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Kissing the Doctor, Jack thinks, is neither a prelude nor a promise. It's just something that happens, time and time again; something that's as necessary as breathing for Jack, but an indulgence on the Doctor's part. It's enjoyable for both of them, of course - the Doctor's admitted as much, but even if he hadn't his small, encouraging noises would give it away.
Jack's come to terms with the Doctor's quirks, and this is just one of them - that he's perfectly content to be beside Jack and kiss him until they're breathless, without any real desire to take it further, to push the limits of what they've already established as theirs. In exchange, he's never in the least made Jack feel ashamed if his trousers are tighter than usual and he has to excuse himself to take care of things.
Sometimes, like tonight, when Jack's upset and exhausted and unusually needy, the Doctor will let Jack strip him to the waist so they can lie together in Jack's bed. It calms him, to be there with a hand over the Doctor's hearts, the lights dimmed and the hum of the TARDIS a background to shallow, even breaths.
Sometimes, like tonight, it's the Doctor who kisses him first.
It's careful, and gentle, and everything that Jack doesn't need right now. He kisses back hard. He's not and has never been delicate, and doesn't want to feel like the slightest thing might shake him apart. The Doctor adapts; he places his hands on the sides of Jack's face, and rolls onto his back so Jack can sprawl across his chest.
Jack doesn't pull away until they're both panting. The Doctor's hands have moved from his cheeks to his hips. There's something different, tonight, in the way the Doctor looks at him, lips wet and parted. Jack can feel the Doctor's chest rise and fall, and his hearts beating quickly against his ribs.
"Let me touch you," Jack says. It slips out almost without his consent, and all he can do is wait for the Doctor to sit up, to move away with that smile that's somehow affectionate instead of frustrating.
It doesn't happen. The Doctor nods.
Jack takes a breath. "Okay," he says, and leans down for a kiss, then another. "Okay." He rolls off the bed long enough to rid himself of the rest of his clothes. His cock's already half-hard. If this is going to happen, Jack doesn't want to draw it out - or to wait, or take it slow.
The Doctor props himself up on his elbows, watching. Jack sits beside him. He unbuttons and unzips the Doctor's trousers, then works his hand inside to stroke the Doctor's cock over the fabric of his boxers.
The Doctor makes a soft sound deep in his throat.
Jack hooks his fingers in the Doctor's belt loops and pulls his trousers, along with his boxers, down and off, leaving him naked, a faint flush colouring his cheeks and chest. "Come here," Jack says, and takes the Doctor's hand, bringing him to sit on the edge of the bed before he leans in again for a deep, searching kiss.
Jack pushes himself up from the bed, and sinks to the floor on his knees.
The Doctor's breath catches. "Jack," he says.
Jack's not new at this, but it's different when it's with the Doctor. He can't seem to smirk but he manages to smile, then squeezes the Doctor's hand before letting go. He wraps his now-free hand around the base of the Doctor's cock, and slides his mouth down over the head.
The Doctor gasps louder than Jack's ever heard him, and the noise goes straight to Jack's cock. He looks up just in time to see the Doctor's eyes close and his head tip forward, hands reaching out to grip the edge of the mattress.
Jack's almost hesitant to touch himself; the sounds the Doctor is making now are enough to start heat pulsing low in Jack's belly, and Jack has the feeling that once he gets his hand on his own cock he's not going to last long at all.
But it's not the time to focus on himself. The Doctor's legs are starting to tremble; he's close. Jack takes as much of his cock into his mouth as he can.
"Jack," the Doctor pants, "Jack, I'm going to-" That's all the warning Jack gets before the Doctor comes in Jack's mouth with a strangled moan that Jack's never heard from him before, or likely will again.
Jack turns his head to spit discreetly into a tissue; when he turns back the Doctor's brown eyes are open again and he's watching Jack, still kneeling at his feet. Jack does his best to keep eye contact as he closes his hand around his own cock, stroking hard and fast until he comes.
"I could have-" the Doctor says, but Jack just smiles, allowing them both a moment to figure out where to go from here.
The Doctor moves first. He puts his boxers back on and switches off the already-dimmed lights, then gets back into Jack's bed and slides over to make room. Jack joins him still naked, and lies along the Doctor's side with an arm over his waist.
"How long?" Jack says, voice soft as he tries to stifle a yawn.
"Years," the Doctor says. "Decades, I think."
"Decades," Jack says. How, he wants to ask, but doesn't need to - he knows the answer. Neither of them speaks again for a long time; Jack lies still and listens to the Doctor's measured breathing in the dark.
"Feel better?" the Doctor asks, when Jack's well on his way to sleep.
"Mm," mumbles Jack. "Little, yeah."
"Good," says the Doctor, and pulls the covers up over them both.