Title: Amends
By: Consternatio
Pairing: Nine/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Note: Beta'd by the lovely Sairensu.
Series: 1) Tease, 2) Shower, 3) Bath
Disclaimer: All Characters belong to BBC, Russell T. Davies and various others. I make no money from this.
Summary: The Doctor finds a way to say sorry without words

***

Jack's pretty damned sure that the last twelve hours have been the longest of his life to date.

It's twelve hours since Jack had been kneeling on the floor of the control room, with a lap full of Time Lord. Twelve hours of traipsing around the largest and most bizarre funfair that Jack has ever seen. Jack can't quite relax, but he can't help being alternately amused and warmed by Rose's endless enthusiasm and wonder, and the Doctor's glee in showing them the sights.

Jack wants to enjoy the fair, but he can't quite shake the restlessness and the feeling that he and the Doctor have unfinished business. From the looks that the Time Lord throws Jack's way when Rose isn't looking, Jack isn't the only one frustrated by the earlier interruption.

It certainly doesn't help Jack's state that, if Rose's teasing is anything to go by, he now has a blossoming bruise where the Doctor bit him. Just the thought of being marked in that way is arousing in a way that Jack is fairly sure isn't entirely healthy. Trouble is, all the Doctor has to do is look at Jack with those hot eyes, and Jack's ready to agree to almost anything. Jack's taken to trailing a few steps behind the other two, and he's also very thankful that the fair is dark, all of which helps to hide the extent of his frustration.

Jack leans back in a corner, watching Rose as she attempts to win yet another soft toy. He's tired, and distracted, and that's the only excuse he can come up with for not noticing how close the Doctor is until he's standing right in front of Jack. Jack jumps, his hand automatically going for a gun that he isn't carrying. The Doctor catches his wrist, and Jack's sense memory takes him back twelve hours, leaving him hard and just a little desperate to be away from the fair, away from the crowds, from Rose, desperate to be somewhere private, with just the Doctor; and the two of them naked. When the Doctor reaches out and traces the bruise on Jack's neck, Jack fights back a shiver, and tries very hard not to groan. He can't help gasping just a little though. There's heat and desire in the Doctor's gaze, and something else, an expression that on anyone else, Jack would have called almost apologetic. The combination of naked lust and vulnerability is enticing and Jack knows that if they don't get back to the TARDIS right now, he's going to do something really stupid, like jump the Doctor here and now.

The Doctor trails a finger along Jack's jaw, and when a thumb gently traces Jack's lips, he can't resist the temptation, and nips lightly at the digit. The flare of arousal that flows across the Doctor's face is gratifying, and Jack contemplates, just for a moment, whether the dark corner they are in is dark enough for even half of the things he has in mind.

"I'll get Rose" There's definitely a hint of a growl in the Doctor's voice, and Jack knows walking is going to be really difficult for several minutes. He watched the retreating arse appreciatively.

It clearly takes the Doctor longer than planned to drag Rose away from her fun, but Jack isn't entirely sorry, he needs the time to calm down enough to walk back to the TARDIS without having to explain why he's walking bow-legged.

By the time the Doctor has collected Rose, Jack's in control of himself again, although he's having trouble hiding how very jumpy the mounting sense of anticipation is making him. He barely hears Rose chattering away about the fair, and how fun it was, and can they come back here, because it makes a nice change to visit a planet where they don't end up being shot at, or interfering in someone else's war, or thrown in jail.

Jack's agitation is not helped by the fact that as soon as they get back to the ship, the Doctor disappears off, and Rose decides that Jack needs to see every single one of the unrecognisable things she's won. Jack is torn. On one hand, he's so damned wired with arousal that he just wants to get away and find the Doctor, on the other Rose's simple enjoyment of the day is too sweet for him to just cut her dead.

His sense of relief when she finally decides she needs to go arrange her winnings, is tempered by the return of the anticipation that's almost making his skin crawl. Trouble is, Jack's not entirely sure where to start looking for the Doctor. He guesses that communal areas are out, but that doesn't leave many options. It doesn't help that Jack's not entirely sure where the Doctor's room is.

In the end, frustration gets the better of him, and he heads for his own room, determined to at least take the edge off his libido before he can even think about tracking down the Doctor. His frustration isn't purely sexual, though that's the most pressing part, in more ways than one, all the heated looks, the little interlude at the fair; all the promises, and now the damned Time Lord ups and vanishes on him. Jack will take time to be suitably annoyed about that later.

As the door of his rooms closes behind him, Jack's startled by a pair of arms wrapping themselves around his waist. He's really going to have to do something about this newly formed habit of letting himself be distracted, otherwise it's likely to get him killed.

He's just about to complain about the Doctor disappearing off, and about sneaking up on him, when two warm hands slide up his chest, pressing firmly in all the right places. Jack files that conversation away for another time. He can feel the Time Lord, pressed up against his back, as those hands slip out from around him, only to wrap gently around his neck, then trail down to his shoulder, and further down his arms. When hands catch his wrists, Jack can't quite prevent the shiver this time. He watches those hands trace the faint bruises from earlier. There's something in the touch that speaks of regret, and though Jack wants to tell him that it's ok, he doesn't mind, he doesn't think now is quite the time for that discussion either.

When the hands grip his wrists and pull his arms wide again, though far more gently than before, Jack definitely shudders, though he's so far past caring he can't even be bothered to try and stop it. The contradiction between the cold anger of earlier, and this, more usual, gentleness is almost perverse. Jack's always had a kink for the perverse.

The lips and tongue that began moving over the sensitive skin of the bruise are distracting, and Jack's only dimly aware that he's being manoeuvred towards the bed. He can't quite wrap his mind around the fact that they are actually going to make it to a bed this time.

The Doctor stops him, just before his knees hit the bed frame, and the hands let go of his wrists, resting briefly on Jack's waist, pulling him back against the Doctor for a moment, before sliding round to the front, one hand stroking along the line of his erection, the other making short work of the buttons and zips. Jack couldn't stop the way his hips shifted, caught between pressing forwards in the too light touch on his cock, and back, into the solid warmth of the Doctor, feeling the Time Lord's erection even through two layers of clothes.

Jack realises, with a slight start that they are standing right opposite the mirror on the far wall of the room. It's undeniably erotic, watching their reflection, as the Doctor's hands slide Jack's trousers off his hips. Jack is captivated by the dual sensations of feeling and watching the Doctor's hands as they stroked him. There's something self-indulgent about standing there, watching those hands pleasure him, watching the Doctor's head, bent into his neck, kissing and licking his neck and the bruise, over and over again, as if the Time Lord can't stay away from it. Jack suspects that the Doctor is torn between finding the idea of Jack bearing a mark from him pleasing, and being vaguely contrite that he lost control enough to have left the injury.

Hands push Jack's trousers off, and Jack knows he needs to take his boots off before they can go any further, but he can't drag his gaze away from the sight of one hand stroking his cock, while the other slides between his legs to cup his balls. It's a rush, watching as his body reacts to the sensations, and though he wants more than this, more than another quick handjob, he's not quite ready to give up the wonderfully sinful pleasure of slow, firm strokes on his cock, of fingers gently cradling his balls, then moving over his thighs, nails scratching lightly.

When the Doctor raises his head, there's a look of naked lust in his eyes that Jack finds intoxicating. He's pretty certain that there are few things to compare with the knowledge of being the one to cause a 900 year old man to want him so badly.

"Kneel on the bed"

There's just enough of an order in the Doctor's voice to send a further surge of arousal through Jack. He's got no problems with being the guy in charge in these situations, but he really gets off on being dominated, just a little, on letting someone else take control and responsibility, allowing him to just enjoy the ride.

As Jack kneels, the Doctor's hands slide upwards, the touch across his stomach almost light enough to tickle, the nails scraping almost enough to sting across his nipples. Jack can see the Doctor watching them in the mirror now, and Jack decides that is even more of a carnal thrill than watching the Doctor's hand on him earlier was.

The Doctor kneels on the floor by the bed, and starts working on getting Jack's trousers and boots off. Jack pulls his top off quickly, as the Doctor removes Jack's boots and trousers, making sure his hands linger in all the right places as he does so.

Jack can't take his eyes off the image in the mirror as the Doctor undresses behind him. It's somehow more intimate to be able to watch the Doctor strip like this. There was that lack of self-consciousness in his appearance that Jack had noticed before. It's almost as though the Doctor is more comfortable in nothing but his skin than he is when clothed, which Jack supposes would explain the decidedly repetitive wardrobe choices.

Jack can't see everything in the mirror, not without moving, but what he can see is more than enough for now, the Doctor seems to be all long, lean lines, and Jack took the opportunity to appreciate the view. The Time Lord shifted and Jack damned near stopped breathing when he realised that the Doctor was slowly stroking his own cock. The unashamedly, and utterly unexpected sexuality of that action forced a groan from Jack, and he couldn't stop himself from mimicking the Doctor's action.

There's a few moments where the only thing that matters to Jack is the sight of the Doctor's hand sliding over his cock, the feel of Jack's hand on his own cock, and those pale eyes watching everything with a look of fierce lust.

When the Doctor stops the motion of his hand, Jack can almost feel the loss of that touch as it had been his cock the Doctor had been touching. He watches the Time Lord move behind him, can almost feel the warmth of his body, though they're not touching, not yet.

The Doctor's hand curls around Jack's throat, fingers stroking lightly over the bruise. Jack's frozen. He can see himself in the mirror; hand clasped around his cock, the hand around his neck; he can see the flush on his own cheeks, the way his eyes have widened, as if to see as much as possible.

"Lean forward Jack. Hands and knees."

Oh yes, this is what Jack wants, this is what he's been wanting all damned day. The thought that all that teasing, the scene in the control room that Jack considers nothing more than foreplay, is finally going to be resolved, now, leaves Jack tense with relief and lust, even as he's moving, resting his weight on his hands. He's so caught up in the sense of anticipation that he misses the Doctor moving, and the next thing he knows is that gentle hands are stroking his buttocks, thumbs trailing between the cheeks, teasing him with light touches.

Jack appreciates being seduced as much as the next person, probably more in fact, but they're long past such tantalising flirtation, and Jack is way too strung out to appreciate it anyway. He's trying not to think too much about why he needs this, so very badly.

The first proof he has that the Doctor is indeed intent in driving him insane is when something warm and wet licks a trail up between his buttocks. Jack thinks he's probably trembling, just a little, now. It's a cliché to say it, but in all his fantasies about the Doctor, he's not once thought about this; it never occurred to him that the Time Lord would do this.

As the tongue continues torment him with wickedly slow licks, Jack can't believe his luck. This is far more intimate that kissing, fucking. It's intense and erotic and so totally unexpected in this situation. It's one of Jack's favourite things; he loves the utterly sexual nature of rimming, whether he's the giver or the recipient, there's something still slightly taboo about the act. And, oh fuck, but the Doctor is good at this.

It's only as the first finger slides into him with barely a pause that he realises *just* how good the Doctor is. When the Time Lord doesn't let up, tongue still tracing obscene patterns over Jack's skin, curling around the finger that's fucking him, Jack is reminded that having a lover with over 900+ of experience is a very, very good thing. Jack beings to understand why sins are considered deadly — if he had a list of his favourites, this delightfully obscene act would be right at the top.

The combination of the Doctor's teeth nipping at his buttock, as he slides another finger in makes Jack hiss and his hips twitch. This slow pace if killing him, and he's on the verge of breaking one of his cardinal rules and begging when the Doctor finally relents, and stands up.

Jack shuffles forwards on the bed, making room, making it perfectly obvious that he's more than ready for the Doctor to stop messing about, pleasant as it's been, and damn well fuck him.

As least, until the Doctor moves slightly, and lets Jack watch his reflection in the mirror as he strokes himself, until his cock is shiny and slick with lube and Jack's seriously ready to throw the damned man down on the floor if it means he gets fucked.

The Doctor clearly hasn't been paying enough attention, because he slides into Jack slowly, never stopping, but going nowhere near fast enough for Jack's liking. The pull back and thrust that follow are quicker, but equally gentle. The steady pace, and the hands that slide over his skin aren't what Jack was looking for, but there's a pleasure in this that isn't entirely physical.

Jack still isn't entirely sure where he stands with this mercurial man, but he knows what this is; apology and atonement. He wants to tell the Doctor that he needs neither, but he's knows enough to realise that the Doctor needs to take him like this, that he won't, or can't put an admission of regret into words. Jack understands, he doesn't need to hear the words, he can read the body language well enough.

It's only towards the end, when Jack's hair is sticking to his forehead, and the Doctor's breathing is ragged and shallow that the Time Lord picks up the pace, hips moving faster, the thrusts becoming deeper and harder. The Doctor leans forward, hand sliding over Jack's hip to stroke him.

Jack stops breathing for a moment, opening eyes he hadn't realised he'd closed, and catches sight of the in the mirror; sees the flush spread across his face, sees the look of concentration on the Doctor's face as it melts into a far more carnal expression when he meets Jack's eyes. The Time Lord's rhythm falters for a moment, but Jack's body is way ahead of his mind, and he has just enough time to watch the expression of pleasure as it moves across his face before his eyes close again, and he's lost in his release. He assumes that at some point the Doctor comes too, but Jack's too high on his own orgasm to notice or care.

Jack's just glad they made it to a bed this time, because he's pretty damned certain he's not going to be able to move for quite some time.

Later, when the glow has faded, he'll puzzle over what it means that the Doctor wanted to make amends, like this. Later he'll think about why it means so much to him. Later he'll wonder how long it will be before the Doctor leaves, because Jack's certain he won't stay the night. Right now, he's content enough that he doesn't even care he's in the wet spot. Maybe, he'll suggest a shower, together. Later, much, much later.

***