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Here, everybody, have a stream-of-consciousness PWP. Unbetaed. Happy Monday?
Story: Counting to Nine
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sapote3
Rated: NC17
Pairing: Nine/Jack/Rose
One was the shirt that she dropped on the ground, purple polyester - she was used to using the TARDIS as her personal clothesline - as she backed away across the decking to the alcove where he slept. Her skin was creamy white, and he looked up at her and thought human.
Two were the sets of hands on her, Jack's ridiculous tender open palms against her square ribcage, against the pink upward swells of her breasts, and the Doctor's hands went still on her back as he watched Jack's mouth whisper silent words into the curves of her side. Jack was more careful than he expected; easy, competant. Jack looked up at him, eyes dark, and -
Three was the way their mouths met, the slow drag of lips, his mouth against Rose's temple, the way her breath caught as Jack's mouth opened against hers, as he turned to the Doctor and -
Four was the number of hearts beating in the bed when the Doctor slid inside her, Jack's hands stroking up his sides and down between them, his own breath a sobbing in his ears, and he met met Rose's eyes and -
Five was the slow count under his breath, the careful thrust because it had been so long since he'd done this, and her breasts were soft and heavy against his chest, and Jack kissed her hard, ran his hands up the Doctor's back, his erection rubbing into her thigh, into the movement of their legs as she wrapped around him -
Six rising gasps, her face pinching with concentration, with immediacy, and she threw back the pale curve of her throat and tightened around him, unlikely and present and there with him, with both of them, and Jack's fingers paused and moved again between them and she turned her face into Jack's shoulder and laughed, coming hard around him.
Seven bolts held the bed in place, and he heard each of them squeak under the strain, his arms barely holding him up in the slick slide and scent and press of Rose's ankles crossed up around his shoulderblades and - there, and Jack's hand is on the back of his neck, somehow, when he comes.
Eight strokes of his hand, with Rose pillowed up against him dazed and gleaming, with his breath still catching in his lungs. Jack was braced up over him, eyes squeezed shut, and he twisted his wrist and watched Jack's face tense and his shoulders stutter as he spurted into the Doctor's hand.
Nine long breaths until they fell asleep, the two of them, curled up around the Doctor as the TARDIS spun through space, and he watched them with bemused eyes, and kept count.
Story: Counting to Nine
Author:
sapote3Rated: NC17
Pairing: Nine/Jack/Rose
One was the shirt that she dropped on the ground, purple polyester - she was used to using the TARDIS as her personal clothesline - as she backed away across the decking to the alcove where he slept. Her skin was creamy white, and he looked up at her and thought human.
Two were the sets of hands on her, Jack's ridiculous tender open palms against her square ribcage, against the pink upward swells of her breasts, and the Doctor's hands went still on her back as he watched Jack's mouth whisper silent words into the curves of her side. Jack was more careful than he expected; easy, competant. Jack looked up at him, eyes dark, and -
Three was the way their mouths met, the slow drag of lips, his mouth against Rose's temple, the way her breath caught as Jack's mouth opened against hers, as he turned to the Doctor and -
Four was the number of hearts beating in the bed when the Doctor slid inside her, Jack's hands stroking up his sides and down between them, his own breath a sobbing in his ears, and he met met Rose's eyes and -
Five was the slow count under his breath, the careful thrust because it had been so long since he'd done this, and her breasts were soft and heavy against his chest, and Jack kissed her hard, ran his hands up the Doctor's back, his erection rubbing into her thigh, into the movement of their legs as she wrapped around him -
Six rising gasps, her face pinching with concentration, with immediacy, and she threw back the pale curve of her throat and tightened around him, unlikely and present and there with him, with both of them, and Jack's fingers paused and moved again between them and she turned her face into Jack's shoulder and laughed, coming hard around him.
Seven bolts held the bed in place, and he heard each of them squeak under the strain, his arms barely holding him up in the slick slide and scent and press of Rose's ankles crossed up around his shoulderblades and - there, and Jack's hand is on the back of his neck, somehow, when he comes.
Eight strokes of his hand, with Rose pillowed up against him dazed and gleaming, with his breath still catching in his lungs. Jack was braced up over him, eyes squeezed shut, and he twisted his wrist and watched Jack's face tense and his shoulders stutter as he spurted into the Doctor's hand.
Nine long breaths until they fell asleep, the two of them, curled up around the Doctor as the TARDIS spun through space, and he watched them with bemused eyes, and kept count.