Fic: Control
Title: Control (prompt #88)
Rating: R
Pairing: Five/Jack
Summary: Jack is a man who is used to having control. There is only one person who can take it from him.
Length: 300 words
Table: here
This is Jack Harkness, captain, commander, life-long leader. He rose through the ranks in the Time Agency, entered the Royal Air Force as an officer, and took unchallenged command of Torchwood after the fall of Canary Warf. People follow him, people listen to him, people obey him. They don’t ask why. They simply do.
This is the seat of Jack’s command. His city, his base, his office, his desk. This is his inner sanctum, where questioning him is ill advised, and challenging him is mutiny. This office moulded itself around him, is as much a part of him as his skin. Little vestiges of his too-long life clutter the place; the gas mask on the door handle, the Victorian oddities locked safely away in the desk, his battered old woollen greatcoat. This is his personal space, his work space, his living space. This is where, if nowhere else, Jack has perfect control.
This is Jack, on his knees, shirt torn open, gasping for breath. Hands gripping thighs, lips on hard flesh, tongue working, desperately, to elicit the smallest responses. Jack aches to please, to pleasure. Whatever it was he did - whatever he failed to do - he needs to fix it, to make it right, to shift the blame to someone stronger. This is not the man who left him, the man who led him, who commanded him, who fucked and kissed and held him. This isn’t him, but it’s close enough. This is the Doctor’s mirror image, hesitant and soft and gentle.
This isn’t supposed to happen. This is stupid and dangerous, it breaks more Rules of Time than Jack can remember. But it’s hot and it’s perfect. It’s short and quick and artless, it’s raw sex and choking emotion. And it’s all there is.
This is Jack, losing control.
Rating: R
Pairing: Five/Jack
Summary: Jack is a man who is used to having control. There is only one person who can take it from him.
Length: 300 words
Table: here
This is Jack Harkness, captain, commander, life-long leader. He rose through the ranks in the Time Agency, entered the Royal Air Force as an officer, and took unchallenged command of Torchwood after the fall of Canary Warf. People follow him, people listen to him, people obey him. They don’t ask why. They simply do.
This is the seat of Jack’s command. His city, his base, his office, his desk. This is his inner sanctum, where questioning him is ill advised, and challenging him is mutiny. This office moulded itself around him, is as much a part of him as his skin. Little vestiges of his too-long life clutter the place; the gas mask on the door handle, the Victorian oddities locked safely away in the desk, his battered old woollen greatcoat. This is his personal space, his work space, his living space. This is where, if nowhere else, Jack has perfect control.
This is Jack, on his knees, shirt torn open, gasping for breath. Hands gripping thighs, lips on hard flesh, tongue working, desperately, to elicit the smallest responses. Jack aches to please, to pleasure. Whatever it was he did - whatever he failed to do - he needs to fix it, to make it right, to shift the blame to someone stronger. This is not the man who left him, the man who led him, who commanded him, who fucked and kissed and held him. This isn’t him, but it’s close enough. This is the Doctor’s mirror image, hesitant and soft and gentle.
This isn’t supposed to happen. This is stupid and dangerous, it breaks more Rules of Time than Jack can remember. But it’s hot and it’s perfect. It’s short and quick and artless, it’s raw sex and choking emotion. And it’s all there is.
This is Jack, losing control.