Don't Touch, Ten/Jack, PG
Title: Don’t Touch
Author: faelinn
Fandom: Doctor Who
Warnings: A microscopic smidgeon of angst, maybe?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ten/Jack
Disclaimer: They’re not mine.
Summary: Being curious and troublesome is practically a necessity for someone who travels with the Doctor, and Jack can definitely handle that.
A/N: Written right after I saw...Utopia, I think, so, since I wasn’t sure what would happen next, this doesn’t take place at any set time or place, just in the Tardis. Sorry if there’s anything really off...I wrote this in a hurry because I knew that was the only way I’d finish it. *has no time* I probably need to start getting things betaed for this fandom, since I'm always behind on episodes and such. Anyways, I have a few more short fics that I wrote around the same time as this, so I’ll try to post them later.
“Don’t touch that.” The Doctor scowled as he spoke, thin lips curving down in a way that should have looked disapproving. Instead, it only gave the already strangely paired features of his face an extra degree of geeky seriousness. His overly expressive eyes danced the dance of silly brown circus bears, adorably clumsy.
Jack licked his lips and let his hand run over the small gadget with its eight star-like points and three slow s-curves. It buzzed against the tips of his fingers, but the minute vibration died away as soon as his first knuckle passed across it. A feeling of warmth lingered on the pads of his fingers, the same feeling of heat he always felt when touching a nicely warmed coffee mug.
Blinking, Jack lifted his hand up to eye level and stared fixedly at his warmed fingers.
“You lot never listen,” the Doctor muttered irritably.
“We can’t,” Jack replied, walking towards the Doctor with his hand still held before his eyes.
“Can’t? What’s this ‘can’t’ about? You’re not all physically incapable of listening,” protested the Doctor as he grabbed Jack’s outstretched hand and carelessly tugged on it, pulling his companion forward.
Jack stumbled, nearly, fell, and caught himself on the Doctor’s arm with his free hand. He left the hand there, pretending to forget about it, even though he knew the Doctor wouldn’t be fooled by his silly pretense. That was partly why it was so enjoyable, having his hand there against the Doctor’s hot, dry skin and knowing his flirtation wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“But it’s all you like about us. Our disobedience, our willfulness...don’t lie. It fascinates you.”
The Doctor glanced down at his arm, eyes roaming over Jack’s own hand in the process. His first finger twitched, tapping against his knee. The movement sent vibrations through the Doctor’s skin and into Jack’s own fingers, but the Doctor didn’t ask him to move.
A smile hid in the corners of Jack’s mouth.
“That’s surprisingly harsh of you, Jack.”
“But perceptive, right?” The smile stopped hiding and grew into a pleased smirk.
A reversed mirror of Jack’s smile appeared on the Doctor’s lips. The frown individualized the basic shape of his lips, made them expressive in their stiffness. The skin around his mouth wrinkled in minute ways, little marks and shadowy outlines carpeting the soft flesh. The Doctor’s hand kept its hold on Jack’s other arm. When Jack thought about it, he realized that he held the Doctor while the Doctor held him. His smirk transformed into a smug grin.
“That look doesn’t suit you,” the Doctor stated tightly, glaring.
“But I’m right.”
“Being right doesn’t suit you.”
“But I’m still right.”
The Doctor forced silence into the room for a few moments and glanced down at Jack’s hand. The sensation of warmth remained there, a faint background triviality that escaped the center of his thoughts. Worry tried to conquer his mind, failed, tried again, and failed again.
“I should just let your hand fall off,” muttered the Doctor.
Worry resurrected itself and took control. Jack blinked and licked his lips; they felt dry and flaked, but the touch of his tongue was only another irritant.
“It’s going to fall off?”
The Doctor smiled a slow, sly smile.
“Maybe.”
“Well...that’s a way to end an argument.”
The Doctor lifted the hand, kissed the fingers lightly, and smiled.
“I’ll fix it,” he said.
“You always do,” Jack replied with a smile, but a part of him suddenly felt fractured. It was hard work being interesting, keeping the Doctor fascinated. In the end, wasn’t he just another broken project for the Doctor to fix?
The Doctor just kept on smiling.
A/N: Yeah, I know, short and weird. But comments, please? I’d really appreciate some feedback. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything....
Author: faelinn
Fandom: Doctor Who
Warnings: A microscopic smidgeon of angst, maybe?
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ten/Jack
Disclaimer: They’re not mine.
Summary: Being curious and troublesome is practically a necessity for someone who travels with the Doctor, and Jack can definitely handle that.
A/N: Written right after I saw...Utopia, I think, so, since I wasn’t sure what would happen next, this doesn’t take place at any set time or place, just in the Tardis. Sorry if there’s anything really off...I wrote this in a hurry because I knew that was the only way I’d finish it. *has no time* I probably need to start getting things betaed for this fandom, since I'm always behind on episodes and such. Anyways, I have a few more short fics that I wrote around the same time as this, so I’ll try to post them later.
“Don’t touch that.” The Doctor scowled as he spoke, thin lips curving down in a way that should have looked disapproving. Instead, it only gave the already strangely paired features of his face an extra degree of geeky seriousness. His overly expressive eyes danced the dance of silly brown circus bears, adorably clumsy.
Jack licked his lips and let his hand run over the small gadget with its eight star-like points and three slow s-curves. It buzzed against the tips of his fingers, but the minute vibration died away as soon as his first knuckle passed across it. A feeling of warmth lingered on the pads of his fingers, the same feeling of heat he always felt when touching a nicely warmed coffee mug.
Blinking, Jack lifted his hand up to eye level and stared fixedly at his warmed fingers.
“You lot never listen,” the Doctor muttered irritably.
“We can’t,” Jack replied, walking towards the Doctor with his hand still held before his eyes.
“Can’t? What’s this ‘can’t’ about? You’re not all physically incapable of listening,” protested the Doctor as he grabbed Jack’s outstretched hand and carelessly tugged on it, pulling his companion forward.
Jack stumbled, nearly, fell, and caught himself on the Doctor’s arm with his free hand. He left the hand there, pretending to forget about it, even though he knew the Doctor wouldn’t be fooled by his silly pretense. That was partly why it was so enjoyable, having his hand there against the Doctor’s hot, dry skin and knowing his flirtation wouldn’t go unnoticed.
“But it’s all you like about us. Our disobedience, our willfulness...don’t lie. It fascinates you.”
The Doctor glanced down at his arm, eyes roaming over Jack’s own hand in the process. His first finger twitched, tapping against his knee. The movement sent vibrations through the Doctor’s skin and into Jack’s own fingers, but the Doctor didn’t ask him to move.
A smile hid in the corners of Jack’s mouth.
“That’s surprisingly harsh of you, Jack.”
“But perceptive, right?” The smile stopped hiding and grew into a pleased smirk.
A reversed mirror of Jack’s smile appeared on the Doctor’s lips. The frown individualized the basic shape of his lips, made them expressive in their stiffness. The skin around his mouth wrinkled in minute ways, little marks and shadowy outlines carpeting the soft flesh. The Doctor’s hand kept its hold on Jack’s other arm. When Jack thought about it, he realized that he held the Doctor while the Doctor held him. His smirk transformed into a smug grin.
“That look doesn’t suit you,” the Doctor stated tightly, glaring.
“But I’m right.”
“Being right doesn’t suit you.”
“But I’m still right.”
The Doctor forced silence into the room for a few moments and glanced down at Jack’s hand. The sensation of warmth remained there, a faint background triviality that escaped the center of his thoughts. Worry tried to conquer his mind, failed, tried again, and failed again.
“I should just let your hand fall off,” muttered the Doctor.
Worry resurrected itself and took control. Jack blinked and licked his lips; they felt dry and flaked, but the touch of his tongue was only another irritant.
“It’s going to fall off?”
The Doctor smiled a slow, sly smile.
“Maybe.”
“Well...that’s a way to end an argument.”
The Doctor lifted the hand, kissed the fingers lightly, and smiled.
“I’ll fix it,” he said.
“You always do,” Jack replied with a smile, but a part of him suddenly felt fractured. It was hard work being interesting, keeping the Doctor fascinated. In the end, wasn’t he just another broken project for the Doctor to fix?
The Doctor just kept on smiling.
A/N: Yeah, I know, short and weird. But comments, please? I’d really appreciate some feedback. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything....