Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.

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317. Jack Harkness

~You felt like you couldn’t breathe, and were moments away from ruining everything. The man in front of you categorically refused to stop talking, and you weren’t certain how much more you could take. Already you could feel the metaphorical adhesive melting off your pasted on smile. You steeled yourself and decided you would simply have to hold out until the portly man with strong opinions the female gender stopped for breath, and then you could make your break. In the interim you tried as hard as you could to forget that you had to do this five more times. Five more grand balls until the season was over, at which point if your sister was not engaged, you would dress her cat as a suitor and marry them yourself. Or blackmail the nearest man into a proposal, whichever seemed easiest when the time came.

As luck would have it, your sister had chosen this year to formally come out. Far more concerned with propriety than you, she was attending to every step towards her inevitable engagement with the utmost seriousness. It was quite frankly baffling to you how much she managed to care about every little thing concerning her image. Unfortunately this included you. After a great many pleading looks and reminders that she had asked you for very little across her seventeen years of life, you had finally surrendered. For the duration of your little sister’s debut season you were to be on “her best behavior,” meaning you were to act as similarly to your sister as possible, seeing as “your best behavior” often still constituted trouncing men at billiards halfway through parties. You were currently attending your seventh ball of the season and were relieved that not only were you more than halfway through your commitment, but that your sister appeared very, very close to an engagement. Your great aunt had accompanied your sister, Alice, and her suitor, William, third son of a British Viscount, on several outings. To your eyes William was plainly smitten with your sister, but she maintained that nothing was certain until he had officially proposed. She was so on pins and needles about the whole thing that you were tempted to give shy little William a nudge yourself. Then again once they were actually engaged, you had no doubt your sister would dive head first into wedding planning, something you had absolutely no interest in being a part of. People got so wrapped up in these things, and you couldn’t for the world empathize with their fervor. When you were younger you were half convinced everyone was faking it. But being privy to night after night of girls whispering endlessly about the slightest engagement with a boy at boarding school, you became convinced that no one was that good of an actor. For a time after that you’d wondered whether God had simply gotten distracted and left something out when he’d originally made you. But as you grew, you had discovered yourself different from your peers in a great many respects, and you lack of interest in husband hunting had simply become a part of the lot.

What was devilishly frustrating however was that you were quite enamored with the male form. Under the guise of education, your liberated great aunt had taken you and your sister to an art museum. There you had been treated to vision after vision of the nude male form in all of its glory. You sister had blushed furiously and hidden her face in her sleeve, but you had resolved to see such a form in the flesh as soon as you were able. You had managed to sneak off with a charming politician’s son only two parties later. He had been quick but kind, and most of all beautiful. He also introduced you to female contraceptives. He insisted on diaphragms with all the women he slept with, having no desire to father a series of illegitimate children like his father. He had even gone so far as to give you the name of his procurer when you had asked for it. And thanks to your great aunt’s loose manner of guardianship it was no great difficulty to slip away and procure a series of new diaphragms whenever you ran out. You great aunt did not even ask for receipts on your allowance spendings, so you were even spared the trouble of doctoring paperwork.

Ever since then, while you often tempered your wants for good sense and discretion’s sake, you had made a great many friends at the various balls and parties you attended. Occasionally if your lover was particularly skilled, you would rendezvous with them multiple times over a series of months. However, you were often disappointed at how attached your lovers became as time went on. Some even came to profess a desire to court you publicly. Whenever this occurred, breaking things off became exponentially more painful and dangerous for you. As a result you had become very adept at recognizing the early signs of infatuation, and no matter how skilled the lover would cut things off the moment the first bud of love appeared. Whenever you did, without fail, you felt a confusing jumble of guilt, relief, and frustration. You had yet to find a method of severance that did not hurt the other person, for which you were supremely sorry. However in your darkest moments you would mutter to yourself that none of this would be a problem if only the whole world was not so wrapped up in love and courting.

Much to your relief, as time passed, your other less conventional tendencies started to put off some of your more marriage-minded lovers. You were fascinated by politics, and doing your level best to be as involved as you could in them. You couldn’t be bothered with etiquette at parties, and seldom passed two months without doing something “outrageous.” Luckily your father had been not only a noble, but also exceedingly powerful in politics, such that his name continued to hold sway even after his death. In fact, you were quite certain if your father had not been who he was you would have been thrown out of polite society long ago. Thankfully your own beauty and your father’s status ensured you were labeled as “spirited” and “engaging” rather than “a hussy” and “a menace.” That is not to say that some of those in your set were not relieved at your “reform” over the past season. Many of them had expressed through backhanded compliments how nice it was that you had “turned your fortunes around,” and “learned to act as nicely as you looked,” and most boldly of all “finally learned the grace of silence.” You were usually silent nowadays because you were grinding your teeth to keep all the words you had from spilling out. You couldn’t wait until your sister was married. You had a great many things to say to those who took so much pleasure at seeing your rebellious spirit supposedly tamed.

But that time had not arrived yet. So you ground your teeth until the man in front of you had finished his speech, and gracefully extricated yourself from the conversation, begging the need to sit down for a moment. The “because of this ridiculous corset,” was- of course- implied, because you were going to be a lady tonight if it killed you (and to all rights the night appeared to be headed that way.) Turning to leave, you bumped into a man in a suit several seasons out of fashion standing just behind you.

“Whoops, hey there,” the man said turning to face you.

He was remarkably attractive, possessing bright blue eyes and a broad physique. You were more than willing to forgive the bump and the suit, especially when he flashed a brilliant smile that would have plainly marked him as American had his accent not already done so.

“Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?”

“In your way, I’m afraid. Were you intending to join the conversation?” you said playfully, stepping aside and gesturing to the group behind you.

“Not if you’re leaving it,” he said, still smiling that bright smile.

“I’m afraid I am. The heat has quite overwhelmed me.”

The man leaned in and winked, “I get that a lot. Come on, let’s get you some place cool.” He offered his arm, and despite just having met the man, you took it.

“Forgive me, but if you accompany me, doesn’t that rather defeat the purpose?” you asked mildly as the captain lead you towards an unpopulated set of benches.

“Oh, I don’t think the heat was what was really bothering you.”

“Oh?”

“Nah. Pretty sure the guy with King Henry VIII levels of chauvinism was more the problem.”

“No, no not at all.”

“Oh really? Because when I came in he was comparing women to horses.”

“No, I mean that you are selling Mr. Montagu quite short. Henry VIII only killed four of his wives. Had Mr. Montagu been in the king’s place, I fear the remaining two wives would not have fared so well.”

The captain whistled, “You do not hold back, do you sweetheart?”

“I am afraid that my heart is not only quite tart, according to several you may find it missing entirely.”

Guiding you onto the bench, the captain kept smiling at you (much to your surprise.) “I seriously doubt that.”

He looked for all the world as though he believed his words, and didn’t miss a beat, sitting down on the bench next to yours.

“Now do you have a name? Or should I just call you Ms. Tart-heart.”

You smiled at the unintended innuendo. “I think that would rather give people the wrong impression, Captain.”

He paused for a moment, and then threw his head back in a hearty laugh.

“I like you. Hey, how do you feel about traveling through space?” he asked earnestly.

“Is that what they call dancing in America?” you asked, furrowing your brow slightly.

“Not really, but it can be if you want.”

“I do,” you replied, holding out your hand. You hadn’t danced all night, and if you didn’t soon you would begin to look anti-social.

Much to your joy, the Captain proved to be a very skilled dancing partner. He seemed unfamiliar with a handful of the dances, but stalled quite gracefully until he could gather the steps from those around him. Unfortunately your corset eventually got the best of you, and you had to suggest a break for refreshments.

You were slightly worried that he would wander off to find another dance partner while you rested, but happily he insisted on fetching drinks for the both of you. In fact, the Captain didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night. He turned out to be not only a dutiful companion, but a quick witted one as well. He was quite the odd duck, but you liked him. You had always liked the odd ones, and if all the Americans were like this, then you might have to seek out the consulate on your next Sunday stroll.

A part of you regretted meeting the Captain during your season of attempted propriety. He was bold, and took great joy in salacious turns of phrase, punctuating his speech with winks and half smiles. You would have loved to return his banter in full force, but instead you were constantly aware of the eavesdropping ears all around you. As the ball waned, you resolved that if you could not be bold in public, at least you could be bold in private. Hoping that fan language was a part of the social scene in America, you discretely turned so you were less visible to the remaining guests. Pretending to wipe sweat from your brow you drew your fan across your forehead.

We are watched.

“I’d gathered,” Jack said.

You smiled and let the fan fall open, fanning yourself with your right hand.

Follow me.

“Anywhere.”

Feeling cheeky, you snapped the fan closed and tapped it to your lips.

The Captain’s grin told you everything you needed to know.

You nodded once, and rose, hoping he would be smart enough to trust you. Sure enough, he was looking at you with mild concern, but not saying a word. You hadn’t given him your address yet. Knowing that you couldn’t tell him outright without someone hearing, you decided to rely on a trick an old magician friend had taught you: misdirection. You dropped your fan. With its mother of pearl handle, the clatter was loud enough to draw several eyes. The meaning was clear to all in the room, you had rejected the Captain as a suitor, but had done it kindly. As a direct meaning, dropping your fan meant: We will be friends.

The Captain’s smile faded as he stooped to pick up your fan. The look of masked disappointment on his face was so convincing you were half concerned he didn’t understand that this part of your message was a ruse. Hopefully he would get the hint when you passed him your dance book. When the Captain placed your fan back in your hand with a gentle, “I understand,” your heart lifted. He even held his palm up so it was easier for you to slip your dance book into his hands as you clasped his hand in both of yours in a show of thanks. The Captain then proceeded to tuck the book into his sleeve so smoothly, that you barely caught it, even though you were in on the trick. You nodded to him, and gave the most cordial, “Good evening, Captain,” you could manage. Then you went in search of your sister.

Your sister was beaming and practically oscillating with energy when you found her. It seemed that William had not so stealthily complimented one of her new rings and inquired after its size. You celebrated with her, and agreed on every point when she spent the entirety of your ride home listing all of William’s good qualities. The one good quality she did not manage to name that actually quite endeared him to you was the fact that he was apparently a terrible liar. For all your differences, you were quite protective of your little sister. Knowing that she would have a husband whose bad lying might help keep him honest was a comfort to you. In truth, William did seem to be of sound moral character, but an extra layer of protection never hurt when it came to the ones you loved. As your carriage pulled up to the front of your house, Alice turned to you, still beaming.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you so many times over for being so well behaved for my sake. I know it is a great difficulty to you.”

“It is worth it to see you happy.”

Alice pulled you in for a hug, and you squeezed her tight.

“You have made me very happy.”

“Then the experiment has been successful. What I am afraid it has been less successful in doing is convincing my lungs of the benefits of corsets.”

“You have been wanting to complain about your corset all night, haven’t you sister?”

“Alice, I am prepared to strike Charles Gibson over the head with the whale bones of my own corset if I am forced to wear this monstrosity even a moment more.”

Alice laughed. “Then for Mr. Gibson’s sake let us get you inside post haste.”

Eager to get ready for bed, knowing what you would soon find there, you gracelessly bounced out of the carriage. The maids were in the entrance hall waiting for you and your sister to arrive home. The moment you were through the door, Alice started talking to her maid about how wonderful her night had been. Your maid looked at you with relief when you gestured wordlessly for her to follow you to your room. Becky hated listening to the gossip and long stories your sister traded in, which is what made her such an excellent companion for you. There were days when you and Becky barely said two words to one another, and that’s exactly how you both liked it. Not to mention, Becky was one of the fastest unlacers you’d ever had the pleasure of employing. Her fingers were lightning quick, and you’d suggested more than once that she take up piano. Less than a year after tonight, Becky will finally admit to you that she can’t afford lessons. You will feel like a complete idiot for forgetting your own wealth and insist on paying for them with your allowance. Becky will blush and accept. Years later that decision will cause you to lose Becky as an employee, but gain her as a friend. With you backing her, Becky will become skilled enough to begin teaching lessons herself. Listening to Becky describe her joy at teaching piano for a living, you will find your calling: to be a fairy godmother of sorts for those that deserve it. Possessing more money than you know what to do with, you will spend the remaining of your life seeking out worthy causes. It will fill your spinster years with joy, and serve as a sort of cloak to unkind judgment at parties. Once you have found the people you love, other’s barbs become considerably less troublesome.

But that was all in your future, at that moment your greatest concern was whether or not the Captain would be crafty enough to find your window without being told. So long as Becky got you undressed before he arrived, you could make his hunt significantly easier. However he would still have to be smart enough not to try and walk through the front door. You would think that this would not be a difficult task, but you had had no less than three lovers attempt to start a late night tryst by simply ringing the doorbell. Only your servant’s discretion and your great aunt’s good humor had saved those events from being complete debacles. Needless to say you never saw any of those men again, but the memory of their ineptness stayed with you and worried you for every tryst thereafter. You very much hoped that the Captain was not one to lose his head; that would be supremely disappointing.

Becky helped you step out of your sky blue gown, and hung it up in your closet. You rid yourself of your many petticoats, and were standing in only your corset, chemise, and drawers by the time she returned. Without a word, Becky set to deftly unlacing your corset. You sighed with relief as the blasted thing slowly loosened. You were half tempted to burn the contraption once this season was over. The new fashion in Paris was slim-fitting empire waist gowns, perhaps you could convince your set to bring them into vogue here. Or you could simply arrive at the opening of next season wearing one. It would be a nice scandal with which to announce your true return. What’s more, you could no doubt dance excellently without the hindrance of a carriage wide set of petticoats.

Becky finished unlacing while you pondered exactly what color dress would be the most pleasing for the new style you were determined to wear. A spring green would be nice, but a white would also be delightfully understated, letting the shape of the dress shine. You wished Becky a good night, and returned your thoughts to your new suitor. Hoping against hope that he had already arrived, you crossed to the window. But looking out you saw only the neatly trimmed lawn of your estate. Sighing, you pulled a chair up next to the window and settled in to wait.

You did not have long. A mere quarter of an hour later, you saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Sure enough, there was the Captain, looking for all the world like he was out for a midnight stroll, not about to sneak into your bedroom. As quietly as you could, you opened your window and leaned out. The winter air washed over you in a gust and you felt your skin prickle. Happy that he had been smart enough not to ring the doorbell, you waved. The Captain gave a glowing grin and waved back. You pointed to the sturdy trellis next to your second floor window, and after a brief thumbs up, he began to climb. Your heart quickened, watching him climb the trellis easily with a sort of athletic grace. Stepping back, you let him swing through your open window. He landed with a soft thump, still wearing that bright American grin of his.

“Been a few years since I’ve pulled a Romeo like that. Glad you had a trellis.”

“I made it clear to the gardener when I moved in that I had a great love for wisteria, which of course requires a sturdy framework for steady growth.”

“Well they are beautiful this time of year,” the Captain replied, eyes twinkling.

“And I do so love beautiful things.”

“You and me both, tart-heart.”

“If you are to call me tart-heart now that we are in private, what shall I call you?”

“Whatever you can manage.” The Captain’s brows raised in challenge just moments before he bent to kiss you. You leaned up into the kiss, allowing him to lead, curious if Americans kissed differently.

After a few moments, and a broad pair of wandering hands, you determined that at the very least Americans kissed well. Jack had his hand splayed out against your back and bum, while his tongue thrust smoothly into your mouth. You were clutching the lapels of his overcoat in your hands, thanking whatever gods may be for his sturdy frame. Much like a trellis-less wisteria, you suspected you would fall right over were he not supporting you. It had been a long time since you had derived so much joy from kissing.

Jack walked you backwards until you were sandwiched between the wall and his strong form, which left you feeling blessedly caged. You ran your hands down to his waist and pulled him closer, wanting more contact. Jack got the hint and pressed himself against you, rolling his body in slow waves over yours, mimicking the act to come. He cupped your breasts in his hands just as he broke away from your lips to press a series of kisses down your neck. He licked and sucked until you were whimpering laxly in his arms. You had thrown your arms about his neck in an effort to stay upright, when he pressed his knee between your thighs. You were not certain if this action was, on the whole, helpful or not. For while it gave your jellied legs another means for support, the press of his thigh against your cunt made you want to go even more boneless. Jack’s sure hands on your breasts were not helping matters either. He fondled them in his large hands, rolling his thumbs in teasing flicks and slow drags over your pebbled nipples.

“Jack,” you whispered needily, glad for not the first time of the thick walls in this old house.

“Yeah, that’s it. Just melt into me, baby,” Jack encouraged, still sounding bright, if a little breathless.

Feeling rebellious after a night of behaving yourself, you decided to disobey Jack’s little directive. Instead of letting yourself relax further into his embrace, you shoved him back. He startled initially, but followed easily and appeared amused as you manhandled him onto the bed. Looking down at him laid out on your emerald coverlet, you realized just how many clothes he was still wearing. Flashing him a sly smile, you backed away slowly and sank down onto your ivory chaise lounge.

“It appears you have me at a disadvantage, Jack,” you said referring to your own state of undress.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Jack said, sitting up, his eyes tracing your body.

“If you would be so kind as to even the score, I would be much obliged,” you said in an imperious tone.

“That so?”

“Yes.”

“Well, lucky for you I believe very strongly in equality,” Jack teased, standing up and shedding his coat. “That and I won a striptease competition in Belize years ago, and you’d be surprised how little I get to show that off.”

You watched as Jack shrugged off his suit jacket. Not breaking eye contact, he stepped closer as he slid off his cravat. His waistcoat was next. Standing just a few feet away from you, blue eyes suddenly serious, Jack undid the top button as though he was revealing the most intimate part of himself. With agonizing slowness, his fingers slipped down to the next button. You pulled in a long breath, watching his hands and thinking about what they had felt like cupping your breasts. His waistcoat had six buttons, and you were embarrassingly aware of your own breathing by the time he was through. He rolled his shoulders back, and let the waistcoat slither down his arms, landing with a soft thump on the floor.

“Are we even, Y/N?” Jack asked.

You swallowed audibly. “Not in the slightest. Keep going.”

You were anxious to see what his broad physique looked like bared.

“As the lady wishes,” Jack said with a nod.

Before starting on the buttons of his shirt, Jack ran a hand down over his own stomach to his manhood. He gave himself a squeeze, hips thrusting slightly into his own hand. It was such an erotic sight you felt you could be excused for letting a small whimper slip out of your mouth. Jack didn’t comment, but his eyes scrunched up happily at the edges, an appealing spray of crows feet appearing; you had the distinct feeling that your own pleasure at this performance is what brought Jack the most joy. It was an appealing trait.

His hand left his manhood after one final squeeze, and began to make quick work of his shirt buttons. You were glad there was more strip than tease in the latter part of his artful disrobing. He walked closer until he was standing directly in front of you, less than an arm’s length away. You could see his cock plainly outlined against his black trousers. He knelt in front of you, and reached for your hand. He pressed it to the center of his firm chest, and left it there as he slowly pulled his unbuttoned shirt from his body. You watched the muscles of his shoulders ripple, and were vividly reminded of the Greek statues your great aunt had taken you to see. You smoothed your hand up to his shoulder, and down his arm, feeling the corded muscle underneath his skin. He obligingly moved at the slightest touch, letting you explore his body easily. He leaned over, resting his head on the chaise next to your lap. You ran your hand over the defined muscles of his upper back, eyes scanning down until his trousers obscured your view. Sliding your hand back up over his shoulder you cupped his large jaw in your hand and tilted his face up. As always he followed easily, and gazed up at you with bright blue eyes.

“How about now? Seem equal?” he asked, hand sliding up your leg which was still encased in thin cotton.

“I am afraid you are still wearing outer garments Mr. Harkness, while I am merely in my underthings. That does not sound like equality to me.”

“Does it change anything if I tell you I’m not wearing undergarments?”

You paused for a moment considering. “I suppose it would be fairest to have you remove your trousers first, but with the understanding that I am to be divested of my underthings as expediently as possible afterwards.”

“I always said nudity was the path to equality.”

“We are of the same mind on that matter, Captain.”

He shivered exaggeratedly. “Oooh, love it when you call me that, sweetheart.”

“I will call you anything you like once we are equals, Captain.”

Jack smiled, and rose to his feet. “Guess I better get cracking then.”

The serious Jack of the past few minutes had vanished, leaving in his place the cheeky lad you were becoming accustomed to.

“Wait,” you said as Jack reached for the fastenings of his trousers. “I would like to do it.”

Jack dropped his hands, and stepped in close. You sat up on the chaise and reached around to undo the buckle at the back of his trousers. Once that was undone, you slowly tugged his trousers down over his hips. It was in part a tease to yourself as you watch his hips come into view inch by inch. One more tug and Jack’s cock sprang free. It bobbed in front of you and you utterly forgot about the trousers. Jack’s cock was thick and circumsized with a pleasantly pink head. You reached up and stroked it, taking pleasure in Jack’s bitten off groan. A bead of precome welled up from the tip, and you leaned forward to swipe it off with your tongue. Jack groaned again, and the sound jolted you back the the matter at hand. You made quick work of his trousers, socks, and shoes, and then Jack was eagerly returning the favor. He slipped your chemise up over your head, getting drawn off track by your breasts. You moaned softly when he suckled your nipple, threading your hand through his hair. He knelt to remove your cotton drawers, and you shivered. He pulled them off slowly, mimicking your earlier teasing. Once they were off, instead of immediately covering your body with his, he parted your legs.

You’d had one lover who was quite enamored to the point of obsession with giving you oral sex. However other than that your experience with that particular act had been limited. Jack seemed perfectly at home between your legs and you wondered if he too had a fixation. You hoped you would see him enough to find out. Jack had already proved himself to be a great deal of fun both with your clothes on and with them off. What’s more having a steady lover would greatly decrease the frustration of your season of good behavior. You were still mulling over how best to suggest a second rendezvous when Jack buried his tongue between your folds. Your hips jerked and your hand instinctively flew to clutch the chaise. Jack slicked his tongue over your entrance in long strokes; you could feel a hint of his self satisfied smile against your inner thighs.

He slid his arms underneath your thighs, and held up his hands, palm out. You took the offer of something to hold on to, and threaded your fingers between his. Jack squeezed once, and then he was licking your clit. You moaned his name breathlessly, your hips trying to arch up off the chaise. Your past lover had been enthusiastic and quite skilled, but he had not been this good. Jack was licking your clit quickly, punctuating the little flicks of his tongue with long sucks. You squeezed his hands tight and whined, eyes shut tight. Jack slowly unlaced one of his hands from yours, and trailed his fingers down between your legs. He circled a finger around your entrance, teasing you before slipping it inside. A second joined it soon after, and by the time Jack had worked you up to a third you were a quivering wreck on the verge of begging in no uncertain terms for Jack to fuck you.

Fortunately, Jack was at the end of his tether too. You were clenching tight around his fingers, and looked so beautiful in the low light he felt like he was watching Venus reincarnated about to come. And he’d made the original Venus come, so he knew what he was talking about. With one final lick, he pulled away. Not caring about anything but being inside you as quickly as possible, he was ready to simply lean up and take you missionary style. However you had a better idea.

“Sit,” you commanded breathlessly.

Damn, he liked your moxie. On the edge of coming and you were still giving orders.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied in what he hoped was a playful tone.

You stood, and directed him over to your end of the chaise.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said sincerely, looking up at you. “I mean it, really, really beautiful.”

You smiled like you heard that a lot, but it never got old.

“Thank you, Jack. Now lean back.”

Swallowing a lame joke about your rhyme, Jack did as he was told. He watched raptly as you wrapped your hands around his shoulders, and using him for stability, slowly knelt to straddle him. Jack stayed stock still, more than happy to let you take the lead. You reached down between your bodies and grasped Jack’s cock. You knelt up over him, and sank down until the head of his cock was nestled between your folds. After a few teasing rolls of your hips, you began to sink down Jack’s shaft. You were so glad you had put in your diaphragm while you were waiting, if you’d had to stop to put it in you quite sincerely believed you would have died. Instead there was only the low spreading heat of being filled. Jack’s hands had started roaming your body in a worshipful way while you sank down onto his cock. Your breath hitched when you were finally flush with him. You let your head fall back in pleasure as you spent a moment simply grinding against Jack. One of Jack’s hands trailed further and further south, until his fingers were tracing the place where the two of you were joined. You shuddered and swayed towards him. You let your head fall forward, suddenly wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

It was a passionate kiss, lips pressed tight, tongues tangling, hot shared breath as the two of you break only when necessary. Jack started to rub your clit with the pad of his finger and you bucked against him. You’re not sure how long you stayed that way, rutting against him, kissing like wild teenagers, but by the time you broke away for good, you were on the brink of orgasm. Determined to ride Jack well before that happens, you pulled back and recentered your hands on his shoulders. You squeezed the firm muscle there, again pleased with his classic physique. Jack let out a low moan, setting you back on task. You rose up halfway before thrusting down again. And again. And again. And again. It wasn’t long before you had a bouncing rhythm set up, your hair flying, breast jiggling. Jack sank against the back of the chaise, watching you avidly, and moaning out a mixture of your name and praises. You looked down at him, his electric blue eyes glossed over, the full expanse of his firm chest heaving with deep breaths, his hair mussed from your fingers. The cherry on top was the light sheen of sweat, causing him to glow in the low light. It all made you want to ride him harder. You bounced more quickly, feeling your thighs start to burn. Jack was filling you up so well, and rubbing perfectly against something inside you that always made you see stars. You just needed a little bit more. Just a little more. Jack reached out and took your bouncing breasts in his hands. He gave them a firm knead, and pinched the taut nipples between his fingers. It was everything you needed. The zinging heat flew from your nipples down to your cunt and you whole body locked up. You could feel every muscle tensing as you arched against Jack in orgasm. Roiling heat raced through your body, making your ears and the tip of your nose tingle.

Jack let you sag against him, wrapping his arms around you and leisurely thrusting up into you. You felt warm and fulfilled with your body rocking against Jack’s. Warm puffs of air ghosted across your skin as Jack’s breathing sped up. You rolled your hips lazily, helping Jack along. Everything felt so wonderful, and you were just soaking up the pure pleasure of Jack’s body jigsawed in, around, and beneath yours. Jack buried his face in the crook of your neck, scrunching up as he thrust up into you one last time. With a low moan of your name, Jack went rigid and came inside you.

Practically purring, you cuddled closer to Jack. The sensual overload of having your lover’s sweat slicked body against yours just after orgasm was always one of your favorite things. You loved bodily feeling the moment that every ounce of tension left their body. It was weirdly intriguing to you, and you didn’t think you’ll ever tire of it

You and Jack stayed on the chaise, wrapped around one another until you felt yourself starting to drift off. With a yawn, you rose up off Jack and informed him that you’re afraid it’s quite past your bed time.

“And I’ll bet that someone like you gets plenty of beauty sleep.”

You smiled at the compliment. “Really, Captain there’s no need to pay for the horse twice.”

“What if I want to ride it again? Or rather the other way around?” Jack said with a smile.

“Then feel free to put a downpayment now. It is a seller’s market after all.”

Jack’s smile widened, and he stood, pulling you into his arms. “You really are remarkable, you know that?”

“And when will you be back to re-mark me?”

Jack laughed. “I can be back tomorrow night? Wouldn’t want the mark to fade, now would we.”

“I think you’re in no danger of that. You leave quite the impression.”

“Are you free?” he pressed

“Yes, Jack, I’m free.”

“Then I’ll be back.”

And he was. In fact Jack returned to your bedroom every night for the next week. Following that his visits became more irregular, but he always returned. As time passed, other men would occasionally catch your eye, but none of them ever lasted as long as Jack. Your record for keeping any other lover was a mere year. Something always came up. But not with Jack. Jack never pressed to be anything other than lovers, and was unbelievably good natured about your aversion to anything romantic. He didn’t hold your hand outside of the bedroom, didn’t demand monogamy, didn’t insist on celebrating milestones, didn’t insist on doing anything really that you found uncomfortable.

As time passed and you aged, you began to notice that he didn’t. It was a curiosity, and then a concern, and just as it was beginning to move into the realm of a disturbance, he told you what was happening. He told you everything. While you took it all fairly well, you also demanded proof. A small trip to the future had been proof enough. Ever since that evening, your visitation from Jack now included exciting stories. You were well into your forties with a bum knee by the time you were aware of everything that was going on with Jack, so whatever interest you had in joining his adventures was purely theoretical. What’s more you don’t think your nephew would ever forgive you if you were eaten by a monster from outer space.

Speaking of family, your sister did indeed marry William. His bad lying kept him honest, and he and your sister lived out their years happily on his estate with an ever growing family. Your sister had five daughters and one son, all of whom were particularly fond of you as a playmate. It was just the right amount of domesticity for you, the sort that was fun for an afternoon, but that didn’t follow you home.

When you weren’t serving as playmate to your young nieces and nephew, you were filling your days with your own particular pet projects. Charities, parties, trips, and adventures of all sorts. You always had as many stories to tell Jack as he did you. You never settled down, never managed to be truly “proper” again after the season that Jack met you, but you were happy. “Happy and already off on her next endeavor,” as your sister would say whenever her social set inquired after your well being. You’re currently pushing sixty, and the phase still holds true.

How were you?

Happy. And already off on your next endeavor.

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