Every boy's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man (10/jack) (nc-17)
title: Every boy's crazy 'bout a sharp dressed man
author: phinnia
rating: nc-17
pairing: 10th doctor/jack
prompt: well dressed man
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: m/m sex, pr0ny pr0ncakes yay!
There's something about the suit the Doctor wears in this particular incarnation - the way it fits so snugly along the lines of his body, the way the pinstripes accentuate the curve of his arse, the way the coat sets everything off so well, and the trainers just give that dash of devil-may-care-ness - oh, there's just something about that suit that makes Jack just want to tear it away from him piece by piece, desperate to get at the delicious morsel inside that beautiful wrapping.
But the first time it happens, the suit comes away slowly.
He unbuttons the Doctor's coat, and draws it away, then does the same to the shirts with shaking hands. The Doctor's chest, bare, is beautiful in its spareness - he can count the Time Lord's ribs, but it's not terrible - more like all but the essentials have burned away.
Jack's lips and tongue trail slow kisses down the soft fuzz on the Doctor's chest, between his hearts, and down below where the Doctor's navel would have been had he been born instead of loomed, toward his belt buckle. The Doctor's hips shift helplessly toward him, and a half-groan escapes from between his lips.
Jack smiles; his hands are more sure now, but he still undoes the belt with his teeth, pulling it away so, so slowly ... then he switches tactics, pulls away shoes and socks, tucks them carefully away under the bed.
"Jack." The Doctor moans, quietly. "You now. Want to see you."
Jack is well-dressed himself for this night, but just to prove that he can do things quickly when he feels like it, he strips out of his clothes .... not quite faster than a speeding bullet, but close. Then he turns back to the Doctor with a smile.
The trousers come away even slower than the shirts - tugged down inch by inch over that lovely cock and sweet arse, then Jack traces the inside of the Doctor's thighs with his tongue and delights in the lovely squirming that results in. Then the boxers - blue with yellow bananas on - are pulled away, and he sucks the Doctor's beautiful cock into the back of his throat, tracing the length and width of it, the ridges on the bottom, the honey-salt-citrus taste of it.
The Doctor twists around on the bed - Jack feels a cool, curious tongue dip between his thighs; then it's caressing his balls, and his own cock is inside the sweet cavern of that mouth.
They shift, line up a little better on their sides. Jack can feel the Doctor's tension increasing. His mouth curves into a slight smile, and he pops two fingers in his mouth for a moment - then he slides the moistened digit along the crack of the Doctor's arse, just tracing it slowly, carefully, a question in physical form.
The Doctor hums his assent, forcing Jack's hips forward into his mouth to reap the benefits. He slips one finger inside - then the second - and enjoys the rise in pitch that causes.
The Doctor is rocking against him more urgently now, making small noises in the back of his throat - not suckling, just rutting blindly - and Jack is grinning inside, proud that he'd brought the Time Lord to this helpless state - then there's sweet come in his mouth and he's the one being sucked back and the Doctor's clever hands are questioning him, then unerringly touching his prostate ever-so-gently - Jack gasps, thrusts his hips forward, and comes with a groan of relief.
"So." The Doctor stretches, grins up at Jack. "Why now?"
"I just finally had to do something about that suit." Jack replies with a grin of his own. "Like take it off you."
author: phinnia
rating: nc-17
pairing: 10th doctor/jack
prompt: well dressed man
disclaimer: a wandering minstrel i, a thing of shreds and patches. i own nothing.
warnings: m/m sex, pr0ny pr0ncakes yay!
There's something about the suit the Doctor wears in this particular incarnation - the way it fits so snugly along the lines of his body, the way the pinstripes accentuate the curve of his arse, the way the coat sets everything off so well, and the trainers just give that dash of devil-may-care-ness - oh, there's just something about that suit that makes Jack just want to tear it away from him piece by piece, desperate to get at the delicious morsel inside that beautiful wrapping.
But the first time it happens, the suit comes away slowly.
He unbuttons the Doctor's coat, and draws it away, then does the same to the shirts with shaking hands. The Doctor's chest, bare, is beautiful in its spareness - he can count the Time Lord's ribs, but it's not terrible - more like all but the essentials have burned away.
Jack's lips and tongue trail slow kisses down the soft fuzz on the Doctor's chest, between his hearts, and down below where the Doctor's navel would have been had he been born instead of loomed, toward his belt buckle. The Doctor's hips shift helplessly toward him, and a half-groan escapes from between his lips.
Jack smiles; his hands are more sure now, but he still undoes the belt with his teeth, pulling it away so, so slowly ... then he switches tactics, pulls away shoes and socks, tucks them carefully away under the bed.
"Jack." The Doctor moans, quietly. "You now. Want to see you."
Jack is well-dressed himself for this night, but just to prove that he can do things quickly when he feels like it, he strips out of his clothes .... not quite faster than a speeding bullet, but close. Then he turns back to the Doctor with a smile.
The trousers come away even slower than the shirts - tugged down inch by inch over that lovely cock and sweet arse, then Jack traces the inside of the Doctor's thighs with his tongue and delights in the lovely squirming that results in. Then the boxers - blue with yellow bananas on - are pulled away, and he sucks the Doctor's beautiful cock into the back of his throat, tracing the length and width of it, the ridges on the bottom, the honey-salt-citrus taste of it.
The Doctor twists around on the bed - Jack feels a cool, curious tongue dip between his thighs; then it's caressing his balls, and his own cock is inside the sweet cavern of that mouth.
They shift, line up a little better on their sides. Jack can feel the Doctor's tension increasing. His mouth curves into a slight smile, and he pops two fingers in his mouth for a moment - then he slides the moistened digit along the crack of the Doctor's arse, just tracing it slowly, carefully, a question in physical form.
The Doctor hums his assent, forcing Jack's hips forward into his mouth to reap the benefits. He slips one finger inside - then the second - and enjoys the rise in pitch that causes.
The Doctor is rocking against him more urgently now, making small noises in the back of his throat - not suckling, just rutting blindly - and Jack is grinning inside, proud that he'd brought the Time Lord to this helpless state - then there's sweet come in his mouth and he's the one being sucked back and the Doctor's clever hands are questioning him, then unerringly touching his prostate ever-so-gently - Jack gasps, thrusts his hips forward, and comes with a groan of relief.
"So." The Doctor stretches, grins up at Jack. "Why now?"
"I just finally had to do something about that suit." Jack replies with a grin of his own. "Like take it off you."