Subjective Time

----

It's been about a month, subjective time, since he picked Jack up from New Neo Cardiff. Actually, it's been exactly one month, two days, thirteen hours, and four minutes, subjective time, since he picked Jack up from New Neo Cardiff.

There's still tension between them; all issues of sentience aside, the Doctor can't turn his instincts off. For the moment though, Jack's asleep, and the Doctor's trying to forget about the hard part by burying his nose in a good book.

Although he can go through it in a flash, if he wants to, the point is, he doesn't want to. The point of a good book is to enjoy it, after all, and so he lets himself get absorbed.

The first clue he has of Jack's presence is the sudden presence of hot hands on the back of his neck, thumbs pressing firmly on a spot he hadn't even realised was stiff. The slide of the pressure sends a warm tingling through his entire upper body, and it takes him a moment to realise that the sigh of pleasure he hears is his own.

He stiffens, his entire body, as his mind catches up, and he opens his mouth to...

What? he asks himself.

"Shhhh. Just let me." It's Jack's voice in his ear, so close he fancies he can about feel the man's lips on his skin, or at least his hair. And Jack's words are emphasised by the entirely-too-nice press of his thumbs, sliding down under the Doctor's collar, to press the base of his neck, and a little way out on his shoulders.

The Doctor makes his decision in about three seconds of objective time, although the time in his own mind is stretched out as he talks to himself, and tries to find a reason not to let Jack give him a neckrub.

He lets out his breath, and relaxes again, and he can practially hear Jack's grin, radiating behind him. Those thumbs slide back up his neck, and then he can feel Jack's fingers sliding under the collar of his coat, and tugging.

It's about then that the Doctor realises that he's had his eyes shut since about the time Jack touched him. He hesitates, but before his mind can make a decision, his body is shifting for him, letting Jack take his coat, and then his jacket.

It seems that's enough though, because then Jack's hands start working their magic again.

"Ahhhh... Jack, that's nice..." he kind of mumbles, as Jack's fingers press over the join of his neck and shoulders, smoothing over taut tendons, and pressing in small circles over the knots.

"See?" Jack says quietly, and just a little smugly, but the Doctor figures he can be forgiven, because he's Jack, and his hands feel good. He stiffens again though, for a moment, when Jack's fingers slide under his collar, and start loosening his tie.

"Jack--"

"Come on," Jack wheedles, pressing his fingers against the sides of the Doctor's neck to make his point.

After another infinite second, the Doctor straightens a bit, and reaches up to loosen his tie himself, and pull it up over his head. He hands it over to Jack, turning back, and meeting the other man's eyes for a moment.

It's only a moment, objectively, as he turns and passes the tie, but he can see the passage of the ages in Jack's eyes. It changes the way he looks, he thinks, in that longer stretch of his mental time, even under the warmth that Jack's eyes have.

He's only seen that warmth a few times, and only for himself, and Rose. And then the objective moment is gone, and he's tipping his head forward again, giving Jack access to his neck, but his pulses are faster, in his chest and wrists and throat.

The heat in Jack's hands as they press against the Doctor's skin feels like an amplification of the warmth in his eyes, and he makes another pleased sound as Jack presses his fingers along his vertebrae.

And then Jack's thumbs are pressing in, just hard enough, and sliding up the back of his neck, pressing against his skull, and it's all delirious warmth and pleasant tingling again, that dances down his spine and through his whole body this time, even to the tips of his fingers and toes.

"Ooooohhhhh..." The moan is clearly encouraging, because Jack spreads his fingers out, pushing forward towards the Doctor's forehead, and then coming back again, his touching only lightening as his fingers brush over the Doctor's temples.

That light touch is a different kind of pleasant, one that makes him shiver, and he can hear Jack grinning again.

"Like this?" Jack asks, pressing his fingers firmly up over the Doctor's scalp, and then drawing them back, lightly over the sides of his head, just brushing his face, and curling in the hair behind his ears.

"Yes," the Doctor murmurs, nodding slightly. "Just like that, Jack... Oooh, right there..." Jack's good at taking directions, it turns out, because his fingers move smoothly over problem areas, and the places the Doctor's less-than-coherent words and half-grunts direct him.

After a little while, Jack gently pushes his head a little farther forward, and the Doctor goes with it, tipping his head down, and relishing the way Jack's fingers move on his scalp, and down his neck again, lower under his shirt, over his shoulders.

Hot lips on the back of his neck aren't as much of a surprise as the gesture might be from someone else, and the Doctor finds himself smiling slightly.

"Ulterior motives, Jack?" he murmurs.

"Always," Jack quips back, lips moving against the Doctor's skin. "You're not as oblivious as you pretend to be, all the time," he states, after a moment. His fingers are still working at the Doctor's head as he waits for a reply.

"No, I'm not," the Doctor says, after letting four seconds of objective time pass. He feels a surge of pride that Jack figured that out, although, he supposes, given a few millennia, even Mickey could've done it.

Jack's fingers slide through the Doctor's hair again, fingers pressing firmly against his scalp, and drawing back gently again. It makes the Doctor shiver again.

"So in the interests of not being oblivious..." Jack's lips are still pressed against the back of the Doctor's neck as he speaks, and it can't be anything but deliberate. His hands make another circuit over the Doctor's head. "Just how much do you like this?"

The Doctor can feel Jack's smile on his skin, and he lets subjective time pass with objective time as he considers his answer.

"Oh, quite a lot, really," he finally answers, very lightly, but Jack's fingers are on the sides of his neck, and he knows the human man can feel his pulses speed up still more.

He turns his head to look back at Jack again, subjective time still matching objective, and his pulse feels entirely too fast in his body.

The warmth in Jack's eyes has grown into a heat to match his hands, and there's something more there, that's just Jack, and he's reaching up, at a slightly awkward angle, to slide his hand through Jack's hair, and down the side of his face.

There's a brief flash of something as his fingers brush Jack's temple.

"Sorry," he murmurs, pulling his hand away; it's bad manners at best to go into somebody's mind without permission.

"It's okay," Jack replies, almost as quietly, reaching to take the Doctor's hand in one of his own. "I know you didn't mean to." And then his other hand is sliding back into the Doctor's hair, and pulling him up, and up, until their lips are almost touching.

It's a question, the Doctor knows, and an offer, and a statement, and it's only slightly more complicated than it had been forty-three subjectively objective years ago. He can taste Jack's breath now, in both the dilated time of his subjective perception, and the normal time of the rest of it.

And really, it's a stupid question at this point, because there's no real question about his answer, not at this point. So he lets less than an objective second pass, and then for the first time, he's kissing Jack, instead of the other way around.

Once he's started, he doesn't really want to stop. He can't really remember what Jack tasted like the first time the man kissed him - that's something he lost with the regeneration, and he feels a twinge of regret for it.

His sense of taste is much better in this regeneration anyway, and he remembers how Jack tasted in the kiss a month ago. Sharp, and tea, and salty human, and something indelible.

It's about the same now, but without the tea, and a lot more pheromones, and he breathes it all in, smell and taste mixing together to provide a much more thorough assay of Jack than either sense alone.

Jack's fingers tighten in his hair, and he's kissing back, and it's sliding, and sloppy (because while he's at it, the Doctor figures he might as well taste Jack's lips and skin too), and utterly delightful.

They're still kissing as Jack shifts around, half-crouching in front of the Doctor. There are more pheromones that he can taste, and they're not just Jack's. More than anything else, the Doctor reflects, idly, for a literal split second, that seems to be proof of compatible biologies.

When he finally breaks off the kiss, it's just to lean further forward, and lick Jack's neck. Jack's appreciative moan rumbles under his mouth, but it's purely secondary to the salty taste of Jack's skin, overlaid with still more pheromones, and he thinks he can taste a bit of the strawberry jam Jack spilled on himself that relative morning.

He looks up, meeting Jack's eyes again.

"You haven't bathed," he comments.

"You can tell?" Jack asks. The Doctor just grins. "Of course you can tell." He reaches up to touch the Doctor's face, fingers tracing out the lines of his face. The touch sends a tingle of pleasure through the Doctor, and his lips part slightly as Jack's fingers touch them.

It's half reflex that his tongue flicks out to taste, but Jack's sharp intake of breath makes him do it again, and again, as he slides down off of his chair, joining the man on the ground.

And then he takes Jack's hand in his, and licks the palm, because his fingers taste different than his throat (more jam, and a trace of scone, and a bit of butter, and Jack really hasn't bathed, because he can taste the sharp, almost metallic residue of the atmosphere of the last planet they were on, just over a day ago.

He doesn't care, really, because nobody was ever killed by a bit of jam, and sweat, and atmosphere. It just makes Jack's skin that much more interesting.

The skin on his wrists tastes different from the skin on his hands. Less sweat, and no jam; just atmospheric residue, and that indescribable mix of things that make most people say that skin is flavourless, but to the Doctor just says Jack.

Or at least it does now, now that he's figuring it out.

"Doctor--" Jack gasps, as he licks from his wrist up to the bend of his elbow.

That taste is definitely Jack, is what he's thinking when he looks up, meeting the man's eyes again.

--beautiful-- It's not his own thought, the Doctor can tell. And even if they weren't the only two people within an infinity of the TARDIS, the flicker of surprise in Jack's eyes is a dead giveaway.

"Sorry," he says, and the Doctor smiles at him.

"It's all right." He doesn't get a chance to say more though, because Jack's hand is sliding back into his hair, over his scalp, and pulling him forward and down, lips meting lips with surprising gentleness for the look in Jack's eyes, all heat and passion, and things the Doctor doesn't want to name.

Jack's laughter, when the Doctor flicks his tongue out to taste again makes him smile, and then it seems like Jack's imitating him, all tongue and tasting.

But that's hardly a bad thing, is it? he thinks. Jack lets go of his head, so his hands can go down, and finish unbuttoning the Doctor's shirt. His hands are still hot; human hands always are, but he fancies Jack's are hotter than normal, or maybe that's just him. He can feel Jack pulling the shirttails out of his trousers, and undoing the last couple of buttons.

The Doctor hears himself moaning at Jack's hands on his body, going over his chest, and ribs, and stomach, and sliding in a line under the waistband of his trousers. And Jack tips his head back enough to break the kiss.

"As kinky as sex in the console room could be," Jack says, for once getting a word in before the Doctor. "Don't you think it'd be more comfortable to move to bed?" He raises his eyebrow, and quirks his lips; even though they're too close for the Doctor to really see it, he can feel both motions.

"Well I guess so," the Doctor replies a bit skeptically. He can't imagine not feeling comfortable in the console room though, can't imagine any place feeling more comfortable, comforting.

"I meant physically comfortable," Jack says, with a hint of laughter in his voice.

Which makes a lot more sense, when the Doctor thinks about it, given that no matter what they do, somebody's going to be having metal pressed against them in an uncomfortable way.

In the blink of an eye, he's up on his feet, shirt hanging loosely, eyes bright, and extending his hand for Jack. Who doesn't hesitate taking it, even though he needs it about as much as the Doctor does.

Jack goes willingly when the Doctor tugs him along, pulling him to his own, seldom-used bedroom. It's not really surprising; he knows - knows - Jack has wanted him longer than he has objectively been alive.

And that's okay, he realises. He's completely, utterly all right with that, even if the most primitive parts of his mind and body still aren't all right with Jack.

His shirt gets lost on the way to his room, and so does Jack's, and the rest of their clothes too, for that matter. The Doctor would probably have been more self-conscious, but the look in Jack's eyes just won't let him.

They tumble into the Doctor's bed, and land in roughly the same position they'd been in in the console room, only this time with soft sheets instead of hard metal beneath them.

All of a sudden, it strikes the Doctor that he now has a whole lot more of Jack to taste. He tips his head up to look at Jack again, and grins. Jack has just enough objective time to start to get a curious look on his face, to start to open his mouth to ask...

And the Doctor licks down his chest. Jack gasps, letting his head fall back.

"Ooohh, yeaaahh..." The Doctor looks up again, and he can see the grin on Jack's face. So he does it again, going back up, over his chest, and collarbone, and throat, following the middle line of his body up to Jack's mouth again.

Jack's mouth is just as enthusiastic as it always is, and his hands slide up the backs of the Doctor's thighs, to rest on his arse, and squeeze gently.

"Mmmm." It's his own voice again, vibrating into Jack's mouth, and there's Jack's as well, a similar sound. Jack's cock is pressed hard against his stomach, not far from his own, against Jack's hot thigh.

There are more pheromones, he taste them, smell them, but the information processing has been relegated to a less-conscious portion of his mind. His primary focus is right here, right now, in real subjective time and space, and Jack.

He breaks off the kiss, licking Jack's lips, and ears, and temples, and the back down his body again, slowly. Every bit of Jack tastes a little bit different, but mostly the same.

Salt, and Jack.

Metallic atmosphere, and Jack.

Sweat, and Jack.

Strawberry jam, and Jack.

And all the time, Jack is making delightful sounds, and saying lovely, encouraging words. The words dissolve into incoherent - but still lovely and encouraging - sounds when the Doctor's mouth finds its way to his cock.

It's different from the rest of Jack only a little more than any other part of Jack is different from the rest of him. Salt, and soft skin over hard flesh, and slightly hotter than the surrounding skin.

Jack's hips twitch up, and the Doctor doesn't stop him. Pheromones, and flavours, and feelings, and it's all just part of Jack, as far as he's concerned.

Jack is all his focus. The way he tastes, and the way his skin feels, and grounding himself in physical subjectiveism. This close to Jack, this intimate, if he doesn't, he knows that he won't be able to keep his instincts - a Time Lord's instincts - under control.

And he really, desperately, wants to, for reasons he's not quite willing to admit to himself, even though they're there, present as a barrier between himself and certain of his instincts.

The way that Jack is repeating his name, over and over, with that hoarse, breathy, oh-so-appreciative voice helps. The fingers pressed against his scalp oddly don't, but when Jack slides his hands down to his neck, just behind his ears and lower, just in his hair, that helps.

The tightening of Jack's abdomen is his only clue, and thanks to his utter focus on Jack, he doesn't have time to stretch subjective time, but that's perfectly all right, because this is exactly where the Doctor wants to be at that moment.

Jack's orgasm is lovely, his back arching, his fingers tightening, and the Doctor's name spilling from his lips as he spills himself on the Doctor's tongue.

Salty, sticky, a little like blood. Another part of Jack to taste and analyse with the back of his mind. Jack's shaking just a bit, little tremors in his muscles, helped along by the speed and strength of his pulse.

"Doctor..." he breathes again. The Doctor tips his head up, and grins.

"Yes Jack?" he replies, almost lightly. The man's response is to pull him up and do something positively obscene with his mouth. It draws a little sound from the Doctor, and it almost feels like Jack is drinking it up, drawing him in through the mouth, and it's utterly brilliant.

Jack's hands are on his arse again, pressing the Doctor to him, close and closer. One knee hooks around his hip, pulling him in closer still, and one hand slides slowly up his back, over his neck, pressing in lightly, just at the base of his skull.

It's enough of a distraction (such a wonderful distraction, from instinct, and things) that he barely notices Jack's other hand, sliding between their bodies, and sliding over the jut of his hip.

The Doctor does notice, very much notice, when Jack's hand starts doing obscene, delightful things with his cock. It makes him moan again, and press in closer to Jack, rock his own hips the way Jack had before.

He can feel Jack smiling into the kiss, and he's utterly, utterly justified for the pleased smugness of it.

Oh, Jack--

The hand on his head starts doing the same thing as the hand on his cock, and he's completely lost, and the only thing between himself and that unwanted instinct is that carefully constructed wall.

In the moments just before he comes, it feels like his subjective time is stretching out, all on its own, in his body's automatic shifts, and constrictions, and little muscular twitches, and it's just enough to reinforce that wall, before his orgasm hits, and for a few dilated moments, he can't think at all.

Time picks up again, slowly, at least in his perception. The wall is intact, holding back that instinct, and the pressure against it is reduced enough that he can go back to ignoring it, too.

The Doctor feels every moment of contact as Jack slides his slightly sticky hand up to his shoulder. There's a moment of quiet contentment, just their unmatched breathing, and Jack's pulse, and his own pulses.

"I can feel it, you know," Jack comments softly.

"Feel what, precisely?" the Doctor murmurs.

"When you stretch your own time."

The Doctor stills, and he feels Jack's arms tighten around him, just a little.

"That's... Interesting. Very interesting," he replies. He wants to stay neutral about it - almost has to - but he can't, because it really is very, very interesting. He feels Jack smile again, a little.

"I didn't know what it was at first," the human man murmurs. "But I think that's what it is. Am I right?" The Doctor nods.

"What does it feel like?" he finds himself asking. "No, don't tell me," he says before Jack can reply. "I know."

"Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?"

They're both silent again after that, because it's easier to be that way. For Jack to not worry about describing a feeling no living language has a word for, and for the Doctor not to worry about keeping instincts and emotions bottled up.

And while the Doctor definitely, definitely has questions for Jack, they can wait. They both have the time.