She keeps his jacket in her room.
She doesn't tell anyone about it. He didn't want it, obviously, preferring his own style over what his predecessor had, and it had just been sitting in the wardrobe, next to a large box filled with what could only be clothing of previous versions of the Doctor, long scarves and frilly shirts and question-mark umbrellas.
She didn't tell Jack about it either, even though after he found them again, he looked as wounded as she did — both of them still flinching on the rare occasion when the Doctor says something that is hauntingly familiar and painfully improper.
She just... She couldn't. The jacket was something she had to keep to herself. The Doctor knew she had it, of course. Very little got past him, but he hadn't said anything — just occasionally looked over at her with a slightly hurt expression, the kind someone has when they know things have changed but there's no one that can be blamed.
She hasn't told anyone about it. But when she goes to sleep, she holds the jacket tight to her chest.
There's a fight. Or a crisis. Or some other major event. Neither of them can remember what happens, because it all fades away when Jack comes to get her and sees her clutching the jacket in her sleep.
He stops, his mouth open slightly in surprise. He stares at her, still surprised, watching her as she wakes up.
She sits up, slowly, rubbing her eyes with one hand while still holding the jacket in her other arm, then looks at him.
They stare at each other for a few seconds, not speaking, barely breathing, daring each other to respond.
She flinches, and looks away, climbing out of her bed. She's wearing only a pair of knickers, but Jack doesn't look away, his face pale.
She looks up, just for a second, then turns away from him. "D'you mind?" she asks, her voice flat.
He closes his mouth and swallows. Hard. He stands there, watching her as she reaches for a shirt and a pair of jeans, then, finally, speaks up. "Rose..."
"Don't."
"But—"
"Don't." She pulls the shirt over her head, covering bare breasts, and turns towards the door. "Let's go."
She walks out the door before Jack can say anything else, and he looks back. The jacket sits on the bed, still rumpled from her arms wrapped around it, and he stares at it for a few seconds more before running to catch up with her.
The crisis was averted, the planet was saved, and Rose sits in her room, folding clothing as if she was still just a shopgirl.
There's a noise at the door, and she looks up.
Jack stands in the doorway, his jacket zipped up, his expression gentle, calm, but nervous, like he was facing a tiger or a bear rather than a scared and heartsick teenage girl.
She smiles, barely imitating the cheer that is expected when you save the world.
"Rose, can..." He swallows, searching for words. "Can I talk to you?"
She pats a spot on the bed next to her, then looks away, continuing to fold clothing. The arms are perfectly tucked in. There are no creases. Everything is set perfectly.
"I saw the jacket, Rose," he says, as blunt as ever.
She ignores him, still folding, even though she's on her last shirt. She takes longer with this one, marking each fold with precision.
She is ignoring him. Even as he sighs and unzips his jacket.
"Rose..." he says, his voice low and tense. "Look at me."
She stops folding, and puts the shirt down, but doesn't look at him. She can't, because he'll just remind her that he's gone and she has to move on and all the other bollocks she knows is true but that she doesn't want to hear.
He sighs, again, and swears under his breath. "Rose," he says again, his voice even more strained. "Look at me."
She straightens, and prepares a fake smile, then slowly turns around to face him. "Wh—"
The word fades when she sees him. He sits on her bed, pale, nervous, terrified...
And wearing his jumper.
Things get blurry — tears sting her eyes, and yet she can't blink or look away. "Oh Jack..." she finally says, her voice near breaking.
She stretches out her hand towards his chest, but her fingertips are desperately afraid to touch it, to prove that it happened.
Jack, his eyes glittering with tears of his own, grasps her hand, tightly, and crushes it to his chest.
And there's that strange familiar mix of soft and scratchy and comfort, and as she closes her eyes, tears streaking down her face, she shudders, her whole body shaking in grief.
Jack lets go of her hand and pulls her towards him as she starts to cry in earnest, tears sinking into the jumper.
He lifts up her head, brushing away a few strands of hair from her face before tilting his head down to kiss her.
She closes her eyes, tears still leaking from them, and kisses back, roughly, angrily, her hands sliding up against the jumper and clutching handfuls of it. She pulls him down on top of her, sprawling across her bed, Jack quickly shoving Rose's carefully folded clothing off of the bed before grabbing her hips in his hands, pulling her closer to him.
He shucks off his jacket quickly, and breaks the kiss to pull the jumper over his head when she places a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "Don't..." she whispers.
He lets go of the jumper, instantly understanding, then strokes her cheek tenderly, before reaching down and undoing the button on her jeans.
She moans into his mouth as he slides her hand down just a bit further, stroking her through her jeans. He keeps doing that, teasing her, pushing her further and further, while she writhes and moans and clutches great big sections of the jumper in her hand.
She pulls away, just for a second, just long enough to pull off her jeans and t-shirt. She never lets go of his shoulder while she takes off her clothes, save when she pulls her t-shirt over her head. Her breasts press up against him as he grabs her, pulling her tight against him with one arm as he scrabbles about on the bed with the other.
He lets go, briefly, and pushes her down onto the bed.
She falls back...and gasps as she lands on silk and the scent of leather. She's lying on his coat, and, as Jack begins kissing her again — hungry, rough kisses that consume her entirely — she grabs onto him, grasping a fistful of the jumper.
There's his jacket underneath her and his jumper above her and both are sliding against her as Jack moves down between her legs and slowly takes off her knickers. She hasn't felt like this since she first discovered sex — wet, raw, wanting, pressing her body up against him as he kisses and strokes and caresses her.
She spreads her legs wider and Jack moans softly just before bending down to kiss her there. The wool of the jumper rubs against her thighs and that pushes her even farther, eyes squeezed together tightly and breathy little moans each time Jack hits that spot.
He groans, needy, desperate, and begins to move up her, devouring her body as he stretches out between her legs. She arches up against the feeling of cloth against her clit and he groans louder, reaching down to undo his trousers before he pushes up and over.
He hovers over her, his body only the tiniest distance away from hers, and he looks down at her.
She opens her eyes, slowly, looking directly up at him. She lifts her head, challenging him, pushing him, allowing him, and he leans down to kiss her roughly as he slowly slides inside her.
Her eyes close again as he begins to move, her body instinctively moving with him. It hurts, at first, the pain of sudden fullness, and her eyes scrunch up tightly, but the pain quickly fades, replaced by intense, raw, aching lust, her body pushing back against him angrily, her hands clawing against his still-clothed shoulders, her mouth hungrily seeking out his.
She has wool against her fingers and silk against her back and in the middle of the bright white-hot light of pleasure, she sees him — his body over hers, his mouth on hers, his moans rumbling through his chest as she gasps and cries and shakes against him.
And she suddenly stops, her voice failing her, her body tensing.
"That's it, Rose..." she hears him say. "Now..."
And she comes. Hard. Shaking and shrieking and her nails are digging down past the jumper into Jack's back as she sees the Doctor — her Doctor — smile at the sight. She hear Jack groan, his body jerking against hers as she slowly comes down, her body tingling, her eyes still closed.
She finally opens her eyes, and sees Jack looking down at her. She smiles, weakly, tiredly, and then, suddenly, without understanding or reason or even a slight warning, bursts into tears.
He slides to the left of her, his arms still tight around her body, and makes soothing noises against her sweat-dampened hair. She still has handfuls of the jumper clutched in her fingers, and she shakes against him, sobbing out the last of her grief and rage.
"It's okay..." Jack finally whispers. "It's all going to be okay..."
And just like that, Rose is better. Real smiles, real laughter, no dark circles under her eyes, none of the grief that had lingered about her before.
Jack watches her intently, always ready with a witty remark or a charming smile whenever she notices.
The Doctor watches both of them, and says nothing.
It's only a few days later when, after saving another world, another civilization, another group of people who had managed to get into a bit of trouble just before they had arrived, Jack comes up to Rose and whispers "Can I talk to you?"
She nods, smiling cheerfully. "What?"
He smiles thinly, and points down the hall from the control room. "My room?"
She raises an eyebrow, and is about to make a sarcastic reply, but the look on his face stops her. "Yeah, sure," she replies. She follows him as he walks down the hall, braids bouncing against her shoulders as she makes her way down.
They reach the door to his room, and he stops and turns to her. "Rose..." he says, his voice thick, his face grim. "I need..." He stops, trying to find the words. "I need you to do something for me..."
She looks at him, slightly puzzled. "What?"
He opens his mouth, about to tell her, then closes it, shaking his head, answering only by opening the door, and gesturing for her to go in.
Rose has been in Jack's room several times, and nothing was ever too surprising...
But his jumper is laid out on the bed, neat against the duvet. And lying next to it is a pile of leather straps with something that looks like a weirdly-shaped candle in the middle of it. Rose looks at the pile confusedly, not certain what it is, but then, suddenly, it becomes clear and her eyes widen as she looks at something she's only heard about in whispered conversations about what lesbians do in bed.
"Oh," she says, her voice small and quiet.
"I...I was thinking..." Jack walks into the room and shuts the door behind him. "What happened between us..."
"It wasn't—"
He holds up his hand. "It was, Rose. And it helped you." He paces around the room, steadily ignoring what laid on the bed, even though Rose could not look away from either the jumper or the harness. "You never got to be with the Doctor before..." He pauses. "Before," he finally says, with a finality that hurts Rose. He looks down at the floor for a few seconds before continuing. "So being with me, wearing his clothes...that helped you." He finally looks up from the floor and looks straight at her. "And I..."
She shakes her head. "I..." She swallows. "I can't..."
Jack comes up to her, his body close to hers. "You can," he whispers.
She looks up at him. "It's not..." She shakes her head again, looking down. "I never..."
He reaches over to the bed, and picks up the collection of leather and silicone. "I'll..." He takes Rose's hands and, gently, places it in them. "I'll show you." He closes her hands around it, then, gently, tenderly, places his hand on her cheek.
Her eyes grow larger, and she drops the harness on the floor as she takes a step back, shaking her head. "I...I can't..." She takes another step back, closer to the door. "I'm sorry..." she squeaks out, just before running out the door.
Hours pass, and the TARDIS slips into the "night time" stage — dimmed lights, quiet noises, comfortable beds for the Doctor's companions, even if he himself does not sleep.
Jack sprawls across his bed, one hand on the jumper, occasionally stroking it as he stares up at the ceiling.
Rose tosses and turns in her bed, attempting to avoid the jacket draped over a chair.
There is a knock on Jack's door. Jack, instantly awake, sits up. "What?" he says as he climbs out of bed, already reaching for a shirt.
Rose opens the door just wide enough for her to slip in, then closes it behind her. Jack looks at her in the dim light of his room. "Rose?" he says, reaching over to turn on a lamp.
The light slowly rises in the room, and Rose's shape becomes clearer. "Rose?" he repeats, looking at her.
She's standing against the door, her body drawn in golden light and shadows, nude save for the jacket. It hangs loose against her body, cuffs down past her fingertips and hem close to her knees, but she is wearing it. For him.
"Rose..." he repeats again, lost for words. "I—"
"Shhh," she says, walking over to him and pushing him back onto the bed. "Don't—"
She kisses him, just as rough and as powerful as she kissed him days ago, the same hunger and desperation wrapped in that familiar tension and need. She keeps pushing him back onto the bed, the jacket billowing out around them as she straddles him, naked skin against the simple cotton trousers he wears to bed.
He lies back, and feels the jumper underneath his back. He arches up against her, into dampness and heat, and groans softly as she pulls away.
She kneels above him, looking down at him with a faint smile, looks around his room for a second, and finds the harness pushed to a corner of the bed. She looks back at him, her eyes seeking out his for confirmation, for approval, for a mutual understanding that this is what he wants.
He looks directly at her, challenging her, his head raised slightly, and he nods.
Her smile widens just a little, and she climbs off of him, turning her back towards him as she grabs the harness in one hand. It takes a few agonising seconds for her to work out how to put it on, but he is soon watching the straps slide up against her calves before disappearing behind his jacket, worn seams and crumpled leather disguising the softness, the curves, the femininity of Rose.
He doesn't know how she will look wearing the harness, whether they will laugh or cry or watch it all wither into nothing, and yet, as she straightens, her shoulder out, her head high, and begins to turn, the sudden sight of a pale lavender piece of silicone sticking out from the jacket makes Jack painfully hard. She fully turns to face him, and he watches her reaction — her mouth opening, her eyes glittering, her body tensing in a sudden rush of lust.
She climbs onto the bed and straddles him again, bending over to kiss him hungrily. He arches up higher and higher, soft wetness and the single leather strap pressing against his cock while the dildo pressed against his stomach. Her kisses drive him insane, softness mixed with ferocity, and his hand scrabbles on the bedside table, searching for that final necessary element.
When he finds the small bottle, he deftly uncaps it and begins slicking his fingers with it while still holding the bottle in the same hand. He breaks the kiss, for a few seconds, and she looks at him, a lustful blush still on her cheeks even as her eyes study him quizzically.
He smiles and reaches for her, grabbing the dildo with his lubricant-covered fingers, stroking it firmly, tugging on it so that the strap pulls harder against her as he milks it, covering it in lubricant, pulling her closer and closer. His other hand slides up underneath the coat and cups a breast, squeezing it in the palm of his hand. She closes her eyes and moans, rocking back and forth against his pulling and squeezing, the jacket gently sliding against his thighs.
He stops, and pushes her backwards as he spreads his legs wide, settling her on her knees between his legs. She looks into his eyes, desire warring with anxiety, and he smiles, tenderly, comfortingly, even as he positions her into the right place.
His eyes are locked on hers, a strong, steady gaze, even as he lifts his legs, pulls her close to him, and, slowly, gently, pushes her inside.
There's a slight resistance, and he winces slightly, gently rocking his hips against the burn. He grabs her hips, rolling his own higher and pulling her even further into him. He thrusts against her, his eyes never leaving hers, even as her eyes widen at the feeling of sinking into someone. He lifts his legs higher, his ankles against the small of her back, digging in against the leather, and she smiles, sharply, wolf-like, just as she begins to thrust against him in earnest.
She shifts, slightly, and starts to push against that spot and his head falls back against the pillow, moaning. His hands fall to his sides and scrape across the bed, scratching against sheets before grabbing hold of his jumper.
He groans loudly, pulling the jumper across his chest. She gasps as she sees it, and begins thrusting harder against him, her hands sliding down and cupping his ass in her hands, pushing and pulling him against her, moaning softly on each stroke.
The jacket slaps against him with each thrust, and he grasps the jumper tightly in one hand as the other reaches down and grabs hold of his cock. She grins, and slaps his hand away, grasping his cock firmly as she continues to thrust into him, stroking him and pushing into him harder and harder. He groans loudly, a shout of lust and need, and his eyes close tightly as he gasps for breath, the pleasure spiralling higher and higher.
The jumper still faintly smells like him, like ozone and alien spices and something altogether too unique and too beautiful to name, and just as the memory of kissing him bubbles to the surface, Rose twists her hand just so and thrusts against him just so, and he sees him, smiling and leaning over him, pushing into him, grinning madly even as he groans and shakes and jerks harder and harder against him.
"Come on..." he can hear the Doctor say. "Now!"
And he comes, jerking and thrusting, spurting all over his stomach, the jumper, Rose's skin, the jacket, everywhere, tighter and hotter and shaking against the bed and her. He slumps back against the bed, and he sees her gasp, and shake, and buck against him over and over again.
He groans, and, together, they slowly move apart, Rose sliding out of him. She unbuckles the harness in two sharp tugs and takes off the dildo, throwing it beside the bed as she crawls up to lie beside him, her mouth meeting his in a slow, deep, delicious kiss.
He shivers — just a little — a faint shudder that only she would notice, and he pulls the jacket off of her. The jumper is discarded on the floor next to it, and, naked, complete, together, curled up in each other's arms, they drift off to sleep.
Jack wakes up to the faint clank of a mug being placed on his bedside table. He sits up quickly, blinking.
"Oh!" says the Doctor, holding another mug in his hand. "I thought... Yes. Tea."
Jack blinks a few more times, and then feels Rose stirring next to him. She sits up, surprised, then blushes, wrapping the sheet around her chest.
"Tea?" the Doctor asks Rose, holding out a slightly chipped pink mug.
She takes the mug with one hand, trying to hold up the sheet with the other, all the while still blushing slightly. She takes a sip, still unable to look at the Doctor.
She stops, suddenly, and her blush deepens as she surreptitiously glances around the room. She sees the jacket first, draped over a chair, then sees the jumper, neatly folded on the chair. Jack frowns slightly at Rose's reaction, then looks over where she is looking, his eyes widening in surprise.
The Doctor sees both of them staring, and he follows her gaze, then nods. "Oh. Yes. I did some cleaning." He looks at both of them, faintly concerned. "Is that okay?"
Rose and Jack look at the jumper and the jacket, then at each other. Rose pauses, then smiles softly, looking back at the Doctor — not her Doctor, but still the Doctor. "Y'know," she says, her smile growing wider. "I think it really is."
Jack looks at her, then at the Doctor, and his smile matches hers.
This Doctor Who story was written by Kate Bolin. If you liked it, there's plenty more at http://www.dymphna.net/fanfic/. And you can feedback her at dymphna@dymphna.net.