TITLE: Three fantasies that were never shared aboard the TARDIS
AUTHOR: Mexx
RATING: 18+
DISCLAIMER: Unfortunately, the Doctor, Jack and Rose are property of the BBC. I'm only taking them out for a spin.
PAIRING: Jack/Rose/Nine
SUMMARY: Title says it all.
AN: Thanks to ashteth for the beta.
--
On his back, against the grated floor of the TARDIS and the Doctor above him, looming predatorily. Lips that knew the dirty secrets of time whispering kisses across his skin, and long, calloused fingers curling around his body. Then, small fingers and peach nails, sticky, fruit-scented lips and blonde hair tumbling around a pretty face. Both of them, all around him, and sweat-slicked limbs tangling hotly with his.
Jack wants to lose himself in them, completely.
Rose is so young; of a young Earth, with a young mind and a pert, youthful body. Nothing corrupt about her, and he craves her luscious sweetness. Her playful flirting and inexperienced seduction techniques only serve to make him want her more.
He imagines having her find him and the Doctor pressed intimately into a darkened corner in the TARDIS - though how he'd seduce the Doctor he still struggles in imagining. Jack sees the Doctor as a dark, taunting maelstrom of barely suppressed sexuality that Jack thinks would be strangely hard to crack. How would he go about seducing the Doctor when the man wouldn't keep still or silent from one moment to the next, would dance around the room with manic glee only to give in to a menacing, sexual taunt the next, was quite beyond him. The next part though, with Rose finding them, he imagines with a well-practised ease.
She would blush prettily; caught between anger and embarrassment and something else she would struggle in naming. Lust, Jack would see in her eyes. He'd smile predatorily at her, then turn to the Doctor. Kiss him. Slow and hard, and teasing all three of them. Knowing that she was watching, having her know that he and the Doctor knew she was watching and then once again turning to her. Her eyes would be fixed still on their close bodies, transfixed. Hot. Fingers twitching at her sides, feet burning to flee or come closer, and eyes glossing with sex and fear.
He'd let the Doctor reach out for her; she'd probably come more willingly for him, but fall apart against both of them once in their arms, and her hot little hands would bring them off against each other.
--
The body above her is hot and broad; fingers skim expertly across her skin, and lips brush against her breasts. When her eyes flicker open asking for more, the eyes she meets are grey, not felt-tip blue, and the body pushing against her is wiry and noticeably cooler. The hands are more familiar, know her body well, and move against her with a sexy familiarity. When her mind shifts again, body rocking against a soft bed and fluffy pillows, the body is hotter, unfamiliar but sexy for the uncertainty it brings with it. She melts and kisses and unravels from the inside against either man, letting one shift to the other as she struggles to discover which would feel better against her.
Rose can't decide who she wants more, the Doctor or Jack, and hopes she'll never have to decide.
She feels unsure in touching herself, has always had boyfriends to meet her needs and no real desire to explore for herself. Now she feels empty, wants to know what it is that flutters behind her belly when she watches Jack and the Doctor look at each other. She imagines the Doctor touching her, then Jack - their bodies morphing from one to the other as she had imagined Keanu Reeves and Robbie Williams doing when she was in her early teens and couldn't decide who she would rather marry. Then she has two fingers on her clit and another two inside her and she forgets herself; lets herself enjoy the idea of the two of them together with her, concentrating only on her. Jack first, playfully teasing her with caresses and tickles. Then the Doctor, looming over them with piercing eyes that promised everything and nothing to both of them.
She doesn't bother to imagine who'd be bigger or better; they'd both be fantastic, and it's okay for her to think that because they would be, especially together. Bodies moving in tandem against hers; lips touching her tummy and her neck and between her legs, fingers everywhere, and the dirty, delightful question of what would go where.
--
He's in the control room; inside the heart of the TARDIS with the two people giddily worming their way into his hearts pressed against him. Green hues beating against them, increasing with speed and echoing the rapid beat of four hearts racing in time. Hot pants and cool exhales all mingling against sweat-slicked skin, and fingers begging against flesh like hungry animals. Clothes are lost - disappear or melt, it doesn't matter - but they're on him and touching him and making him remember what it's like to feel this alive.
It isn't 'shirt-lifting' or 'bi' or 'normal' for the Doctor. They're both an entirely different species, yet he wants them both desperately.
It bothers him less than he thinks is perhaps normal, but the idea of either of them touching him make him care even less.
Invite Jack, beckon him towards where he and Rose would be lay. Finish off that dance he'd dared Jack to join he and Rose in. Rose would be cautious, deliberate. Asking him for instructions and permissions with her eyes but he would offer none; let her figure it out for herself, observe Jack and learn. A trembling touch and a confident one, hot fingers, a touch he longed for. He would quiver at their touch: Rose's white heat and Jack's deep warmth thawing his chilled flesh and driving him to a brink he'd thought forgotten.
Sugared lips climbing his thighs and muscled arms wrapping around him, pert breasts pushing against his hip and an unfamiliar but welcome cock brushing his. Letting them pull him apart from the inside and then rebuild him with parts of them holding him together, because more than he wanted a day like that in 1941, he wanted a night like this; hot touches and airless gasps and no guilt or heavy loss suffocating him.
--end.