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Story: Avremo Sempre Venezia
Author: the determined-to-find-better-and-brighter![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loveslashangst
Beta: the freshly-birthdayedophymirage
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...
We’re back. It’s been too long since I left this foursome in coitus interruptus. Hadn’t planned on taking such a long sabbatical from this, but Things Happen. And after a polite poke fromwerefox61, I went back with O, re-read this, and really really loved it. It does need to be finished, and I need to figure out what to do with this OT3.
To complicate matters further, Eleven is a delightful chap. As I predicted, he’s a perfect balance of Nine’s intensity-with-a-side-of-lunacy and Ten’s loquacious-constant-motion-enthusiasm. And as if that weren’t enough to distract me from the OT3!ZOMG! that is Faithful, the bastard went and got himself a barely-legal ginger [O sez: SMART] Scot for a companion, so the temptation to jump into THAT world is really strong too.
*resists* Must... finish... half-done... projects. [O sez: Don’t believe her for a minute, she’s already talking Eleven/TARDIS/Amy.]
So here it is. So much fun that IRL the Husband came up with a new word: four-gy.
GRIN!
On with the show...
Love, in this summer night, do you recall
Midnight, and Venice, and those skies of June
Thick-sown with stars, when from the still lagoon
We glided noiseless through the dim canal?
A sense of some belated festival
Hung round us, and our own hearts beat in tune
With passionate memories that the young moon
Lit up on dome and tower and palace wall.
We dreamed what ghosts of vanished loves made part
Of that sweet light and trembling, amorous air.
I felt in those rich beams that kissed your hair,
Those breezes, warm with bygone lovers' sighs-
All the dead beauty of Venice in your eyes,
All the old loves of Venice in my heart.”
--“Night in Venice”, John Hay
“Thank you,” the Doctor murmurs.
A weak chuckle is all Casanova can manage as he tries to recover his senses.
******************
Jack is a pleasant warmth at Rose’s side, comfortable contact that stretches from toes to shoulders. She can’t hardly move – her muscles’re too lax from that really fantastic shag. And it feels too good just to be lazy. To just enjoy the moment. To breathe and slowly come down. Jack’s hands caress her slowly. His long body presses against hers. His mouth finds hers. And that textured tongue promises more and more with every kiss.
Jack pulls back gently. Strokes her cheek, looking at her like he’s trying to memorize everything about her. There’s a desperation in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe she’s real and solid next to him. Like she might disappear. (Again.)
Like he’s found something precious he thought he’d lost.
“It’s okay,” her voice slurs a bit. Not surprising. (She’s always felt more than a little drunk when Jack’s around.)
He smiles. “It is now.” And he kisses her with such confidence. She’s his. She wanted to be his. And she still only has a little sense of the memories she’s lost -- that and the nagging feeling that the Doctor’s not the only one who came back Wrong from the Regeneration.
“Jack?” Bugger, she never has the right words for what she means to ask.
He takes her hand, which had been lying across her belly, and holds it up so she can see the band of gold on her third finger. (Wedding?) He turns his own hand so she can see the matching band. (Wedding.) “You tell me.”
“And the Doctor?” She jerks her chin in his direction. He’s talking to Casanova (her body shivers with remembered pleasure), but she can tell by the subtle raise of his head and that half-smile that he knows she’s watching him.
“The same.” Jack is watching the Doctor too. His eyes narrow, like he hasn’t quite made up his mind yet whether the thought of being man-and-whatever with the Doctor is a good thing or not. “All three of us said our vows together.” He looks down at her, cautious. “Don’t you remember?”
(Shareen’s bridesmaid’s dress was ruined.) It’s there. It’s almost there. “I want to.” It hurts. It really hurts, like peeling the plaster off a half-healed wound. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
Jack kisses her, very gently. “It’s okay.” He glances back at the Doctor and his face clouds. “What happened to his ring?”
“Dunno,” she says. “I’m only starting to get it sorted in me own head. Maybe he’s not the only one who came back...” Wrong? Different? Confused? In this moment, she feels all of the above.
“Came back?” Jack’s eyes focus and deepen the way they do when he’s puzzling something out. “Came back from what?”
“From… dunno. Death, I suppose.” (The light ran through her. Was everywhere at once. Feeling it. Breathing it. Reaching out with the strength of the universe to wake...) “He’s changed.” She fumbles for words. “He’s... We’re...”
“Different.” Jack nods. “Me too. I can be killed, but I don’t stay dead. I come back, like he does. Only,” he grins, “I get to keep the face.”
“Good thing too.” She kisses him. Rolls them so she’s half on top of him, pressing him down onto the brocade coverlet. Jack wraps his arms around her and her body REMEMBERS. The smooth slide of his skin against hers. The heated musk of him. Her husband. (Their husband.) “I like this face.”
“And you?” Jack’s kisses are a familiar burning, and now Casanova -- lovely though he is -- feels more like an appetiser. “How are you different?”
“I didn’t remember you,” she says. “Just flashes. It’s all still little pieces. And I don’t know... I just am.”
“Looking forward to finding out.” He slides a lovely hard hand down to cup her arse.
She hums into his mouth, licking into him. (Love the taste of Jack’s coffee-and-spice mouth.) His hand slips lower. She parts her legs a little, pressing more fiercely against him. He rolls her gently onto her back. Ohyesplease. She invites his fingers. (He always knew just where and how to touch.) Presses up into his hand. Fingers moving. Slipping inside her. Slick. So slick.
The heat in his eyes is only made hotter by his (usual) naughty sparkle. “Rose?”
She kisses him hard. “I’m all for homecomings.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve missed you.” She nudges his hips between hers with one knee. “A lot. And I don’t want to ever forget again.”
Jack’s first slide in is fierce. Deep. It arches her back under the heat and strength of him. Her Jack. Hers. He’s always belonged here, from the first moment they danced on the roof of his ship. The world falls away, and though some bits of her memories are missing, the most important thing floods back. Friend. Companion. Lover. Husband. Jack.
“Oh, honey,” says Jack. Warm drops on her face. “I’ve missed you too.”
*****************
The Doctor can’t bear to watch them, and yet can’t seem to stop watching them. His Companions. Jack and Rose. They move as one. They fit so perfectly. And he’s not so old and broken that he doesn’t know real love when he sees it.
“So go join them.”
He jumps at Casanova’s voice. Then, when his brain finishes processing the words, it hurts to think about. He shakes his head no.
“You love them,” says Casanova.
This human isn’t going to leave him alone. Irritating. “I was a different man. And before you say anything, I don’t mean I was younger or more foolish--”
“Though you were.”
“--I mean I really WAS a different man. Different face and voice and body and--”
Casanova sets a stilling hand on his shoulder. He looks into the blue eyes, so like his own. Casanova smiles faintly.
“It won’t work,” the Doctor insists. Jack is so different. The carefree lad who conned the second of his hearts away is gone, probably forever. This new man is a wild card, and if his senses serve him (which they always do) he’s getting wilder by the second. “He won’t…”
Casanova keeps smiling that damned Mona Lisa smile. No, not Mona Lisa. Mona Lisa kept all her secrets (including the identity of the actual model). This one tells everything by saying nothing. Annoying, because he knows damn well this Venetian is insisting that he get his arse over there and join in. And he would...
But Jack might say no. Will say no. Maybe even should say no. Even though it’s not his fault and he did what he had to and saving Rose was more important and he had a whole universe to save and... no. He rises to his feet from the easy crouch. Can’t really blame Jack for being thoroughly pissed off this time.
Casanova takes his hand. Such a simple gesture. And instead of cluttering the moment with unnecessary words, the man just looks at him with silent understanding, Casanova’s thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand. Gingerbread houses or no, he and this Casanova share more than face or voice or any superficial trimmings.
No wonder Jack stalked them both.
He could argue with Casanova. Pretend that his hearts don’t speed just looking at Jack. Insist that his body isn’t interested, that his heart is his own -- but there is no point, is there? Even this new body -- which he subconsciously shaped down to the Londoner accent just to please Rose -- remembers quite ecstatically what their Jack is capable of. What loving Jack is like. Denying that Jack holds one of his hearts, whether to himself or his gingerbread twin, would be almost as stupid as trying to pretend he doesn’t love Rose with his entire other heart.
And yet… and yet… Madly though he loves Rose, that madness fears Jack. If he’s honest, it’s because any fool can see Jack’s not exactly human anymore, in spite of appearances. Jack is stronger, even as he’s more broken. That means he’s more valuable for his ability to survive, but still frightening in his ability to track his -- husband, dammit -- across time and space. Jack is Different, burning his senses like a quantum scar on the Vortex herself, and the Doctor would be ten kinds of fool all at once to even consider anything other than running very very quickly away. But never, in all his nine hundred years, has he chosen the right time to run, and though the senses he’d be hard pressed to explain to the humans tell him to Run! Run! Run! he just wants to Stay! Stay! Stay!
So of course Jack chooses that moment to look back over his shoulder and smile in a way the Doctor’s body REMEMBERS, from crown to heel. Even this new body, which shouldn’t remember him at all. And he’s reminded again that the memories, which seem as much dream as reality, must indeed be the truth.
There was a time he loved Jack as completely as he’s ever loved anyone. And Jack loved him. And both of them adored Rose.
Casanova nods. “So why would you want to resist such beauty?”
Rose has her legs locked around Jack’s waist, her heels tucked beneath that perfect arse. She rocks with him. Moves with him. Jack turns his full attention back to her, open and honest and so lovely it quite takes his breath away. Somehow he lost this, when he gave his life for the young woman he (they) loved. Jack and Rose kiss each other with painful sweetness. Two lovers. More than lovers.
“I kept her from this.” The words are bitter in his mouth. “From him.”
Rose cries out. Calls Jack’s name. Arches against him. Her face is exquisite in pleasure. Her body flushes. He can almost taste the heat and salt and sweetness of her orgasm from here.
“And now you’ve restored it,” says Casanova. A low chuckle. “Your wife is beautiful when she comes.”
“She’s not my...” But she is. (Where is the ring?) He remembers. “Or maybe...”
Casanova stands. Places both hands on his shoulders. The Doctor wavers. Wants. His whole body keens for Jack and Rose. For That. It’s not that he hasn’t been married before -- yes, it was usually brief and disastrous, but even brief and disastrous counts -- it’s that it’s been far too long since he had even a taste of That. That love. That acceptance. That luxury which is being able to fall into one’s lovers’ arms and be completely at ease.
Jack is murmuring something to Rose. He only catches every other word, but she laughs, a delighted, breathless sound. Looks over Jack’s shoulder with a brazen -- and smouldering -- invitation in her brown eyes. (They always invited him to come play. Come enjoy. Come with them. Oh god, it was wonderful.)
Hands slide around his waist. It’s not a come-on, just the comfort of Casanova’s knowing touch. And bless him, the reassurance is just what the Doctor needs. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
Rose murmurs something low and naughty in Jack’s ear. “Oh God, yes,” Jack moans.
Another suggestion. He finds himself straining to catch the words. “If only he would,” says Jack.
A final murmur from Rose, even as her eyes promise the Doctor sex and love and pleasure and fun and all the things he loves best about her. Jack thrusts deep, shuddering audibly and happily at the thought of whatever she suggested.
Casanova’s voice is a warm purr in his ear. "I could see in his eyes exactly how much of a substitute I was for you." A warm kiss at his temple: a benediction. “To be loved by such beautiful creatures is a precious thing indeed.”
“Doctor,” says Rose over Jack’s shoulder. She’s flushed again, breathing faster and harder as Jack builds her to another orgasm. “Are you... oh god YES!... coming?” She screams, hands clawing at Jack’s back. He chuckles, pleased and sure of himself. Darts a glance over his own shoulder.
The Doctor approaches his... (Stop being a coward)… Fine, then. His husband. His Jack. Their Jack. He touches that too-hot skin with hands that feel chilled by comparison. Jack hums at the touch. Begins to move gently within Rose, who kisses him.
“Jack.” The name feels good in his mouth.
“Doctor.” Jack’s shoulders tense. His body tenses, defensive.
No doubt Jack’s expecting an apology. Bugger. He’s always been rubbish with apologies. Always easier to keep talking. To deny and distract and disappear before anyone could realize the truth. Now he’s tongue-tied, a rare (and irritating) event, but this seems to be one of those unfortunate instances when his wit has failed him. Part of the problem is Jack’s skin feels too good beneath his fingertips. He wants to memorize this man. Feel each muscle tense and release. Drink in every bit of him. Try to shake the murkiness off the last of these memories and make Jack his own again.
“Jack,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” Jack is so different. Not just older. The core of him has changed -- that fundamental energy he’s given up trying to explain to humans. (Not their fault that they can’t perceive it, poor beggars.) “I’m so sorry.” Thankfully, he sounds as sincere as he feels. The man he knew is gone. And unlike a Time Lord, the change is far more than just the façade of face and voice. This Jack is as dangerous as he is beautiful.
And he’s becoming entranced in spite of himself by this being who seems to be eternity, personified.
His words have softened Jack a little. He still moves with Rose, but he turns to the Doctor for a kiss. And there was a time when he would’ve kissed this lovely man without a second thought. Different now. The balance has shifted, with no way to anticipate how things will be different between them.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, but Jack tastes like the Vortex herself. Almost like kissing one of his own kind. Intoxicating. Exotic. He’s never known one like this, because there’s never been one like this. Lad doesn’t even know what he has. What he is. What he might yet become. (I should’ve been there… I couldn’t. I couldn’t have stood to lose all three of us.)
Jack kisses him. Deeply. More deeply. Tastes him in ways that terrify and entice. And he can feel the moment when Jack relaxes. Believes him that there will soon be no more secrets between them. That he knows what Jack is in ways neither of them can verbalize, and -- though it frightens him deeply -- he will not turn away ever again.
Jack is smiling when they part. “Welcome back.” A slight tile of the head indicates Rose. “Do you see it in her too?”
“Oi!” Rose objects. “No boy-talk mid-shag, thank you.”
“I would never do that, honey,” Jack says. “I just meant that you’re gorgeous, but I think you’re just going to get better.”
“Well, all right then.” Rose grins.
And he knows exactly what Jack means. How he’s missed perceiving it during all these months -- though he suspects the sheer quantity and quality of truly superb sex have something to do with it -- is beyond him. She’s there. But she’s more than there. She came back Different, just as he came back Wrong. He’ll have to wait out this Regeneration to recover, most likely -- not unheard of, happens from time to time. But Rose? Where Jack is constant and unchanging, an exception to the rules of Time, she is… Well, she’s just bloody gorgeous, and he has a feeling that she’ll only get more interesting with time.
When he kisses Rose, she taste of endless possibilities.
His hands seem to have a mind of their own. They pull him up to kneeling again. They drink in Jack’s skin. The strength of his back. The ebb and flow of thrusts as Jack moves. They slip around in tandem to pluck and twist at Jack’s nipples. They savour the fine hardness of the little nubs between fingers and thumbs. Their delicious heat.
His two humans, together, entice all his senses to indulge. The smell of their pleasure, Jack’s and Rose’s and even traces of Casanova himself. The Doctor takes a slow taste of Jack’s salt-musk-sweat, tracing patterns up his gently-working back with his tongue. Darting here. Lapping there.
The gentle hand at his hip should startle him, but Casanova’s a now-familiar and soothing presence behind him. “Signore?” the man asks softly. That’d be a request for some kind of permission, then.
The Doctor pauses long enough to nod, then returns to slow licks across Jack’s shoulders. He has Jack’s thighs trapped between his Straddling him. Loving the (intentional) bump of Jack’s delicious arse against his hips every time Jack pulls back. The slightly-chilling absence of him as Jack presses forward into their beautiful Rose. He can’t get enough of the texture of Jack’s skin. And his ministrations to Jack’s shoulders offer him the chance to return Rose’s bedroom-eyed look. She glances briefly at Jack, then at Casanova, and grins in a way that always means trouble. “Now.”
Casanova’s arms encircle him. Pull him up to kneeling. Jack slides off Rose and out of his reach. Rose surges up. Ends up on hands and knees before him. Seizes him by the cock. Swallows him to the root. Hotheatwet. A sharp spike of pleasure. Casanova’s got his nipples, mouth hot at his neck. He arches his back with a cry, loving the feel of Rose’s very talented mouth on him. And the delicious pungency of her pleasure has him salivating at the thought...
Jack stands beside him, cock wet and slick from Rose -- who, incidentally, has begun to suck him with the kind of determination she usually saves for when she intends him to come in her mouth. He looks up at Jack. Smiles in unexpected anticipation. Opens his mouth. Jack slides in, overwhelming his senses with the taste of Rose. Of Jack. Of Casanova. Rose came hard, from the flavour of the pheromones in her slickness. The thought sends a jolt of lust through him -- nothing quite so happy-making as the thought of a well-fucked Rose. He draws Jack as deeply as he can, one hand on Jack’s cock, the other gently on Rose’s head.
Fingers in his folds, though whose, he can’t quite say for sure. Stroking. Touching. Knowing him intimately in the most literal sense of the words. That has to be Rose. He moans around Jack’s cock. Casanova’s mouth is a gorgeous tease at his own shoulder, licking and nibbling and savouring. He’s being stroked. Sucked. Fed the sweet taste of Rose on Jack’s cock. His -- yes, dammit -- husband thrusts forward, testing. The Doctor hums encouragement. Jack rocks into his mouth. That the man’s lasted so long is only proof positive that Jack’s not really human anymore. The Doctor relaxes. Savours the friction of Jack’s cock. Teases with his tongue. And just when he thinks it can’t possibly get any better than this, Jack pulls out.
He misses the hardness the moment it’s gone. Rose draws him fiercely, a dizzying burst of pleasure. He bends forward a little. She reaches between his legs. Guides Casanova’s cock up and into his folds. Both he and Casanova gasp in startled surprise.
“What… is this?” Casanova murmurs.
“I’m different,” he manages, hoping the Venetian won’t ask too many questions. (Dear god, he’s actually going to let Casanova shag him.)
Casanova slides. The flange of his cock rubs flesh already engorged and aroused by their earlier play. “Pardon, but I thought you were a man.”
“I am,” he says. “Only different.”
“And maybe better.” Casanova chuckles. Angles up so the folds envelop him. “Cool and beautiful,” he says. “Can we warm you with our pleasure?”
“Should do.” They’re going to make him come in earnest. If the lot of them keep this up, he’s going to orgasm fully, which -- being a somewhat quantum event -- will be very difficult to explain. Fortunately, he’s very very clever, and is swiftly reaching the point where he doesn’t care about having to explain.
He’ll think of something. Later.
“Does it please you?” Casanova asks, breathless. “Signore?”
“Yes.” Rose goes back to suckling on his cock as Casanova begins a slow rhythm, his breaths turning to moans of pleasure. Sliding. Hot hardness in a place humans usually don’t quite reach. (Though Jack’s fucked him like this before.) The folds welcome Casanova, more consciously controlled than human labia. More sensitive too. He can perceive both of his lovers now. Almost taste.
Rose rocks against him hard. Jack’s kneeling behind her, at the top of a deep thrust. Jack’s eyes catch his as he fucks Rose and the Doctor hungers for another taste of him, wet with the woman they both love.
“So beautiful,” Casanova sighs. “So strange, Doctor. More perfect even than your wife.”
Definitely going to come. Here’s hoping his eloquence doesn’t desert him. Jack fucks Rose fiercely, building her fast and hard until she has to pull off the Doctor’s cock long enough to scream and curse and come. Smiling, Jack withdraws again. Stands. Presents the Doctor with a cock glistening with a fresh coat of Rose’s wetness.
It’s frankly the hottest thing Jack’s ever done for him. When Jack presents his cock again, the Doctor drinks him down like a man dying of thirst. Sucks hard and fast and deep. Relishes it all the more as Casanova moves behind and within him. The Doctor fucks into Rose’s mouth as she draws him in again. Everything. Everything. He wants all of them. Any one of them by him- or herself would’ve been lovely. This? Perfection. It seems to go on forever, and yet this will be finished all too soon.
Again he sucks Jack clean. Jack pulls out of his mouth once more, breathless and flushed and clearly on the ragged edge of orgasm. Jack kneels behind Rose again. She tilts her hips up to receive him. Jack slides in, rough and wild. She moves with Jack, meeting him at the top of each thrust. Spreads her knees wide. Jack grasps her hips with desperate hands. “Not yet, honey. Not yet. I need for you to-- ”
Rose shudders hard. Jack exhales deeply, smiling. And behind the Doctor, Casanova’s a steady heat. Fingers twist and pluck at his nipples. The sweet prick of teeth at his shoulder, nipping and marking him. And Casanova’s cock is perfect. Just the right rhythm. As Jack pulls out of Rose again, they’re all breathing harder.
Eyes hard and determined, Jack presents his cock once more.
The Doctor licks the tip of it, deliberately insolent.
Jack grabs him by the hair. Thrusts hard into his mouth, as merciless as he was with Rose. Fucks hard and deep, determined and wanting and possessive. And the Doctor loves every minute of it. He surrenders to his husband. Lets himself be used.
Casanova twists his nipples hard. Nips at his earlobe. Fucks harder and faster. Builds himself quickly. Comes with a sweet shudder and a burst of liquid heat. Human. So very human. Heat and sweat and life. The man’s arms encircle him, his hips tight to the Doctor’s arse, spent cock still throbbing against him.
Random bits of quantum energy begin to zip through the air. He’s losing it. Won’t be able to control his boundaries much longer. Rose hums in the way that means she knows he’s getting closer to orgasm. She can taste it. Taste him. And if he lets himself, he can feel her, fresh from pleasure. Still hungry. The thing she might be and the thing he is call to each other. It’s more than male or female. More than lovers or husband-and-wife. She’s become more like him. Something he’s never seen. His skin heats. He’s the last of his own kind, but maybe he’s no longer alone.
Both of Jack’s hands are buried in his hair. They tighten, holding him firmly. And beyond this illusion of flesh and pleasure, there’s a power to which he must submit. Eternity. All of time, or so much of it that he can’t see its end. He opens to it -- mouth, mind, heart, soul. He lets Jack take back what’s his. Jack thrusts deeply. Comes fiercely, a burst of hot metallic salt on his tongue. Time itself, a liquid immortality that burns its way down his abused throat. He swallows. Again. Again. Licks and sucks until Jack pulls back, spent. Beautiful. So very gorgeous.
Sex alone wouldn’t wake this in him. He’s come with them before, when they were still human. He came out of love, out of need and desire and they joy of just being with people who loved him. He consoled himself with the thought that it was better to be with two humans who loved him than to be alone with the memories of everything they lost. True, they would never be able to fully touch what he was, but he’d half forgotten what he was anyway. Now, they are so much changed. The burning energy builds inside him, awakened by Jack’s pleasure. Quantum energy. Quantum flux. The thing that gives lie to this bipedal shape. The thing that allows him to cheat death again and again. He’s close. So very close. He pushes Rose off his cock. Pulls her up. She knows his mind as only a lover can. But her brown eyes aren’t brown anymore. Gold. Traces of Vortex energy around the edges. Months ago, he kissed it out of her. Apparently, some of it remains. If he works -- if THEY work, he and his husband both -- they may yet coax it out of dormancy. Evolve her, so many aeons ahead of schedule.
He wraps both arms around her. She clings to him. Grinds down onto him. Casanova releases him. He falls with her (his wife). Falls into her. Is grateful when the mattress catches them both. He holds back nothing. Blends mind and soul and vital energy. Is startled to find there is nothing to fear -- she will be able to sense this fully without risking her health or her sanity. And she is a thing of beauty. He fucks her until she’s screaming his name. Screaming for him. Her body tightens in the throes of continuous orgasm. (Close, my love. So close. What are you? I must know.) And he surrenders to the power between them. Loses all control. Comes in an explosion of golden light.
*****************
Giacomo rolls, bathed in a bliss heretofore unimagined. Pleasure infuses every pore. His body arches into it. Revels in it.
As he recovers his senses, he’s uncertain if he’s going mad, or if there actually are small particles like golden fireflies sparking and zipping madly through the air.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” says the Capitano.
He reaches out, somewhat less graceful than he might’ve hoped. “As are you.”
Jack, now languid and equally uncoordinated, pulls him into his arms. Kisses him, slowly and beautifully. He relaxes into Jack’s embrace. Enjoys the touch and feel of his lover.
“You’re not sated?” Giacomo asks, surprised -- a little -- that Jack seems not exhausted but invigorated by his exertions. The man’s stamina is inhuman. He stretches up for another kiss.
“Mostly.” Jack has the most addictive mouth. As lovely as the Doctor was and as enthusiastic as their Bella Rosa has been, he must admit that this is the one he’s been longing for. “And you?”
“I may not be good for much,” he admits. For though Jack’s cock is lovely and warm against his hip, he’s not quite ready to submit to the role of catamite, even for this beautiful, passionate man. Perhaps another round of the delights Jack had introduced him to before the Doctor and the bella signora arrived? (And in another moment, once he’s recovered his breath.)
Strange to have known just in the last few hours the pleasure of two beautiful women (though Antonia seems ages ago) and one very unusual man, and yet it’s Jack he craves. His Capitano. The man who asked him if he fell in love with all his conquests, and if there was room in his heart for one more.
There is, and he finds that regardless of outcome, he will remember this fondly until his dying day. The Doctor is exotic. Rose is as exquisite as she is insatiable. But the Capitano?
How can he trust someone so quickly and with such ease? He’s become so accustomed to playing a role. Acting the part. Entertaining. It’s a rare gift to simply be able to give and receive pleasure with no thought of what’s to come.
And not since he still believed the gorgeous Bellino to be a man has he so enjoyed shamelessly necking with one of his own sex.
Jack smiles around their kiss, answering a question he’d half-forgotten he’d asked. “You’re worth the wait.”
As the Doctor and Rose drowse in each other’s arms, sweat-drenched and smiling, Jack caresses him. Kisses him. Patiently arouses him as only the most generous lover can. (They cannot be human, to tempt him yet again. Though if these be demons, he will gladly surrender to whatever infernal pleasures they may devise, as today is clearly not a day for saintly concerns or comportment.)
And even after reuniting with his husband and his wife, Jack still has a place in his heart for him. It’s a beautiful thought, one that Giacomo finds it more and more convincing with every touch of Jack’s hands and mouth. Here is a man after his own heart; a man who may love again and again without diminishing the depth of his emotion or the joy with which he treasures the memory of what has passed.
Fellow libertines of their stamp are rare indeed. He was so right to trust his Capitano, though for one brief bittersweet moment, he misses his own Bellino.
His Capitano kisses his way down Giacomo’s chest. Lingers at his hip, all teasing lips and the faint slide of teeth. The slight prick sends shivers of sensation through his skin. Tingles his scalp. Speeds his breathing. And, beyond expectation, his well-exercised cock begins to fill.
Jack licks. Teases. Sucks him hard with priceless skill. Makes the most deliciously pornographic noises in his enthusiasm. Encourages Giacomo to fuck up and further into his mouth.
Rose lies in the Doctor’s arms, watching them with hooded eyes. The Doctor watches too, his brown eyes warm. Rose’s hand encircles the Doctor’s lovely cock. Strokes languidly in time to the bobbing of Jack’s mouth. Giacomo shivers at the unexpected pleasure of being able to please the Capitano in full view of his husband and their wife.
It’s hardly the first time he’s “performed” for an audience -- that old gentleman did like to watch his young wife be thoroughly fucked -- but this time he’s truly enjoying the exhibition, for there is no “exhibit” here. He is no actor on this most intimate of stages, but a partner, welcomed for the joy and pleasure of them all.
Rose licks her lips, slowly. Surely there can be no doubt how this young woman came to deserve the passion of two such remarkable lovers. He smiles at her silent signal, taking it as his cue to do his worst. Though his coordination leaves a bit to be desires, he manages to pull Jack gently but firmly off of him. Presses him back. Pins him to the bed. Kisses him hard. Draws back just enough to coax Jack over and onto his stomach.
The Doctor reaches over his own head and pulls out a pair of pillows. The Capitano takes them. Leans over them to present his lovely and well-muscled arse to Giacomo’s admiring gaze. (Really, must EVERY portion of this man’s physique be as perfect as one of Michaelangelo’s marble gods?)
Jack parts his knees, ever so slightly. And even without touching him, Giacomo can sense the anticipation there. Again, he marvels that his future reputation should make three such as these determined to know every pleasure with him.
And though it is not his usual preference, he finds himself loath to refuse so tempting an offer. His experiences with those of his own sex have -- quite necessarily -- been limited, but this afternoon has prominently featured the shattering of virtually every one of his personal taboos. Moreover, as a man of science and knowledge, how much the hypocrite might he be if he were to refuse the chance to experiment further?
Tentatively, he caresses up the Capitano’s flanks.
*****************
Jack is having the best day, if not of his life, than certainly in recent memory. Rose is his again. The Doctor is his again. Now it looks like he may be able to entice Casanova himself into being a rather decadent dessert.
Casanova’s touch is cautious. Still nervous then. Not surprising -- even if this is the libertine to end all libertines, a man can’t help being the product of his age. Sex of this kind is the ultimate taboo, which is part of what will make this fun for Jack and -- with any luck -- deeply erotic for his partner. Jack flexes up into Casanova’s hands. Startles the man a bit. He pulls back at first. Jack makes quietly-encouraging noises. Soon, the hands are back. Gripping. Squeezing. Asking for permission with a touch instead of the words Jack suspects his lover can’t quite manage.
“Yes,” Jack says in answer to the unspoken question. “Oh, yes please.”
Casanova’s hands wander up. Slowly up to his shoulders. He aches to feel this. He’s been fantasizing for months as it is, and his lovemaking with the Doctor and Rose has only sharpened this desire.
Mercifully, Casanova presses one knee between his thighs. Runs fingers gently over the curves of his hips. Dips daring but uncertain fingertips down the cleft. Casanova’s body is tense -- either he thinks Jack is going to reject him, or he’s simply working himself past cultural inhibitions. He waits, struggling to hold himself patiently while his soon-to-be-lover works up the courage to explore with curious fingertips where -- with a little encouragement -- that absolutely gorgeous cock will soon go.
“You won’t hurt him,” says the Doctor with rare empathy. “Jack wants you.”
“And ‘s’not like he’s never had anything up there before,” Rose adds, somewhat less tactfully.
“Just go slowly to begin with,” the Doctor advises, with a slight ‘thud’ sound that probably means he’s elbowed Rose.
Rose chuckles. “Not so easy as that. C’mere a mo’, Giacomo.” And, just when Jack didn’t think his wife could get any hotter, she draws Casanova close. Dips fingers into her own wetness. Slathers Casanova’s cock with a glistening coating. Kisses him in benediction before returning to the Doctor’s arms.
He loves her more than he has words for in that moment, especially when she gives him a look that blatantly encourages him to coax Casanova into this delicious shag.
Casanova moves back between his legs, kneeling behind him. The lovely Venetian leans down to kiss Jack’s shoulders. Places shivery nibbles down the ridges of his vertebrae. Works his way down to Jack’s lower back. And he squirms happily, both at the pleasure of Casanova’s ministrations, and the thought of how close he is to being passionately buggered by his idol.
He can sense Casanova steeling himself. Have to remember how challenging this is for the man; Jack’s essentially asking him to commit several mortal sins all at once, though he has faith that they’ll both enjoy this to its full.
Oh, how lovely is that first tentative push? Concern. Casanova must think he’ll hurt him if he goes too quickly. Ordinarily, Jack would thank him for such consideration, but really, he’d just like to get to the part where they fuck madly.
“’S’all right,” he manages. “Don’t worry. You don’t know how much…” Hard to be much more eloquent while being breached with agonizingly wonderful slownesss by a gorgeous historical cock.
Mercifully, that seems to embolden Casanova, who presses forward. Works his way in. Not as talented as his husband, but Jack’s still moaning wholeheartedly by the time Casanova’s fully sheathed in him. He rocks back onto his lover’s cock, encouraging him. Reassuring him. (It’s okay. It’s really okay. I want to be fucked. I want you to fuck me.)
Casanova holds back at first. Jack has the sense of him looking at Rose. At the Doctor. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. (No, honey. There is no other shoe, only pleasure with us.) He presses back harder and harder. Loves the firm slap of Casanova’s hips against his arse. Delights in the moment when Casanova releases the first real exhale of pleasure. When the slender body behind him relaxes. Trusts him to take what Casanova so clearly wants to give. The man leans over him. Wraps eloquent hands around his shoulders. Pulls him back onto that lovely cock.
The only thing that makes it better is watching Rose stroke the Doctor in time to every thrust of Casanova’s hips. And the Doctor’s pale cheeks flush slowly with arousal. Rose’s eyes darken with desire. With encouragement. With a slow building of lust at the sight of her husband being expertly fucked.
Lucky for Jack, Casanova’s a fast learner.
The hands tighten at his shoulders. The Doctor kisses Rose. Encourages her to slide toward Jack. She lays herself out before him, a sumptuous addition to the bliss of Casanova’s cock.
He looks back over his shoulder. Casanova’s flushed and wanting. Eyes closed. Face cleansed of anything but a kind of ecstatic concentration, as if he’s determined to memorize every moment of this. (There’s a flattering thought.) “Giacomo,” Jack says softly.
Casanova’s eyes open. Gaze down at him, a deep blue made deeper by pleasure.
“May I taste you on her?”
Casanova shudders deeply at the thought, his eyes rolling in pleasure. “Only if I can watch.”
“Of course.” He cups Rose’s perfect arse. Pulls her forward. Buries his face in a wet heat that reeks deliciously of the Doctor and Casanova and her own wonderful flavour. He dines on her, rocked into her with every one of Casanova’s thrusts.
Hard hands press his shoulders down. Force his mouth deeper onto Rose. He tongues her, licking as deeply as he can. With a sharp cry, she pushes up against his mouth. Gushes hot wetness onto his tongue. Begs him not to stop.
*****************
Giacomo builds again toward bliss, burying himself again and again in the incredible sensation of Jack, who tightens around him with every stroke. If this is what eternal damnation feels like, he’s never been more content with his fate. He takes his pleasure, freed by his generous lover of any concern but the mutual desire to attain ecstatic release. As with the Doctor, Jack is stronger than most of Giacomo’s partners. Not only can he take the hardest thrust, he seems to revel in being dominated. Giacomo loses himself more and more with every moment that passes. Blesses this man, who has pulled him so deftly and completely into his life. Hard shoulders beneath his hands. Bella Rosa’s cries mixing with the muffled pleasure of her husband. Dizzying heat around his cock. The appreciative eyes of the Doctor, whose exquisite hands lightly stroke his own cock.
All want him. All can feel him. All share him. And the Doctor smiles at him as Giacomo speeds his thrusts, feeling his pleasure build (should be impossible, yet here it is) again. So close. So close. He surrenders to desire. To his Capitano. He comes deeply. Completely.
Jack presses back to enjoy every shudder. Brings the Bella Rosa to one more back-arching orgasm. Wrings every last drop from them both.
He eases Jack and himself to the bed. Remains curled against his lover even as the Doctor moves closer. A smiling and blissful Rose faces Jack, the Doctor curled against her from behind.
For many long, loving minutes, there is only the sound of four sated people breathing. Hands wander, affectionate and curious. He himself shivers pleasantly from the attainment of his own bliss.
But his mind begins to work even as his body relaxes. A tale such as this (mad though it might seem) is well worth the remembering. As soon as he believes himself capable of standing, Casanova presses a kiss of apology to the Capitano’s temple. He brushes curled fingers along the signora’s exquisite bosom, then clasps the Doctor’s hand briefly. He slides out of bed, sodden and dishevelled and thoroughly satisfied with the events of the afternoon. He does stop for a brief freshening at the nightstand, rinsing away the more tangible evidence of such delicious transgressions.
Thoughts and musings come to him. Words gather, jockeying for his attention as he recalls moment by marvellous moment how he came to be here. Surely there will be no rest for him until he puts this latest adventure to paper.
Fortunately, the credenza by the wall is furnished with paper, ink, and a freshly-sharpened quill.
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Crossposted to:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
time_and_chips, better_with_3, betterwiththree
Author: the determined-to-find-better-and-brighter
loveslashangstBeta: the freshly-birthdayed
ophymirageCharacters: 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...
We’re back. It’s been too long since I left this foursome in coitus interruptus. Hadn’t planned on taking such a long sabbatical from this, but Things Happen. And after a polite poke from
werefox61, I went back with O, re-read this, and really really loved it. It does need to be finished, and I need to figure out what to do with this OT3.To complicate matters further, Eleven is a delightful chap. As I predicted, he’s a perfect balance of Nine’s intensity-with-a-side-of-lunacy and Ten’s loquacious-constant-motion-enthusiasm. And as if that weren’t enough to distract me from the OT3!ZOMG! that is Faithful, the bastard went and got himself a barely-legal ginger [O sez: SMART] Scot for a companion, so the temptation to jump into THAT world is really strong too.
*resists* Must... finish... half-done... projects. [O sez: Don’t believe her for a minute, she’s already talking Eleven/TARDIS/Amy.]
So here it is. So much fun that IRL the Husband came up with a new word: four-gy.
GRIN!
On with the show...
Love, in this summer night, do you recall
Midnight, and Venice, and those skies of June
Thick-sown with stars, when from the still lagoon
We glided noiseless through the dim canal?
A sense of some belated festival
Hung round us, and our own hearts beat in tune
With passionate memories that the young moon
Lit up on dome and tower and palace wall.
We dreamed what ghosts of vanished loves made part
Of that sweet light and trembling, amorous air.
I felt in those rich beams that kissed your hair,
Those breezes, warm with bygone lovers' sighs-
All the dead beauty of Venice in your eyes,
All the old loves of Venice in my heart.”
--“Night in Venice”, John Hay
“Thank you,” the Doctor murmurs.
A weak chuckle is all Casanova can manage as he tries to recover his senses.
******************
Jack is a pleasant warmth at Rose’s side, comfortable contact that stretches from toes to shoulders. She can’t hardly move – her muscles’re too lax from that really fantastic shag. And it feels too good just to be lazy. To just enjoy the moment. To breathe and slowly come down. Jack’s hands caress her slowly. His long body presses against hers. His mouth finds hers. And that textured tongue promises more and more with every kiss.
Jack pulls back gently. Strokes her cheek, looking at her like he’s trying to memorize everything about her. There’s a desperation in his eyes, like he can’t quite believe she’s real and solid next to him. Like she might disappear. (Again.)
Like he’s found something precious he thought he’d lost.
“It’s okay,” her voice slurs a bit. Not surprising. (She’s always felt more than a little drunk when Jack’s around.)
He smiles. “It is now.” And he kisses her with such confidence. She’s his. She wanted to be his. And she still only has a little sense of the memories she’s lost -- that and the nagging feeling that the Doctor’s not the only one who came back Wrong from the Regeneration.
“Jack?” Bugger, she never has the right words for what she means to ask.
He takes her hand, which had been lying across her belly, and holds it up so she can see the band of gold on her third finger. (Wedding?) He turns his own hand so she can see the matching band. (Wedding.) “You tell me.”
“And the Doctor?” She jerks her chin in his direction. He’s talking to Casanova (her body shivers with remembered pleasure), but she can tell by the subtle raise of his head and that half-smile that he knows she’s watching him.
“The same.” Jack is watching the Doctor too. His eyes narrow, like he hasn’t quite made up his mind yet whether the thought of being man-and-whatever with the Doctor is a good thing or not. “All three of us said our vows together.” He looks down at her, cautious. “Don’t you remember?”
(Shareen’s bridesmaid’s dress was ruined.) It’s there. It’s almost there. “I want to.” It hurts. It really hurts, like peeling the plaster off a half-healed wound. “Jack, I’m so sorry.”
Jack kisses her, very gently. “It’s okay.” He glances back at the Doctor and his face clouds. “What happened to his ring?”
“Dunno,” she says. “I’m only starting to get it sorted in me own head. Maybe he’s not the only one who came back...” Wrong? Different? Confused? In this moment, she feels all of the above.
“Came back?” Jack’s eyes focus and deepen the way they do when he’s puzzling something out. “Came back from what?”
“From… dunno. Death, I suppose.” (The light ran through her. Was everywhere at once. Feeling it. Breathing it. Reaching out with the strength of the universe to wake...) “He’s changed.” She fumbles for words. “He’s... We’re...”
“Different.” Jack nods. “Me too. I can be killed, but I don’t stay dead. I come back, like he does. Only,” he grins, “I get to keep the face.”
“Good thing too.” She kisses him. Rolls them so she’s half on top of him, pressing him down onto the brocade coverlet. Jack wraps his arms around her and her body REMEMBERS. The smooth slide of his skin against hers. The heated musk of him. Her husband. (Their husband.) “I like this face.”
“And you?” Jack’s kisses are a familiar burning, and now Casanova -- lovely though he is -- feels more like an appetiser. “How are you different?”
“I didn’t remember you,” she says. “Just flashes. It’s all still little pieces. And I don’t know... I just am.”
“Looking forward to finding out.” He slides a lovely hard hand down to cup her arse.
She hums into his mouth, licking into him. (Love the taste of Jack’s coffee-and-spice mouth.) His hand slips lower. She parts her legs a little, pressing more fiercely against him. He rolls her gently onto her back. Ohyesplease. She invites his fingers. (He always knew just where and how to touch.) Presses up into his hand. Fingers moving. Slipping inside her. Slick. So slick.
The heat in his eyes is only made hotter by his (usual) naughty sparkle. “Rose?”
She kisses him hard. “I’m all for homecomings.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve missed you.” She nudges his hips between hers with one knee. “A lot. And I don’t want to ever forget again.”
Jack’s first slide in is fierce. Deep. It arches her back under the heat and strength of him. Her Jack. Hers. He’s always belonged here, from the first moment they danced on the roof of his ship. The world falls away, and though some bits of her memories are missing, the most important thing floods back. Friend. Companion. Lover. Husband. Jack.
“Oh, honey,” says Jack. Warm drops on her face. “I’ve missed you too.”
*****************
The Doctor can’t bear to watch them, and yet can’t seem to stop watching them. His Companions. Jack and Rose. They move as one. They fit so perfectly. And he’s not so old and broken that he doesn’t know real love when he sees it.
“So go join them.”
He jumps at Casanova’s voice. Then, when his brain finishes processing the words, it hurts to think about. He shakes his head no.
“You love them,” says Casanova.
This human isn’t going to leave him alone. Irritating. “I was a different man. And before you say anything, I don’t mean I was younger or more foolish--”
“Though you were.”
“--I mean I really WAS a different man. Different face and voice and body and--”
Casanova sets a stilling hand on his shoulder. He looks into the blue eyes, so like his own. Casanova smiles faintly.
“It won’t work,” the Doctor insists. Jack is so different. The carefree lad who conned the second of his hearts away is gone, probably forever. This new man is a wild card, and if his senses serve him (which they always do) he’s getting wilder by the second. “He won’t…”
Casanova keeps smiling that damned Mona Lisa smile. No, not Mona Lisa. Mona Lisa kept all her secrets (including the identity of the actual model). This one tells everything by saying nothing. Annoying, because he knows damn well this Venetian is insisting that he get his arse over there and join in. And he would...
But Jack might say no. Will say no. Maybe even should say no. Even though it’s not his fault and he did what he had to and saving Rose was more important and he had a whole universe to save and... no. He rises to his feet from the easy crouch. Can’t really blame Jack for being thoroughly pissed off this time.
Casanova takes his hand. Such a simple gesture. And instead of cluttering the moment with unnecessary words, the man just looks at him with silent understanding, Casanova’s thumb gently rubbing the back of his hand. Gingerbread houses or no, he and this Casanova share more than face or voice or any superficial trimmings.
No wonder Jack stalked them both.
He could argue with Casanova. Pretend that his hearts don’t speed just looking at Jack. Insist that his body isn’t interested, that his heart is his own -- but there is no point, is there? Even this new body -- which he subconsciously shaped down to the Londoner accent just to please Rose -- remembers quite ecstatically what their Jack is capable of. What loving Jack is like. Denying that Jack holds one of his hearts, whether to himself or his gingerbread twin, would be almost as stupid as trying to pretend he doesn’t love Rose with his entire other heart.
And yet… and yet… Madly though he loves Rose, that madness fears Jack. If he’s honest, it’s because any fool can see Jack’s not exactly human anymore, in spite of appearances. Jack is stronger, even as he’s more broken. That means he’s more valuable for his ability to survive, but still frightening in his ability to track his -- husband, dammit -- across time and space. Jack is Different, burning his senses like a quantum scar on the Vortex herself, and the Doctor would be ten kinds of fool all at once to even consider anything other than running very very quickly away. But never, in all his nine hundred years, has he chosen the right time to run, and though the senses he’d be hard pressed to explain to the humans tell him to Run! Run! Run! he just wants to Stay! Stay! Stay!
So of course Jack chooses that moment to look back over his shoulder and smile in a way the Doctor’s body REMEMBERS, from crown to heel. Even this new body, which shouldn’t remember him at all. And he’s reminded again that the memories, which seem as much dream as reality, must indeed be the truth.
There was a time he loved Jack as completely as he’s ever loved anyone. And Jack loved him. And both of them adored Rose.
Casanova nods. “So why would you want to resist such beauty?”
Rose has her legs locked around Jack’s waist, her heels tucked beneath that perfect arse. She rocks with him. Moves with him. Jack turns his full attention back to her, open and honest and so lovely it quite takes his breath away. Somehow he lost this, when he gave his life for the young woman he (they) loved. Jack and Rose kiss each other with painful sweetness. Two lovers. More than lovers.
“I kept her from this.” The words are bitter in his mouth. “From him.”
Rose cries out. Calls Jack’s name. Arches against him. Her face is exquisite in pleasure. Her body flushes. He can almost taste the heat and salt and sweetness of her orgasm from here.
“And now you’ve restored it,” says Casanova. A low chuckle. “Your wife is beautiful when she comes.”
“She’s not my...” But she is. (Where is the ring?) He remembers. “Or maybe...”
Casanova stands. Places both hands on his shoulders. The Doctor wavers. Wants. His whole body keens for Jack and Rose. For That. It’s not that he hasn’t been married before -- yes, it was usually brief and disastrous, but even brief and disastrous counts -- it’s that it’s been far too long since he had even a taste of That. That love. That acceptance. That luxury which is being able to fall into one’s lovers’ arms and be completely at ease.
Jack is murmuring something to Rose. He only catches every other word, but she laughs, a delighted, breathless sound. Looks over Jack’s shoulder with a brazen -- and smouldering -- invitation in her brown eyes. (They always invited him to come play. Come enjoy. Come with them. Oh god, it was wonderful.)
Hands slide around his waist. It’s not a come-on, just the comfort of Casanova’s knowing touch. And bless him, the reassurance is just what the Doctor needs. He takes a deep, steadying breath.
Rose murmurs something low and naughty in Jack’s ear. “Oh God, yes,” Jack moans.
Another suggestion. He finds himself straining to catch the words. “If only he would,” says Jack.
A final murmur from Rose, even as her eyes promise the Doctor sex and love and pleasure and fun and all the things he loves best about her. Jack thrusts deep, shuddering audibly and happily at the thought of whatever she suggested.
Casanova’s voice is a warm purr in his ear. "I could see in his eyes exactly how much of a substitute I was for you." A warm kiss at his temple: a benediction. “To be loved by such beautiful creatures is a precious thing indeed.”
“Doctor,” says Rose over Jack’s shoulder. She’s flushed again, breathing faster and harder as Jack builds her to another orgasm. “Are you... oh god YES!... coming?” She screams, hands clawing at Jack’s back. He chuckles, pleased and sure of himself. Darts a glance over his own shoulder.
The Doctor approaches his... (Stop being a coward)… Fine, then. His husband. His Jack. Their Jack. He touches that too-hot skin with hands that feel chilled by comparison. Jack hums at the touch. Begins to move gently within Rose, who kisses him.
“Jack.” The name feels good in his mouth.
“Doctor.” Jack’s shoulders tense. His body tenses, defensive.
No doubt Jack’s expecting an apology. Bugger. He’s always been rubbish with apologies. Always easier to keep talking. To deny and distract and disappear before anyone could realize the truth. Now he’s tongue-tied, a rare (and irritating) event, but this seems to be one of those unfortunate instances when his wit has failed him. Part of the problem is Jack’s skin feels too good beneath his fingertips. He wants to memorize this man. Feel each muscle tense and release. Drink in every bit of him. Try to shake the murkiness off the last of these memories and make Jack his own again.
“Jack,” he says softly. “I’m sorry.” Jack is so different. Not just older. The core of him has changed -- that fundamental energy he’s given up trying to explain to humans. (Not their fault that they can’t perceive it, poor beggars.) “I’m so sorry.” Thankfully, he sounds as sincere as he feels. The man he knew is gone. And unlike a Time Lord, the change is far more than just the façade of face and voice. This Jack is as dangerous as he is beautiful.
And he’s becoming entranced in spite of himself by this being who seems to be eternity, personified.
His words have softened Jack a little. He still moves with Rose, but he turns to the Doctor for a kiss. And there was a time when he would’ve kissed this lovely man without a second thought. Different now. The balance has shifted, with no way to anticipate how things will be different between them.
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh, but Jack tastes like the Vortex herself. Almost like kissing one of his own kind. Intoxicating. Exotic. He’s never known one like this, because there’s never been one like this. Lad doesn’t even know what he has. What he is. What he might yet become. (I should’ve been there… I couldn’t. I couldn’t have stood to lose all three of us.)
Jack kisses him. Deeply. More deeply. Tastes him in ways that terrify and entice. And he can feel the moment when Jack relaxes. Believes him that there will soon be no more secrets between them. That he knows what Jack is in ways neither of them can verbalize, and -- though it frightens him deeply -- he will not turn away ever again.
Jack is smiling when they part. “Welcome back.” A slight tile of the head indicates Rose. “Do you see it in her too?”
“Oi!” Rose objects. “No boy-talk mid-shag, thank you.”
“I would never do that, honey,” Jack says. “I just meant that you’re gorgeous, but I think you’re just going to get better.”
“Well, all right then.” Rose grins.
And he knows exactly what Jack means. How he’s missed perceiving it during all these months -- though he suspects the sheer quantity and quality of truly superb sex have something to do with it -- is beyond him. She’s there. But she’s more than there. She came back Different, just as he came back Wrong. He’ll have to wait out this Regeneration to recover, most likely -- not unheard of, happens from time to time. But Rose? Where Jack is constant and unchanging, an exception to the rules of Time, she is… Well, she’s just bloody gorgeous, and he has a feeling that she’ll only get more interesting with time.
When he kisses Rose, she taste of endless possibilities.
His hands seem to have a mind of their own. They pull him up to kneeling again. They drink in Jack’s skin. The strength of his back. The ebb and flow of thrusts as Jack moves. They slip around in tandem to pluck and twist at Jack’s nipples. They savour the fine hardness of the little nubs between fingers and thumbs. Their delicious heat.
His two humans, together, entice all his senses to indulge. The smell of their pleasure, Jack’s and Rose’s and even traces of Casanova himself. The Doctor takes a slow taste of Jack’s salt-musk-sweat, tracing patterns up his gently-working back with his tongue. Darting here. Lapping there.
The gentle hand at his hip should startle him, but Casanova’s a now-familiar and soothing presence behind him. “Signore?” the man asks softly. That’d be a request for some kind of permission, then.
The Doctor pauses long enough to nod, then returns to slow licks across Jack’s shoulders. He has Jack’s thighs trapped between his Straddling him. Loving the (intentional) bump of Jack’s delicious arse against his hips every time Jack pulls back. The slightly-chilling absence of him as Jack presses forward into their beautiful Rose. He can’t get enough of the texture of Jack’s skin. And his ministrations to Jack’s shoulders offer him the chance to return Rose’s bedroom-eyed look. She glances briefly at Jack, then at Casanova, and grins in a way that always means trouble. “Now.”
Casanova’s arms encircle him. Pull him up to kneeling. Jack slides off Rose and out of his reach. Rose surges up. Ends up on hands and knees before him. Seizes him by the cock. Swallows him to the root. Hotheatwet. A sharp spike of pleasure. Casanova’s got his nipples, mouth hot at his neck. He arches his back with a cry, loving the feel of Rose’s very talented mouth on him. And the delicious pungency of her pleasure has him salivating at the thought...
Jack stands beside him, cock wet and slick from Rose -- who, incidentally, has begun to suck him with the kind of determination she usually saves for when she intends him to come in her mouth. He looks up at Jack. Smiles in unexpected anticipation. Opens his mouth. Jack slides in, overwhelming his senses with the taste of Rose. Of Jack. Of Casanova. Rose came hard, from the flavour of the pheromones in her slickness. The thought sends a jolt of lust through him -- nothing quite so happy-making as the thought of a well-fucked Rose. He draws Jack as deeply as he can, one hand on Jack’s cock, the other gently on Rose’s head.
Fingers in his folds, though whose, he can’t quite say for sure. Stroking. Touching. Knowing him intimately in the most literal sense of the words. That has to be Rose. He moans around Jack’s cock. Casanova’s mouth is a gorgeous tease at his own shoulder, licking and nibbling and savouring. He’s being stroked. Sucked. Fed the sweet taste of Rose on Jack’s cock. His -- yes, dammit -- husband thrusts forward, testing. The Doctor hums encouragement. Jack rocks into his mouth. That the man’s lasted so long is only proof positive that Jack’s not really human anymore. The Doctor relaxes. Savours the friction of Jack’s cock. Teases with his tongue. And just when he thinks it can’t possibly get any better than this, Jack pulls out.
He misses the hardness the moment it’s gone. Rose draws him fiercely, a dizzying burst of pleasure. He bends forward a little. She reaches between his legs. Guides Casanova’s cock up and into his folds. Both he and Casanova gasp in startled surprise.
“What… is this?” Casanova murmurs.
“I’m different,” he manages, hoping the Venetian won’t ask too many questions. (Dear god, he’s actually going to let Casanova shag him.)
Casanova slides. The flange of his cock rubs flesh already engorged and aroused by their earlier play. “Pardon, but I thought you were a man.”
“I am,” he says. “Only different.”
“And maybe better.” Casanova chuckles. Angles up so the folds envelop him. “Cool and beautiful,” he says. “Can we warm you with our pleasure?”
“Should do.” They’re going to make him come in earnest. If the lot of them keep this up, he’s going to orgasm fully, which -- being a somewhat quantum event -- will be very difficult to explain. Fortunately, he’s very very clever, and is swiftly reaching the point where he doesn’t care about having to explain.
He’ll think of something. Later.
“Does it please you?” Casanova asks, breathless. “Signore?”
“Yes.” Rose goes back to suckling on his cock as Casanova begins a slow rhythm, his breaths turning to moans of pleasure. Sliding. Hot hardness in a place humans usually don’t quite reach. (Though Jack’s fucked him like this before.) The folds welcome Casanova, more consciously controlled than human labia. More sensitive too. He can perceive both of his lovers now. Almost taste.
Rose rocks against him hard. Jack’s kneeling behind her, at the top of a deep thrust. Jack’s eyes catch his as he fucks Rose and the Doctor hungers for another taste of him, wet with the woman they both love.
“So beautiful,” Casanova sighs. “So strange, Doctor. More perfect even than your wife.”
Definitely going to come. Here’s hoping his eloquence doesn’t desert him. Jack fucks Rose fiercely, building her fast and hard until she has to pull off the Doctor’s cock long enough to scream and curse and come. Smiling, Jack withdraws again. Stands. Presents the Doctor with a cock glistening with a fresh coat of Rose’s wetness.
It’s frankly the hottest thing Jack’s ever done for him. When Jack presents his cock again, the Doctor drinks him down like a man dying of thirst. Sucks hard and fast and deep. Relishes it all the more as Casanova moves behind and within him. The Doctor fucks into Rose’s mouth as she draws him in again. Everything. Everything. He wants all of them. Any one of them by him- or herself would’ve been lovely. This? Perfection. It seems to go on forever, and yet this will be finished all too soon.
Again he sucks Jack clean. Jack pulls out of his mouth once more, breathless and flushed and clearly on the ragged edge of orgasm. Jack kneels behind Rose again. She tilts her hips up to receive him. Jack slides in, rough and wild. She moves with Jack, meeting him at the top of each thrust. Spreads her knees wide. Jack grasps her hips with desperate hands. “Not yet, honey. Not yet. I need for you to-- ”
Rose shudders hard. Jack exhales deeply, smiling. And behind the Doctor, Casanova’s a steady heat. Fingers twist and pluck at his nipples. The sweet prick of teeth at his shoulder, nipping and marking him. And Casanova’s cock is perfect. Just the right rhythm. As Jack pulls out of Rose again, they’re all breathing harder.
Eyes hard and determined, Jack presents his cock once more.
The Doctor licks the tip of it, deliberately insolent.
Jack grabs him by the hair. Thrusts hard into his mouth, as merciless as he was with Rose. Fucks hard and deep, determined and wanting and possessive. And the Doctor loves every minute of it. He surrenders to his husband. Lets himself be used.
Casanova twists his nipples hard. Nips at his earlobe. Fucks harder and faster. Builds himself quickly. Comes with a sweet shudder and a burst of liquid heat. Human. So very human. Heat and sweat and life. The man’s arms encircle him, his hips tight to the Doctor’s arse, spent cock still throbbing against him.
Random bits of quantum energy begin to zip through the air. He’s losing it. Won’t be able to control his boundaries much longer. Rose hums in the way that means she knows he’s getting closer to orgasm. She can taste it. Taste him. And if he lets himself, he can feel her, fresh from pleasure. Still hungry. The thing she might be and the thing he is call to each other. It’s more than male or female. More than lovers or husband-and-wife. She’s become more like him. Something he’s never seen. His skin heats. He’s the last of his own kind, but maybe he’s no longer alone.
Both of Jack’s hands are buried in his hair. They tighten, holding him firmly. And beyond this illusion of flesh and pleasure, there’s a power to which he must submit. Eternity. All of time, or so much of it that he can’t see its end. He opens to it -- mouth, mind, heart, soul. He lets Jack take back what’s his. Jack thrusts deeply. Comes fiercely, a burst of hot metallic salt on his tongue. Time itself, a liquid immortality that burns its way down his abused throat. He swallows. Again. Again. Licks and sucks until Jack pulls back, spent. Beautiful. So very gorgeous.
Sex alone wouldn’t wake this in him. He’s come with them before, when they were still human. He came out of love, out of need and desire and they joy of just being with people who loved him. He consoled himself with the thought that it was better to be with two humans who loved him than to be alone with the memories of everything they lost. True, they would never be able to fully touch what he was, but he’d half forgotten what he was anyway. Now, they are so much changed. The burning energy builds inside him, awakened by Jack’s pleasure. Quantum energy. Quantum flux. The thing that gives lie to this bipedal shape. The thing that allows him to cheat death again and again. He’s close. So very close. He pushes Rose off his cock. Pulls her up. She knows his mind as only a lover can. But her brown eyes aren’t brown anymore. Gold. Traces of Vortex energy around the edges. Months ago, he kissed it out of her. Apparently, some of it remains. If he works -- if THEY work, he and his husband both -- they may yet coax it out of dormancy. Evolve her, so many aeons ahead of schedule.
He wraps both arms around her. She clings to him. Grinds down onto him. Casanova releases him. He falls with her (his wife). Falls into her. Is grateful when the mattress catches them both. He holds back nothing. Blends mind and soul and vital energy. Is startled to find there is nothing to fear -- she will be able to sense this fully without risking her health or her sanity. And she is a thing of beauty. He fucks her until she’s screaming his name. Screaming for him. Her body tightens in the throes of continuous orgasm. (Close, my love. So close. What are you? I must know.) And he surrenders to the power between them. Loses all control. Comes in an explosion of golden light.
*****************
Giacomo rolls, bathed in a bliss heretofore unimagined. Pleasure infuses every pore. His body arches into it. Revels in it.
As he recovers his senses, he’s uncertain if he’s going mad, or if there actually are small particles like golden fireflies sparking and zipping madly through the air.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” says the Capitano.
He reaches out, somewhat less graceful than he might’ve hoped. “As are you.”
Jack, now languid and equally uncoordinated, pulls him into his arms. Kisses him, slowly and beautifully. He relaxes into Jack’s embrace. Enjoys the touch and feel of his lover.
“You’re not sated?” Giacomo asks, surprised -- a little -- that Jack seems not exhausted but invigorated by his exertions. The man’s stamina is inhuman. He stretches up for another kiss.
“Mostly.” Jack has the most addictive mouth. As lovely as the Doctor was and as enthusiastic as their Bella Rosa has been, he must admit that this is the one he’s been longing for. “And you?”
“I may not be good for much,” he admits. For though Jack’s cock is lovely and warm against his hip, he’s not quite ready to submit to the role of catamite, even for this beautiful, passionate man. Perhaps another round of the delights Jack had introduced him to before the Doctor and the bella signora arrived? (And in another moment, once he’s recovered his breath.)
Strange to have known just in the last few hours the pleasure of two beautiful women (though Antonia seems ages ago) and one very unusual man, and yet it’s Jack he craves. His Capitano. The man who asked him if he fell in love with all his conquests, and if there was room in his heart for one more.
There is, and he finds that regardless of outcome, he will remember this fondly until his dying day. The Doctor is exotic. Rose is as exquisite as she is insatiable. But the Capitano?
How can he trust someone so quickly and with such ease? He’s become so accustomed to playing a role. Acting the part. Entertaining. It’s a rare gift to simply be able to give and receive pleasure with no thought of what’s to come.
And not since he still believed the gorgeous Bellino to be a man has he so enjoyed shamelessly necking with one of his own sex.
Jack smiles around their kiss, answering a question he’d half-forgotten he’d asked. “You’re worth the wait.”
As the Doctor and Rose drowse in each other’s arms, sweat-drenched and smiling, Jack caresses him. Kisses him. Patiently arouses him as only the most generous lover can. (They cannot be human, to tempt him yet again. Though if these be demons, he will gladly surrender to whatever infernal pleasures they may devise, as today is clearly not a day for saintly concerns or comportment.)
And even after reuniting with his husband and his wife, Jack still has a place in his heart for him. It’s a beautiful thought, one that Giacomo finds it more and more convincing with every touch of Jack’s hands and mouth. Here is a man after his own heart; a man who may love again and again without diminishing the depth of his emotion or the joy with which he treasures the memory of what has passed.
Fellow libertines of their stamp are rare indeed. He was so right to trust his Capitano, though for one brief bittersweet moment, he misses his own Bellino.
His Capitano kisses his way down Giacomo’s chest. Lingers at his hip, all teasing lips and the faint slide of teeth. The slight prick sends shivers of sensation through his skin. Tingles his scalp. Speeds his breathing. And, beyond expectation, his well-exercised cock begins to fill.
Jack licks. Teases. Sucks him hard with priceless skill. Makes the most deliciously pornographic noises in his enthusiasm. Encourages Giacomo to fuck up and further into his mouth.
Rose lies in the Doctor’s arms, watching them with hooded eyes. The Doctor watches too, his brown eyes warm. Rose’s hand encircles the Doctor’s lovely cock. Strokes languidly in time to the bobbing of Jack’s mouth. Giacomo shivers at the unexpected pleasure of being able to please the Capitano in full view of his husband and their wife.
It’s hardly the first time he’s “performed” for an audience -- that old gentleman did like to watch his young wife be thoroughly fucked -- but this time he’s truly enjoying the exhibition, for there is no “exhibit” here. He is no actor on this most intimate of stages, but a partner, welcomed for the joy and pleasure of them all.
Rose licks her lips, slowly. Surely there can be no doubt how this young woman came to deserve the passion of two such remarkable lovers. He smiles at her silent signal, taking it as his cue to do his worst. Though his coordination leaves a bit to be desires, he manages to pull Jack gently but firmly off of him. Presses him back. Pins him to the bed. Kisses him hard. Draws back just enough to coax Jack over and onto his stomach.
The Doctor reaches over his own head and pulls out a pair of pillows. The Capitano takes them. Leans over them to present his lovely and well-muscled arse to Giacomo’s admiring gaze. (Really, must EVERY portion of this man’s physique be as perfect as one of Michaelangelo’s marble gods?)
Jack parts his knees, ever so slightly. And even without touching him, Giacomo can sense the anticipation there. Again, he marvels that his future reputation should make three such as these determined to know every pleasure with him.
And though it is not his usual preference, he finds himself loath to refuse so tempting an offer. His experiences with those of his own sex have -- quite necessarily -- been limited, but this afternoon has prominently featured the shattering of virtually every one of his personal taboos. Moreover, as a man of science and knowledge, how much the hypocrite might he be if he were to refuse the chance to experiment further?
Tentatively, he caresses up the Capitano’s flanks.
*****************
Jack is having the best day, if not of his life, than certainly in recent memory. Rose is his again. The Doctor is his again. Now it looks like he may be able to entice Casanova himself into being a rather decadent dessert.
Casanova’s touch is cautious. Still nervous then. Not surprising -- even if this is the libertine to end all libertines, a man can’t help being the product of his age. Sex of this kind is the ultimate taboo, which is part of what will make this fun for Jack and -- with any luck -- deeply erotic for his partner. Jack flexes up into Casanova’s hands. Startles the man a bit. He pulls back at first. Jack makes quietly-encouraging noises. Soon, the hands are back. Gripping. Squeezing. Asking for permission with a touch instead of the words Jack suspects his lover can’t quite manage.
“Yes,” Jack says in answer to the unspoken question. “Oh, yes please.”
Casanova’s hands wander up. Slowly up to his shoulders. He aches to feel this. He’s been fantasizing for months as it is, and his lovemaking with the Doctor and Rose has only sharpened this desire.
Mercifully, Casanova presses one knee between his thighs. Runs fingers gently over the curves of his hips. Dips daring but uncertain fingertips down the cleft. Casanova’s body is tense -- either he thinks Jack is going to reject him, or he’s simply working himself past cultural inhibitions. He waits, struggling to hold himself patiently while his soon-to-be-lover works up the courage to explore with curious fingertips where -- with a little encouragement -- that absolutely gorgeous cock will soon go.
“You won’t hurt him,” says the Doctor with rare empathy. “Jack wants you.”
“And ‘s’not like he’s never had anything up there before,” Rose adds, somewhat less tactfully.
“Just go slowly to begin with,” the Doctor advises, with a slight ‘thud’ sound that probably means he’s elbowed Rose.
Rose chuckles. “Not so easy as that. C’mere a mo’, Giacomo.” And, just when Jack didn’t think his wife could get any hotter, she draws Casanova close. Dips fingers into her own wetness. Slathers Casanova’s cock with a glistening coating. Kisses him in benediction before returning to the Doctor’s arms.
He loves her more than he has words for in that moment, especially when she gives him a look that blatantly encourages him to coax Casanova into this delicious shag.
Casanova moves back between his legs, kneeling behind him. The lovely Venetian leans down to kiss Jack’s shoulders. Places shivery nibbles down the ridges of his vertebrae. Works his way down to Jack’s lower back. And he squirms happily, both at the pleasure of Casanova’s ministrations, and the thought of how close he is to being passionately buggered by his idol.
He can sense Casanova steeling himself. Have to remember how challenging this is for the man; Jack’s essentially asking him to commit several mortal sins all at once, though he has faith that they’ll both enjoy this to its full.
Oh, how lovely is that first tentative push? Concern. Casanova must think he’ll hurt him if he goes too quickly. Ordinarily, Jack would thank him for such consideration, but really, he’d just like to get to the part where they fuck madly.
“’S’all right,” he manages. “Don’t worry. You don’t know how much…” Hard to be much more eloquent while being breached with agonizingly wonderful slownesss by a gorgeous historical cock.
Mercifully, that seems to embolden Casanova, who presses forward. Works his way in. Not as talented as his husband, but Jack’s still moaning wholeheartedly by the time Casanova’s fully sheathed in him. He rocks back onto his lover’s cock, encouraging him. Reassuring him. (It’s okay. It’s really okay. I want to be fucked. I want you to fuck me.)
Casanova holds back at first. Jack has the sense of him looking at Rose. At the Doctor. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. (No, honey. There is no other shoe, only pleasure with us.) He presses back harder and harder. Loves the firm slap of Casanova’s hips against his arse. Delights in the moment when Casanova releases the first real exhale of pleasure. When the slender body behind him relaxes. Trusts him to take what Casanova so clearly wants to give. The man leans over him. Wraps eloquent hands around his shoulders. Pulls him back onto that lovely cock.
The only thing that makes it better is watching Rose stroke the Doctor in time to every thrust of Casanova’s hips. And the Doctor’s pale cheeks flush slowly with arousal. Rose’s eyes darken with desire. With encouragement. With a slow building of lust at the sight of her husband being expertly fucked.
Lucky for Jack, Casanova’s a fast learner.
The hands tighten at his shoulders. The Doctor kisses Rose. Encourages her to slide toward Jack. She lays herself out before him, a sumptuous addition to the bliss of Casanova’s cock.
He looks back over his shoulder. Casanova’s flushed and wanting. Eyes closed. Face cleansed of anything but a kind of ecstatic concentration, as if he’s determined to memorize every moment of this. (There’s a flattering thought.) “Giacomo,” Jack says softly.
Casanova’s eyes open. Gaze down at him, a deep blue made deeper by pleasure.
“May I taste you on her?”
Casanova shudders deeply at the thought, his eyes rolling in pleasure. “Only if I can watch.”
“Of course.” He cups Rose’s perfect arse. Pulls her forward. Buries his face in a wet heat that reeks deliciously of the Doctor and Casanova and her own wonderful flavour. He dines on her, rocked into her with every one of Casanova’s thrusts.
Hard hands press his shoulders down. Force his mouth deeper onto Rose. He tongues her, licking as deeply as he can. With a sharp cry, she pushes up against his mouth. Gushes hot wetness onto his tongue. Begs him not to stop.
*****************
Giacomo builds again toward bliss, burying himself again and again in the incredible sensation of Jack, who tightens around him with every stroke. If this is what eternal damnation feels like, he’s never been more content with his fate. He takes his pleasure, freed by his generous lover of any concern but the mutual desire to attain ecstatic release. As with the Doctor, Jack is stronger than most of Giacomo’s partners. Not only can he take the hardest thrust, he seems to revel in being dominated. Giacomo loses himself more and more with every moment that passes. Blesses this man, who has pulled him so deftly and completely into his life. Hard shoulders beneath his hands. Bella Rosa’s cries mixing with the muffled pleasure of her husband. Dizzying heat around his cock. The appreciative eyes of the Doctor, whose exquisite hands lightly stroke his own cock.
All want him. All can feel him. All share him. And the Doctor smiles at him as Giacomo speeds his thrusts, feeling his pleasure build (should be impossible, yet here it is) again. So close. So close. He surrenders to desire. To his Capitano. He comes deeply. Completely.
Jack presses back to enjoy every shudder. Brings the Bella Rosa to one more back-arching orgasm. Wrings every last drop from them both.
He eases Jack and himself to the bed. Remains curled against his lover even as the Doctor moves closer. A smiling and blissful Rose faces Jack, the Doctor curled against her from behind.
For many long, loving minutes, there is only the sound of four sated people breathing. Hands wander, affectionate and curious. He himself shivers pleasantly from the attainment of his own bliss.
But his mind begins to work even as his body relaxes. A tale such as this (mad though it might seem) is well worth the remembering. As soon as he believes himself capable of standing, Casanova presses a kiss of apology to the Capitano’s temple. He brushes curled fingers along the signora’s exquisite bosom, then clasps the Doctor’s hand briefly. He slides out of bed, sodden and dishevelled and thoroughly satisfied with the events of the afternoon. He does stop for a brief freshening at the nightstand, rinsing away the more tangible evidence of such delicious transgressions.
Thoughts and musings come to him. Words gather, jockeying for his attention as he recalls moment by marvellous moment how he came to be here. Surely there will be no rest for him until he puts this latest adventure to paper.
Fortunately, the credenza by the wall is furnished with paper, ink, and a freshly-sharpened quill.
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Crossposted to:
time_and_chips, better_with_3, betterwiththree
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