The Doctor woke out of a light doze as Jack flopped onto the bed. In response to his automatic (?) mental query, Jack said aloud, "Rose told me to get back to bed, so here I am."
His comment was followed by a rustling of sheets, then a deep, satisfied sigh. The Doctor rolled over to find Jack, still naked (he hadn't bothered with clothing when he'd rolled out of bed to follow Rose to the galley) lying supine and spread-eagled, taking up as much of the large mattress as it was physically possible for one person to occupy. It might have been annoying if there hadn't been plenty of room to go around . . . though Jack managed to sprawl so decoratively, any potential space-hogging would have been easy to forgive. The Doctor wondered, idly, if it was even possible for Jack to be ungraceful about anything bed-related.
Jack's eyes were closed, his lips curved in a tiny smile of contentment. When Jack wasn't advancing the cause of his favorite sin, Lust, he could put in a fine show of support for Sloth . . . and do so in a way that was contagious. The Doctor found himself stifling a yawn just looking at the younger man.
A full eight hours of sleep, and still tired -- it was embarrassing for a Time Lord. Admittedly, he and Jack had spent the entire previous day hauling heavy scientific equipment through clinging swamp mud, trying to track down and neutralize a dangerous temporal whirlpool, but still, he shouldn't be feeling it that much, should he?
Partly to keep himself awake, he growled, "Look at you. You've got all the work ethic of a cat."
Jack raised his eyebrows and opened one bright blue eye. He was quite capable of reading the affection under the Doctor's sniping, and responding appropriately.
"For your information, Rose ordered me back to bed -- said she wanted to make breakfast for the two of us, since we did all the grunt work yesterday." Rose, in comparison, had spent the day helping coordinate the local authorities to keep the public safely away from the whirlpool. A major job in itself, but far less physically demanding. "I'm not going to get bent out of shape if she wants to do something nice," Jack continued. "Besides, it makes her happy to take care of us sometimes."
No denying that: it was true. Even as far away as the galley, Rose's good mood shone through the link as bright and clean as early morning sunlight.
"Anyway," Jack continued, with a lazy-sharp glint in his eye. "I didn't see you jumping out of bed to go and help. 'Course you could just be feeling your age . . ."
The Doctor glared, with distressingly little effect. "I doubt you'd be doing half so well if you were my age." He pitched his tone of voice for devastating dryness, but it didn't have the quelling effect he was looking for.
Instead, Jack chortled with genuine amusement. "Since when have you been Yoda? 'When nine hundred years old you reach, look as good you will not,'" he quoted, grinning. Rose's campaign to bring Jack up to speed with twenty-first century pop culture -- and science fiction in particular -- had been hugely successful. Unfortunately.
"You've got a catty enough mouth on you," the Doctor shot back. "Wouldn't surprise me if there was a cat or two back in your family tree"
"Nope," Jack responded cheerfully. "You're looking at ninety-six-point-three percent pure human stock -- and I guarantee none of the rest of it's feline." He stretched theatrically, showing off his mostly-human attributes.
Feline or not, Jack in a flirtatious mood was eminently pet-able. Amused, the Doctor responded by running the palm of his hand in a long stroke along Jack's chest and belly. Jack responded by arching up into his touch, pushing against the mattress with shoulders and heels, groaning with happy sensuality.
"Dunno," the Doctor said, openly amused now. "You might be due for a genetic reevaluation. I'm thinkin' whoever analyzed your background got a few base pairs mixed up along the way."
Jack huffed a laugh, dropping back flat on the mattress as the breath left him. "You're awfully quick to throw stones for someone who had fur and whiskers not that long ago . . ."
"You two are never lettin' me forget that, are you?"
"Of course not. It's our solemn duty as human beings to keep that Time Lord ego of yours whacked back to manageable proportions. As much as possible, anyway." Jack rolled over on his side facing the Doctor, propping himself up on one elbow. "And, lest you think I'm just another pretty face, I do have a cunning plan based on lolling around in bed a bit longer."
"I'm conserving energy, the better to thank Rose for her efforts after she brings us breakfast in bed. It's the least we can do to show our appreciation." Jack's lopsided grin was sharp and wicked, inviting collaboration.
"I like the way you think, Captain," the Doctor conceded. "Knew there was a reason I kept you around."
"Just one?" Jack's raised eyebrow hinted that the Doctor might want to consider his answer carefully.
"Well, no. There is another reason. The TARDIS really needed a proper ship's cat, y'see . . .
The resulting wrestling match-turned-pillow-fight didn't exactly conserve energy, but it did keep them occupied until breakfast arrived.