Fic: Cling (2/4)
Title: Cling (2/4)
Beta: canaana, wendymr
Rating: Teen (swearing, sexual content, mentions of non-con)
Spoilers: The Doctor Dances
Characters: Nine/Jack, Rose
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: It was supposed to be just a fun night out…
A/N: Written for dshael, who bid on me in the Support Stacie Auction. This is the word count of several incentive things she won added together… and then it got away from me a little. Prompt: Deal!verse, cling, blunt head trauma.
This is set in the Deal-verse.
Part 1
Chapter 2
During the exam, Jack is still exceedingly biddable, sitting and turning and holding out his arm when he's told to with much more eagerness than warranted. But every time the Doctor steps away from him to use the microscope or check the computer, he starts fidgeting and whimpering deep in his throat.
The Doctor needs to double-check the computer scans manually. The Cling Jack was given contains a chemical compound he hasn't seen before. Something synthetic, probably tailor-made for whatever purpose it fulfills. It doesn't look toxic, but he has to find out what it's doing to Jack. Even if that means taking it apart molecule by molecule.
This might take a while, and he can't let Jack suffer all this time. Cling makes skin contact a physical need. "Here," the Doctor instructs him. "Stand behind me an' hold on to my waist." Jack comes over eagerly. The happy-puppy look on his face makes the Doctor physically sick; he swallows his reaction and turns back to the multispectral analyzer.
Jack grinds his groin into the Doctor's arse, his fingers slipping under his jumper and stroking his stomach. The Doctor shudders and ruthlessly suppresses the erection that's trying to form. Not now. Not like this.
Jack's hands wander lower, stroke the front of his jeans, then hesitate. His voice is despondent as he asks, "Am I doing it wrong?"
The Doctor turns and kisses Jack's forehead. "You're doin' fine. Not gonna shag you tonight, though."
Jack's eyes widen. His mouth is working to shape words that won't come.
The Doctor takes Jack's face between his palms and kisses him gently. "Listen to me, lad. I know the real you is still in there, so listen. I can't shag you like this. Not when you're incapable of consent. Know you've given it plenty of times before, an' if you hadn't been drugged, you'd probably still be trying to get me into bed right now, but… Wouldn't be right. Not when you don't have a choice."
Jack's hands slip off him and he stands, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor. He looks so dejected, the Doctor wonders if he's doing he right thing. Shagging the lad would probably be the one thing that'd make him happy and content for a bit.
But no, he can't. If this whole mess wasn't his fault, maybe. But before the drug kicked in properly, Jack was furious with him. And the Doctor's certain that underneath the drug-induced adoration, he still is. Shagging him might make the drug-addled part of his mind happy, but the real Jack underneath would scream bloody murder.
Not that they've never had angry sex. But that was when Jack had the capability to be angry, to scratch and bite and let his lover feel that this was in spite of, not because. Even then, the Doctor's superior strength and reflexes always made him feel somewhat uncertain if he had the right to, and it was only Jack dragging him into bed and clawing him out of his clothes that allowed him to let himself go. Somewhat.
Having soft and tender sex now - because that's what he wants and what the drug wants - when Jack wants to yell and shout and tear a strip off him, with sex or without… He shudders, making Jack look up worriedly.
The Doctor squeezes his shoulder. "Let me just finish this, then we can go an' have some food, eh?" He turns back to the analyzer. The faster he gets this done, the sooner he can give Jack the attention, if not the actions, that he craves.
*****
Fucking hell. The part of Jack's mind that's still functioning normally is cursing a blue streak.
According to every ethics class Jack's ever taken, the Doctor's right. He knows he is.
And still. After all the humiliation, the desperate attempts to control his mouth and his wandering hands and behave with some semblance of dignity - all of which failed miserably, of course - sex had been the safe haven he'd been hoping for. The one thing he and the drug could agree on. Something he could still do with as much control - or lack thereof - as normal.
No, he wouldn't have been at his best. But he would have been good. And it would have been good. Warm and safe and familiar. And maybe it would have soothed the desperate, burning need for closeness for a bit.
Fuck ethics. The Doctor's wrong.
So wrapped up is he in the frustration and despair that it takes him a while to realize that he's begun to wander off. His body, controlled by the damnable drug-soaked sponge that normally passes for his brain, has slipped out of the medbay and is heading…
It takes him a few seconds to work out where he's going. When he does, he tries his utmost to go back, to call the Doctor, to just stop.
But his feet keep moving him forward, and before he knows it, his hand is reaching for the doorknob.
*****
When the Doctor turns around and realizes Jack is no longer behind him, he's baffled. Cling should have made Jack unwilling to wander off. Then it hits him.
The unknown compound turned out to be a stimulant, cleverly designed to enhance sexual aggression while still keeping the victim submissive. The lad's probably in their bedroom, getting naked and trying to set up one of the seductive displays Jack is so fond of. An attempt to change the Doctor's mind, lure him into giving in to what Jack wants.
With a curse, he leaves the medbay and turns towards Jack's bedroom.
He's almost reached it when he hears a scream coming from the opposite direction. His hearts stop. "Rose!" He turns and runs towards her room.
He finds her sitting up in bed, the comforter pulled all the way up to her chin, staring at Jack, who's sitting on the floor by her bedside, looking scared and confused. When he spots the Doctor, he jumps up and runs to him. The Doctor grabs him around the waist roughly and looks at Rose. "What did he do?" His mouth is dry.
Rose shakes her head. "He… I woke up with him fondling my boobs and trying to kiss me." She sounds mortified and disgusted.
"Damn." He shakes Jack. "Don't go near Rose."
Jack looks at him with a confused, inconsolable expression on his face. "I'm sorry! I just wanted to be close…"
He keeps his hold on Jack tight and looks back at Rose. "Are you all right?" If she's hurt…
Rose nods. "Yeah. Startled me, more 'n anything. Stopped when I told him to."
Of course he did. And not just because the drug means Jack can't help but do as he's told. "He's still Jack, underneath. He'll push, but not force."
Rose just nods. She seems more relaxed now - still embarrassed, but he can see she'll be all right.
"Jack." He turns back to his lover. "Do you have anything to say to Rose?"
Jack brightens. "Rose, will you please-"
"No. Jack, tell Rose you're sorry."
"I'm sorry, Rose," Jack parrots back.
The Doctor shrugs at her apologetically. "He's probably already lost track of what we're talking about."
She looks at him sharply. "Will he remember after?"
The Doctor sighs. "Oh, yeah." Would be kinder if the drug made people forget, too.
"Right. I'll want a proper apology then. An' now, if everyone could get out of my room? I need to brush my teeth and lock the door."
The Doctor nods and propels Jack towards the hallway. "If you need anything - anything - come and find me, all right? Will keep better control of him."
Because this whole episode is really his fault. He should have realized Jack's extremely short attention span meant he needed to keep an eye on him at all times, medical tests notwithstanding.
Rose just nods and closes the door behind them with an audible click.
Jack looks from him to the door and back. "What do you want me to do now?" He sounds scared and sad. The Doctor can't help but hug him. Jack burrows into the touch and clings to his neck.
After a minute, Jack's hand sneaks to his groin. The Doctor grabs his wrist and pulls it off, breaking their hug at the same time. "What did I say?"
Jack blinks, confused.
"No shagging."
The inconsolable expression is back, but Jack doesn’t argue. Not that he could.
The Doctor squeezes Jack's shoulder. "Let's go to the kitchen. Food'll help you metabolize this more quickly."
Jack walks with him meekly and sits down on the bench when told, folding his hands on the kitchen table. The Doctor puts a glass of water down next to them, and Jack obediently takes a sip.
"Right then. What do you want to eat?"
"You," Jack says with perfect earnestness.
The Doctor sighs. "Sandwich it is, then." He toasts some bread and covers it with cheese and kangee paste - Jack's favorite. He keeps a close eye on Jack, and makes sure to squeeze his shoulder or stroke his hair a lot - Jack still can't be without touch for long.
When he puts the sandwich down and tells Jack to eat, he does - but it's clear he's doing it only because the drug gives him no choice but to obey. The Doctor feels sick at the thought. Even if he uses this power only to take care of Jack - keep him calm, fed, and out of trouble - it's wrong to have another sapient being at his mercy like this. He slips an arm around Jack's hips, and the lad wriggles closer to him gratefully.
Once he's finished the sandwich, Jack starts playing with the Doctor's zip. The Doctor takes his hand, kisses the knuckles, and places it on his stomach instead.
When Jack starts playing with his nipples through the thick wool of his jumper, he lets him. The lad looks so forlorn.
After a while, the Doctor notices Jack shivering. He cups his chin and tips it up, studying his lover's eyes. The pupils are still dilated, but they don't entirely black out the irises anymore. Jack's starting to come down.
The Doctor knows it'll be a long and uncomfortable process - the creators of Cling didn't care much how the victims would feel after the user was through with them. But in a few hours, Jack will finally be tired enough to sleep, and when he wakes up, he should feel no more than a headache and fatigue.
The shivers turn to trembling. "Are you cold, lad?" the Doctor asks.
Jack nods.
He doesn't want to move them into bed - Jack's mind is stuck enough on sex as it is. And besides, it's warm in the kitchen, and Jack's body temperature is fine. This is a nervous reaction rather than actual chills. So there's no point in getting a jumper for him. Unless…
The Doctor takes off his jacket, then slips out of his jumper. He grimaces as Jack reaches for him with a happy squeal, pushes off the lad's hands and pulls his jacket on again. He hands Jack the jumper. "Here. Put that on."
Jack's face lights up. He pulls on the jumper over his thin T-shirt.
The jumper's a loose fit on the Doctor, so it fits Jack well enough. A bit tight across the shoulders, but the wool is soft and gives. Jack rubs a sleeve to his cheek and smiles at the Doctor happily.
The Doctor thinks he's rarely seen anything this beautiful. Or this sexy. When Jack's back to normal, the Doctor is definitely going to make him wear this jumper again. Or maybe the navy one. Olive isn't Jack's col-
What the hell is he thinking? There Jack is, defenseless and raw and miserable, brought so low that cuddling into the Doctor's jumper is a comfort, and he has the callousness to find that sexy? The Doctor bites the inside of his cheek sharply to snap out of it. All the repressed sensuality of the situation must be getting to him. He doubles his efforts to curb his hormone production.
Jack reaches out for him and he pulls him into a hug. The trembles are gone, and Jack seems content for now. The Doctor starts massaging his neck. Jack snuggles closer.
If it weren't for the damn drugs, the Doctor would really enjoy this quiet time with his partner. For all that he always claims he only does it to "humor Jack's primitive simian nervous system," he loves cuddling. (Not that he thinks he's fooling anyone with his claims to the contrary, but one has to keep up appearances.) He's just lucky he's found someone who's so physically affectionate that the Doctor can safely blame all cuddling on him - and so unabashed that he lets him get away with it.
*****
Jack sighs into the Doctor's neck, drinking in his lover's warmth.
He's trying very hard not to dwell on the humiliation. There'll be time to deal with that later. Right now, he just needs to keep himself as calm as possible.
He just has to wait. He's not going to do anything bad if the Doctor just keeps holding him like this until he can get a grip on himself. The worst of the lust is gone, he's mostly craving closeness now. And he thinks maybe he's gaining a bit of control back.
He winces as he remembers Rose. He hopes she'll forgive him. He knows what he did was wrong, knew it at the time - but he just couldn't help himself. The need for closeness, warmth, and arousal was just too strong. He remembers feeling crushed when she said no, even though he knew she would, even though the sane part of him was relieved, so relieved, to be stopped. The overwhelming disappointment and pain of rejection may just have been a chemical reaction triggered by the drug, but it felt real. And when he saw the Doctor's angry face…
The memory makes him whimper. Closer. He needs to get closer. He needs to feel the Doctor's love more.
He almost reaches for the Doctor's zip again, but manages to stop himself. That would only make the Time Lord push him away again.
He's relieved he's gaining enough control and capacity for rational action to channel his impulse into something less… aggressive. Even though his own choice mortifies him even while he's making it.
*****
Jack fidgets and begins to shift his weight. The Doctor lets him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Maybe the lad needs the loo, or he wants to lie down, or- Oh.
Or he wants to sit in his lap.
The Doctor raises an eyebrow. Jack is sitting sideways, like a little kid on Santa's knee in one of those ridiculous mall spectacles from Rose's time. Except that Jack is almost as tall as him, and bulkier, which makes this even more ludicrous.
But the lad is calm, leaning against him, his head against his and his arms around his shoulders. And, well - it's not as if the Doctor can't hold him like this. Time Lord strength, after all. If this is what Jack wants, if this will keep him calm and content…
The Doctor pulls his lover closer and begins stroking his back. They've passed the point of embarrassment long since. There's really nothing wrong with this. Hell, Rose would probably call it cute, and maybe she wouldn't be wrong.
He hasn't held anyone like this since- He stops himself from following that train of thought. Jack is not his child nor grandchild. He's his lover, for all that he needs care and protection right now.
To distract himself and to keep Jack calm, the Doctor starts humming under his breath - soothing songs and lullabies from Earth, Boeshane, and even Gallifrey. At first, he thinks Jack doesn't react at all, but then he feels the moisture of quiet tears on his scalp.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
He feels Jack nod. "I love you," he says quietly.
The Doctor's breath catches in his throat. He's never said the words to Jack, not even when Jack said them first. He just can't get them out. Luckily for him, Jack doesn’t mind. The one time he said anything about it at all, it was a simple "Don't worry - I know the feelings are there. Doesn’t matter to me if you can say it." But does he need to hear them now, in his raw and defenseless state?
Jack pulls back and looks at the Doctor earnestly. "You love me, too," he says with perfect confidence, and leans back in to nibble the Doctor's ear, tickling the earlobe with his tongue.
The Doctor smiles and turns his head to give him better access. "Yeah, lad. I do."
It's hours until Jack finally falls asleep.
Go to part 3.
Beta: canaana, wendymr
Rating: Teen (swearing, sexual content, mentions of non-con)
Spoilers: The Doctor Dances
Characters: Nine/Jack, Rose
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction; the characters are the property of the BBC and used here without permission. No money was made.
Summary: It was supposed to be just a fun night out…
A/N: Written for dshael, who bid on me in the Support Stacie Auction. This is the word count of several incentive things she won added together… and then it got away from me a little. Prompt: Deal!verse, cling, blunt head trauma.
This is set in the Deal-verse.
Part 1
Chapter 2
During the exam, Jack is still exceedingly biddable, sitting and turning and holding out his arm when he's told to with much more eagerness than warranted. But every time the Doctor steps away from him to use the microscope or check the computer, he starts fidgeting and whimpering deep in his throat.
The Doctor needs to double-check the computer scans manually. The Cling Jack was given contains a chemical compound he hasn't seen before. Something synthetic, probably tailor-made for whatever purpose it fulfills. It doesn't look toxic, but he has to find out what it's doing to Jack. Even if that means taking it apart molecule by molecule.
This might take a while, and he can't let Jack suffer all this time. Cling makes skin contact a physical need. "Here," the Doctor instructs him. "Stand behind me an' hold on to my waist." Jack comes over eagerly. The happy-puppy look on his face makes the Doctor physically sick; he swallows his reaction and turns back to the multispectral analyzer.
Jack grinds his groin into the Doctor's arse, his fingers slipping under his jumper and stroking his stomach. The Doctor shudders and ruthlessly suppresses the erection that's trying to form. Not now. Not like this.
Jack's hands wander lower, stroke the front of his jeans, then hesitate. His voice is despondent as he asks, "Am I doing it wrong?"
The Doctor turns and kisses Jack's forehead. "You're doin' fine. Not gonna shag you tonight, though."
Jack's eyes widen. His mouth is working to shape words that won't come.
The Doctor takes Jack's face between his palms and kisses him gently. "Listen to me, lad. I know the real you is still in there, so listen. I can't shag you like this. Not when you're incapable of consent. Know you've given it plenty of times before, an' if you hadn't been drugged, you'd probably still be trying to get me into bed right now, but… Wouldn't be right. Not when you don't have a choice."
Jack's hands slip off him and he stands, shoulders slumped, staring at the floor. He looks so dejected, the Doctor wonders if he's doing he right thing. Shagging the lad would probably be the one thing that'd make him happy and content for a bit.
But no, he can't. If this whole mess wasn't his fault, maybe. But before the drug kicked in properly, Jack was furious with him. And the Doctor's certain that underneath the drug-induced adoration, he still is. Shagging him might make the drug-addled part of his mind happy, but the real Jack underneath would scream bloody murder.
Not that they've never had angry sex. But that was when Jack had the capability to be angry, to scratch and bite and let his lover feel that this was in spite of, not because. Even then, the Doctor's superior strength and reflexes always made him feel somewhat uncertain if he had the right to, and it was only Jack dragging him into bed and clawing him out of his clothes that allowed him to let himself go. Somewhat.
Having soft and tender sex now - because that's what he wants and what the drug wants - when Jack wants to yell and shout and tear a strip off him, with sex or without… He shudders, making Jack look up worriedly.
The Doctor squeezes his shoulder. "Let me just finish this, then we can go an' have some food, eh?" He turns back to the analyzer. The faster he gets this done, the sooner he can give Jack the attention, if not the actions, that he craves.
*****
Fucking hell. The part of Jack's mind that's still functioning normally is cursing a blue streak.
According to every ethics class Jack's ever taken, the Doctor's right. He knows he is.
And still. After all the humiliation, the desperate attempts to control his mouth and his wandering hands and behave with some semblance of dignity - all of which failed miserably, of course - sex had been the safe haven he'd been hoping for. The one thing he and the drug could agree on. Something he could still do with as much control - or lack thereof - as normal.
No, he wouldn't have been at his best. But he would have been good. And it would have been good. Warm and safe and familiar. And maybe it would have soothed the desperate, burning need for closeness for a bit.
Fuck ethics. The Doctor's wrong.
So wrapped up is he in the frustration and despair that it takes him a while to realize that he's begun to wander off. His body, controlled by the damnable drug-soaked sponge that normally passes for his brain, has slipped out of the medbay and is heading…
It takes him a few seconds to work out where he's going. When he does, he tries his utmost to go back, to call the Doctor, to just stop.
But his feet keep moving him forward, and before he knows it, his hand is reaching for the doorknob.
*****
When the Doctor turns around and realizes Jack is no longer behind him, he's baffled. Cling should have made Jack unwilling to wander off. Then it hits him.
The unknown compound turned out to be a stimulant, cleverly designed to enhance sexual aggression while still keeping the victim submissive. The lad's probably in their bedroom, getting naked and trying to set up one of the seductive displays Jack is so fond of. An attempt to change the Doctor's mind, lure him into giving in to what Jack wants.
With a curse, he leaves the medbay and turns towards Jack's bedroom.
He's almost reached it when he hears a scream coming from the opposite direction. His hearts stop. "Rose!" He turns and runs towards her room.
He finds her sitting up in bed, the comforter pulled all the way up to her chin, staring at Jack, who's sitting on the floor by her bedside, looking scared and confused. When he spots the Doctor, he jumps up and runs to him. The Doctor grabs him around the waist roughly and looks at Rose. "What did he do?" His mouth is dry.
Rose shakes her head. "He… I woke up with him fondling my boobs and trying to kiss me." She sounds mortified and disgusted.
"Damn." He shakes Jack. "Don't go near Rose."
Jack looks at him with a confused, inconsolable expression on his face. "I'm sorry! I just wanted to be close…"
He keeps his hold on Jack tight and looks back at Rose. "Are you all right?" If she's hurt…
Rose nods. "Yeah. Startled me, more 'n anything. Stopped when I told him to."
Of course he did. And not just because the drug means Jack can't help but do as he's told. "He's still Jack, underneath. He'll push, but not force."
Rose just nods. She seems more relaxed now - still embarrassed, but he can see she'll be all right.
"Jack." He turns back to his lover. "Do you have anything to say to Rose?"
Jack brightens. "Rose, will you please-"
"No. Jack, tell Rose you're sorry."
"I'm sorry, Rose," Jack parrots back.
The Doctor shrugs at her apologetically. "He's probably already lost track of what we're talking about."
She looks at him sharply. "Will he remember after?"
The Doctor sighs. "Oh, yeah." Would be kinder if the drug made people forget, too.
"Right. I'll want a proper apology then. An' now, if everyone could get out of my room? I need to brush my teeth and lock the door."
The Doctor nods and propels Jack towards the hallway. "If you need anything - anything - come and find me, all right? Will keep better control of him."
Because this whole episode is really his fault. He should have realized Jack's extremely short attention span meant he needed to keep an eye on him at all times, medical tests notwithstanding.
Rose just nods and closes the door behind them with an audible click.
Jack looks from him to the door and back. "What do you want me to do now?" He sounds scared and sad. The Doctor can't help but hug him. Jack burrows into the touch and clings to his neck.
After a minute, Jack's hand sneaks to his groin. The Doctor grabs his wrist and pulls it off, breaking their hug at the same time. "What did I say?"
Jack blinks, confused.
"No shagging."
The inconsolable expression is back, but Jack doesn’t argue. Not that he could.
The Doctor squeezes Jack's shoulder. "Let's go to the kitchen. Food'll help you metabolize this more quickly."
Jack walks with him meekly and sits down on the bench when told, folding his hands on the kitchen table. The Doctor puts a glass of water down next to them, and Jack obediently takes a sip.
"Right then. What do you want to eat?"
"You," Jack says with perfect earnestness.
The Doctor sighs. "Sandwich it is, then." He toasts some bread and covers it with cheese and kangee paste - Jack's favorite. He keeps a close eye on Jack, and makes sure to squeeze his shoulder or stroke his hair a lot - Jack still can't be without touch for long.
When he puts the sandwich down and tells Jack to eat, he does - but it's clear he's doing it only because the drug gives him no choice but to obey. The Doctor feels sick at the thought. Even if he uses this power only to take care of Jack - keep him calm, fed, and out of trouble - it's wrong to have another sapient being at his mercy like this. He slips an arm around Jack's hips, and the lad wriggles closer to him gratefully.
Once he's finished the sandwich, Jack starts playing with the Doctor's zip. The Doctor takes his hand, kisses the knuckles, and places it on his stomach instead.
When Jack starts playing with his nipples through the thick wool of his jumper, he lets him. The lad looks so forlorn.
After a while, the Doctor notices Jack shivering. He cups his chin and tips it up, studying his lover's eyes. The pupils are still dilated, but they don't entirely black out the irises anymore. Jack's starting to come down.
The Doctor knows it'll be a long and uncomfortable process - the creators of Cling didn't care much how the victims would feel after the user was through with them. But in a few hours, Jack will finally be tired enough to sleep, and when he wakes up, he should feel no more than a headache and fatigue.
The shivers turn to trembling. "Are you cold, lad?" the Doctor asks.
Jack nods.
He doesn't want to move them into bed - Jack's mind is stuck enough on sex as it is. And besides, it's warm in the kitchen, and Jack's body temperature is fine. This is a nervous reaction rather than actual chills. So there's no point in getting a jumper for him. Unless…
The Doctor takes off his jacket, then slips out of his jumper. He grimaces as Jack reaches for him with a happy squeal, pushes off the lad's hands and pulls his jacket on again. He hands Jack the jumper. "Here. Put that on."
Jack's face lights up. He pulls on the jumper over his thin T-shirt.
The jumper's a loose fit on the Doctor, so it fits Jack well enough. A bit tight across the shoulders, but the wool is soft and gives. Jack rubs a sleeve to his cheek and smiles at the Doctor happily.
The Doctor thinks he's rarely seen anything this beautiful. Or this sexy. When Jack's back to normal, the Doctor is definitely going to make him wear this jumper again. Or maybe the navy one. Olive isn't Jack's col-
What the hell is he thinking? There Jack is, defenseless and raw and miserable, brought so low that cuddling into the Doctor's jumper is a comfort, and he has the callousness to find that sexy? The Doctor bites the inside of his cheek sharply to snap out of it. All the repressed sensuality of the situation must be getting to him. He doubles his efforts to curb his hormone production.
Jack reaches out for him and he pulls him into a hug. The trembles are gone, and Jack seems content for now. The Doctor starts massaging his neck. Jack snuggles closer.
If it weren't for the damn drugs, the Doctor would really enjoy this quiet time with his partner. For all that he always claims he only does it to "humor Jack's primitive simian nervous system," he loves cuddling. (Not that he thinks he's fooling anyone with his claims to the contrary, but one has to keep up appearances.) He's just lucky he's found someone who's so physically affectionate that the Doctor can safely blame all cuddling on him - and so unabashed that he lets him get away with it.
*****
Jack sighs into the Doctor's neck, drinking in his lover's warmth.
He's trying very hard not to dwell on the humiliation. There'll be time to deal with that later. Right now, he just needs to keep himself as calm as possible.
He just has to wait. He's not going to do anything bad if the Doctor just keeps holding him like this until he can get a grip on himself. The worst of the lust is gone, he's mostly craving closeness now. And he thinks maybe he's gaining a bit of control back.
He winces as he remembers Rose. He hopes she'll forgive him. He knows what he did was wrong, knew it at the time - but he just couldn't help himself. The need for closeness, warmth, and arousal was just too strong. He remembers feeling crushed when she said no, even though he knew she would, even though the sane part of him was relieved, so relieved, to be stopped. The overwhelming disappointment and pain of rejection may just have been a chemical reaction triggered by the drug, but it felt real. And when he saw the Doctor's angry face…
The memory makes him whimper. Closer. He needs to get closer. He needs to feel the Doctor's love more.
He almost reaches for the Doctor's zip again, but manages to stop himself. That would only make the Time Lord push him away again.
He's relieved he's gaining enough control and capacity for rational action to channel his impulse into something less… aggressive. Even though his own choice mortifies him even while he's making it.
*****
Jack fidgets and begins to shift his weight. The Doctor lets him, keeping a hand on his shoulder. Maybe the lad needs the loo, or he wants to lie down, or- Oh.
Or he wants to sit in his lap.
The Doctor raises an eyebrow. Jack is sitting sideways, like a little kid on Santa's knee in one of those ridiculous mall spectacles from Rose's time. Except that Jack is almost as tall as him, and bulkier, which makes this even more ludicrous.
But the lad is calm, leaning against him, his head against his and his arms around his shoulders. And, well - it's not as if the Doctor can't hold him like this. Time Lord strength, after all. If this is what Jack wants, if this will keep him calm and content…
The Doctor pulls his lover closer and begins stroking his back. They've passed the point of embarrassment long since. There's really nothing wrong with this. Hell, Rose would probably call it cute, and maybe she wouldn't be wrong.
He hasn't held anyone like this since- He stops himself from following that train of thought. Jack is not his child nor grandchild. He's his lover, for all that he needs care and protection right now.
To distract himself and to keep Jack calm, the Doctor starts humming under his breath - soothing songs and lullabies from Earth, Boeshane, and even Gallifrey. At first, he thinks Jack doesn't react at all, but then he feels the moisture of quiet tears on his scalp.
"Are you all right?" he asks.
He feels Jack nod. "I love you," he says quietly.
The Doctor's breath catches in his throat. He's never said the words to Jack, not even when Jack said them first. He just can't get them out. Luckily for him, Jack doesn’t mind. The one time he said anything about it at all, it was a simple "Don't worry - I know the feelings are there. Doesn’t matter to me if you can say it." But does he need to hear them now, in his raw and defenseless state?
Jack pulls back and looks at the Doctor earnestly. "You love me, too," he says with perfect confidence, and leans back in to nibble the Doctor's ear, tickling the earlobe with his tongue.
The Doctor smiles and turns his head to give him better access. "Yeah, lad. I do."
It's hours until Jack finally falls asleep.
Go to part 3.