Fic, Dancing Lessons, 26/33: Merengue

[loveslashangst]

Story: Dancing Lessons
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! melindakitty
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Captain Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler;
Rated: oh, so Adult for slash, bisexuality, mature content, language, violence, and lots and lots of sex (multiple pairings/groupings)
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, 'cause if I did there would have been no parting of the ways, Rose would be happy and walking funny, and a love of tech isn't the only thing Nine and Jack would be sharing.
Spoilers: AU. If you haven't seen the first three series of Doctor Who, you may be spoilered. I like to mess with canon.
Summary: By popular request: OT3 Nine/Jack/Rose. One of Jack's exes is out for a bit of revenge. Can the Doctor and Rose figure a way to rescue him before he has to pay the piper? Watch for fancy footwork, a bit of intrigue, occasional plot, and a large excuse for love and smut.

[Spotlight on center stage; a redhead sashays into it, followed by a brunette techie carrying her microphone. She sets the mic down in front of the redhead, *winces* at the immediate feedback, and runs offstage to check the soundboard. After a minute, a hand in a 'thumbsup' gesture pokes out from behind the curtain.]
LSA: *clears throat*
LSA: "Okay, so here's the dealio...
LSA: "I'm now the victim of my own success (and the support of my fen). I was successful at the PitchFest, and as a result am now elbows-deep in a new screenplay. This means I'm going to have to abandon all hope of catching up with comments any time soon. I'll have to just give you the unsatisfying reassurance that I really DO read everything, and appreciate all comments."
ophymirage: *pokes head out from behind curtain* "In even more unfortunate news, this also means that she's postponing Faithful for another few days."
LSA: *shoos techie offstage* "AS I was saying: At the risk of being chased around the 'net by all my passionate fen, I must delay Faithful until Sunday. I have the chance to get a year-long, paid fellowship, and the application process MUST eat my life until the manuscript and accompanying package is in the mail. I love you all madly. You make writing fun. I have LOTS of twists in store."
LSA: "As for Dancing Lessons, some have raised the concerns about the darker side of Nine that I bring to light. Considering that he is the sole survivor of his race, and is responsible not only for the destruction of the Time Lords, and the Daleks, and several other minor races as well, I think the spacing of one alien is not out of character. You are welcome to disagree, as canon supports both "Doctor as Pacifist" and "Doctor as Battle-Scarred Veteran of Time War". Then again, I might point out that canon does not support Nine being bisexual and polyamorous, nor does it allow for Rose to have a thing for hawt "omni" captains, so I reserve the right to be amused when fen examine my work a bit too closely. At the end of the day, it IS only porn."

Merengue: A close-contact Latin dance, most likely from the Dominican Republic. Like many Latin dances, it has African roots and involves complex rhythms, patterns of steps, and communication between dancers. Though often performed to fast-paced music, the dance itself is controlled and oddly intimate. Some legends claim the distinctive sway-limp motion of the men’s moves is in memory of a wounded war hero or political leader.

(Jack falls and has to sit out a dance. Nine and Rose help him get back on his feet.)



Jack slowly seeps his way up to consciousness. Warm. He’s pleasantly warm. No pain. Comfort. Softness beneath him. Softness above him. A duvet. He’s in bed. Someone’s bed. And the linens smell pleasantly of...

The thought prods him even more awake. Brings a smile to his face. He opens his eyes. Presses the duvet to his nose. A bit of aftershave. That masculine scent he can’t fully qualify or quantify except that he knows without any trace of doubt that it belongs to the Doctor. His Doctor.

He grins. Either he’s in the Doctor’s bed, or he’s died and gone to Heaven. (Honestly, either option has a lot to recommend it.)

A soft sigh to his right. He turns his head on the pillow. Wow. He props himself up on his elbow. Drinks in the sight and smell and soft heat of Rose.

She’s sprawled beautifully. Lips parted. Breathing peacefully. Sound asleep. (This just keeps getting better and better.)

He carefully peeks under the duvet. Yup. Naked. And weird as it is to think, he feels it more in his heart than in his groin. She’s here. Warm and alive. Wanting to be with him because Rose never does anything that isn’t her idea. (And he is NOT thinking of all that weird shit he saw while under whatever kind of psychotropic the Doctor pumped into the ship to distract the crew. No sense fixating on weirdness when the woman he loves almost to the point of physical pain is in bed naked with him.)

Fiancée? Maybe. He shrugs off serious thoughts to indulge in a moment of guilty, happy ogling. Rose is beautiful. Just beautiful. From the arches of her brows to the wide-spaced eyes to the soft line of that sensual mouth to the odd point of her chin. Beautiful.

(And it’s a good thing the Doctor’s showing him how to be more of a gentleman, or he’d fixate on the possible uses to which Rose’s lovely mouth might be put.)

When he reaches out to smooth a stray lock of hair from her face, she starts awake. “Mmph?”

He smiles down at her. “Good morning.”

She blinks up, disoriented. Starts again in realization. “Bugger! The Doctor told me to stay here to guard you.” A sheepish loop. “Sorry, Jack, I must’ve nodded off.”

“Nodded off, did you?” Jack sneaks a hand under the duvet. Grins wolfishly as he encounters soft, warm flesh. “Shall I wake you up?”

The devilish twinkle in Rose’s eyes is worth any price. She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down. “Yes, please.”

The kiss good morning makes the whole S’ian’thro thing seem like a bad dream. Rose fits so perfectly into his arms. He presses her against him, thoroughly enjoying the heated flesh and seeking mouth. Her kiss is a little rougher than he’s used to -- lots of bite -- but just as passionate as a man could want. (Heaven. He’s definitely in heaven.) She has such an expresive mouth. Such insistent hands. And bugger him if he’s going to rush this. He’s earned it, dammit, and only the end of the universe is going to pry him out of this bed.

He slows her down a bit. Turns building frenzy it into slow anticipation. (One of his favourite things in the whole world. The other two being ecstasy and afterglow.) Teases her mouth with his. Tastes her deeply. Her hands catch in his hair. She makes him feel the kiss from head to toe. It’s like every touch of her mouth could make him explode if he let it. (Now he knows how the Doctor feels.)

Except the most important part of his body (at least, for this particular activity) is ignoring him. Irritating.

“You all right?” Rose runs light fingertips down his chest. Brushes them over his sternum.

(Silver eyes blazing. Buzzing of the laser cauterizer. The stench of his own blood.)

He falls back, disoriented and nauseous and shivering like an abused mongrel. (DAMN IT!)

Rose’s eyes have gone all concerned as she leans over him. “Jack? You okay?”

(Hot blood and burning flesh and GO THE FUCK AWAY!)

He swallows hard. Forces the nausea down. Shoves the memories to the back of his brain where they belong. (He is NOT going to let S’ian’thro take this from him.) “Fine. I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“Liar.” Rose kisses him carefully. Kisses his forehead. Each cheek. Each eye. The tip of his nose.

Chuckling, he begins to relax. “I love you.”

“Likewise.” She smiles, then sobers. “Where shouldn’t I touch you?”

He pushes the duvet down. Forces himself to look down -- he’s fought the impulse for what feels like ages and now it’s hard to get over even though he knows all his parts are still there. “He kept... from ribs on down... front and back.” Fuck S’ian’thro, Jack is NOT going to lose it. Not now.

Rose kisses him again. Kisses his forehead. Each cheek. Each eye. The tip of his nose. Back to his mouth again. And he has to bite back the sob. (This isn’t even the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Why is he letting it get to him?) “I want this,” he says. “I really want this. Rose, I--”

“I know.” It’s so easy to forget how honestly brave she can be. She kisses him again, following her odd little pattern like some kind of ritual, as if by kissing every part of his face she can make all the memories go away. “If it helps,” she says softly, “the Doctor made sure that bastard’s good and dead. Not ever coming back. And thanks to Marilyn and her guy, the crew’s on their way to Time Agent Central.”

All the tension goes out of his shoulders. (And no, he is not about to spare even a moment’s thought for what might’ve been. S’ian’thro lost any claim on his heart after about the first hour of... and FUCK HIM he is NOT thinking of that!)

“Jack?” A rough hand caresses his cheek.

The Doctor’s face blurs through Jack’s tears. (Dammit, he is NOT going to come apart at the seams. He has everything he’s wished for. He’s going to suck it up and enjoy it.)

The Doctor sits at the edge of the bed. Runs his fingers through Jack’s hair. “How are you, lad?”

And that quiet strength and sympathy just sucks all the macho right out of him. Before he can stop himself, he’s in tears. The Doctor pulls him gently into his arms. Rose is a quiet warmth behind him, her arms around him. The two of them hold him as the sobs wrack him. And he doesn’t WANT this. (What a fuck of a time to lose his cool.) He wants them but not THIS and it’s not fair and he hates it and he comes so completely unglued it’ll take them ages to find all the pieces, let alone put them back together.

The sobs are vicious. They hurt like hell. And keep hurting. Hurting. Hurting is good in this case, because there’s nothing to fix the physical pain. He could nearly faint from the dizziness of relief. “You got rid of the nanogenes.”

The Doctor kisses him slowly, all quiet reassurance. “Major Tom took them.”

Jack blinks. Catches his breath. “Major Tom? He was...?” He stares at the Doctor. “You managed to get a hold of Major Tom? That’s hardly fair. He was always incommunicado when I needed him and the jerk was my superior officer. How did you manage that?”

The Doctor gives a half-smile. “He’s in love with Marilyn.”

“Well duh.” He tries to make the pieces fit. “So you and he came to rescue Rose and Marilyn and me? How did that work?”

“Better than planned.” The Doctor strokes Jack’s cheek with his thumb. “I’ll tell you about it sometime when you’re in the mood to be dazzled by my brilliance.”

“Don’t hold your breath.” But he’s ridiculously happy and relieved to be here. Another tear slips from his eyes. He scrubs it away, self-conscious. “I’m sorry.”

Rose’s arms tighten around his chest. (And he’s pleasantly aware of those lovely breasts of hers against his back. Yummy.) She presses her cheek to his shoulder. “It’s all right, Jack. The Doctor fixed everything.”

The Doctor’s brief grin fades into that intense look Jack’s been hungering for from the first moment he laid eyes on him.

“So...” He tries for joking and ends up sounding slightly forlorn and pathetic. “Does this mean I get to stay?”

Rose laughs. Hugs him. Kisses his temple. The Doctor pauses, halfway to the kiss. “Do you want to stay?”

His voice doesn’t work for shit. He nods, thoroughly pathetic, and before he can do a damn thing about it, the fucking tears are back and worse than ever. But instead of pulling away in annoyance, Rose and the Doctor just hold him. And the Doctor kisses him so tenderly that it just makes him cry harder. (Which really should piss him off -- bad enough to come unglued, even worse to come unglued in front of both Rose AND the Doctor, worse still to have the Doctor going all sympathetic and understanding and damn him if the Time Lord isn’t literally kissing his tears away.)

And he clings to them with all the composure (not!) of a little boy who’s found someone to chase the monsters away. Sobs until there are no tears left. (Real dignified. Some super-heroic time/spaceship captain he turns out to be.)

And the Doctor is kissing him like he’s the most precious thing in the universe. And Rose climbs into his lap and kisses him like he’s the most precious thing in the universe. And they want him even though no one wants him (not for more than one night anyway). And they touch him everywhere until he stops shivering like a damn dog every time a fingertip wanders below his ribcage. And soon the memories of silver eyes and blood fade in the face of blue eyes and brown eyes and soft hands and hard hands and two mouths. (And a total of four hearts between the three of them. Isn’t that weird to think about?) And they take turns kissing him until he pretty much loses the ability to remain upright. And they press him to the mattress. And Rose is soft and warm everywhere he touches. And he has to get the Doctor out of those clothes, in part because he’s desperate to feel the hard planes of his body and in part because if he has to be clothed, he should be in something clean or he’ll ruin the duvet.

And almost as if they could communicate between them (which, knowing the Doctor, is not out of the question), Rose and the Doctor pull back.

And he loves them both so much it doesn’t feel like his heart is big enough to contain all the emotions.

“Hey, gorgeous,” says the Doctor. “How are you now?”

He nods. Struggles to speak through this sand-paper voice. “Better.”

“Good.” The Doctor looks to Rose. “And you, Even More Gorgeous?”

She smiles. Wipes her own tears away. “Better too.”

“Good.” The Doctor stands up. Offers him and Rose a hand each. “Come along then.”

He takes the hand. “Where to?” (Not that he seriously cares.)

“Bathroom.” The Doctor politely but firmly pulls him and Rose to their feet. “No offense, lad and lady, but I think we all could use a bath.”

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Crossposted to: time_and_chips, better_with_3