Handling It
Title: Handling It
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/hand, implied Jack/Doctor and pre-Ianto/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: DW "Doomsday" and "Utopia," just a tiny bit.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Warnings: PWP. If you turn your head and squint, necrophilia and/or dubcon.
Summary: One hard day's night, Jack finds a unique way of relieving tension.
Author's notes: You probably know what this is before reading it. Don't let that stop you, though...it didn't stop me.
The pen dropped from numb fingers to clatter on the desk, leaving cryptic inky marks on the blotter. Jack groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.
"Need a hand with anything, sir?" Ianto was at his shoulder instantly.
Jack shook his head. "Nah. Just paperwork, stuff to sign. I can handle it." He leaned back in his chair, stretching until his back popped, and looked up at the other man. "It's late. Why are you even still here?"
"You are," Ianto pointed out.
Jack grinned. "Point," he conceded. "Nevertheless, go home. Get some sleep."
"All right. See you in the morning, sir."
Jack watched Ianto leave. From time to time he insisted Ianto call him by his first name, but never too vehemently. If he were completely honest, he'd have to say he kind of liked it when Ianto called him sir.
He sat forward again, looking over the pile of papers waiting for his signature, and for the billionth time in the past two hundred years, wished he were elsewhere. Or elsewhen. He'd bet his own right hand the Doctor never had to do paperwork. God, did he ever miss traveling with the Doctor. Instinctively, he glanced at the hand, just to check. It floated docilely in its jar, calm as always. As though it could sense his gaze, the fingers gave a slow ripple.
Maybe he could teach it to forge his signature. Jack chuckled. "What d'you think?" he asked it aloud. "Want to do my paperwork for me?" Impulsively, he opened the top of the jar and pulled the hand out, drying it carefully with his handkerchief. Its fingers slowly curled around his own. Jack kissed the back of the hand. "Yeah," he murmured. "Miss you too."
He knew it was reflexive action rather than deliberate that made the hand grip his, but it was comforting nonetheless. He had had Owen check on it when he brought it back--the hand was alive, but had no higher awareness. The medic had raised an eyebrow but asked no questions about why Jack had the hand, or who its previous owner had been.
Jack wondered himself about the previous owner, particularly why he hadn't stopped in Cardiff in the 200 years Jack had been waiting for him, and what he'd be like when they finally met again. He knew the Doctor had regenerated since the last time he had seen him, when Jack had kissed him goodbye and gone off to die for him. That kiss had changed his life; Jack didn't know why he couldn't die, but he did know the Doctor couldn't either. He had woken up after the battle, inexplicably alive, with a memory of the Doctor's lips on his.
He closed his eyes, still holding the Doctor's hand. He'd caught a glimpse of the Doctor, half-hidden in the background of the news footage from Canary Wharf--at least, he'd assumed it was the Doctor. Rose had been with him. The man he'd seen was tall and skinny, with thick brown hair. The hand was slender, its fingers longer than Jack's--almost certainly belonging to the man he'd seen on the screen. Jack turned the hand over and pressed his lips to its palm. His eyes drifted closed as its fingers caressed his face, and a sigh escaped his lips. He wondered what that thick hair felt like, imagined running his fingers through it, grasping a handful. He let the hand drop into his lap.
His eyes flew open. "Oh," he said aloud, as the hand's fingers automatically cupped the bulge in the front of his trousers. He hadn't expected that particular reflexive motion--not to say it was unwelcome. His left hand worked quickly to free his erection from the constricting cloth, and the first touch of the Doctor's hand to his hard flesh was electric. He guided its fingers closed around his cock, his breath hissing from between his teeth.
The hand needed only the slightest guidance. Its fingers seemed to know what they were doing, tightening slightly just below the head and prompting a breathless oath from Jack. He slumped in his seat, eyes wide and unseeing as the Doctor's hand stroked him. He thought of the Doctor's long legs over Jack's shoulders, or his own legs wrapped around the Doctor's narrow waist. His breath caught in his throat. "Fuck, yes," he murmured.
He pressed his left hand to his mouth, sucking on two fingers, then reached between his legs again. The Doctor would bend him over the rail in the TARDIS control room. Jack pressed a saliva-slick finger against the ring of muscle. The Doctor would push into him, just like that, filling him as Jack would brace himself against the rail. The Doctor's hand stroking his cock increased its pace as he thrust his fingers in a steady rhythm, brushing his prostate, making his breath stutter.
He tightened his grip on the hand on his cock. "Doctor," he gasped. He could feel tension building behind his eyes, glowing at the edges of his vision. "F-fuck...oh God, yes, fuck me, Doctor." The words came without thought. Jack didn't care what he was saying; he said something else too, but he wasn't sure what. The Doctor's hand gave one more squeeze and white light exploded across Jack's vision as he came hard, back arching out of the chair.
As the aftershocks subsided, he gently pulled the hand away. He cleaned it off with his handkerchief and carefully replaced it in its jar. It seemed to wave at him as it settled into a relaxed position. Jack grinned as he refastened his trousers. "Thank you," he said to the hand.
The hatch's quiet alarm drew his attention. Jack went to the door of his office to find Ianto stepping through the doorway. "Thought I sent you home," he called to him, slightly hoarse.
Ianto looked up at him for a long moment before answering. "You're still here," Ianto replied. "Are you sure you don't need a hand with that paperwork?"
Jack thought of how he must look, slightly disheveled and sweaty, and grinned. "Thanks for the offer," he said, "but I've got it well in hand."
Author: Sara Ellison
Fandom: Torchwood
Pairing: Jack/hand, implied Jack/Doctor and pre-Ianto/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: DW "Doomsday" and "Utopia," just a tiny bit.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Warnings: PWP. If you turn your head and squint, necrophilia and/or dubcon.
Summary: One hard day's night, Jack finds a unique way of relieving tension.
Author's notes: You probably know what this is before reading it. Don't let that stop you, though...it didn't stop me.
The pen dropped from numb fingers to clatter on the desk, leaving cryptic inky marks on the blotter. Jack groaned and rubbed his hands over his face.
"Need a hand with anything, sir?" Ianto was at his shoulder instantly.
Jack shook his head. "Nah. Just paperwork, stuff to sign. I can handle it." He leaned back in his chair, stretching until his back popped, and looked up at the other man. "It's late. Why are you even still here?"
"You are," Ianto pointed out.
Jack grinned. "Point," he conceded. "Nevertheless, go home. Get some sleep."
"All right. See you in the morning, sir."
Jack watched Ianto leave. From time to time he insisted Ianto call him by his first name, but never too vehemently. If he were completely honest, he'd have to say he kind of liked it when Ianto called him sir.
He sat forward again, looking over the pile of papers waiting for his signature, and for the billionth time in the past two hundred years, wished he were elsewhere. Or elsewhen. He'd bet his own right hand the Doctor never had to do paperwork. God, did he ever miss traveling with the Doctor. Instinctively, he glanced at the hand, just to check. It floated docilely in its jar, calm as always. As though it could sense his gaze, the fingers gave a slow ripple.
Maybe he could teach it to forge his signature. Jack chuckled. "What d'you think?" he asked it aloud. "Want to do my paperwork for me?" Impulsively, he opened the top of the jar and pulled the hand out, drying it carefully with his handkerchief. Its fingers slowly curled around his own. Jack kissed the back of the hand. "Yeah," he murmured. "Miss you too."
He knew it was reflexive action rather than deliberate that made the hand grip his, but it was comforting nonetheless. He had had Owen check on it when he brought it back--the hand was alive, but had no higher awareness. The medic had raised an eyebrow but asked no questions about why Jack had the hand, or who its previous owner had been.
Jack wondered himself about the previous owner, particularly why he hadn't stopped in Cardiff in the 200 years Jack had been waiting for him, and what he'd be like when they finally met again. He knew the Doctor had regenerated since the last time he had seen him, when Jack had kissed him goodbye and gone off to die for him. That kiss had changed his life; Jack didn't know why he couldn't die, but he did know the Doctor couldn't either. He had woken up after the battle, inexplicably alive, with a memory of the Doctor's lips on his.
He closed his eyes, still holding the Doctor's hand. He'd caught a glimpse of the Doctor, half-hidden in the background of the news footage from Canary Wharf--at least, he'd assumed it was the Doctor. Rose had been with him. The man he'd seen was tall and skinny, with thick brown hair. The hand was slender, its fingers longer than Jack's--almost certainly belonging to the man he'd seen on the screen. Jack turned the hand over and pressed his lips to its palm. His eyes drifted closed as its fingers caressed his face, and a sigh escaped his lips. He wondered what that thick hair felt like, imagined running his fingers through it, grasping a handful. He let the hand drop into his lap.
His eyes flew open. "Oh," he said aloud, as the hand's fingers automatically cupped the bulge in the front of his trousers. He hadn't expected that particular reflexive motion--not to say it was unwelcome. His left hand worked quickly to free his erection from the constricting cloth, and the first touch of the Doctor's hand to his hard flesh was electric. He guided its fingers closed around his cock, his breath hissing from between his teeth.
The hand needed only the slightest guidance. Its fingers seemed to know what they were doing, tightening slightly just below the head and prompting a breathless oath from Jack. He slumped in his seat, eyes wide and unseeing as the Doctor's hand stroked him. He thought of the Doctor's long legs over Jack's shoulders, or his own legs wrapped around the Doctor's narrow waist. His breath caught in his throat. "Fuck, yes," he murmured.
He pressed his left hand to his mouth, sucking on two fingers, then reached between his legs again. The Doctor would bend him over the rail in the TARDIS control room. Jack pressed a saliva-slick finger against the ring of muscle. The Doctor would push into him, just like that, filling him as Jack would brace himself against the rail. The Doctor's hand stroking his cock increased its pace as he thrust his fingers in a steady rhythm, brushing his prostate, making his breath stutter.
He tightened his grip on the hand on his cock. "Doctor," he gasped. He could feel tension building behind his eyes, glowing at the edges of his vision. "F-fuck...oh God, yes, fuck me, Doctor." The words came without thought. Jack didn't care what he was saying; he said something else too, but he wasn't sure what. The Doctor's hand gave one more squeeze and white light exploded across Jack's vision as he came hard, back arching out of the chair.
As the aftershocks subsided, he gently pulled the hand away. He cleaned it off with his handkerchief and carefully replaced it in its jar. It seemed to wave at him as it settled into a relaxed position. Jack grinned as he refastened his trousers. "Thank you," he said to the hand.
The hatch's quiet alarm drew his attention. Jack went to the door of his office to find Ianto stepping through the doorway. "Thought I sent you home," he called to him, slightly hoarse.
Ianto looked up at him for a long moment before answering. "You're still here," Ianto replied. "Are you sure you don't need a hand with that paperwork?"
Jack thought of how he must look, slightly disheveled and sweaty, and grinned. "Thanks for the offer," he said, "but I've got it well in hand."