Work Text:
In the control room of the broken paradox machine, Jack pushes the Doctor against the console. "You abandoned me." His kiss is almost a bite. It's the first time since they met again that they don't have to worry about saving lives and stopping maniacs. The first time Jack doesn't have to keep his anger in check for the greater good.
The Doctor kisses back with equal force, but doesn’t make eye contact. Jack knows why, and it only fuels his anger. The Doctor takes his shoulders and pushes him towards the jumpseat.
Jack's not going to just let the Doctor have the lead this time. He's been used by another Time Lord as a plaything for a year, tortured and toyed with till he thought he'd go insane and spend eternity ranting and raving, lost in his own mind. It's his turn to take what he wants.
He grabs the Doctor's wrist and uses the momentum of the push to turn them, shoving the Doctor against the seat and pinning him with his body. "I waited. For days. On a satellite full of corpses." They're so close he can feel the Doctor's cool breath on his face, but the Time Lord still won't meet his eyes. Jack digs his fingernails into the Doctor's wrist in frustration.
The Doctor doesn't speak. His free hand claws at Jack's shoulder. The sharp pain makes heat shoot to Jack's groin.
Jack hisses and lets go of the Doctor's wrist. Leaning most of his weight against the Doctor to keep him pinned, he kicks off his shoes. "I went looking for you. Got myself stranded in fucking 1869." Every word tastes like dust in his mouth. Jack's erection is straining against his zip. He opens his flies.
The Doctor wraps his arms around Jack. With super-human strength, he rolls them both so he is now on top. Jack struggles to push back, but there's no way he can throw off the Doctor. Not unless he turns this into a real fight, and he doesn’t want to lose where this is headed.
Jack stares into the cold eyes that still won't look at him and shudders. "I died for you." It's a plea as much as a curse.
The Doctor rips Jack's shirt open, ignoring the buttons flying everywhere, and pinches his right nipple. Jack would revel in the pain if he thought it was meant for him.
Jack arches his back. "And then I died again. And again. And again. Still waiting for you." He thrusts out his hips to help the Doctor pull off his trousers. His hard, dark-purple cock strains toward the ceiling, as desperate for the Doctor's attention as its owner.
The Doctor pulls down his own trousers and pants. He spits in his hand and rubs the saliva over his angry-red erection. He roughly lifts Jack's legs – Jack has to brace himself on the jumpseat with his elbows – and pulls them onto his shoulders. Then he spits again and shoves two fingers into Jack. With his other hand, he holds onto Jack's ankle, digging in his fingernails to hold him still.
It's an undignified position, exposed and helpless. But that's how Jack always feels around the Doctor.
The Doctor scissors his fingers to stretch him. Then he curls them and rubs the hard nub of Jack's prostate.
Jack bites his lip hard and claws at the seat. He's got to finally say his piece. He can't let himself be distracted by lust and sensation.
The Doctor pushes in another finger, stretching Jack almost to the point of pain. Jack pushes down against the Doctor's fingers, trying to take them in to the knuckles. He wants to feel it all.
"I waited for over a hundred years," Jack pants. And still the Doctor won't look at him, won't acknowledge Jack even while he's got three fingers up his ass. Jack wants to scream, and it's not from lust.
The Doctor twists his fingers and pulls them out. Despite his anger, Jack feels a keen loss. The Doctor spits into his hand again and circles the tip of his own cock. He pushes against Jack's opening.
Jack relaxes his muscles. The Doctor pushes into him. He pauses after the head is in, but then slams his full length into Jack.
It's hot and cool and it hurts and it feels so good. Electric pleasure shoots up Jack's spine, and it takes all his willpower to keep talking. "I'll wait until the end of the universe. Because I've got no fucking choice."
The Doctor starts thrusting in and out. He's staring right through Jack.
Jack draws breath to deal his final blow. "And right now, you're not fucking me. You're fucking him. You're not punishing me. You're punishing him. Not for what he did to you, or, heaven forbid, to me. Not for enslaving the Earth. No." He bares his teeth. "You're punishing him for dying. For leaving you."
The Doctor's shoulders slump. His eyes focus on Jack. They're unreadable, but he looks at him, acknowledges him.
Having the full force of the Time Lord's attention is unnerving, and yet Jack revels in his victory. "It's me you're fucking. Because I'm here, and I want you."
The Doctor wraps a hand around Jack's balls, not quite squeezing.
Jack groans and lets his head drop back. "I'll always be there for you. Forever."
The Doctor begins stroking up and down Jack's shaft, always stopping just shy of the head. His hips are moving in long, slow thrusts.
Jack's a hair's breadth from coming. If the Doctor as much as brushes against the head of his cock now, he'll be gone.
But the Doctor doesn't. He keeps him right on the edge, until all Jack is conscious of are those dark eyes boring into him and his desperate need to come.
He understands the message. He may have won this round, but he's still the Doctor's.
He wouldn't want it any other way. Jack moans his surrender.
With a strangled sound between a groan and a sob, the Doctor pulls out. Before Jack can voice his protest, the Doctor comes – all over Jack's balls, ass, and cock.
The hot cum hitting the tip of his cock finally pushes Jack over the edge. And it's the Doctor's hand, finally stroking and caressing the head of his cock, that carries him through. He shoots all over himself and the Doctor, their cries mingling like their seed.
The Doctor lets them slide to the floor, leaning them against the console. He puts a hand on Jack's stomach in a proprietary gesture, drawing lazy circles in their mingled cum.
Jack cocks his head. He wants to know what this meant to the Doctor. If it meant anything.
The Doctor meets his gaze. His eyes are a warm brown now. "Want to travel with me again?" The inflection makes it a statement.
For one moment, Jack wonders if he should decline. But the Doctor’s looking at him, truly seeing him, and asking him to come along. It's as close to an apology as he's ever going to get.
Jack nods.
For the first time since Malcassario, the Doctor smiles.