tongue.
Jack was stroking himself now, breath coming faster. It didn't take much after so long. He imagined the Doctor helpless and writhing beneath him, that brilliant mind taken out of his body by Jack's hand, Jack's mouth, Jack's cock - Jack's cock inside of him -
Jack gasped and came.
Beautiful. It wasn't the best orgasm he'd ever had, and wanking was never as satisfying as having a partner, but it was beautiful. He drifted in the afterglow, held up by the salty water. He felt drowsy and content, pleased with himself and his world in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Sex meant a lot of things to Jack - it'd been a tool, a form of manipulation, but he'd also taken real pleasure in it. As jaded as he'd been when he'd met the Doctor and Rose in 1941, Jack had loved sex.
And now he had it back.
Perhaps he should have waited, shared this moment with someone. But somehow it felt right to do it on his own. And anyway, Jack reflected, flipping over to start the swim back to shore, the only person he'd have wanted to share it with was out of reach.
Day Four
Feedback. The Muse. It feeds it.
Author: sahiya
Pairing/Rating: R, Jack/Ten
Word Count: 2600 this part; about 13,000 overall
Disclaimer: Not mine! They belong to Rusty and the BBC.
Summary: The TARDIS needs an overhaul. Jack needs a few days to put himself back together, physically and mentally. Even without a mortgage, it borders on domestic, but the Doctor's feet are mysteriously un-itchy about it.
Author's Note: This is a sequel to Atonement, which I posted here last month, and was written for the "Domesticity" challenge. Many thanks to my beta reader, fuzzyboo03. Warnings for rampant h/c and bits of fluff.
Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Jack was right. He didn't know what made the difference - those strangely stretched out minutes he'd spent snuggling with the TARDIS, the Doctor's chicken soup, or just fifteen hours of uninterrupted sleep - but his third morning on the TARDIS, he woke feeling almost human.He lay staring up at the ceiling, stretching each limb carefully before curling back up in the warm cocoon of his blankets.
He was grateful his collapse had happened here, and not on a bustling spaceport, but Jack was a former Time Agent - he knew how to stave off that sort of thing until it was safe. He'd have managed to find credit and a place to stay before collapsing into a useless puddle of feverish goo. He'd have made it through in one piece - well, Jack reflected wryly, it seemed he'd make it through anything in one piece, including being sliced into teeny tiny ones. Ending up ill and alone on Glaxon 5 would have been far from pleasant, though.
Not that this had been a day at the beach.
Beach. There was a beach out there, right beyond the TARDIS door. Sunlight, fresh air. Salt breezes - well, maybe. The Doctor had called this planet 'Bellacosa', but Jack had never heard of it. Maybe the breezes were salty, maybe they were sweet. Only way to find out was to venture outside.
He didn't rush himself. He lazed in bed while the TARDIS slowly increased the artificial sunlight in his room, giving him the illusion of a long lie-in on a sunny morning. It felt like the height of luxury - it'd been nuclear winter his entire six months on Earth, and he'd never slept past five or six on his flat, thin bedroll.
At last his bladder forced him up. Jack perched carefully on the edge of the bed and looked around, blinking. The Doctor had assured him that this room was his, untouched since Satellite Five, but it hardly looked it. Except that was the same wardrobe, and it was certainly the same shape with the same vaulted ceilings, and the door to the bathroom was in the same place. The rest of it was very sober and bare. Jack was relieved - he wouldn't have felt at home in his old room - but it was still unnerving.
He peeled off his pajamas, rinsed off two days of feverish sweat in the shower, and changed into a pair of jeans. They were much too big for him, but with a belt they'd at least stay up. None of the rest of his old clothes held much interest - except for the greatcoat, of course - but at the bottom of a drawer he managed to find an old cotton shirt with long sleeves. He'd worn it under his clothes when they'd visited colder planets, but the old him would have never deigned to wear it where anyone might see it.
It was threadbare in places and smelled as though - well, as though it'd spent a year at the bottom of his shirt-drawer. Jack pulled it over his head and sighed, feeling the soft fabric rubbing lightly over his skin. Warm, dry, and comfortable. He wondered if he'd ever take those three things for granted ever again.
He wanted coffee, he decided. And he didn't give a rat's ass if it made him sick.
Someone, either the Doctor or the TARDIS, had read his mind. He stepped into the corridor and immediately smelled strong, fresh coffee, the best smell in ten worlds. He followed it down to the kitchen and poured himself a large cup from the coffepot on the counter. The Doctor had been and gone, judging from loaf of bread left out next to the toaster and the half-full kettle. Jack tidied things up, then took his coffee and went in search of the Doctor.
The console room was empty, though the console itself was reassuringly bright, with floods of incomprehensible Gallifreyan streaming across its screens. Jack ran a hand along the console in passing and paused, just inside the doorway.
He'd come this far just fine, but now his hands were shaking. As long as he was inside the TARDIS, Jack knew he was safe. If he left, if he went outside, he could be left behind. The TARDIS had promised him she wouldn't let that happen, and the Doctor had sworn he'd never abandon him again - they had both done everything they could possibly do. Now it was up to Jack.
If all Jack had had to go on was the Doctor's word, he might not have been able to do it. But he had the TARDIS as well, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't, maybe even couldn't, lie to him. And, well, he hadn't chosen to come along to hide in the TARDIS all the time, had he? Some companion he'd make, afraid to leave his bed.
Artificial sunlight was all well and good, but Jack wanted a beach. He reached out, grasped the doorknob, and turned.
It was bright mid-day. Jack blinked, dazzled by the reflection of sun on blue-green water, then stepped outside, all fears of abandonment forgotten in the face of open sky after days of confinement. He hesitated briefly, then set his coffee cup down in the sand, kicked off his shoes, and stripped off his shirt. He was tempted to strip his jeans off as well, but instead he just rolled them to the knee.
The sand was warm, almost hot, beneath his feet, and some fluke combination of gases in the atmosphere resulted in a light blue-purple sky that reddened as it approached the horizon, a perpetual sunrise. The water was cool, but not cold. Jack sat down, feet in the water and his ass on wet sand, and just breathed.
"Be careful or you'll burn," he heard the Doctor say, right before he collapsed next to him in a tangle of long, thin limbs. He'd forgone the suit jacket and rolled up the legs of his trousers, even cuffed down the sleeves of his shirt. Jack caught a flash of pale wrist, lined with blue veins. "The atmosphere is pretty thin, lets a lot of UV rays through." He produced a tube of suncream and handed it to Jack.
"Thanks," Jack said, squirting a little onto his hand. He spread it across his nose and commenced rubbing it in.
"I take it you're feeling better?"
"Yes, much."
"'Much' like a hundred percent? Ninety?"
Jack considered this as he spread suncream down his arms. "Eighty," he decided at last.
The Doctor nodded. "Eighty isn't bad. 'Course, better to be at ninety at least before trying anything jeopardy-friendly."
"Is that your way of telling me we'll be here a few more days?" Jack asked, smiling.
"Maybe. Here, you have a bit . . ." The Doctor used his thumb to smooth in a streak of lotion across Jack's cheek. Jack blinked, startled by the casually affectionate gesture, then blinked again when the Doctor took the tube from him, squirted some onto his hand and said, "Let me get your back."
Jack certainly wasn't going to argue. The Doctor knelt behind him. His fingers were cool, especially against Jack's sun-warmed skin, but they felt good the way the cool water felt good against his feet. Jack closed his eyes and let his head fall forward. The Doctor slid his hands up and down Jack's back, long after he must have smoothed all the lotion in, at times rubbing firmly, at others almost tickling. Jack shifted, vaguely uncomfortable, then realized with a start exactly why that was.
He had an erection.
Eighty percent was good enough, it seemed, for his body to start bringing some of his less urgent biological functions back online. He should have known this was coming last night, when he was finally able to remember why he'd liked sex so much once upon a time.
One of the Doctor's hands pressed down, low on Jack's spine, and Jack jumped. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Doc," he said, leaning away.
"Right," the Doctor said. His voice sounded a little high and nervous. "Just wanted to be thorough."
"You were," Jack said, hoping it didn't come out too dry. "Very."
"Good." The Doctor flopped down beside him again, feet in the water beside Jack's. Jack tried to take some deep breaths without being obvious about it, but part of him didn't want it to go away. He was turned on for the first time in - hell, probably four months. It felt damn good.
Fortunately, the Doctor seemed strangely uninclined to conversation. At last he sighed deeply, and Jack glanced sideways at him, wondering if he dared ask how the TARDIS was doing. Not well, he guessed by the strained, unhappy tilt to the Doctor's mouth. His eyes were shadowed as well - while Jack had been sleeping practically round the clock, the Doctor apparently hadn't slept at all.
"You looked tired," Jack observed at last, carefully.
The Doctor slumped. "She needs a lot of work, and I can't leave it half done. I thought it'd be easier to push through and rest when I'd finished, but . . ." He grimaced. "It's taking longer than I'd anticipated."
"Let me spend some time with her. Go take a nap."
"Oh, I don't -"
"Doctor," Jack said firmly, "your concentration is going to slip, and that won't be good for either of you. I'll look after her for you."
"Well . . ." The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck. "Just don't rewire anything without asking me first. And don't touch any of the temporal units, they're old and very finicky. And don't go into her engine room without asking her permission, it's rude. And don't -"
"Okay, okay, I won't!" Jack said, lifting his hands in surrender. "You used to let me work on her, you know."
The Doctor sniffed. "With proper supervision."
"I promise I won't break the TARDIS while you're sleeping. C'mon." Jack pushed himself to his feet and offered the Doctor a hand up.
The seat of the Doctor's suit was sandy. Jack shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans to keep himself from brushing it off. His erection from earlier was still very much present. He'd never gotten to more than about half-mast, but he could tell it wouldn't take much. Couple strokes from his hand - or somebody else's -
Oh hell, make that even thinking about a couple of strokes from somebody else's. A certain somebody else, in fact, who happened to at that moment be pushing his key into the TARDIS lock and yawning. Jack followed him into the console room and suddenly found himself revisiting every fantasy he'd ever had about sex with the Doctor. Back then, most of his fantasies had involved Rose, too, but right then all he wanted was Doctor's hands, those long, pale fingers, on him.
No, scratch that. What he really wanted was to shove the Doctor up against the console, go to his knees, and get him out of those trousers. Maybe not even all the way out, just tug them down around the Doctor's knees. He wanted to swallow him all the way down, wring gasps and moans and cries from him until he was helpless. Jack had loved that once, had loved using his mouth on his lovers, and he'd been great at it -
"Jack?"
Jack blinked. "Uh. What?"
"You just look a bit - glassy-eyed." The Doctor brushed his hand over Jack's forehead, checking for fever. "You don't feel warm."
"I'm all right." Glassy-eyed. Jack could only hope he hadn't been drooling. He swallowed. "Go on. I'll be around. Might go for a swim. Spend some time under the console - don't worry! I won't rewire anything," he added hastily at the Doctor's frown.
The Doctor still looked skeptical, but he went with only a single backwards glance. Jack waited until he'd gone, then sagged against the railing. He raked a hand through his hair. "Well. Isn't this just . . . fantastic." His libido couldn't have waited until they were somewhere convenient, where he might have hired a professional. On the other hand, Jack suspected it wouldn't have mattered. The Doctor was the Doctor. He could have paid a handsome, brown-haired bloke to dress up in a pinstriped suit, or a severe man with big ears to wear a leather jacket, but eyes opened or closed, Jack would have known the difference.
It was just one more thing to add in on top of everything else. Jack couldn't trust him, and he hadn't forgiven him. Not by a long shot.
But fuck it all if Jack didn't want the Doctor so bad it hurt. He always had. The Doctor had to know it - Jack hadn't exactly been subtle about it during his first stint on the TARDIS. But he wasn't interested - in Jack or men or humans more generally, Jack never did figure it out. Maybe without Rose around, Jack could bring the Doctor around to his way of thinking . . .
Except . . . trust. Or lack of it. Jack had slept with a lot of people he didn't trust, true, but none of them were the Doctor.
Goddammit it. "Give me a minute, beautiful," Jack said, resting his hand briefly against the TARDIS wall. He went back outside, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them down to lie puddled in the sand beside his discarded shoes and shirt. He waded in again, past his knees, then up to his waist. The water was cool against skin warmed by sun and arousal, but not cold enough to calm him down.
That was fine with Jack. He didn't want to calm down. The water hit his shoulders, then his chin, and then his feet left the sandy bottom. He flipped over onto his back and thought about the Doctor's hands stroking down his back to the base of his spine. In his mind, the Doctor's hand drifted lower, to the cleft of his ass, even while his other hand reached to cup Jack's cheek. He imagined the Doctor would taste like tea and something strange. Something ancient and alien, bittersweet on Jack's tongue.
Jack was stroking himself now, breath coming faster. It didn't take much after so long. He imagined the Doctor helpless and writhing beneath him, that brilliant mind taken out of his body by Jack's hand, Jack's mouth, Jack's cock - Jack's cock inside of him -
Jack gasped and came.
Beautiful. It wasn't the best orgasm he'd ever had, and wanking was never as satisfying as having a partner, but it was beautiful. He drifted in the afterglow, held up by the salty water. He felt drowsy and content, pleased with himself and his world in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. Sex meant a lot of things to Jack - it'd been a tool, a form of manipulation, but he'd also taken real pleasure in it. As jaded as he'd been when he'd met the Doctor and Rose in 1941, Jack had loved sex.
And now he had it back.
Perhaps he should have waited, shared this moment with someone. But somehow it felt right to do it on his own. And anyway, Jack reflected, flipping over to start the swim back to shore, the only person he'd have wanted to share it with was out of reach.
Day Four
Feedback. The Muse. It feeds it.