Fic, Avremo Sempre Venezia, Ch. 2 : "Batiste"

[loveslashangst]

Story: Avremo Sempre Venezia
Author: the still-packing loveslashangst
Beta: the itchy-knitting-fingered ophymirage
Characters: Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor, Giacomo Casanova, and the gentleman behind Door #3.
Rated: Is there a category past NC-17? Naughty, naughty, NAUGHTY fun...
Disclaimer: Russell T Davies WISHES he'd thought of this plot.
Spoilers: Set sometime in Season 2 (Tennant!Season 1), but in the Dancing Lessons AU. Post DL Epilogue.
Summary: All they wanted to do was to find Jack...

Okay, so here's the dealio...

O and I are in talks right now for ch 34 of Faithful. In the meantime, have some porn. Hopefully y'all don't mind a little boy-on-boy action before we get to the foursome. [O sez: Yes, dear, anyone who reads your LJ CLEARLY HATES mm action.]

Yes, I said foursome. (You didn't think I'd be content to just have a little Ten/Rose action, did you? Foolish mortals.)

On with the show...

"I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs, / A palace and a prison on each hand."

-- George Gordon, Lord Byron (English Romantic poet and satirist, 1788-1824)



The very fat merchant emerges from the house again, angrier than ever and this time backed up by six blokes armed with various sharp-and-nasty looking weapons. He points to the Doctor. "Alive if possible. Dead... just as good."

The Doctor and Rose run like hell.

***

Giacomo ("Jacques" to his friends) Casanova darts along the canal. True, he doesn't yet hear the slapping of fat feet that will signal Signore di Cuore's overfed bodyguards tailing him, but he also doesn't doubt that said men-at-arms will appear soon enough. He slips through the crowd. Dodges. Buttons and straightens as he goes. Rights his mussed hair. Begins to slow his pace in hopes of simply blending in with the crowd before doubling back to his rented palazzo.

"Giacomo!" A strange man's voice makes him turn. "In here!" A hand snakes out from a doorway. Grabs him by the wrist. Yanks him inside. He loses his balance, stumbling across the threshold and into a strong pair of arms. He ends up nose to nose with a beautiful dark-haired man.

"Sorry," says the man with an apologetic chuckle. He shuts the door behind them. "Didn't mean to yank you so hard, but I have a feeling those men will be along any minute."

The man pushes Giacomo back slightly. Bars the door. Giacomo finds himself missing the touch of those warm hands. When the man turns back, he's smiling at him with stunning blue eyes in a face that makes the artist in Giacomo itch for charcoals or chisels.

"Jack Harkness," says the man by way of introduction. His body too is made for modelling -- all curves and planes and masculine angles beneath silk breeches and a fine batiste shirt, elegant, un-tucked, and unlaced at the throat.

The effect quite takes Giacomo's breath away. "Harkness?" He forces his mouth around the unfamiliar syllables.

"Capitano, if you like." The unmistakeable flush of arousal colours the man's perfect cheeks. "I've been an... admirer of yours for a very long time."

The scent of him twines its way into Giacomo's senses, the smell of sex and leisure and a pleasant tryst on satin sheets. Quite in spite of himself, he moves closer. "Have you, now?"

"Oh, yes." His admirer mirrors his advance, almost close enough to touch, though the Capitano's hands remain chastely at his sides. "Very much so." But there's a haunted look to the man's eyes, as though the Capitano is seeing someone else in Giacomo's face.

"And do you love him very much?" he asks softly. "This man I remind you of?"

The Capitano's blue eyes widen, startled. Then the flush on his cheeks turns from arousal to embarrassment. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean... Do you mind?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He steps closer to the beautiful man. "If it keeps you looking at me the way you did a moment ago, then no, I don't mind at all."

The Capitano's hand is hot at his waist, suggestive. "You usually prefer women," he murmurs.

Casanova presses close, letting his hands drink in the crisp texture of the Captain's fine muslin shirt. The warm skin underneath. "I've been known to make exceptions."

The first kiss is ever and always Giacomo's favourite part of any tryst. This kiss, from a man who can more than match him for strength, is enough to have his pulse pounding in anticipation. And though Antonia put him rather thoroughly through his paces, this strange admirer intrigues every part of him.

"They say," says the Capitano when they part, "you fall in love with every one of your conquests."

"I suppose I do." He kisses his way along that strong, squared jaw.

Capitano Harkness cups Giacomo's face in his hands, dazzling blue eyes suddenly seeking. "Could you fall in love with me?"

He considers the man for a moment. Searches his beautiful face. Lets his hands wander. Savours silken breeches over firm muscle. Hard, smooth planes. Soft, tanned skin. Lovely spiked hair, cut strangely short, but still long enough to spear fingers into.

The ribbon at the nape of Casanova's own neck pulls. Loosens. His hair flows free. The Capitano's strong fingers dig in. Position his head just so.

Out of curiosity (purely scientific, of course) he pulls the man in for another seeking kiss. The Capitano responds with such slow-burning hunger that Giacomo finds himself moaning. Bucking slowly against the man's firm hip.

"Yes," he manages through kiss-bruised lips. "Yes, I believe I could fall for you."

Jack kisses him more deeply. (So strange not to be the stronger one of the pair.)

He has a lovely and wicked notion. "So you wish to be conquered?"

The Capitano grins. "Yes, please." His rescuer pulls him into his arms as they retreat toward the staircase that curves upward to the next storey and -- with any luck -- the bedroom. The kisses leave him breathless. The Capitano ("'Jack', please call me 'Jack'.") is patient. Insistent. Thorough. As if he was telling the truth when he said he'd been waiting. It's a delicious trap that Giacomo doesn't mind falling into, though inevitably there will be hell to pay later.

Jack unbuttons Giacomo's coat. Slides hot hands inside it. Pushes it off his shoulders. He presses Jack to the wall. Grinds against him. The moment his hands are free of the coat, he slides his hands under the gauzy cotton of Jack's shirt. Jack moans into his mouth.

Terribly handy to have a lover who knows how to untie a cravat. Some ladies never quite develop the knack for it, leaving one in the rather delicate position of having to reassure while also avoiding being throttled. Jack's mouth is hot against his freshly-bared throat. Antonia left him with a love bite or two. Chuckling, Jack kisses those, gently at first, then rougher nips. Shouldn't turn him on like this, but the reminder of his recent tryst has him pressing into that merciless mouth. A heady mix of pain and pleasure. With any luck, he'll need to double-wrap the cravat tomorrow to hide the love bites.

Jack's hands are hot on his skin as he undoes the wrist cuffs of Giacomo's shirt. Unbuttons the buttons of his waistcoat. Odd. Not the roughened hands of a workman, nor soft enough to be a man of leisure. Perhaps the "Capitano" is not an affectation after all and this is an officer? (And dear GOD please let him keep sucking at the sensitive spot under his chin.) Giacomo pulls his waistcoat down and off. Jack helps him pull his shirt up and over his head. Both drop the garments heedlessly to the floor.

Jack's sweet smile makes his blue eyes turn an even more stunning shade of azure. Giacomo kisses him again. Thrusts up against Jack's thigh, loving the slick resistance of firm, silk-clad muscle. Another heady moan of desire. (Made all the more intoxicating for being both unexpected AND a mortal sin.)

Giacomo loves mortal sins. They're his favourite hobby. And for a moment he considers...

But Jack beats him to it. Unbuttons Giacomo's breeches with sure hands. Kisses him soundly. Backs him a step or two up the spiral staircase. Grins up at him as Jack bends one knee.

His breathing has gone quite mad. Many ladies won't even...

A hot mouth engulfs his cock. His knees go weak. And though he must surely be tainted still with traces of Antonia, Jack devours him greedily. Hums his enthusiasm at the taste. It's almost too much, though he'll be damned if he's going to pull back from a pleasure as rare as this.

"She's a beautiful woman," Jack murmurs before drawing him deeper down that talented throat.

He gasps something that might resemble words. (Fellatio always did reduce him to incoherence.)

Jack chuckles richly, a man who knows his worth and enjoys his skill. "Your lover. Antonia. You have excellent taste, though I wouldn't have risked the husband."

"Worth it," he manages. And that's when he realizes this is no mere sodomite, but that strange kind of creature who loves the soul and not just the body.

Oh yes, it would be easy to fall in love with a man like this.

Jack pulls back a little. Teases the head of his cock with lips and tongue. Gives him a chance to recover his breathing. (And quite possibly his mind.)

He smiles. "You remind me of my wife."

Jack draws him deep for one breathless moment, then goes back to teasing. His hands are strong at the backs of Giacomo's thighs. "How so?"

"Well..." Memories of Bellino are still more sweet than bitter. "When we first met, she was a man."

Jack laughs outright at that. "Kinky." A flash of blue-eyed naughtiness. "Would you rather I wear a skirt?"

"Only if it gets you off." He urges Jack forward with a gentle hand at the back of his head. Gasps afresh as the hot mouth envelops him. "Be a damn shame to hide legs like yours, though." His breath stutters as Jack's tongue strokes the underside of his cock.

Jack draws him harder. Deeper. Shaking, he thrusts into that perfect mouth. Lets the man bring him to the ragged edge of bliss. Savours every moment of this mortal sin. Promises himself it will not be the last.

He pulls out before he can finish, though. No sense wasting this by surrendering so quickly.

Jack's hands are hard at his thighs, eyes intense with lust. "Don't you want me to?"

He strokes Jack's hair, brushing back tendrils of fringe from his forehead. His heart warms at the thought of this stranger's generosity. "That'd be like eating filet mignon raw because you're too impatient to cook it properly."

Jack darts another lick across the head. "I rather like raw meat."

The chuckle is like sweet wine in his throat. "Don't I know it."

Jack stands. "Shall I show you to the bedroom?"

"Yes, please." And he pulls Jack up to indulge in one more guilty kiss. Tastes himself and traces of Antonia on Jack's lips. Savours Jack's own unique flavour. Sweet. Clean. Masculine.

"I need to show you to the bedroom," says Jack, eyes dancing as he re-buttons the top two buttons on Giacomo's breeches. "Because I don't have the willpower to keep us both from coming if we stay here."

Smiling, Giacomo lets the man lead him up the stairs. Down the hall. Through a lovely carved door. As soon as it closes behind them, he turns the tables on his rescuer. Slams Jack against the door. Savages his mouth. Thrusts hard against him. Jack responds with equal passion. The kiss turns biting. Urgent. He fumbles at Jack's breeches. Jack has his undone within seconds.

Jack pushes off of the door. Begins the slow march to the bed itself. Step by hard-fought step. And Giacomo can't get enough of him. Has to touch him everywhere. Kiss him until his own mouth aches.

Midway across the room, Jack drops again to his knees. Kisses his way down Giacomo's chest, a searing path of pleasure. Lingers at his navel. Grazes his hipbone with teeth and tongue.

And he's reasonably sure he's never wanted to fuck someone so much in his life.

Only force of will helps him maintain control when Jack strips off Giacomo's breeches and hose. When the hot wetness closes over his cock again, only an even greater force of will stops him from just giving in and fucking Jack's mouth. But no. He'll not be had this easily. He pulls Jack to his feet. Distracts him with urgent kisses as they both fumble Jack out of his shirt and breeches. Drags him to the bed.

Somehow, he ends up beneath Jack. It should be a moment of unrepentant panic, but instead he savours the heat. The weight. The solidity of this man. This stranger. This rarest of treats -- a male lover who his instinct tells him he can trust.

And Jack's cock is hard against his hip, just as he's hard against Jack's. Hadn't planned for a frot to feel so good, especially a slow one like this. Achingly slow, which only makes him kiss Jack harder.

And the desire teases him again. The chance. What are the odds he'll find a man so willing and open again? "Jack?"

"Giacomo?" Jack's kissing his closed eyes, for fuck's sake. Worshipping him in a dozen little ways.

"May I...?" He can't quite bring himself to say the words.

"Yes." Jack slides off him. Presses their hips together. And to his utter astonishment, takes both their cocks in one hand.

"I haven't even asked...?" He loses the rest to a throaty groan as Jack's hand strokes the heat of Jack's cock against his.

"Whatever it is," Jack says. "Whatever you want, the answer is yes."

The shiver grips him from head to toe and back again. He grabs for Jack's shoulder, desperate to have something to cling to. And for a few moments, just revels in the dizzying pleasure of Jack's hand, stroking them both with sure twists.

Jack bends forward. Hot breath across his ear. "Tell me what you want and you will have it."

He kisses him. Hard. Harder. Moans. Thrusts into Jack's fist. "...Taste you..."

The hand slows. "You want to taste me?"

He swallows hard against a lifetime of Church nonsense. (They're wrong about everything else pertaining to sex, why shouldn't they be wrong here too?) "Let me kiss you there." A ridiculous euphemism for a beautiful act.

Smiling, flushed, and utterly gorgeous, Jack releases their cocks and lays back. Smiles at him, expectant and edible in a stroke.

Though he freely admits Jack does promise to be a sumptuous feast, Giacomo's honestly not sure where to begin. Start with the familiar. He tongues Jack's nipples. So much more dainty than a woman's, but no less sensitive, judging from Jack's indrawn and uneven breaths. Giacomo licks the salt from his lover's skin, a musky taste of sex and longing. Beautiful. And the feel of that skin, stretched tight over muscle. Jack is not the first man he's ever had, but he may well be the first man he's ever made love to. It's the savouring that's new and lovely. (Jack doesn't seem to want to rush either, and thank God for that.)

"You're brilliant at this, you know." Jack's voice is deliciously rough.

He smiles. Licks up the crease where Jack's thigh meets his hip. Delights in the musk of him. Jack's moan and twist of pleasure.

"I fear you've rather thoroughly called my bluff," Giacomo admits.

"How so?" Jack's stroking his hair.

"I told you my wife was a man when I met her." He loves the feel of his breath against Jack's skin. "Well, I'd always said she was a woman. She had an unusual... erm... appendage that she used in place of a cock to fool all but the most determined."

"And you were determined?"

"I knew I was right."

"So once you unmasked her," says Jack, "what became of the appendage?"

"Used it on her a time or two as a prelude to lovemaking," he says, smiling at the memory. "Always did fancy the taste of her on it as a delicious irony, pardon the pun. And it seemed to arouse her before I tasted her for real."

The shiver that runs through Jack confirms his suspicions that his lover doesn't only hunger for the touch of men. "And how did she taste?"

Still aches a bit to think of. "Like heaven."

He pauses. Jack's cock is hot and hard before him. And though part of him longs to taste and tease and explore...

Mercifully, Jack seems to sense his uncertainty. "Here," he says gently. "Let me help."

Jack presses him up to hands and knees. Grabs a pillow. Wriggles his way around and underneath so Jack's head is between his legs. And there's that heavenly mouth again, breath hot against him. His cock jerks, remembering.

"Do as I do," says Jack.

Jack's hand curls around the base of him, encouraging him to lower gently. He curls his hand around the base of Jack's cock. Jack's hips rise to meet him. A slow lick along the head. Jack tastes of salt and sex. A slow lick along the underside of the head. He loves the feel of the groove along his tongue. The heat of Jack's mouth encloses him. The soft, almost spongy texture of Jack's glans is fascinating in his own mouth. Slow, short bobs. He begins to relax. Deeper strokes. Jack's cock is hot, smooth, and hard in his mouth. Alien, and yet familiar and lovely. Slow strokes. He begins to find the rhythm. Jack's hands curl around his arse, cupping the cheeks. He slips his own hands between Jack's arse and the bed. Pulls him up even as he thrusts down with his mouth. He can't help thrusting his cock into Jack's mouth. Jack returns suit, each of them following the other's rhythm, making the taste and feel all the more delicious. Jack draws him deeper. Jack's own cock fills his mouth almost to the back of his throat. He shivers. Tastes a jolt of salt -- not come yet, but a sure sign that Jack is enjoying him every bit as much as he's enjoying Jack.

Jack moans around his cock. Sucks harder. Eyes rolling closed, he redoubles his own ministrations. Fingers brush up the cleft of his arse. He tenses in spite of himself -- he's not quite ready to play the catamite, even for this man. The fingers retreat instantly. Pat his arse by way of reassurance. Brush the underside of his sac. Find a spot at the base that's absolutely heavenly. He moans around Jack's cock. Seeks out the matching spot. Is rewarded with a muffled cry of pleasure when he finds it.

The house trembles as the front door slams.

Jack pulls off of him just as quickly as he pulls off of Jack.

"Someone's in the house," they say in unison.

He rolls off Jack. Fumbles for his breeches (dammittohell, his shirt and the rest of his clothing are still in the parlour. At least the belt with his sword made it upstairs. Odd, he doesn't even remember how it came to be removed.)

Jack kneels on the bed, alert and still splendidly nude. "D'you want my help?"

He shakes his head no. "Two half-naked men, both descending from the bedroom? Venice is tolerant, my friend, but not THAT tolerant."

Jack nods. "I can be your Second, if you need me."

He nods too. Draws his sword. "I will anticipate your coming to my aid, should things get ugly."

Jack sits back on his heels. "Define 'ugly'."

"'Help, help, they're going to kill me; get your arse down here'?"

Jack's laugh is as exuberant as everything else about him. "You have my word."

He looks back at his lover. Jack's eyes darken with the same moment of lust. He crosses the room. Catches his hand at the back of Jack's neck. Pulls him forward. Kisses him roughly. Jack's arms are strong around him. So different than his other conquests, and yet all the more wonderful for being the only one (other than his wife) who might also be credited with having conquering him.

"I'll be back," he says.

"I'll be here," says Jack. "Until you need me."

"I will need you." He dares one more kiss. "Though hopefully not as a Second."

"First in today's affections?" Jack teases.

Something crashes downstairs. He exchanges a serious look with Jack, who nods and then jerks his head at the door.

Preparing himself for battle, Giacomo creeps down the stairs to confront the intruders.

*****

Rose slams the door shut again. (Still no sign of the goon-squad.) Moans at the stitch in her side. Tries to recover her breath. "Think we... lost them..."

The Doctor pushes her politely but firmly out of the way, peers through the peephole in the carved door.

"Bella signora!" says a familiar voice from the stairs.

When she looks, it's the not-Doctor with the blue eyes -- the same one as kissed her hand not an hour ago. He's rumpled and bare-chested and half out of his very tight trousers. (Not that she minds. Yummy.) Armed with some kind of sword. Flushed and reeking pleasantly of sweat and pheromones and oooooooooooh don't the thought of a bit of blue-eyed, historical Doctor look-alike make her damp in the knickers?

"Rose, what are you...?" The Doctor turns around to find the point of the not-Doctor's sword levelled at his throat. "Oh... hullo."

Rose watches, grinning madly, as two pairs of eyes -- one brown, one blue -- meet over the blade's length.

And the same startled squeak issues from both throats.

"WHAT?!"

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Crossposted to: time_and_chips, better_with_3