Fic, Dancing Lessons, 32/33: Maypole Dance

[loveslashangst]

Story: Dancing Lessons
Author: Love! Slash! Angst! melindakitty
Characters: Ninth Doctor, Captain Jack Harkness, Rose Tyler;
Rated: 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.

Maypole Dance: A delightful pagan custom in which virgins (or at least young girls with good rhythm and coordination) would dance Around a May Pole in intricate patterns, each carrying a ribbon. The movements of each dancer would interweave the ribbons around the central and very consciously phallic May Pole itself. (Think semi-religious foreplay to the natural world. Maypole dances -- other than being fun -- were held in the hope that all living things would be fruitful and multiply after the dearth of Winter.) Though time has diluted the very consciously phallic significance of the May Pole, many modern Celtic pagans still regard the practice as the prelude to Beltaine. If you don’t know what Beltaine is, look it up. It’s entirely appropriate to mention it here, at the end of a bit of porn.

(The OT3 get a final invitation to the dance)




Rose comes hard.

The Doctor comes harder.

And all three of them have come home.

The best part of sex with Rose and the Doctor (other than the sex itself, which is head and shoulders above anything else Jack’s experienced) is the beautiful afterglow.

He’s never been with a guy who literally put the “glow” in “afterglow.”

Soft golden light twines around and through him. Caresses him inside and out. Laces its way through his senses. It whispers of things that’ve been and things to come, warm traces of Time herself. Whatever a “Time Lord” is, they must have contact with the Time Vortex in ways humans can only fantasize about.

In short, it is SO frickin’ good to be him.

And for the first time since he awoke back to the TARDIS, he can think the name “S’ian’thro” without going all tense and rigid. (S’ian’thro. S’ian’thro. S’ian’thro. There. Good and dead and out of his life.)

In celebration or gratitude or a bit of both, he licks his way up the Doctor’s body. Enjoys that weird not-quite-taste on the alien’s skin. Sort of a salty buzzing. Almost effervescent, like his come. (And won’t Jack be spoiled for any other man after the Doctor.) Strange to love someone who’s made of energy and only pretending to be solid.

He knows Rose has practically already picked out her dress for this wedding thing that they’re theoretically doing. (It’s a girl thing.) But he’s having a hard time wrapping his brain around the idea that the Doctor may be just as sincere in his vows for him. He knows the Doctor loves him. (Kind of hard to miss.) He knows the Time Lord would do anything to protect him. (Being a dumbass in distress has never been sexier.) He knows they get along better than just about any friend he’s ever had. But... husband?

It seems so permanent. Like home-sweet-home, place-to-hang-your-hat, three-square-a-day permanent. Weird. Jack’s been a lot of things to a lot of people, but permanent has never been one of them. (Which hasn’t been helped any by the fact that of the only two people who ever wanted permanent, one tried to kill him and the other auctioned him off for spare parts to his enemies.)

But this is different. Not bad different, just... different. Usually when people see you at your worst, they put on a polite face until they can make a discreet exit. Rose and the Doctor seem to find saving him a turn on. (Not that he’s complaining. With his kind of luck, it’ll be handy to have more than one person willing to ride to his rescue once in a while. And it’s not like he won’t reciprocate.)

Jack smiles, watching Rose snuggle down into the Doctor’s arms. He settles in on the Doctor’s other side. Home. Damn him if this doesn’t feel like home. Not since before Grey has any place felt like home. And unlike the settlement on Boeshane Peninsula, he might actually get to stay here. With the two people he loves most in the universe. He’s not going to think about how long this will last, though. (Only an idiot would overthink this. He gets to be with Rose and the Doctor. That should be more than enough for any man.)

Rose’s fingers slip into his. She smiles at him over the Doctor’s chest. (And it makes Jack grin just to feel the last few aftershocks ripple through his favourite Time Lord.) Happiness really is the Doctor’s arm around him. Rose snuggles in a little more, the Doctor’s other arm around her. He kisses first her forehead, then Jack’s.

Rose taps the cuff on Jack’s wrist with one finger. “My turn next?”

He and she share a good chuckle of anticipation.

“Captain Harkness.” The Major’s voice in his head startles him out of his moment of joy. (Dammit, he thought he’d disabled the com so no Time Agent could intercept it.)

“Jack?” The Doctor’s eyes are quietly concerned.

“It’s the Major.” At his glance, the Doctor slips gently into his mind, bringing Rose with him. The warm, twin presences have the double advantage: they give him quiet confidence and being in his head allows them to eavesdrop. He sits up. Taps the subdermal at his temple. “Captain Harkness.”

“Jack.” The old boy actually sounds happy and not exhausted. “By my estimates, less than twenty-four hours will have passed since last I saw you. Hope you’ve been putting them to good use?”

He glances at Rose and the Doctor, who are still cuddled up. “As a matter of fact, I have.” Rose gives him a mental caress that makes him shiver in all kinds of nice ways. “What can I do for you?” (And how can I get rid of you quickly?)

Rose represses a giggle. The Doctor grins.

“Marilyn and I will be at the Savoy on May 26, 1941,” says the Major.

(That’s nice. Now go away.) Rose runs teasing fingers over his chest. The Doctor runs a cool hand up his back. Yeah, he definitely has to get rid of this guy before his two favourite people in the universe distract him to incoherence. “Well,” he says, “When you go back to the Savoy, my advice is to tip the waitresses well. Oh, and pace yourself on the dance floor, Major, or you’ll feel it the next day.”

“General,” says the voice in his head.

“General?” Jack repeats, surprised. “You’re out of the field?”

“It’s been more than a year for us, Jack,” says Tom. “I’m contacting you where and when you are because I actually know when and where you are.”

That is definitely an odd thing to say. Rose’s concern is a faint prickling at the back of his mind. The Doctor’s omnipresent brood threatens to return. Jack gives his best easy chuckle. “What’s the matter, General? You make it sound like you lose track of me.”

“You know I can’t say,” says the General. “Point is a Time Agent can learn a lot in a year, especially when that spectacular bust the Doctor masterminded yielded up a whole ring of slavers, their ships, and all their tech. Made the Agency a fortune.”

He’s surprised to find he’s actually happy for Tom. Something about being contented himself that lends itself to wishing others well. “And you made General.”

“And I made General,” Tom says. “Marilyn sends her love, by the way.”

The thought makes him go cold. The Doctor’s thoughts twine in and through his, protective. “Does she?” Rose reaches out to him. He takes her hand.

“And she asks your forgiveness.”

“That’s nice.” He tries not to sound too sarcastic. The Doctor’s hand is strong at his back.

“You might want to consider giving her a chance, Captain,” says the Ma-- General. “She’s been quite the pain in the Agency’s ass because she felt she owed it to you to find out who was responsible for your being retconned. Made it her own private crusade. Cornered people. Dug up facts. Refused to let it go. Together, she and I have been working our way backwards, trying to find out all the whos and whys.”

He’s not sure what to say, so he waits.

“You weren’t the only one who lost time, Jack. There is much more at stake than two years and one lost Agent.”

Damn Tom. How could any self-respecting captain resist a mystery like that? (And now the Doctor’s curiosity twines around him. Jack may as well go shake the wrinkles out of that other suit in the Wardrobe and brush up his jitterbug.) “So now I have allies in the Agency?” he says.

“Let’s just say you’re off the “most wanted” list, as are your friends. Well, maybe not the Doctor -- there are limits to what I can do -- but I certainly have no argument with either of your companions. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that I’m sure I’ll never see either of them again, no matter where or when I go.”

The Doctor’s intrigued, Rose is suspicious, and Jack is fairly sure he knows what’s going to happen next. Strange and actually kind of nice to literally know what his lovers are thinking.

“The Savoy, you said?” He must be insane to even consider this, but sanity went out the window as soon as the Doctor and Rose fell into his life. (Her even more literally so than him.)

“The Savoy,” says General Tom. “May 26th, 1941.” The link goes silent. The Doctor pulls back both his and Rose’s presences, leaving Jack alone in his head.

Rose and the Doctor wear identical serious looks.

“Could be a trap,” says the Doctor.

“Definitely a trap,” says Rose.

“Could be fun too.” He shrugs. Scoots up the bed to pour them a round of thys from the handy pitcher and glasses. (Note to self: next time, ask for really good single-malt Scotch.) “And he’s got me by the short hairs. The chances of my finding anything out without an inside man in the Agency are nil.”

“Point in the General’s favour,” the Doctor adds, “is he did show up at an awfully convenient time. Wouldn’t be here without his intervention.”

Rose props herself up on one arm. Takes the glass from Jack. “You two are serious? We’re going to just pop off and trust him and let bygones be bygones?”

“Nope.” Jack gulps down the cool liquid. “There are several things I’ll want to do before we go anywhere.”

He and the Doctor trade mischievous looks.

Rose narrows her eyes. “If it don’t involve tying me to the bed, I ain’t playing.”

So they tie her to the bed. (Wrist cuffs never came in so handy. And he’d almost forgotten this model is self-adjusting. Clever bit of tech, that.)

Rose is SO much fun to play with. The Doctor’s not the first alien lover Jack’s had who had the whole telepathy thing going for him, but even by psychic standards, the man is a virtuoso. (Never had a woman make THAT noise for him before.) And the Time Lord is tender as anything. Always knows just how far to take things and just when to draw back.

Admittedly, he and the Doctor do get into a bit of one-upsmanship. (It’s a guy thing.) You know how it starts: a bit of banter leads to a bit of a wager. (With Rose swearing and glaring her best at the thought of being both the reward for and the object of the wager.) Then the Doctor starts her off with the most sensual scissor-pose Jack’s seen. Within minutes, she’s still cursing a blue streak, though not in annoyance. Not to be outdone, once the Doctor’s brought Rose once, Jack gets acrobatic with her heels at his ears. (Which she seems to like even more. Point for his side.) For his turn, the Doctor can all but levitate Rose, so what can Jack do but break out the arsenal again? (It’s not cheating if Rose likes it that much, no matter what the Doctor says.) Jack even learns a few more tricks from the Doctor. It’s hard to do some of them if your equipment isn’t prehensile. (Though it’s fun as hell to help.)

Before long, Rose has not only abandoned expletives for incoherent noises of encouragement, but both he and the Doctor have worked up a good sweat. And now the wager is a war of attrition. It’s all Jack can do to hold off finishing what promises to be the new most fun threesome of his life.

And it’s comfortable. Really comfortable. He’s not used to sex being fun like this. Sure, he’s long since mastered the risqué quip and the well-timed grin and the quick shag. But he’s used to servicing his lover. He’s used to having to be perfect. He’s used to watching body language for that moment when he’s no longer welcome. And he’s really used to having to pack his kit and scram. He’s fled a lot of beds. Jumped out a whole lot of windows. (Broken his leg a time or two. Not recommended.) And now he feels like he’s also wasted a lot of years. Only a handful of all those liaisons were comfortable. True, many of them that involved him shagging and being shagged until he and his partners had to collapse again into a happily glowing heap, but none of them were willing to call him theirs. And certainly none of them let him play, laugh, cry, and just BE the way Rose and the Doctor do.

And no matter what the Doctor says, Jack won the wager. (Especially if you take into account his non-prehensile, non-psychic, non-quantum handicap.)

“’F I could bottle the way this feels,” he says as the sweat begins to cool on his skin. “I’d make a fortune.” He releases the mag-locks on Rose.

She turns just enough to give the Doctor a sweet kiss over one shoulder. The Time Lord withdraws slowly, making her shudder once more, then stretches out beside Jack. Rose drapes herself over Jack’s chest. They all reek of fresh sex and traces of whatever perfume was in that bubblebath earlier.

“I think we’ll want another soak,” says Rose.

Ooh! Water pistols and saunas again! He grins. “Definitely.”

The Doctor turns his head to kiss him. “When we wake, loves. When we wake.”

Rose brushes Jack’s lips with hers. Slips off his chest. Pulls the covers over them. “We still have time for this, right?”

“Time machine,” says the Doctor.

Jack chuckles. “I think that’s Time lord for ‘yes’.”

“Good,” says Rose. “I’m not going anywhere without a nap and a bath.”

“And some chips,” adds the Doctor.

“Ooh!” says Rose. “Chips’d be brilliant.”

They are obsessed. “What is it with you two and chips?”

“Chips are good,” The Doctor yawns. “Potassium and starch and a little salt and just enough grease. Perfect post-coital treat.”

Jack can’t stop smiling at how cute they are. “I’ll take your word for it.”

And this time, lucky bastard that he is, when they arrange themselves for sleep, Jack gets to be in the middle. The Doctor lies on his back. Jack cuddles into his arms. Presses his ear to the Time Lord’s chest. Rose spoons Jack from behind, her arm around his waist. His... fiancés?

Don’t overthink things. Whatever label he sticks on them, Rose and the Doctor are without doubt a matched set. The loves of his life.

He falls asleep to the heavenly sound of the two hearts beating in the Doctor’s chest and Rose’s soft sighs at his back.

The Savoy will wait just a little longer.

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Crossposted to: time_and_chips, better_with_3