For rude_not_ginger:Two Immortals One TARDIS Insert scene. Valent

[quitehomoerotic]

It had been 50 years since Jack had seen the Doctor. It had been 50 years since Jack had been Jack. 50 years, and he still felt the same. Some days he hated that, it frustrated him and annoyed him and made him want to scream. And some days, it just made him lonely. This was one of those days.

It was Valentines day. A stupid Earth holiday that really meant nothing, but people put so much stock into. Everywhere you went there were balloons shaped like hearts and people holding hands and declaring their love. It made Jack grumpy, and he could never and would never explain why.

So he shut himself away from it. He was in a small flat in a city that seemed to be nothing but small flats. Somewhere full of people where he could at the same time, be completely alone.

And he sat on his own, watching broadcasts on a television with a bottle of scotch to soothe his pains.

50 years, and it still felt like yesterday.

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Jack felt his heart shudder in his chest. The Doctor there, the Doctor touching him, his scent and the vague smell of banana alcohol.

He was there, and so long Jack had wanted him to be there, and he was saying things Jack had utterly longed to hear.

"Yeah," he said, "yeah I missed you too."

He held his hand at the side of the Doctor's head, not wanting to let go. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him even more than he'd thought he would. He wanted to kiss him like it was all he could do, but it wasn't right was it? The Doctor was drunk and Jack was already sure he'd regret being here when he was sober. But if he kissed him, if he touched him. He didn't want the Doctor to regret that.

But that said, Jack was far from perfect.

"You know that promise I made about not kissing you," he said tentatively, "I'm not sure I can keep it."

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"Okay, good."

The Doctor was very well aware this was all a very bad idea. He was also very well aware that he would regret everything about it the moment he sobered up. He was also even more aware that if he didn't kiss Jack, the universe would probably end. It felt that utterly important to him.

He pressed his mouth to Jack's firmly, without any finesse or skill. Raw emotion coursed through him. Desire and loneliness and love and everything he'd worked very hard to repress for a very, very long time.

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Jack shouldn't kiss him, he really shouldn't kiss him. He knew that, he knew that perhaps more than anything. It hurt too much as it was, it hurt to be without him, and it hurt to see him, and he was sober and the Doctor was drunk and that was never a good combination. He was fully aware of his actions, and he very much doubted the Doctor was fully in control of his.

And so he should be strong, he should stay strong, and he shouldn't kiss him.

But then the Doctor kissed him first.

The Doctor kissed him and it was like an electric current running down his spine. It wasn't sophisticated or well thought out (or perhaps thought out at all) and Jack, try as he might, he didn't have the strength not to respond.

So he gripped his hand tighter around the curve of the Doctor's neck and wrapped his other about his waist and pulled him further into the room.

He kissed him back. Kissed him for all those 50 years of kisses he'd missed out on.

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The Doctor was drunk, but the kiss would've probably made him light-headed even if he wasn't. It was the kiss he'd wanted for a long time. Oh, there'd been the occasional brazen companion who'd kissed him, and he did manage to add Marilyn Monroe to the list of blondes he'd snogged, but it wasn't the same. Not like this.

He cupped Jack's face with one hand and used the other to try to slip down his braces. Sex was very rarely at the forefront of the Doctor's mind, but right now, it seemed like a great idea. Sex with Jack, then thinking about consequences later. Consequences were really stupid anyway, weren't they?

He broke the kiss but didn't move away. He gave him a stupidly happy grin. "Jack," he said.

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There was so much heat in the kiss, so much desperation from both sides; Jack could feel it, it was almost something tangible in the air. It hurt, but it hurt so good and he wanted it, oh how he wanted it.

But he shouldn't take advantage, he shouldn't. He knew the Doctor well enough to know that if he were sober he wouldn't be here, and certainly wouldn't be kissing him (and really he must have drunk quite a lot to get to this point). But Jack wasn't a perfect man, and he'd missed him, and he was there and he was warm and he smelled of him and he looked like him and Jack had had so many meaningless clinches with men who just weren't quite him and this was, it was, and he wasn't strong enough to hold back from that.

So he let himself keep kissing him, let himself kiss and continued to pull him into the apartment and through the door towards the bed, stumbling movements as their lips met. And when they parted he took deep breaths and tried to steady his heart.

"Hi," he said with a smile in response to his name. "Hi."

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"Hello!" the Doctor said as Jack moved them towards the bedroom. He pointed to Jack's shoulder and nodded again. "See, I'm saying 'hello' this time."

Oh, this was such a bad idea. Such a brilliantly bad idea. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jack's jaw, then another to the pulse in his throat. He licked there, tasting the 51st century pheromones and sweat and a good deal of adrenaline. They could make that into a cocktail and it would sell like wildfire, the Doctor decided.

The pulse below the Doctor's mouth was racing, and he pulled back enough to drop down and press his ear to Jack's chest.

"Listen to that," he said. "Whew, quite a staccato. Going on and on there."

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"So you are," Jack said, and despite himself, despite the knowing how this was wrong, he found he could do nothing else but smile at him. Smile impossibly wide at his face, his expression and his voice. The Doctor, and nobody would live up to him. It was a sad fact, really, but here... here.... he was here.

The Doctor was eager, and Jack couldn't stop the small moan that escaped his lips; a sound as he was kissed, as his skin was tasted.

"Yeah, I can feel it," he said, and with his arms braced at the Doctor's shoulders he gently guided him back up again. And then, cautiously, he reached his own hand and pressed it to the Doctor's chest. Two heartbeats. So very him.

He shifted his hand and touched a finger under his chin, lifting it gently before softly touching it to his cheek. He took a long slow, shaky breath out.

"Here you are."

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"Had it my way, I'd have never left," the Doctor said. It was true. He'd have never left him, never walked away, never had them both be alone all this time. "Never, ever, Jack. I thought---we could've had forever."

He felt no embarrassment, though he should've, he supposed. Stumbling drunk, speaking such wildly romantic things, especially knowing he had to leave, to save Jack.

He leaned forward and kissed Jack again, trying for slow and romantic, but falling a bit short on either due to his intoxication. He shouldn't have come to him like this. He shouldn't have come at all, though, and the alcohol was the only thing that made it seem like a really, really good idea.

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Jack closed his eyes tightly at the Doctor's words. He sucked in a tight breath because oh it was hard. It was wonderful and it was terrible and it was hard. For so long he'd wondered what the Doctor really thought and what he really wanted, and here, here he was learning it.

In many ways it made even less sense. If the Doctor wanted him, if it had been as much a pain for him, why did he go in the first place.

"We can," he said, "forever, you and me and one hell of a lot of running." Oh he knew it wouldn't happen, of course. He knew the Doctor would be gone by the morning, but he'd pretend it just now. He'd pretend.

He kissed him and tasted the alcohol on his breath. Again he realised how he was almost taking advantage here. But he wasn't a good enough man to step back.

Jack was simply overcome with emotion, and he kissed the Doctor and made it slower, held his cheek to guide him, and he couldn't help it, he whispered against his lips, "I love you so much."

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"Me, too," the Doctor said. His emotions were too close to the surface. He shouldn't have been admitting that, shouldn't have been kissing Jack, shouldn't have been here, wanting him. Wanting to have forever with him when being with him meant Jack's life would end.

"Just---tonight," he said. "With me. Just once. Just---so we can---"

He had no idea what he wanted, but he didn't want to lose Jack, and it looked like no matter what he did, he would. It was horrible. It hurt. He ached from it.

He began fumbling with the edge of Jack's t-shirt, trying to pull it over his head. Big mistakes, bad ideas, yes, but he'd already made too many of them tonight to really start regretting yet.

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Another pain. Another beautiful pain; sharp and to the heart. The Doctor loved him, he loved him, he still loved him. And oh he wanted to argue, he wanted to shout and plead but what good would it do? It wouldn't, and it would waste the time he had to touch him and kiss him and hold him and share. And he wasn't sure he could do that.

So he merely went along, nodding fiercely. "Yes," he said, "anything." He didn't even care to what he was agreeing. But if the Doctor wanted something from him, then he would give it.

Jack wasn't drunk, and he knew this was a bad idea, but he was running on adrenaline, and that spurred him forward as he shifted and allowed the Doctor to pull off his tshirt before he reached out and pushed his suit jacket back over his shoulders, almost roughly trying to remove it. He didn't want to waste time

With another step, he moved them over towards the bed.

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Lacking any semblance of grace or, well, dignity, he stumbled backwards and fell back onto the bed. The room was still spinning around him and he wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or the situation that kept it in motion.

He leaned up and caught Jack's hand, trying to tug him down with him, trying to place his palm against the Doctor's temple. Any connection he'd attempt with Jack would be sloppy and messy at best in this state, but he wanted it. He wanted, just for a moment, to feel that close to him again.

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Jack moved with him, moved easily onto the bed so that he was practically straddling him on it, his limbs felt loose and weak and as though any moment at all he might fall apart. And he had no idea how that could feel so good.

He could tell straight away what he was doing when he took his hand, and it made Jack nervous. It made him shake a little inside. Oh that had been so long, and it was so very intimate and close. But he wanted it, oh he wanted it, and so he held his hand there, exactly where the Doctor put it.

He only wished the Doctor wanted this when he was sober.

"Tell me you love me," Jack said as he moved back down to press another kiss to his lips."

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The Doctor shut his eyes at Jack's request. His brain was spinning, spinning so fast he wasn't sure he could've remained standing before if he wanted to. He reached up to kiss Jack, putting his own hand to Jack's head.

Inhibitions were gone, replaced entirely by desire and want. He wanted Jack, he wanted this, he wanted to never leave. So right now, he'd pretend he could. He kissed Jack desperately, longingly, and held him close.

"You must know I do," he whispered.

He opened his mind to Jack, letting it spill out carelessly to him.

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Until it happened, Jack hadn't realised just how much he'd missed it. The connection, their minds touching eachother, his own mind sitting just shallowly in the Doctor's thoughts. It was overwhelming and it was so wonderful, it made him want to cry and laugh and moan all at once. So many emotions, and he wanted to fall into it forever.

"Say it," Jack urged. It didn't matter if he knew, it didn't matter if he suspected. He wanted to hear him say the words. He wanted them in his mind, even if only now.

And fifty years on, Jack still remembered what to do. All that emotion he felt, the wonderful pain and the rush, he pushed it through that shaky connection and along to the Doctor. He wanted him to feel it.

And at the same time, Jack wanted him. Oh how he wanted him. His body moved faster now, more urgently, and he reached down to the Doctor's trousers, moving himself from over him to his side to open the button and unzip the zip.

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The Doctor could feel it, there. The want for the words, the acknowledgment. When Rose didn't have the words back on the beach, she should've known, Jack had no reason to think the Doctor loved him, not after all of this.

He gasped in the real world as pleasure shot up his spine from Jack's touch. It had been a very long time since he'd done this, since he'd been anywhere close to this intimate with anyone. He'd avoided it, he'd run. He didn't want it, he wanted the man he was with, now. The emotions he felt should've been funneled and carefully sorted before being handed to Jack, but in his state, he couldn't. Everything was just there, open for him.

"I love you," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

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Jack felt it. He felt it and he heard it and he needed it. The words were important, of course, so important, but the emotion he could feel, tumbling from the Doctor's mind was overwhelming. He very nearly found himself having to pull away from his touch. It made him want to cry, and it made his heart swell. He felt loved, and he hadn't in so long. Just the one man he'd really wanted to love him, that he thought had and was proved so very wrong, was proved wrong yet again. The Doctor loved him.

He loved him.

Jack's hand shook as he fumbled with the buttons on the Doctor's shirt. This wasn't the sexually charged man he could be, he was nervous and small, like a desperate little boy trying to be a man. He shifted and moved, and shirt open he pushed his hand back to his trousers and inside to already take a firm grasp of him. He didn't want to wait, he wanted him here and now.

"I want you," he said, both verbally and in his mind.

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"Yes," the Doctor agreed. He wanted Jack, too, and he wanted forever and he wanted---but he couldn't, though he wanted it.

He could feel Jack's nervousness, feel the way Jack felt when he was told he loved him. It felt more real to the Doctor than his own diluted drunken feelings, and he clung to them, tried to pull them towards him so he'd never forget this moment. Though he know, eventually, he'd want to.

He fumbled with Jack's jeans, trying to unbutton them and unzip them and finding both tasks significantly more difficult with his brain in six different places.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

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"No," Jack said, "no," he let out a laugh. "Don't apologise, it's perfect."

And it was. Strange, but it was. The Doctor's fumbling fingers, his touch to his forehead, a connection in his mind. These were things he'd attempted to replicate with men who looked a little similar. A clinch that was never quite right, but this was, because it was him, imperfections and all.

He moved his hand back from the Doctor to help him with the buttons on his jeans and shift them down over his hips. It was a struggle, but one he wasn't going to allow to hinder him.

Job done, he wriggled free of the fabric and went back to the Doctor's trousers, pulling them over his hips and tugging them from under him. "Off, off," he said urgently.

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Off, off. Yeah, yeah, he'd get to it.

He was suddenly very fascinated with Jack's chest, and he really wanted to get a better look at it. By 'look', of course, the Doctor was actually fascinated with what different areas might taste like. He leaned forward and traced his tongue across the tip of Jack's left nipple, then down his torso. He was bent a little awkwardly, his hand still up to Jack's forehead as he lowered his mouth to Jack's ribcage, then back up to taste the other nipple. He tucked each bit of information into his mind, where it promptly sloshed about with his other drunken thoughts.

Time meant nothing. They were here, together.

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Swiftly, and rather suddenly, Jack found himself letting out a deep seated moan. The touch to his chest, lips and tongue, it was exquisite, and the arm that propped himself up shuddered and faltered. So he quickly finished up pulling the Doctor's trousers off, not even bothering to remove his trainers, just tugging the fabric over them.

Task done, he slid down to the side of the Doctor, moving beside him on the bed.

Lifting his hand, he touched it over the Doctor's where it touched his temple, and concentrating he pushed through a wave of pleasure, trying to rush it through to the Doctor's core. Gently, he turned his head and pressed his lips to the Doctor's wrist.

And he almost felt like they had never lost each other.

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He cried out at the sudden rush of pleasure, and his back arched involuntarily. He tried to give the sensations he felt back to Jack, to show him what it meant to him, being here like this. His thoughts were a mess, of course, but he did his best to concentrate them.

He didn't have a hand free, so he reached into Jack's mind and plucked along the nerve centers in his mind. Once he found the ones in his arm, playing them like he might a harp until he found the nerves along his wrist, underneath the vortex manipulator.

Pluck pluck pluck. He grinned, waiting for the reaction.

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Nobody had touched him like that. Nobody had touched him in his mind at all, of course. But there, that place, that secret place that long ago, without ever telling him, he'd decided was the Doctor's. To have it touched again, either physically or mentally, it sent shivers along his spine.

Jack let out a moan, something throaty and loud. He laughed a shaky laugh and leaned forward, kissing him. "Cheeky," he said, his voice just as shaky too.

Again, he put his hand against him, sliding it between him to take a firm grasp, touching him and stroking him and teasing him, reacting to how the emotion fizzled through the connection.

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He grinned at Jack, feeling stupidly pleased with himself for finding that spot in Jack's mind. For finding the place that was---

"Mine?" he asked, plucking the space in his mind again and thinking of Jack's wrist. He felt emotion, possibly exaggerated by the alcohol, though perhaps not, bubble up inside of him. Jack loved him, yes, but Jack loved a lot of people. The fact that that one place, that one very sensitive place, was the Doctor's spoke more volumes than anything else could.

But before he could properly word that, Jack's hand did something absolutely magnificent and the Doctor found himself moaning and letting his head fall back in pleasure.

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It wasn't that Jack had forgotten how this worked; not like he didn't know that a connection opened would let through thoughts and emotions and everything in between. But it wasn't quite so second nature now, it had been a long time, and when the Doctor responded verbally to something that was only mentally spoken, Jack was almost shocked.

He wasn't going to shy away from it though, and really, now that he knew he was glad. "Yes," he said, moving his head forward to kiss a line along the Doctor's neck.

"All yours. Only yours."

Jack had had sex with a lot of people since the Doctor, but none of that mattered, they weren't him.

The noise, the sound of his moaning, and the reaction both inside and out, it was intoxicating, and Jack continued the movements with his hand, more of the same, never too much, stroking and twisting and touching.

And oh it looked so good to see him like that.