The Career Series
Oh Captain, My Captain
Disclaimer: I'm not sure that I would actually want the rights to Steven Moffat's brainchildren.
Rating: This is me, M.
Deds: This is for my lovely roommate, Alyssa. She's the River to my Captain Jack and I owe her a plethora of stories. Check out her work.
A/N: To anyone following Shamelessly I promise I'll get back to it. I tend to run a story's course and then get bored, but I do have the rest of the chapters planned, I just need to write them. Anyway, Allons-y!
The Career Series
Oh Captain, My Captain
"It's like the undiscovered fourth sun of Jupiter," the Doctor explained to the woman next to him as they stepped onto the bridge of the cruise ship as though they were going to explore an island in the Caribbean, not the toxic outer planetary orbiters of an expansive new galaxy's commercial vacation spots. She raised her eyebrow at him and walked to join another line. The Doctor only sighed; he had been traveling alone for far too long.
The courier collecting tickets at the front gate was dressed to the nines, in a fantastical tuxedo, complete with the tails, and a pair of pristine, white-rabbit gloves. He looked at the psychic paper that the Doctor had offered him and then, with a suddenly excited expression, caught the attention of another courier before turning back to the Doctor.
"Sir," he began with an unusual amount of praise in his voice. The Doctor looked at the paper in confusion. "Please, let me show you to your room and fetch you some champagne." The Doctor tried to protest the treatment, and simultaneously determine exactly what was on the paper that was causing it, but the courier was insistent, guiding him through the mass of people, into an incredibly glamorous elevator, and leading him into a suite the Doctor knew hadn't been warranted from any name that had come out of his own mind on that damned psychic paper.
The courier smiled at him, shaking the bemused Doctor's hand before promising to return with champagne and strawberries, and leaving the room in a rush.
The Doctor walked over to a large window, which took up the majority of the front wall, and looked out over the expansive sky, trying to determine what exactly he had done.
There was a knock on the door and the Doctor answered it to find the courier pushing a tray. He accepted it, a large silver platter, on which rested all kinds of exotic fruits and chocolates and an ice bucket of pink and sparkling champagne. But it was a small envelope, cream and silver, with the calligraphy Doctor written across the front that caught his attention. He was sure that hadn't been what had shown up on the paper at the front gate.
He opened the flap, pulling out a small note and reading it quietly to himself.
You are cordially invited to the
Apollo Banquet
This evening
Followed by a private session
Of dessert and drinks
With the Captain
The note gave a time that a courier would come by to pick him up and explained that there were appropriate, fitted clothes for him in the bedroom,
The Doctor stared out the window and felt a ripple go through his spine. How he longed for someone to laugh about this all with, someone to find the grandiose jest of a world in which they belonged no more than he, someone to talk to. He wondered which of his past companions would have most loved a night like this, but came to no conclusion, save that he missed each and every one of them.
The courier came right on time, dressed, as the others had been, in the flap tails and gloves, and unmoving in expression. The Doctor tried to start conversation, as they weaved their way through intricately decorated hallways and dizzyingly large spiral staircases. But despite their long journey the Doctor had barely managed a word from the man, and eventually let it pass.
They finally arrived in front of a large set of golden doors, which two other men opened at his approach. The Doctor was sure, now, that they were at least a dozen stories up from his already high placed room, and wondered, yet again, what he had gotten himself into.
The courier led the Doctor, who was now glancing around at the beautifully dressed sitting at the beautiful designed tables, sipping beautifully crafted wine, and wondered when he was going to get some answers. He was guided through the maze of people before he was finally brought to a large table in the very front of the room. He scanned through the figures already sitting there, a blond beauty, a fanciful old rabbit like creature and an assortment of other interesting and rather unexpected faces. And then he saw a face he recognized, a face that immediately explained everything going on, a face that made his stomach drop to his knees, his palms start to sweat and a smile, wider than the hull of the ship to break out across his face.
"Sir, Captain Jack Harkness." The Captain extended his hand and said, with a smirk that could and had melt the pants off anyone who had come in his way.
"Pleased to meet you," he paused, "What did you say your name was?" So that was how he was going to play it, the Doctor though. He raised an eyebrow; he wasn't half bad at the game himself.
"Smith," he replied, accepting the handshake and allowing the pad of his thumb to linger a half second too long on the Captain's hand, a movement that didn't go unnoticed, by the glint in Jack's eye.
"John Smith."
"Welcome aboard the Apollo, John Smith," Jack said, finally releasing his grip. "Let us know if there's anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable." The fire in Jack's eyes was palpable, and the Doctor could smell 51st Century pheromones dancing around the room. He smiled.
"You run a beautiful ship, Captain. I commend you. And I want to thank you for your hospitality."
"You can thank me by enjoying yourself," the Captain replied, and the look that he sent the Doctor was most certainly not work appropriate.
The Doctor raised an eyebrow and bit his lip. Jack Harkness was not going to make him feel uncomfortable.
For most of the night he did enjoy himself. He allowed the laughter of a mostly inebriated room to seep into his psyche and distract him from the perpetual state of loneliness he had been feeling for so long. The Rabbit man and the blonde girl had turned out to be quite the interesting dinner companions and soon the Doctor had completely forgotten the smolderingly flirtatious looks that Captain Jack had been teasing him with. That was until, in the middle of a particularly hilarious story about the time he had used a pink poodle to stop an intergalactic space war, when he felt the lightest brush of fingertips against the crisp cut of suit near his knee.
The stories continued, but the feather light touches became more aggressive, more obvious. He needn't turn his head to see who was letting their hands wander the expanse of his legs. He knew, from peripheral vision. He knew because, even though he was a genius, it didn't take a genius to know who had those thief fingers. He knew because, despite his desperate need to ignore it, he knew that touch.
"And then the man goes, 'that's not a trigger point, that's my wife!'" the Doctor roared along with those sitting around him when he felt the brush of fingers sweep the sensitive spot of his trousers that hadn't been touched in so long. He almost bit his tongue at the sensation.
"Are you alright, John?" The Captain asked, drawing an attention to the Doctor that he absolutely did not need at the moment.
"Dandy," he replied, giving a deathly sweet smile to the Captain. " I appreciate all you're doing for me. This is quite the trip." He choked over the last word as the hand gave the lightest of squeezes to that sweet sensitive spot, and the Doctor almost cried out.
"Are you sure you're alright, Smith?" The Rabbit man asked, and the Doctor nodded.
"I think I might actually turn in for the night," he replied. "Bit of a stomach thing, I believe." Jack raised his eyebrow and smiled.
"You've been requested dessert with the Captain," he told him. "I'm afraid I simply won't let you miss out." The Doctor suddenly looked pained, realizing the situation he was in, realizing that there was really no way out, realizing he wasn't sure he wanted one.
"Yes, of course," he replied. "If you don't mind, I think I'll rest for a bit. Is it possible to send for me when you're ready."
"Quite," the Captain said. "Make sure you rest up." The Doctor almost choked at the look Jack sent him. He was loath to say it out load but the man could turn anyone into a pair of hearts beating in a pile of jelly with little as much as a look.
Back in the room the Doctor paced. He had willed certain parts of his anatomy to calm down, but he knew that it was only temporary. He most definitely didn't hold the cards in this game, but he had some power, a little. He could say no, if he really, really wanted to. The difficulty he was having was deciding what he wanted.
The knock on the door came too early, and the Doctor smiled at the courier, grabbing his jacket, another protective layer, he thought to himself, as he quietly followed the man.
The walk to the Captain's quarters went far too quickly for the Doctor. He mused that it would have been worse had it dragged out, but he suddenly wanted to turn around, hop back in his TARDIS and not go anywhere near the Lion's Den of Captain Jack Harkness' bedroom. But it was too late, and he was soon faced with the door.
"Come in," he heard a voice say. The courier left and the Doctor walked inside the intricatedly designed room. It was laid out much like his own, with an enormous window, providing most of the light from the golden galaxy outside, and pepper with candles.
" Drink?" The Captain asked, and the Doctor shook his head.
"Not a good idea," he replied, feeling a lump in his throat and a hoard of angry butterflies in his stomach.
"Hug?" Jack offered, and across his face erupted a brilliant smile that the Doctor found he couldn't deny.
"Jack bloody Harkness," he said, allowing the larger man to envelope him.
"Doctor," he replied with a laugh as large as his smile. "You're quite the actor." The hug lasted and then it lasted, until Jack finally allowed them air and motioned for the Doctor to sit at the table, adorned with desserts and dessert liquors.
"Jack," the Doctor said laughing, "I just," he paused. "What the hell?" he asked finally. Jack looked at him with a sad smile.
"You needed a friend, so I figured my company would be sufficient until you found one."
"And that stint under the table?" The Doctor asked. Jack laughed.
"I was wondering how long you'd be able to hold out," he replied. "Been a while, has it?"
"It's not something I spend that much time thinking about," the Doctor replied honestly. "But I suppose it has, yes."
Jack offered the Doctor a plate of strawberries and a bowl of whipped cream from a table just off to the side.
"This isn't dangerous," he promised.
"It is in ways you don't even know," the Doctor replied. But he accepted one anyway and dipped it into the cream, sliding it between his lips and letting the slightest moan of appreciation escape them. When he opened his eyes Jack was staring.
"There's no way you didn't do that on purpose."
"What do you mean?" The Doctor asked, "Do what on purpose?"
Jack sighed.
"You have no idea how much people want you, do you?"
"And you've been spending far too much time with River," the Doctor replied. Jack raised an eyebrow.
"You don't want to know those details," he teased.
"Then why isn't she here tonight?" he asked, licking his lips in an absolutely purposeful manner.
"She's generous," Jack said. "And beside, her schedule is a little locked up right now."
"Funny, Jack Harkness," the Doctor said. "Hilarious."
"Say my name again," Jack told him, walking behind the Doctor and whispering in his ear.
"Doctor," he said, "Say my name again,"
The Doctor could feel Jack's breath on his neck, and it send a wonderfully euphoric feeling down his spine.
"Jack Harkness," he whispered, realizing how pathetically enslaved to his body's whims he had become. "Captain Jack Harkness."
"Just like that, Doctor," Jack whispered in his ear. "Let go, just like that." He heard the deep growl of Jack's voice, a growl that could only be associated with arousal, and to his amazement his own body responded.
"Relax," Jack told him, pressing his thumbs into the Doctor's shoulders, tight and taunt. He dug in hard.
The Doctor tried not to respond, but he couldn't help it. Jack his a sweet spot in his back, grasping from him a strangled moan, but he could do little to cover in. At the response he leaned down to the Doctor's throat and pressed his lips to the bare skin. The Doctor tried to suppress another moan, but it escaped, sliding through the air like an aphrodisiac.
The Doctor stood and turned to face Jack, surprised at his own forwardness, his own wanton behavior in the face of such indecencies. But Jack had that effect on him and he could never seem to deny himself the sensations.
Their lips met in a tangled frenzy, but so slow, so sensual that it almost hurt. The Doctor could feel Jack pressing against him and his own body was hard and wanting. He knew he needed this. They both did.
Jack somehow got him pinned against the wall, the deep pressure of tongues dancing left him breathless but addicted, unable to stop the motion of their bodies against on another, unable to stop the dance they danced, the music they were making with fingers and lips, moans and desires to the room.
Somehow they slid to the floor. The Doctor cursed that extra layer he had on, and Jack made quick work of getting it off, all of it off. They fell into a sweet rhythm, lovely and desperate and so delicious that the Doctor no longer tried to calm the moans escaping his mouth, disappearing into Jack's where they met at the lips, where they met at the naked chest, at the grind of hard bodies that begged and kept up a motion that the Doctor hadn't felt in so long.
They soon collapsed on the floor, a myriad of breathing and cursing that spent them both and let the room smelling of sweat and heat.
"Doctor," Jack said, with a smile on his face. "You amaze me every time." They lay on the floor, the one being in all the time, in all the universe that Jack Harkness felt a need, a pulling desire, to wrap his arms around and hold, for as long as he could. They slept with matching smiles all night long.
"Are you sure you can't stay longer?" Jack asked as the ship docked, realizing how clingy he sounded. He was a voice that only the Doctor pulled from him.
"Places to see, people to save," he explained. "Plus, we'll see each other again. When we both need it."
"Pleasure," Jack drawled, extending his hand in formality. "As always, Mr. Smith." The Doctor smiled at Jack, a thank you for the friend, when he most needed one, a glance for all the nights they had shared and all they would share in the future.
"And I want to thank you again," the Doctor began, exiting the ship, "For all your gracious hospitality." He paused.
"I always enjoy my time with you, Captain."