two ways jack harkness has never ever died
title: two ways jack harkness has never ever died, or five things the doctor never found out about jack until they finally slept together
author: phinnia
rating: nc-17 for sex, sex pollen, and Relationship Talks
pairing: jack/ten
prompt: debt
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: m/m sex
author's note: i never did repost this from wintercompanion (June challenge). <3 and now I have.
The Doctor found out several things during the first week he was properly having sex with Jack Harkness:
1. Jack's Pheromones (they deserve their own capitals, that's how he thinks of them, Jack's Pheromones) are heady enough when everything is 'normal'; when Jack is fully aroused they are exponentially magnified, and are dizzying in their potency. (Quite literally dizzying; the room started to spin once when he got a proper sniff of them)
2. Jack has no end of positions he likes - and not only likes, but is good at. The Doctor has always been somewhat skeptical about the stories Jack has told (skeptical and to be truthful, a bit envious) - but he's starting to become less and less suspicious over time.
3. And yet, he's not disappointed in the Doctor's comparative lack of experience. (like the Doctor figured he would be).
4. Jack is also good at those kind of Relationship Talks, the kind of thing the Doctor usually tends to avoid like he's been set on fire and released into an newspaper office but for some unfathomable reason, Jack makes him want to talk (or at least not want to avoid talking for eternity.) He achieves this by wearing tight t-shirts and tighter jeans, which makes the Doctor's mind wander to places he's shocked by, and bending over the console a lot, which just makes the Doctor's mind wander even more - but when he reaches out to touch, Jack grabs his wrists, flips them around his back and says, "Talking first. Sex later."
5. (and most shocking) Jack Harkness actually has priorities that aren't just getting himself off.
*
"What are we talking about?" The Doctor asks warily.
"We're talking about us." Jack frogmarches him into their shared bedroom and sits him down on the bed; he's pacing back and forth, clearly bothered by something. "Specifically you and me; specifically sex. Specifically why I can't seem to satisfy you."
"You're doing just fine -"
"Doctor, don't think I haven't noticed we've been together a week - twelve times and counting - and you haven't had an orgasm yet. So." Jack claps his hands together. "Talk to me. What am I doing wrong?"
The Doctor blushes red, red enough for his freckles to disappear. He didn't think Jack would notice that little detail, wrapped up as he was in his own pleasure. "Um. Uh. Er."
Jack rocks back on his heels, takes the Time Lord's hand (peels it away from his face, more like) and waits. He's good at waiting; it's one of his stronger points.
"You said your mother was human." he tries, gently.
"Yes." That was easy.
"So ... did your parents use an aphrodisiac, or did they use some kind of genetic manipulation?"
"Loomed. I was loomed." If the Doctor could get any redder than he had been, he would be right now - his skin is a brilliant shade of crimson, all the way down his neck.
"Right."
"But all children on Gallifrey were loomed, it wasn't just me, that had nothing to do with - you know."
"Right." Jack nods, squeezes the Doctor's hand encouragingly.
"And I mean - we did have sex, obviously, we can and did - the looming was more for, ah, genetic perfectionism, if that makes sense?"
"Of course." Jack grins. "Can't expect less from the almighty timelords."
"Right." The Doctor clears his throat. "Um. Er. But. You asked. About."
"I did." Jack replied simply.
"I think it's a ... you know, a mental block."
"Okay..." Jack raised one eyebrow.
"It's not you. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with - you know - what you are - or anything. I mean, if I had a problem with - I wouldn't be able to even - you know." Somehow the Doctor is able to flush even redder. "It's me."
"Okay."
"When we were young," The Doctor whispered, barely able to hear himself now, "we were taught to ... repress ... that. And. I. Well. Best in my class?" He smiled one of his brilliant smiles, but it was a bit watery around the edges.
"So you need to relax." Jack replies, nodding.
"Do you think that would help?"
"Well, it's probably not going to hurt. I mean, I've noticed you were tense. I thought we could just work through it eventually, but I think it's good we had this little talk, don't you? It'll probably facilitate things."
"Mmrf." The Doctor mumbles something incoherent into his hands.
"What?"
"I said, I may die of embarassment."
"You're a doctor. I don't think you can medically die of embarassment." Jack smiles.
"Not that kind of doctor."
"All right then." Jack peels the Doctor's hands away from his face again, pulls him close, gentles him along his sides like he's some kind of feral animal. "I think by now I'm an expert on dying, and I've never died of embarassment. I really, really don't think you can. Fair enough?"
The Doctor nods.
"Come on, take off your coat and shirts and lie down on the bed, okay? Just get comfortable." Jack shucked off his jeans, kicking them into a corner; he was nude underneath, a fact which did not escape the Doctor, whose eyes dilated a bit. Jack grinned and started rummaging in one of the nightstands. "Now, I know I have some - aha, here it is." He held up a small bottle of golden oil in one hand. "This should help."
"What is it?"
"It's got some pleasure poppy seeds in the bottom - see there?"
"Jack --"
"I'm only using a little bit." Jack purred, his nails stroking the length of the Doctor's spine. Despite himself, the Doctor arched into the touch. "It should help us, okay? Should help you to relax. You want to relax, don't you, sweethearts?"
"Mmmmmmmm." The Doctor moaned softly, his head starting to spin as Jack's Pheromones mixed with the slightest whiff he'd picked up of the massage oil. He did. He really did. The smell was so intoxicating - he was half-hard already and Jack had hardly touched him. "Yes."
"There's nobody here but me... and there's nothing to worry about," Jack poured some of the oil into his palms, rubbed them together and slid them along the Doctor's spine, counting his ribs silently as his fingers slid past. "Now, you have to let me know what feels good and what doesn't, okay? I know talking right now isn't really your thing ... of course if I told anyone I'd found a way to shut you up they probably wouldn't believe me," he nuzzled behind the Doctor's ear, "but that is their loss. How does it feel so far?"
"Good." The Doctor shifts his hips into the bed, tries desperately to relieve some of the pressure, rubbing his cock on the seam of his trousers. It's an odd feeling - good, so so good, but different, this dizzying, insane need - and it makes Jack's Pheromones on their own look like a day at the beach. A soft moan escapes his lips.
"Something wrong, love?"
"No, no. Fine."
"Let's get those trousers out of the way, okay? Just lie still."
"'Kay." The Doctor closes his eyes, the better to block out more stimulation. "Thought this was supposed to make me relax?" His own voice sounds foreign, far away.
"Relax your mind, not your body, sweetcheeks." Jack's tongue is trailing around just inside his waistband - it's maddening. "Oh, it does pretty much the opposite to your body. Lift up a bit, 'kay? That's good. Pants too, I think." Jack moves away just a moment - he's moving the clothes - and then he's back, and he's taken off his own shirt this time: the Doctor can feel the heat coming off of him, can feel the bed move; the springs squeak quietly.
Jack purrs in his ear: his breath is hot and smells of cinnamon mints. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm going to explo-ohhh-de - or possibly die - if I don't get off soon?" The Doctor moans, jerking his hips against Jack, against the bed, against anything that doesn't move long enough for him to get some kind of friction going.
Jack's grin is positively catlike. "I promise you can't die from blue balls, either."
"Not even after nine hundred years?"
"Not even. How do you want this, lover?"
He can't even think, it's ridiculous. "Just - I don't - I can't - in your mouth."
"Good choice."
He can't be embarrassed now - he just can't. He doesn't have the spare brain cells to be embarassed, and he's a Time Lord, he's got extra. He's thinking of nothing but himself and Jack, the smells and sounds and pheromones of sex, the slant of his hips, the softness and slickness of Jack's mouth and the way Jack sounds, the way Jack's hands are all over him, fingers sliding into his arse and -
"Aaaaahh-ohhhhhhhhhh-that's - ohhhhhhhh, Jack --" The Doctor's hips stutter once, twice, three times and he falls backwards onto the bed. Jack is licking his lips, and he has that yes! expression on his face- exactly like he got when the Doctor agreed to date him.
Jack takes himself in his right hand and kneels above his Doctor, his left hand stroking damp fringe away from his Doctor's face, tracing the curve of his Doctor's sated smile. Oh yes. This was what he was looking for; this was everything. The Doctor reaches up and fits one long-fingered hand behind his moving one, traces low down on Jack's cock - ooohh, he was paying attention, the little minx, and wasn't that brilliant?
His last thought before he comes - as he comes - is that they are going to be so, so good together.
*
"You know, I was wrong about you." The Doctor murmurs, many hours and several climaxes later.
"Yeah?" Jack laughs, runs his fingers through his Time Lord's (he just likes to think it - his Doctor, his Time Lord) hair, kisses the top of his head. "How?"
"Figured you were all about you getting off."
"You're half right." Jack admits. "I'm also about you getting off. Really I'm just about getting off, generally. If there were more getting off in the universe, there'd be a lot less fighting."
"True."
"Jack Harkness' Guide To Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness."
The Doctor grins, a little lopsidedly, and buries his face into Jack's chest.
"Why'd you think that?"
"What?"
"Why'd you think I was all about me and not interested in you?" Jack asks gently, stroking the Doctor's hair. "I'm not mad. I'm just curious."
The Doctor sighs. "I guess ... it was easier? Less culturally complicated, you know. Fewer mental gymnastics one has to do. I mean, we're talking about things that have been there since I was a child. I hardly thought about it all, before you, and then it was just ... difficult to unravel." He smiles again, catching Jack's eye. "Or, maybe I was just prejudiced."
"Could be." Jack grins. "Could be." He tries to set his face as stern as possible, now. "Just - don't do it again, you. Otherwise I'll have to put some of those pleasure poppy seeds in your tea."
"In my tea?!?"
"Or your breakfast." Jack's grin was even more wolfish. "Of course, then we'll have to wait for you to metabolize them, and that could take days, not just hours... but enough about my birthday ..."
The Doctor growls and ducks under the blanket. Jack laughs until his laugh turns into a shaky howl.
author: phinnia
rating: nc-17 for sex, sex pollen, and Relationship Talks
pairing: jack/ten
prompt: debt
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: m/m sex
author's note: i never did repost this from wintercompanion (June challenge). <3 and now I have.
The Doctor found out several things during the first week he was properly having sex with Jack Harkness:
1. Jack's Pheromones (they deserve their own capitals, that's how he thinks of them, Jack's Pheromones) are heady enough when everything is 'normal'; when Jack is fully aroused they are exponentially magnified, and are dizzying in their potency. (Quite literally dizzying; the room started to spin once when he got a proper sniff of them)
2. Jack has no end of positions he likes - and not only likes, but is good at. The Doctor has always been somewhat skeptical about the stories Jack has told (skeptical and to be truthful, a bit envious) - but he's starting to become less and less suspicious over time.
3. And yet, he's not disappointed in the Doctor's comparative lack of experience. (like the Doctor figured he would be).
4. Jack is also good at those kind of Relationship Talks, the kind of thing the Doctor usually tends to avoid like he's been set on fire and released into an newspaper office but for some unfathomable reason, Jack makes him want to talk (or at least not want to avoid talking for eternity.) He achieves this by wearing tight t-shirts and tighter jeans, which makes the Doctor's mind wander to places he's shocked by, and bending over the console a lot, which just makes the Doctor's mind wander even more - but when he reaches out to touch, Jack grabs his wrists, flips them around his back and says, "Talking first. Sex later."
5. (and most shocking) Jack Harkness actually has priorities that aren't just getting himself off.
*
"What are we talking about?" The Doctor asks warily.
"We're talking about us." Jack frogmarches him into their shared bedroom and sits him down on the bed; he's pacing back and forth, clearly bothered by something. "Specifically you and me; specifically sex. Specifically why I can't seem to satisfy you."
"You're doing just fine -"
"Doctor, don't think I haven't noticed we've been together a week - twelve times and counting - and you haven't had an orgasm yet. So." Jack claps his hands together. "Talk to me. What am I doing wrong?"
The Doctor blushes red, red enough for his freckles to disappear. He didn't think Jack would notice that little detail, wrapped up as he was in his own pleasure. "Um. Uh. Er."
Jack rocks back on his heels, takes the Time Lord's hand (peels it away from his face, more like) and waits. He's good at waiting; it's one of his stronger points.
"You said your mother was human." he tries, gently.
"Yes." That was easy.
"So ... did your parents use an aphrodisiac, or did they use some kind of genetic manipulation?"
"Loomed. I was loomed." If the Doctor could get any redder than he had been, he would be right now - his skin is a brilliant shade of crimson, all the way down his neck.
"Right."
"But all children on Gallifrey were loomed, it wasn't just me, that had nothing to do with - you know."
"Right." Jack nods, squeezes the Doctor's hand encouragingly.
"And I mean - we did have sex, obviously, we can and did - the looming was more for, ah, genetic perfectionism, if that makes sense?"
"Of course." Jack grins. "Can't expect less from the almighty timelords."
"Right." The Doctor clears his throat. "Um. Er. But. You asked. About."
"I did." Jack replied simply.
"I think it's a ... you know, a mental block."
"Okay..." Jack raised one eyebrow.
"It's not you. Nothing to do with you. Nothing to do with - you know - what you are - or anything. I mean, if I had a problem with - I wouldn't be able to even - you know." Somehow the Doctor is able to flush even redder. "It's me."
"Okay."
"When we were young," The Doctor whispered, barely able to hear himself now, "we were taught to ... repress ... that. And. I. Well. Best in my class?" He smiled one of his brilliant smiles, but it was a bit watery around the edges.
"So you need to relax." Jack replies, nodding.
"Do you think that would help?"
"Well, it's probably not going to hurt. I mean, I've noticed you were tense. I thought we could just work through it eventually, but I think it's good we had this little talk, don't you? It'll probably facilitate things."
"Mmrf." The Doctor mumbles something incoherent into his hands.
"What?"
"I said, I may die of embarassment."
"You're a doctor. I don't think you can medically die of embarassment." Jack smiles.
"Not that kind of doctor."
"All right then." Jack peels the Doctor's hands away from his face again, pulls him close, gentles him along his sides like he's some kind of feral animal. "I think by now I'm an expert on dying, and I've never died of embarassment. I really, really don't think you can. Fair enough?"
The Doctor nods.
"Come on, take off your coat and shirts and lie down on the bed, okay? Just get comfortable." Jack shucked off his jeans, kicking them into a corner; he was nude underneath, a fact which did not escape the Doctor, whose eyes dilated a bit. Jack grinned and started rummaging in one of the nightstands. "Now, I know I have some - aha, here it is." He held up a small bottle of golden oil in one hand. "This should help."
"What is it?"
"It's got some pleasure poppy seeds in the bottom - see there?"
"Jack --"
"I'm only using a little bit." Jack purred, his nails stroking the length of the Doctor's spine. Despite himself, the Doctor arched into the touch. "It should help us, okay? Should help you to relax. You want to relax, don't you, sweethearts?"
"Mmmmmmmm." The Doctor moaned softly, his head starting to spin as Jack's Pheromones mixed with the slightest whiff he'd picked up of the massage oil. He did. He really did. The smell was so intoxicating - he was half-hard already and Jack had hardly touched him. "Yes."
"There's nobody here but me... and there's nothing to worry about," Jack poured some of the oil into his palms, rubbed them together and slid them along the Doctor's spine, counting his ribs silently as his fingers slid past. "Now, you have to let me know what feels good and what doesn't, okay? I know talking right now isn't really your thing ... of course if I told anyone I'd found a way to shut you up they probably wouldn't believe me," he nuzzled behind the Doctor's ear, "but that is their loss. How does it feel so far?"
"Good." The Doctor shifts his hips into the bed, tries desperately to relieve some of the pressure, rubbing his cock on the seam of his trousers. It's an odd feeling - good, so so good, but different, this dizzying, insane need - and it makes Jack's Pheromones on their own look like a day at the beach. A soft moan escapes his lips.
"Something wrong, love?"
"No, no. Fine."
"Let's get those trousers out of the way, okay? Just lie still."
"'Kay." The Doctor closes his eyes, the better to block out more stimulation. "Thought this was supposed to make me relax?" His own voice sounds foreign, far away.
"Relax your mind, not your body, sweetcheeks." Jack's tongue is trailing around just inside his waistband - it's maddening. "Oh, it does pretty much the opposite to your body. Lift up a bit, 'kay? That's good. Pants too, I think." Jack moves away just a moment - he's moving the clothes - and then he's back, and he's taken off his own shirt this time: the Doctor can feel the heat coming off of him, can feel the bed move; the springs squeak quietly.
Jack purrs in his ear: his breath is hot and smells of cinnamon mints. "How do you feel?"
"Like I'm going to explo-ohhh-de - or possibly die - if I don't get off soon?" The Doctor moans, jerking his hips against Jack, against the bed, against anything that doesn't move long enough for him to get some kind of friction going.
Jack's grin is positively catlike. "I promise you can't die from blue balls, either."
"Not even after nine hundred years?"
"Not even. How do you want this, lover?"
He can't even think, it's ridiculous. "Just - I don't - I can't - in your mouth."
"Good choice."
He can't be embarrassed now - he just can't. He doesn't have the spare brain cells to be embarassed, and he's a Time Lord, he's got extra. He's thinking of nothing but himself and Jack, the smells and sounds and pheromones of sex, the slant of his hips, the softness and slickness of Jack's mouth and the way Jack sounds, the way Jack's hands are all over him, fingers sliding into his arse and -
"Aaaaahh-ohhhhhhhhhh-that's - ohhhhhhhh, Jack --" The Doctor's hips stutter once, twice, three times and he falls backwards onto the bed. Jack is licking his lips, and he has that yes! expression on his face- exactly like he got when the Doctor agreed to date him.
Jack takes himself in his right hand and kneels above his Doctor, his left hand stroking damp fringe away from his Doctor's face, tracing the curve of his Doctor's sated smile. Oh yes. This was what he was looking for; this was everything. The Doctor reaches up and fits one long-fingered hand behind his moving one, traces low down on Jack's cock - ooohh, he was paying attention, the little minx, and wasn't that brilliant?
His last thought before he comes - as he comes - is that they are going to be so, so good together.
*
"You know, I was wrong about you." The Doctor murmurs, many hours and several climaxes later.
"Yeah?" Jack laughs, runs his fingers through his Time Lord's (he just likes to think it - his Doctor, his Time Lord) hair, kisses the top of his head. "How?"
"Figured you were all about you getting off."
"You're half right." Jack admits. "I'm also about you getting off. Really I'm just about getting off, generally. If there were more getting off in the universe, there'd be a lot less fighting."
"True."
"Jack Harkness' Guide To Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness."
The Doctor grins, a little lopsidedly, and buries his face into Jack's chest.
"Why'd you think that?"
"What?"
"Why'd you think I was all about me and not interested in you?" Jack asks gently, stroking the Doctor's hair. "I'm not mad. I'm just curious."
The Doctor sighs. "I guess ... it was easier? Less culturally complicated, you know. Fewer mental gymnastics one has to do. I mean, we're talking about things that have been there since I was a child. I hardly thought about it all, before you, and then it was just ... difficult to unravel." He smiles again, catching Jack's eye. "Or, maybe I was just prejudiced."
"Could be." Jack grins. "Could be." He tries to set his face as stern as possible, now. "Just - don't do it again, you. Otherwise I'll have to put some of those pleasure poppy seeds in your tea."
"In my tea?!?"
"Or your breakfast." Jack's grin was even more wolfish. "Of course, then we'll have to wait for you to metabolize them, and that could take days, not just hours... but enough about my birthday ..."
The Doctor growls and ducks under the blanket. Jack laughs until his laugh turns into a shaky howl.