nightrider101 (nightrider101) wrote,

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FIC: Scorched Food (3/3)

FIC: Scorched Food
Author: NightRider
Rating: PG-13 for slashy implications
Fandom: Doctor Who/Torchwood
Beta: The forever amazing starxd_sparrow
Characters: The Tenth Doctor and the Torchwood Team
Summary: “I won,” the Doctor whispered. His head lifted, his face splitting onto a maniac grin. “The King of Mortashon challenged me - me - to a drinking contest! In front of the royal court, of course. Can you believe it?"
A/N: This is dedicated and written for the lovely sarkywoman. I hope she enjoys it. It's more crack than anything else.

We're going to assume that Jack and Ianto have an open relationship.

This will eventually be a series. I figure it will give me a happy place to come back to when I need something fun. Thanks to everyone that has followed this story! I hope the conclusion doesn't disappoint.

The Doctor groaned as he carefully opened one eye. He surveyed his surroundings silently as if waiting for the impending headache to strike, and when none was forthcoming, he peeled open his second eye. He became acutely aware of the warm, steel band wrapped around his waist.


He resisted the urge to bite his fist as the memories of the last evening flooded his mind. He knew better than this. He briefly wondered if he was a nine hundred and something year old alien or a horny human teenager.

If there was one thing the Doctor was good at, it was cutting his losses and running. He’d come back, of course, in a hundred years or so. Hopefully Jack would have long since forgotten about this little encounter.

He stealthily wiggled out from underneath Jack’s heavy arm and started towards the ladder. Each metal rung seemed to creak with disapproval as he climbed out of the makeshift bedroom.


The Doctor’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the last rung tightly. “Jack, you’re awake.” It was a struggle to keep his tone light. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what he was afraid of. It was just Jack, after all, and he was the last bloody Time Lord. He didn’t do domestic, and if anyone understood concept, it was Jack.

“Yeah, just in time too,” Jack replied flatly. “Leaving so soon?”

The Doctor had yet to release his death grip on the ladder. “I was just going to make some tea. You know a Time Lord must have his tea. Soothes the neural passage–“

“We’re going to need a shovel if you keep spouting that shit at me.”

The Doctor released his hold on the cool metal and dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, forget it,” Jack replied, flopping back on the bed. “Don’t forget your trainers.”

The Doctor eyed his Converse, and found the image blurring in front of him. Last night he had come to the Hub for a reason, for a certain immortal Captain to be exact, but now that the liquid bravado had faded, what did he have left? He typically avoided alcohol, and it was for a good reason.

Sighing, the Doctor sat on the edge of the bed and dropped his head in his hands. “You know it’s easier when you just make these decisions for me. I thought you were all take charge, take no prisoners, fearless leader, one man show, give me a big gun and point me in the direction of –"

Jack groaned and thumped the Doctor with closest pillow. “It’s way too early for this.”

“Well, I’m sorry to be a bore,” the Doctor snapped.

“Shouldn’t you be hung-over or something?”

“Or something,” the Doctor replied. “Time Lords don’t get –"

“Yeah, you’re above all that. I forgot who I was talking to.” The bitterness was difficult to ignore.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the Hub this morning,” the Doctor stated. “Look, I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

Jack growled and shoved the covers aside. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to hear. ‘Oh Jack, sorry about last night! This was all a bit of a cock-up on my part. And just so you know, you’re still wrong!’”

Perhaps if the lasting effects of the alien wine or the emotional stress of the situation, but the Doctor was struggling to keep up with Jack’s tirade. Human emotions were difficult to understand on the best of days, but today the Doctor felt like he’d have better luck befriending a Dalek. “Well, I’m not going to say that because it’s not true. You’re not wrong – well, you are, but I like it, and last night wasn’t a mistake so I’m not going to say that either, so you’re on your own, Captain. Good day!” Slamming his hand on the bed for effect, the Doctor stood and stalked towards the ladder.

Jack stood there staring at the retreating Time Lord. “Wait – what the hell just happened? Doctor, wait!”

“I think we’ve both said more than enough, Jack,” the Doctor snapped.

“Just hold on a minute, will you?” Jack growled, grabbing the Doctor’s arm as he reached for the ladder.

The Doctor turned, his stern gaze catching Jack’s eyes immediately. “Let me go.”

“You can wipe that ‘Oncoming Storm’ look off your face,” Jack barked. “We’re not going to leave it like this.”

“Oh, now you’re going to jump in and take charge? Go find one of your lackeys to order around because I’m not interested!” The Doctor yanked his arm out of Jack’s grip, stumbling from the force of the exertion.

“Will you just sit down and shut up for once? Do us all a favor and put a cork in it!”

“You’d like that wouldn’t you, Captain!” Sarcasm dripped from his words.

“Well, excuse the hell out of me for wanting you to stick around! God only knows why I’d want to spend more time with an arrogant, pompous alien bastard like you!” Jack yelled.

“I’m still standing here, aren’t I? If I really wanted to leave I’d be out that door before you could call your favorite tea boy for a cup of coffee!”

They stared at each other for several seconds, breathing heavily and trying to figure out exactly why they were arguing.

“What are we fighting about?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know!”

“Well, I don’t know either!”

“Then why are you yelling?” the Doctor asked, his voice still higher than normal.

“Because you’re yelling!”

“Are you two okay down there?” Gwen asked from above the hatch.

“Yes!” the Doctor and Jack yelled in unison.

The Doctor sighed as the sheer absurdity of the whole situation took hold. “Jack, I –“

Jack smiled and rubbed his hand tentatively over the back of his neck. No one said covering uncharted territory was going to be easy. “Yeah, me too.”

“Oh, for the love of God, will you two just have sex already?” Owen yelled. “There’s enough sexual tension around here to kill a Weevil!”

The Doctor glanced at opening in the ceiling. “Do you ever give them a day off?”

“Well, someone should be getting some around here,” Owen grumbled. “And no, we don’t ever get a –"

Jack slammed the hatch closed before the team could chime in about their overworked status.

“Don’t mind them,” Jack said with a cough as he dead bolted the latch.

“Afraid we’re going to be invaded?” the Doctor asked, amusement evident in his tone.

“Trust me; an invasion is easier to deal with then four of them.”

“You hired them.”

Jack smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

“Despite what I’ve said, I’m glad you have this place, Jack. I know Torchwood means a lot to you.” For the Doctor, that was about as close to an approval as he was ever going to give.

“For a long time Torchwood was all I had –“

The sounds of the alarm effectively cut off his speech of devotion and loyalty to his place of employment. “Oh, fuck Torchwood!” Jack yelled over the shrill sound of the siren.

“That would be rather awkward, don’t you think?” The Doctor pulled on his ear before adding, “Although I’m sure you’d find a way.”

Someone was pounding on the hatch demanding entrance.

“You’ve got to go,” the Doctor stated.

Sighing, Jack nodded. “Yeah, my team –"

“You’ve got a responsibility to them.”

Jack couldn’t bring himself to ask if the Doctor would be here when he returned. There wasn’t any point to it, really.

“Doctor –" He laid his fingers around the side of the Time Lord’s face, the pad of his thumb caressing his prominent cheek bone – "thank you. Please, don’t be a stranger, okay? In fact, I might have a bottle of scotch I was saving for a special occasion around here somewhere.”

The Doctor laughed, his body still under Jack’s warm touch. “Go on, off with you. Your team’s going to wonder exactly what we’re doing down here.”

Jack forced a grin and unlocked the hatch.

Owen’s annoyed voice echoed into the room. “Put your clothes on, Jack! We’ve got work to do!”


The team returned to the Hub bruised, weary, and exhausted. Jack was quick to usher them all out of the door after Owen declared everyone battered but fit to return to duty the following day.

Jack padded up the stairs slowly, his body protesting any jarring movements. Engaging Weevils in physical combat was not top on his list of how to spend an afternoon. Still, there was no rest for the weary and Torchwood’s endless supply of reports called his name. He’d asked for a secretary more than once and was informed that management had allowed him to keep Ianto; what else did he want?

He froze on the stairs when he heard the faint sounds of rustling from his office. He personally watched his team leave the Hub for the night. Jack briefly wondered if he could inform the hidden assailant that he wasn’t in the mood and politely ask if they could come back tomorrow during normal business hours.

Jack’s pulled his gun from underneath his greatcoat, and spun around the corner into his office with his arms outstretched and his weapon pointed at the attacker. “Hands up!”

The Doctor didn’t lift his spectacle covered eyes from the Torchwood mission report that was distinctly marked classified in bold, red letters. “Kindly point that elsewhere,” the Doctor said with a sniff as he crossed his legs at the ankles. His feet were resting on top of a pile of important papers that were haphazardly stacked on Jack’s desk. When Jack didn’t move, the Doctor added, “Just to clarify, I was referring to the gun.”

“I could have shot you,” Jack glowered, replacing his blaster in the holster on his belt in one flustered movement.

“With all that racket you were making downstairs? Half of Cardiff heard you coming.”

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the entryway. “You’re still here.”

The Doctor pulled several evidence photographs out of the file he was studying. “Or I’m having an out of body experience,” he replied absentmindedly. Stepping forward, Jack plucked the file out of the Doctor’s hands. “Oi! I was reading that!”

“I suppose classified isn’t in your vocabulary.”

“Sure it is,” the Doctor replied, reaching for another file. “It means ‘read me now because imminent disaster is sure to follow.’”

Jack snatched the remaining files before the Doctor could grab them. “Can you just not touch anything? Think you can handle that?”

“You seem to have forgotten who you’re talking to.”

“I’m well aware of who I’m talking to,” Jack replied. “Although I’m still not entirely sure why you’re still here.”

The Doctor suddenly found his trainers interesting and watched the fabric move as he wiggled his toes. “Do you want me to leave?”

Out of everything Jack wanted the Doctor to do, leaving certainly wasn’t anywhere on that list. “Did I say that?” he asked. “I’m just surprised to see you. I figured you’d be halfway across the galaxy by the time I got back.”

The Doctor leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head. Jack winced as important financial papers crumpled underneath the Doctor’s feet. Oh well, they should have got him a secretary.

“I thought about it,” the Doctor replied truthfully. “But I know me. I’ve lived with me for a long time, over nine hundred years, in fact. Not in this body, of course, but –“

“Doctor, are you going somewhere with this?” Jack asked curiously.

Sighing, the Doctor meet Jack’s gaze. “If I left I wouldn’t have come back.”

Jack swallowed. “You couldn’t have come back?” he repeated.

The Time Lord shrugged and pulled his feet off the desk. “I would have eventually, but it wouldn’t have been any time soon.”

Opting for the simplistic approach, Jack asked the one question he figured the Doctor wouldn’t answer, “Why?”

Again, the Doctor shrugged. “Emotionally stunted Time Lord.”

“That’s an excuse, not a reason,” Jack pointed out.

“You weren’t complaining last night,” the Doctor said.

“We were also kissing,” Jack replied as warm memories danced through his mind. “What did I have to complain about?” He reached across the desk and grabbed a water bottle left over from the morning.

“So if we start kissing, you’ll stop asking me all these inane questions?”

Jack coughed, the water he was swirling in his mouth went spewing across the office. Dragging his arm across his lips, he asked, “Is this a trick question?”

The Doctor stood up, his hands sliding into the pockets of his coat as he stepped towards Jack. “Do you want it to be?” He was within arms reach now, eyebrows arching over inhumanly inquisitive brown eyes.

What Jack intended on being a definitive answer, came out as more of a question as the Doctor invaded his personal space. “No?”

“You look tired, Jack,” the Doctor surmised.

“Wait – what? Tired?” Jack asked, his heart slamming against his chest as he felt the Time Lord’s breath on his face. “Doctor, I’m many things right now, but tired isn’t one of them.” He studied the Doctor’s face, each worry line, soft brown eyes that had seen the wonders of the Universe, the boyish features that held the secrets of Time. Swallowing hard, he added, ”Do you know how long I’ve wanted –“

For whatever reason, the Doctor didn’t let him finish, as their lips clashed in a passionate kiss that left Jack breathless, starry eyed, and aching for more.

When Jack reopened his eyes, the Doctor had stepped back, his head thoughtfully cocked to the side leaving Jack to wonder how long he’d been standing there like a fish out of water with his mouth hanging open and his lips swollen from the bruising kiss. “What?”

The Doctor tugged on the collar of his coat and devilish smile curved his lips. “Still got it.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Smug bastard.”

“I’m not the one parading around the Universe like some intergalactic sex symbol.”

Jack raised his eyebrow, wanting to reply with some snippy remark, but finding it increasing difficult. The Doctor had kissed him – willingly – and it wasn’t to say goodbye.

A lazy smile appeared on the Doctor’s lips. “Hullo Jack.”

Jack stepped forward, one hand wrapping around the Doctor’s waist and the other cupping the side of his face. “Hi Doctor,” he whispered before capturing the Time Lord in a kiss that spoke of promise, of uncharted territory, and of a relationship that would defy logic and Time.

Tags: doctor who, fanfic, scorched food, ten/jack, torchwood

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