err, i forgot a prompt: Tenth Doctor and Jack Harkness “Why do I always let you talk me into this?”

dozmuffinxc:

The Doctor raked his hands through his messier-than-usual hair.

“Why do I always let you talk me into this?” he groaned, casting a scathing look at the handsome man perched on the stool to his right. 

At least, it was meant to be scathing: from the wide, toothy grin that he received in return, however, it seemed to have quite failed to do anything but amuse.

“Oh, come on, Doctor,” Jack replied gallantly, “I hardly dragged you here.”

“You called me up and said it was an emergency,” the Doctor accused.

“Yada yada, false pretenses, but you can’t pretend you haven’t been having a good time,”

Jack winked suggestively. “I had no idea you were such an… energetic dancer.”

The Doctor felt his cheeks burn pink.

“Besides,” Jack continued, “it was an emergency. You’ve been flying around by yourself for far too long. There’s only so long a man can keep up a pity party that intense before he drives himself batty. So really, I did you a favor.”

The Doctor was about to retort that Jack’s “favors” were rarely selfless when the bartender loomed up over them from the opposite side of the gleaming metal bar.

“Compliments of the lifeform at table three,” he grunted, sliding a thin, transluscent flute of purple liquer at the Doctor with one of his pale tentacles.

Jack clapped the Doctor heartily on the back, nearly making him spill the drink down his front.

“Look’ee there, old man,” he hooted, “I always knew you were a charmer!”

The Doctor considered flashing a rude hand sign he’d picked up from Rose’s mates at the chip shop, but he reconsidered when his eyes fell on the smiling Bolian at table three. Lifting his glass, the Doctor toasted silently and took an appreciative sip, closing his eyes to savor the flavor redolent of caramel and stardust.

“Don’t look now, Doc,” Jack whispered, “but I think your friend is coming this way.”

Sure enough, the blue-skinned creature was sauntering their way. Without a word, she (the low-cut, gold dress left no question that it was, in fact, a she) had plucked the Doctor from his barstool and spun him out onto the dance floor. 

Despite having numerous helpless looks cast his way accompanied by silently-mouthed pleas for assistance, Jack leaned back against the bar and contented himself to watch his friend put through his paces to the sounds of a Silurian celestial funk band.