I love your hands. You don't know that, but I do. Strong, gentle, with long slender fingers. Artist's hands. They are beautiful to me. I watch you absentmindedly stroke the TARDIS and I wish it was me. I want to take your hands in mine. I want to stroke each finger from tip to wrist, then slowly, suck each one, swirling my tongue around each knuckle. I want you to touch my face before you tangle your hands in my hair and pull me close to kiss me. I want those beautiful hands to undress me, caressing each inch of skin as you expose it. I want you to run your hands over my body until I'm trembling and can barely stand. I want you to wrap them around my cock and stroke me until I shoot cum all over them.
You have no idea what I'm thinking, standing here watching you working on the TARDIS. You reach out for a tool without looking. I quickly hand it to you, letting our hands brush, letting the touch linger, wanting it to last forever, until you look at me, puzzled.
"Everything ok, Jack?" you ask
" Great, Doc." I answer, my famous grin on my face. " I just wanted to give you a hand."