Title: If You See Me Running, Find Some Gloves
Author: Am-Chau Yarkona
For the Tenth Doctor Ficathon, in answer to tthjinni's request.
Warnings: sex, slash, silliness.
Prompt: Jack, gloves, smut, no angst
“Ooh! Ah! Yes! YES!” Jack gasped, and the bed creaked as the Doctor presumably pounded into him. He followed this with some wordless but expressive moans of delight, and finished with a shriek of pleasure which left remarkably little to Rose's otherwise unoccupied imagination.
She'd given up on shutting doors and putting her fingers in her ears an hour or so ago. What the TARDIS wanted her to hear, she really had no choice but to hear, since the machine had direct access to her brain stem: handy for quick translations, not so good when it's all Too Much Information. Instead, she was trying to avoid processing the implications of the sounds, principally by reciting things. Having finished her times tables up to twenty-seven, she started on t-shirt slogans.
“Sarcasm is one of the services I offer,” she said to herself, firmly and without irony. “I'm with stupid. I'm a bomb technician—if you see me running, try to keep up...”
Apparently, the Doctor (whom, she thought, could quite fittingly wear that t-shirt; it would help people understand why she kept running through the streets of London, tunnels, and alien hospitals, not to mention space stations, hand-in-hand with him) seemed to be keeping his end up, so to speak. She couldn't hear Jack any longer, but the Doctor was talking.
“Please, Jack,” he said—whined, Rose might have suggested. “The fluffy glove again. It felt so...”
“Hold on just one minute,” Jack replied, still slightly breathless. “I only agreed to that once, for scientific research.”
“I need more than one data set,” the Doctor argued. There was a rustling, as if sheets were moving.
“You needn't think you can get around my just by putting on those glasses,” Jack said, though he no longer sounded as convinced. “Really, they... oh, if you insist, then. Okay.”
It took quite an effort, but Rose forced herself to quash every single image which could possibly explain Jack's change of heart. “Killing for peace is like fucking for chastity,” she muttered. “Stop staring at my tits. Warning: caffeinated and dangerous...”
“I'm not staring at your tits,” the Doctor protested. “You don't really even have tits!”
“What?” Jack asked, confused. “I didn't say anything of the sort!”
“Don't stop,” the Doctor pleaded, before continuing the conversation in a more normal tone of voice. “I thought I heard...”
Rose suddenly realised what was happening (as I'm sure you, dear reader, did a few lines ago). “Just a little bit higher,” she said in the deepest voice she could manage.
“If I get any higher,” Jack said, “I'll be up your...” Rose readied herself for some mental bleach, as Jack finished, “... nose.”
“I didn't say that!” the Doctor said.
“Then who did?” Jack asked. “Maybe you should put your glasses on for real, Doctor. This is very strange.”
“Do we have to investigate now?” the Doctor complained. “Can't we just...”
“No!” Rose said, loudly. She was reaching the edge of her patience. “Stop at once and tell the TARDIS about privacy!”
She hear two sighes, but she decided to ignore them. A girl could only take so much.
* * *
After much grumbling and long discussions with Jack which involved phrases like “sonic output cable” and “ASCII is long outdated”, the Doctor had rigged up a screen next to the TARDIS' central control unit which should—in theory, all things being well, various deities willing, and with luck and a spare jellybean introduced when the glue ran out—enable the group to communicate with the TARDIS on matters other than “go that way”.
“Well, go on, then,” Rose said.
“What do you want me to say?” the Doctor asked. “It's you who had a problem with her normal functioning.”
“Ask her to stop making sure I hear everything you say,” Rose suggested.
> HALT FULL DOC/FCOM SPEECH TRANS, the Doctor typed.
< SHAN'T, the screen said.
The Doctor blinked twice, and typed, >EXCUSE ME?
< SHE NEEDS TO HEAR YOU, the TARDIS replied.
“But not all the time,” Rose said.
< ALL OR NOTHING
“Not necessarily,” the Doctor said, and started muttering about how in the old days, a TARDIS would obey whatever programming code you gave it.
< BUT I GOT WISE
> CREATE FILTER:
<100>IF DOC&MCOM IN RM3667, THEN <200>
<200>HALT FULL DOC/FCOM SPEECH TRANS
<300>END FILTER MACRO
< WHY?
> B/C I SAY SO
< WHY ONLY RM3667? DOC&MCOM ALSO COPULATE IN RM887, RM556, AND RM5
“Oh, whatever,” the Doctor grumbled. “Stick this in your command line and process it.”
> REPLACE <100> THUS:
<100>IF DOC&MCOM COPULATING, THEN <200>
< OKAY. *SMIRK*
Jack snickered, and Rose allowed herself a giggle or two.
“I give up,” the Doctor said. “Smirked at by a machine, not to mention my faithful companions.” Dramatically, he sat on the steps and buried his head in his hands.
“Sorry, sorry,” Jack said, hurriedly. “Want to go and test your new subroutine?”
The Doctor nodded. “Excuse us, Rose,” he said, as Jack dragged him out the door.
* * *
Alone in the control room again, Rose sighed. “It's as bad as having hormonal teenagers in the house,” she muttered grumpily.
< YOU'RE JUST SORRY YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY
It was a moment before Rose noticed the words on the screen, and they had started to blink slightly angrily. “Are you accusing me of jealousy?”
< I THINK YOU MIGHT BE JEALOUS, YES. AND ALSO, I'D LIKE TO POINT OUT THAT, GIVEN THE AVERAGE LIFESPAN OF A TIMELORD PRIOR TO THE SAD RECENT EVENTS ON GALLIFREY (WHICH HAVE RESULTED IN GALLIFREY'S ABSENCE FROM THIS UNIVERSE, IF YOU MISSED THE MEMO), THE DOCTOR IS, IN HUMAN YEARS, ABOUT SEVENTEEN
It was Rose's turn to blink. “I'm sorry?”
< YOU'VE HEARD OF DOG YEARS, SURELY. SAME PRINCIPLE, OPPOSITE DIRECTION
“Okay, the Doctor's really seventeen. I can take that. How long do Timelords live, anyway?”
< IN OBJECTIVE OR SUBJECTIVE TIME?, the TARDIS asked, as faint moans began to filter through the closed doors of the control room.
“I don't know,” Rose sighed. “I don't really care. Look, can you make me deaf and point me at a library? They're going to be ages now.”
< FOURTH FLOOR, the TARDIS said, and opened a pair of doors on the far side of the room. Since Rose couldn't hear anything, she decided that the TARDIS must have decided to respect her wishes for a change, and—cautiously, lest a stray tiger or quantum wardrobe accident lurked around a corner—set off down the opened corridor in search of a decent Mills and Boon.