Perfect Manic Sex - chapter 3
Perfect Manic Sex
by K.N. Senko/luinel/geekns
pairing: twissy
rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: First off, I have to apologize for this taking so long to post. I have a new collaborativefanfiction project that I will be working on simultaneously that will have to take priority and the past week has been hellish because of personal health issues that are leaving me feeling mighty sympathetic towards Missy.
Secondly, this issooo not safe for work. Very smutty. A train wreck of sexy times. You have been warned.
Also, you may have read that Time Lords have been cursed with infertility and use looms to procreate. It's never actually been depicted on the show to my knowledge, it's from one of the novelizations and the curse has also been broken. I'm basically ignoring looms except for a reference to time lords trying to figure out other ways to procreate cuz they hate this heat business so much.
chapter 1 | 2
Missy had thrown her right arm over her face mid-ecstasy, and the Doctor averted his eyes rather than watch her flushed face or heaving chest. Not that he needed to see her face to know that she had come completely undone. Missy's scent was overwhelming now, it was all he could do not to grab her by the hips and bury his nose in the junction of her thighs. He slowed his hands' motions to a slow, gentle rubbing, gradually drawing her back down to earth, until it was completely over and she had stopped burning...for now. Some cycles massaging her extremities would have been enough to sate her appetite, but he was certain they would not be so lucky tonight. She would need to rest and recover for a while.
He still held her foot gently yet firmly, anchoring her to the world, thumbs brushing the flesh covering her metatarsals sedately. It wasn't enough for her, she reached her left hand out to him, needing, vulnerable. He brushed the fingers of his right hand across her metacarpals, could feel her mind already slipping away into unconsciousness as he meshed their fingers together. Within moments she was dreaming, her fatigue pulling him down with her. The Doctor pushed himself away abruptly, running his fingers through his hair, setting it on end.
There wasn't time for sleep. He forced himself to his feet, shaking himself awake with a mighty yawn. He rearranged Missy's limbs and lifted her, carrying her over to her side of the bed and tucking her in. Her side of the bed: he still thought of all beds that way, with one side always left empty for her even when he slept in his own bed, alone. He allowed the back of one of his hands to drift across her forehead. She was still dreaming, remembering their life when they had been young and happy, before their lives had been torn apart and he had realized how different she was from him. Before he had run away. She looked so innocent and harmless while she slept, it was almost enough to make him forget how utterly mad and devious she could be. Almost.
The light in the room was starting to dim towards sunset, turning orange and pink. It wouldn't be long before she would wake again, needing. He had work to do. He walked to the vault entrance, opening its hatch to reveal the tub, still waiting on the deactivated anti-grav cart. He hurried to power it on and push the monstrosity into the bathroom, grumbling to himself. He had gone soft, and Missy would take it as weakness he was sure. He just kept telling himself that the tub wasn't actually an extravagance so much as a necessity. He had no doubt that they would need to use it tonight and she would also appreciate it over the next couple days.
It was an easy enough task, really, expanding the room to make enough space, programming the plumbing, reinforcing the floor, all handled by the vault mainframe. The technology was remarkably similar to the Tardis' ability to grow and expand to meet the needs of her time lord... without the vault actually being alive The cart was able to slide the tub into its intended corner of the room and gently drop the tub into place. He had to finish hooking the pipes up by hand, of course. He allowed his mind to wander while he worked, finding it meditative. Art would have been more effective at centering his mind but he found calm in this task as well.
Once finished he stumbled back into the main room of the vault, nudging the empty cart before him. He should check the containment field, see how badly she had buggered it up. He scanned it with his sonic, impressed that she had deactivated it to so neatly. He would need to replace one emitter and she had blown the feedback buffer entirely. He would have to retrieve parts later on, could probably find something inside the Tardis that would work. He was too exhausted to be bothered at the moment.
He pushed the anti-grav cart out the vault hatch, back into the Tardis, and left it in the console room, tucked out of the way so he didn't trip over it next time he rushed inside. He dashed upstairs to his fiction bookcase, grabbed The Time Travelers Wife and The Time Machine. She had always been partial to H.G. Wells. He left his sonic screwdriver on the shelf. Out the console room doors with a snap, check the external locks, stumble back into the vault. His body was heavy with fatigue as he closed the hatch one last time for the evening. Books on her book table, at the bottom of the stack less she would throw a fit.
He could barely stand upright at this point. Should he take a chair, the chaise lounge? Fuck that, he was joining her on the bed. He couldn't even be bothered to change, he'd just take his jacket and shoes off. He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the bedknob, and sat down, untying his shoes and straightening them side by side beneath the bed. That sorted, he fell back heavily, covering his eyes to avoid the bright simulated moonlight that was now starting to stream through a nearby window. Missy threw an arm over his chest, startling him. She tucked her face against his shoulder. His hand found the tangle of hair at the nape of her neck. She had an elevated temperature, almost as high as a human's body temperature, which wasn't quite feverish, but was certainly high enough to worry him. He was already drifting...
...The next thing he knew was that nearly five hours had passed and Missy's body was twisting in his arms fitfully. She had wrapped her body around his in her sleep, clinging as if for dear life. Flickers of impressions from her nightmare flashed across his visual perception. He had never felt a time lady run so hot, this was not good.
“Missy,” he nudged her physically as well as mentally. She whimpered in her sleep but did not wake. He struggled to extricate his body from her vice-like grip. Once free of her limbs, he dashed for the en suite and set the tub filling with cold water. He dumped all of the ice from the fridge's freezer into the tub for good measure. Then he rushed back to the bed. She was more on his side than her own, groping mindlessly for her missing partner. Her scent was overwhelming. His body throbbed in response as he became aware that a certain part of his anatomy was waking with a ferocity verging on agony.
He peeled the covers off of her and untied her dressing gown. He eased her upright, pushing the garment off her shoulders and insinuating an arm under her back, then lifted her up out of the bed, adjusting her limp frame in his arms, and turning to carry her to the tub. The en suite lights were harsh after the dark of the vault, and he grimaced in discomfort, squinting. The tub was less than half full and had to be frigid. He hesitated, then plunged her into the water.
Missy's body instantly went rigid in response, hands grasping, nails scratching at the arms that held her down, half submerged in the still-filling tub. She instinctively bucked and squirmed against his grasp, trying to throw him off of herself. She gasped and sputtered, but still did not wake fully. Her head lolled to the side again, her grip relaxing on his wrists. He could feel her psyche clawing for awareness and failing.
He pulled her up out of the water, easing her up into a sitting position before gently propping her head upright against the slope that cradled her form. She looked so tiny and helpless. He pulled his shirt off over his head, wet it completely, then rolled it up and placed it beneath her nape like a neckroll pillow. Her breath was coming in short whimpers, and she jerked from side to side, hands searching for him. She was starting to shiver, her lips tinged blue-purple.
Ideally, Missy would be awake for this, but her body was dangerously close to overloading, a buzz already starting to build beneath her skin that smelled faintly of Huon particles. The Doctor took Missy's hands in his, clutching her wrists first, his fingertips rubbing her palms, hands grasping rhythmically. She gasped, back arching. He held her fingers to his forehead, continuing his ministrations as he concentrated to slow down time between them, infusing calm into the moment. Her breathing slowed and her eyes flashed open at last.
He lowered their hands to chest height between them, holding her gaze. Their fingers meshed together. He started to rub the heels of her thumbs with his thumbtips, sometimes dipping lower to brush against the twin pulse points on her wrists. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her right wrist, scraped his whiskers against the hypersensitive flesh. Her body tensed, writhing almost as if she were having a seizure, and she came hard. She tried to scream but her voice caught in her throat, her entire body vibrating with the force of with it.
He could almost see her brilliance this time, could sense the light washing over her, the painful need and overwhelming pleasure braiding together, flowing across every atom in her body. He was aware of it but still removed, still an anchor. Her eyes held onto his even as she held onto his hands for dear life. He gazed down at her apologetically. She whimpered, gripping his hands so tightly it hurt. He could taste her terror, metallic like the taste of blood or impending sick, hot in his mouth. Once again, she smelled incredible, they were swimming in her heavy musk.
She yanked suddenly, pulling him half into the tub with her before letting go to press her palms against the smooth porcelain, trying to brace herself in place, sobbing dryly. A series of observations flitted across his mind systematically. She was probably dehydrated, would need to eat and drink again soon. Her nipples were no less rigid against her nightgown than they had been the first time she came, only this time it was from cold, not rapture. His body was screaming at him to run.
“Don't leave,” she demanded, somehow reading his mind despite the fact that they weren't touching. He reached to turn the running water off. She growled, letting go of her prison, flipping herself over beneath him. He pulled back in surprise as she dipped her back and lifted her hips to present herself to him, already ready for the next round. He hadn't seen her like this since her first heat, thousands of years ago. She hated this all consuming need, the loss of decorum and sanity. She grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to the place near the base of her spine where her back met her derriere. He automatically massaged the receptors there, failing to not stare at her body as she rolled her hips beneath his hand. He groaned, trying to get a grip on his instantaneously raging libido.
Her nightgown was transparent, clinging to her body, left little to the imagination. Her waist flared out, not in a pronounced hourglass as one might expect given her predilection for a corset, not as wide as the girl's hips had in his memory. Her calves and thighs were amazing, muscular and toned, her bum pleasingly round, neither too small or too large. Nothing about her appearance was hyper-sexualized, all things were in moderation, but his body and mind liked what he saw very much indeed, lamented the fact that she always insisted on keeping her form so thoroughly covered. Actually, he was relieved that she had yet to try to tempt him in that way; he would have succumbed far more easily than he wanted to admit even to himself.
She gasped beneath him, making noises that went straight to his now painfully aroused cock, squirming and receptive to his ministrations. He swallowed heavily, forcing himself to remain silent and passive. He found his free hand cupping her hip, dangerously close to holding her soft bum as her hips swayed back and forth, movement displaying lithe strength to her advantage. “It's not enough,” she lamented. “Doctor, please,” she whined. “Please, I can't...you have to...”
He climbed into the tub to kneel behind her before she had even finished asking, his legs forming a bridge over her feet. He used the heels of both of his hands against her receptors, the dimples just above and to either side of her crack. She braced herself beneath him, back arching, and he used his body's weight to press down, causing her to squirm and buck beneath him, pushing back into his unrelenting pressure. “Fuck,” she groaned in appreciation. “Like that. Just like that, darling.”
She had stopped shivering. Her skin was like ice beneath his hands but he could sense the heat still burning away inside her. He worked on her back for long minutes, hands kneading relentlessly, careful not to touch her body with anything other than his hands where her body currently wanted him the most. And then suddenly she was writhing beneath him, hips tilting again as she sat back, pressing her bum into his lap, shocking him. She didn't usually require this much stimulation while in the throws of lordosis behavior, let alone even more. The sheer desperation of Missy's behavior was continuing to worry him.
She had always liked to keep things sterile, only let him touch her receptors and very rarely penetrate her from behind, had never initiated such complete contact between their bodies. Yet here she was undulating against his erection, causing him to collapse forward, barely catching himself against the tub before collapsing onto her fully. He daren't hold onto her or press his body against hers reciprocally, his control was tenuous enough as it was.
The Doctor allowed her to control the pressure and movements as she undulated against his cock and thighs. He might have been able to get away with holding her hips if he had more control, but as it was he was holding on for dear life, very close to losing all semblance of control. She rolled her hips, grinding against his lap, moaning wantonly. He groaned in response, barely preventing himself from collapsing on top of her as he came spectacularly in his pants. He was only dimly aware that she was coming apart beneath him, hips continuing to move against his rigid form insistently, moaning long and low in a way that he felt deep down inside himself, resonating in his groin in a way that felt fucking fantastic and drew the ecstasy out for an obscene length of time.
It took him far longer than it should have to pull himself back together, to grab her hips and force her to stop causing his cock overwhelming friction. He was not an old man, he was a Time Lord in his prime, but he knew he could control himself if his little Doctor regained interest right at this moment. And her body still wasn't quite ready for that form of exercise. He needed to recover his senses quickly: she would still be keyed up since their minds hadn't been joined, the orgasm would have done little to actually sate her lust save speed her preparation for eventual penetration.
“Sorry,” he choked out. He was mortified that he hadn't lasted longer. He lifted himself from his position bowed over her back.
“Don't be,” she rasped, rolling over to submerge herself in the tub once more, chest still heaving, thighs rubbing together. She whimpered.
“How are you doing?” he asked gently, tentatively brushing the back of his hand across her forehead. It was a familiar gesture meant to test her mental state as much as her temperature. It was a bad idea. Missy's thoughts washed over him in a chaotic flood, images and emotions and words tangled together. Heaven, warm hand, red grass whispering, Daleks screaming everywhere, milk spreading in tea, his adorable floof, must not touch, lost in blue-grey pity eyes, safety, hold me, pink lips, so wet and hot and aching with emptiness, hell, ... her chaotic thoughts screamed at him for an eternity locked into a handful of seconds, dying down to the same distant buzzing sensation that he now realized had been dogging him for the past three weeks.
He was relieved that he didn't have to listen to the cacophonous tug of war of opinions that were currently raging through her even as he regretted contributing to her suffering. Her thoughts were not only close to the surface but reaching for his own thoughts despite her best efforts to shield him from them. Missy jerked beneath him, banging the back of her head against the tub, and he grabbed at her shoulders, careful to hold her at arms' length while stopping her from doing more damage to herself. He had never felt her this raw before. He had thought their first time had been desperate, this was quickly turning into a nightmare for her.
“Kiss me,” she begged. He stiffened in response. Her younger form had hated kissing. It had been against the rules. His current form hated kissing, but the horrible irony was that her new form longed for it. And little did she know that his heart's desire was to deny her nothing. If she had asked for her freedom in this moment he might not have been able to deny her.
He tentatively dipped his mouth down to meet Missy's, hands moving to hold her, pulling her closer to himself, knees bracing them in place. Their lips parted, fit together tentatively...pliant at first. Her tongue ghosted against his, then insinuated itself into his mouth fully when he didn't object. Surprisingly, nothing about the kiss was desperate nor out of control. They relearned the feel of one another's teeth, the pressure of lips and tongue, each others' taste. Missy was gentle but firm with him, in full control of the proceedings, her flavor sharpening even as they kissed, her smell deepening to warm and fertile.
He gradually felt a feral need to impale her with his cock, fill her, breed her. Her mind was bleeding into his own again, that old, familiar, primal longing asserting itself now. He hated this part, the mindless desperation that was terrifyingly close to her breaking point. He broke their kiss, pressing their foreheads together, wrapping his arms around her, clutching her to himself desperately. He could feel the earth spinning, was absolutely certain that they were about to fall off into a spectacular abyss. His eyes were closed but he could feel her mind against his, in his mind's eye he could see her body ripening, full with child, an all consuming need, the spark of a new life, a new mind nestled within her slight frame. It was overwhelming.
“Mistress...” he groaned. Without warning she squirmed below him, coming again, this time with only small whimpers and shudders, thighs pressing together desperately between his own. Missy's mind opened like a flower, possible timelines streaming through them, a roller coaster of emotions and cacophony of colors twisting and turning around them in a stream of possibility. In his mind's eye, he held her in place against the torrential flood, turned them to face it, as the gaseous colors washed over them insistently. He reached out with curiosity and plucked at a thread of possibility, could see a flash of brilliant blue eyes and brown curls here, not one but two more sparks bursting forth in the next bicentennial, diapers and knitting and piloting lessons and equations and....
It slipped through his grasp like the ephemeral force it was. He was holding Missy in her powder room in the vault beneath a university in Bristol in the UK on Earth. She was clinging to him, squirming in his arms, eyes open and yet unseeing. He eased themselves upright, adjusting his hold on her, enjoying the way her chest heaved and skin flushed brightly. He brushed his nose against a cheekbone, stroking back and forth, breathing in her essence. His cock began to stir in anticipation.
She blinked, coming back down to earth, eyes full of tears. “How long?” he asked. How far into the possible future had she seen? How long had the longing held her in its grasp?
“Don't ask me that,” she whispered. She refused to meet his gaze. “It comes to naught.” She stiffened in his arms and gently pushed him off of herself, laying back in the tub again, pulling her torn nightgown closed at the neck. He eased away from her carefully, averting his own eyes, his eyes inadvertently landing on her body beneath his.
Her thighs had fallen open, sodden fabric clinging to her ever crevice and curve. He could see the muscles in her lower stomach and swollen labia fluttering, still working desperately. “Fuck, it won't stop,” she whined. She bit her lip, arching beneath him in desperation, whimpering and squirming, hands cupping her lower abdomen. His cock jerked, impatient. He didn't have long to wait now, but wait he must.
She lifted herself next, began to climb out of the tub. He could feel her longing inadvertently expressed through the brief press of her hand against his chest. She braced herself against his shoulder as she climbed down from the tub. “I'm going to lose my mind,” she lamented, lifting her hands to her forehead. Her body was still screaming at her for more, every nerve raw. He felt ashamed of how her suffering only fueled his desire.
She shut herself in the shower. He pulled the chain, releasing the frigid water from the tub, and stood. His entire body was vibrating in anticipation. He was torn between following her and allowing her some modicum of privacy. He stripped his trousers and pants off, squeezed the water out of them, and stepped out of the tub to cross the room and drop them into the washing machine that was tucked into the nearby closet. A whimper came from the shower, causing him to freeze in surprise. His body waited, tensed, as his ears strained to hear each pant and sigh that fell from Missy's lips. Was she touching herself? His body thrilled at the concept, his cock hardening impressively, suddenly at full staff again. She was being very naughty and he was surprisingly okay with that.
chapter 3b
by K.N. Senko/luinel/geekns
pairing: twissy
rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: First off, I have to apologize for this taking so long to post. I have a new collaborativefanfiction project that I will be working on simultaneously that will have to take priority and the past week has been hellish because of personal health issues that are leaving me feeling mighty sympathetic towards Missy.
Secondly, this issooo not safe for work. Very smutty. A train wreck of sexy times. You have been warned.
Also, you may have read that Time Lords have been cursed with infertility and use looms to procreate. It's never actually been depicted on the show to my knowledge, it's from one of the novelizations and the curse has also been broken. I'm basically ignoring looms except for a reference to time lords trying to figure out other ways to procreate cuz they hate this heat business so much.
chapter 1 | 2
Missy had thrown her right arm over her face mid-ecstasy, and the Doctor averted his eyes rather than watch her flushed face or heaving chest. Not that he needed to see her face to know that she had come completely undone. Missy's scent was overwhelming now, it was all he could do not to grab her by the hips and bury his nose in the junction of her thighs. He slowed his hands' motions to a slow, gentle rubbing, gradually drawing her back down to earth, until it was completely over and she had stopped burning...for now. Some cycles massaging her extremities would have been enough to sate her appetite, but he was certain they would not be so lucky tonight. She would need to rest and recover for a while.
He still held her foot gently yet firmly, anchoring her to the world, thumbs brushing the flesh covering her metatarsals sedately. It wasn't enough for her, she reached her left hand out to him, needing, vulnerable. He brushed the fingers of his right hand across her metacarpals, could feel her mind already slipping away into unconsciousness as he meshed their fingers together. Within moments she was dreaming, her fatigue pulling him down with her. The Doctor pushed himself away abruptly, running his fingers through his hair, setting it on end.
There wasn't time for sleep. He forced himself to his feet, shaking himself awake with a mighty yawn. He rearranged Missy's limbs and lifted her, carrying her over to her side of the bed and tucking her in. Her side of the bed: he still thought of all beds that way, with one side always left empty for her even when he slept in his own bed, alone. He allowed the back of one of his hands to drift across her forehead. She was still dreaming, remembering their life when they had been young and happy, before their lives had been torn apart and he had realized how different she was from him. Before he had run away. She looked so innocent and harmless while she slept, it was almost enough to make him forget how utterly mad and devious she could be. Almost.
The light in the room was starting to dim towards sunset, turning orange and pink. It wouldn't be long before she would wake again, needing. He had work to do. He walked to the vault entrance, opening its hatch to reveal the tub, still waiting on the deactivated anti-grav cart. He hurried to power it on and push the monstrosity into the bathroom, grumbling to himself. He had gone soft, and Missy would take it as weakness he was sure. He just kept telling himself that the tub wasn't actually an extravagance so much as a necessity. He had no doubt that they would need to use it tonight and she would also appreciate it over the next couple days.
It was an easy enough task, really, expanding the room to make enough space, programming the plumbing, reinforcing the floor, all handled by the vault mainframe. The technology was remarkably similar to the Tardis' ability to grow and expand to meet the needs of her time lord... without the vault actually being alive The cart was able to slide the tub into its intended corner of the room and gently drop the tub into place. He had to finish hooking the pipes up by hand, of course. He allowed his mind to wander while he worked, finding it meditative. Art would have been more effective at centering his mind but he found calm in this task as well.
Once finished he stumbled back into the main room of the vault, nudging the empty cart before him. He should check the containment field, see how badly she had buggered it up. He scanned it with his sonic, impressed that she had deactivated it to so neatly. He would need to replace one emitter and she had blown the feedback buffer entirely. He would have to retrieve parts later on, could probably find something inside the Tardis that would work. He was too exhausted to be bothered at the moment.
He pushed the anti-grav cart out the vault hatch, back into the Tardis, and left it in the console room, tucked out of the way so he didn't trip over it next time he rushed inside. He dashed upstairs to his fiction bookcase, grabbed The Time Travelers Wife and The Time Machine. She had always been partial to H.G. Wells. He left his sonic screwdriver on the shelf. Out the console room doors with a snap, check the external locks, stumble back into the vault. His body was heavy with fatigue as he closed the hatch one last time for the evening. Books on her book table, at the bottom of the stack less she would throw a fit.
He could barely stand upright at this point. Should he take a chair, the chaise lounge? Fuck that, he was joining her on the bed. He couldn't even be bothered to change, he'd just take his jacket and shoes off. He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the bedknob, and sat down, untying his shoes and straightening them side by side beneath the bed. That sorted, he fell back heavily, covering his eyes to avoid the bright simulated moonlight that was now starting to stream through a nearby window. Missy threw an arm over his chest, startling him. She tucked her face against his shoulder. His hand found the tangle of hair at the nape of her neck. She had an elevated temperature, almost as high as a human's body temperature, which wasn't quite feverish, but was certainly high enough to worry him. He was already drifting...
...The next thing he knew was that nearly five hours had passed and Missy's body was twisting in his arms fitfully. She had wrapped her body around his in her sleep, clinging as if for dear life. Flickers of impressions from her nightmare flashed across his visual perception. He had never felt a time lady run so hot, this was not good.
“Missy,” he nudged her physically as well as mentally. She whimpered in her sleep but did not wake. He struggled to extricate his body from her vice-like grip. Once free of her limbs, he dashed for the en suite and set the tub filling with cold water. He dumped all of the ice from the fridge's freezer into the tub for good measure. Then he rushed back to the bed. She was more on his side than her own, groping mindlessly for her missing partner. Her scent was overwhelming. His body throbbed in response as he became aware that a certain part of his anatomy was waking with a ferocity verging on agony.
He peeled the covers off of her and untied her dressing gown. He eased her upright, pushing the garment off her shoulders and insinuating an arm under her back, then lifted her up out of the bed, adjusting her limp frame in his arms, and turning to carry her to the tub. The en suite lights were harsh after the dark of the vault, and he grimaced in discomfort, squinting. The tub was less than half full and had to be frigid. He hesitated, then plunged her into the water.
Missy's body instantly went rigid in response, hands grasping, nails scratching at the arms that held her down, half submerged in the still-filling tub. She instinctively bucked and squirmed against his grasp, trying to throw him off of herself. She gasped and sputtered, but still did not wake fully. Her head lolled to the side again, her grip relaxing on his wrists. He could feel her psyche clawing for awareness and failing.
He pulled her up out of the water, easing her up into a sitting position before gently propping her head upright against the slope that cradled her form. She looked so tiny and helpless. He pulled his shirt off over his head, wet it completely, then rolled it up and placed it beneath her nape like a neckroll pillow. Her breath was coming in short whimpers, and she jerked from side to side, hands searching for him. She was starting to shiver, her lips tinged blue-purple.
Ideally, Missy would be awake for this, but her body was dangerously close to overloading, a buzz already starting to build beneath her skin that smelled faintly of Huon particles. The Doctor took Missy's hands in his, clutching her wrists first, his fingertips rubbing her palms, hands grasping rhythmically. She gasped, back arching. He held her fingers to his forehead, continuing his ministrations as he concentrated to slow down time between them, infusing calm into the moment. Her breathing slowed and her eyes flashed open at last.
He lowered their hands to chest height between them, holding her gaze. Their fingers meshed together. He started to rub the heels of her thumbs with his thumbtips, sometimes dipping lower to brush against the twin pulse points on her wrists. He pressed a kiss to the inside of her right wrist, scraped his whiskers against the hypersensitive flesh. Her body tensed, writhing almost as if she were having a seizure, and she came hard. She tried to scream but her voice caught in her throat, her entire body vibrating with the force of with it.
He could almost see her brilliance this time, could sense the light washing over her, the painful need and overwhelming pleasure braiding together, flowing across every atom in her body. He was aware of it but still removed, still an anchor. Her eyes held onto his even as she held onto his hands for dear life. He gazed down at her apologetically. She whimpered, gripping his hands so tightly it hurt. He could taste her terror, metallic like the taste of blood or impending sick, hot in his mouth. Once again, she smelled incredible, they were swimming in her heavy musk.
She yanked suddenly, pulling him half into the tub with her before letting go to press her palms against the smooth porcelain, trying to brace herself in place, sobbing dryly. A series of observations flitted across his mind systematically. She was probably dehydrated, would need to eat and drink again soon. Her nipples were no less rigid against her nightgown than they had been the first time she came, only this time it was from cold, not rapture. His body was screaming at him to run.
“Don't leave,” she demanded, somehow reading his mind despite the fact that they weren't touching. He reached to turn the running water off. She growled, letting go of her prison, flipping herself over beneath him. He pulled back in surprise as she dipped her back and lifted her hips to present herself to him, already ready for the next round. He hadn't seen her like this since her first heat, thousands of years ago. She hated this all consuming need, the loss of decorum and sanity. She grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to the place near the base of her spine where her back met her derriere. He automatically massaged the receptors there, failing to not stare at her body as she rolled her hips beneath his hand. He groaned, trying to get a grip on his instantaneously raging libido.
Her nightgown was transparent, clinging to her body, left little to the imagination. Her waist flared out, not in a pronounced hourglass as one might expect given her predilection for a corset, not as wide as the girl's hips had in his memory. Her calves and thighs were amazing, muscular and toned, her bum pleasingly round, neither too small or too large. Nothing about her appearance was hyper-sexualized, all things were in moderation, but his body and mind liked what he saw very much indeed, lamented the fact that she always insisted on keeping her form so thoroughly covered. Actually, he was relieved that she had yet to try to tempt him in that way; he would have succumbed far more easily than he wanted to admit even to himself.
She gasped beneath him, making noises that went straight to his now painfully aroused cock, squirming and receptive to his ministrations. He swallowed heavily, forcing himself to remain silent and passive. He found his free hand cupping her hip, dangerously close to holding her soft bum as her hips swayed back and forth, movement displaying lithe strength to her advantage. “It's not enough,” she lamented. “Doctor, please,” she whined. “Please, I can't...you have to...”
He climbed into the tub to kneel behind her before she had even finished asking, his legs forming a bridge over her feet. He used the heels of both of his hands against her receptors, the dimples just above and to either side of her crack. She braced herself beneath him, back arching, and he used his body's weight to press down, causing her to squirm and buck beneath him, pushing back into his unrelenting pressure. “Fuck,” she groaned in appreciation. “Like that. Just like that, darling.”
She had stopped shivering. Her skin was like ice beneath his hands but he could sense the heat still burning away inside her. He worked on her back for long minutes, hands kneading relentlessly, careful not to touch her body with anything other than his hands where her body currently wanted him the most. And then suddenly she was writhing beneath him, hips tilting again as she sat back, pressing her bum into his lap, shocking him. She didn't usually require this much stimulation while in the throws of lordosis behavior, let alone even more. The sheer desperation of Missy's behavior was continuing to worry him.
She had always liked to keep things sterile, only let him touch her receptors and very rarely penetrate her from behind, had never initiated such complete contact between their bodies. Yet here she was undulating against his erection, causing him to collapse forward, barely catching himself against the tub before collapsing onto her fully. He daren't hold onto her or press his body against hers reciprocally, his control was tenuous enough as it was.
The Doctor allowed her to control the pressure and movements as she undulated against his cock and thighs. He might have been able to get away with holding her hips if he had more control, but as it was he was holding on for dear life, very close to losing all semblance of control. She rolled her hips, grinding against his lap, moaning wantonly. He groaned in response, barely preventing himself from collapsing on top of her as he came spectacularly in his pants. He was only dimly aware that she was coming apart beneath him, hips continuing to move against his rigid form insistently, moaning long and low in a way that he felt deep down inside himself, resonating in his groin in a way that felt fucking fantastic and drew the ecstasy out for an obscene length of time.
It took him far longer than it should have to pull himself back together, to grab her hips and force her to stop causing his cock overwhelming friction. He was not an old man, he was a Time Lord in his prime, but he knew he could control himself if his little Doctor regained interest right at this moment. And her body still wasn't quite ready for that form of exercise. He needed to recover his senses quickly: she would still be keyed up since their minds hadn't been joined, the orgasm would have done little to actually sate her lust save speed her preparation for eventual penetration.
“Sorry,” he choked out. He was mortified that he hadn't lasted longer. He lifted himself from his position bowed over her back.
“Don't be,” she rasped, rolling over to submerge herself in the tub once more, chest still heaving, thighs rubbing together. She whimpered.
“How are you doing?” he asked gently, tentatively brushing the back of his hand across her forehead. It was a familiar gesture meant to test her mental state as much as her temperature. It was a bad idea. Missy's thoughts washed over him in a chaotic flood, images and emotions and words tangled together. Heaven, warm hand, red grass whispering, Daleks screaming everywhere, milk spreading in tea, his adorable floof, must not touch, lost in blue-grey pity eyes, safety, hold me, pink lips, so wet and hot and aching with emptiness, hell, ... her chaotic thoughts screamed at him for an eternity locked into a handful of seconds, dying down to the same distant buzzing sensation that he now realized had been dogging him for the past three weeks.
He was relieved that he didn't have to listen to the cacophonous tug of war of opinions that were currently raging through her even as he regretted contributing to her suffering. Her thoughts were not only close to the surface but reaching for his own thoughts despite her best efforts to shield him from them. Missy jerked beneath him, banging the back of her head against the tub, and he grabbed at her shoulders, careful to hold her at arms' length while stopping her from doing more damage to herself. He had never felt her this raw before. He had thought their first time had been desperate, this was quickly turning into a nightmare for her.
“Kiss me,” she begged. He stiffened in response. Her younger form had hated kissing. It had been against the rules. His current form hated kissing, but the horrible irony was that her new form longed for it. And little did she know that his heart's desire was to deny her nothing. If she had asked for her freedom in this moment he might not have been able to deny her.
He tentatively dipped his mouth down to meet Missy's, hands moving to hold her, pulling her closer to himself, knees bracing them in place. Their lips parted, fit together tentatively...pliant at first. Her tongue ghosted against his, then insinuated itself into his mouth fully when he didn't object. Surprisingly, nothing about the kiss was desperate nor out of control. They relearned the feel of one another's teeth, the pressure of lips and tongue, each others' taste. Missy was gentle but firm with him, in full control of the proceedings, her flavor sharpening even as they kissed, her smell deepening to warm and fertile.
He gradually felt a feral need to impale her with his cock, fill her, breed her. Her mind was bleeding into his own again, that old, familiar, primal longing asserting itself now. He hated this part, the mindless desperation that was terrifyingly close to her breaking point. He broke their kiss, pressing their foreheads together, wrapping his arms around her, clutching her to himself desperately. He could feel the earth spinning, was absolutely certain that they were about to fall off into a spectacular abyss. His eyes were closed but he could feel her mind against his, in his mind's eye he could see her body ripening, full with child, an all consuming need, the spark of a new life, a new mind nestled within her slight frame. It was overwhelming.
“Mistress...” he groaned. Without warning she squirmed below him, coming again, this time with only small whimpers and shudders, thighs pressing together desperately between his own. Missy's mind opened like a flower, possible timelines streaming through them, a roller coaster of emotions and cacophony of colors twisting and turning around them in a stream of possibility. In his mind's eye, he held her in place against the torrential flood, turned them to face it, as the gaseous colors washed over them insistently. He reached out with curiosity and plucked at a thread of possibility, could see a flash of brilliant blue eyes and brown curls here, not one but two more sparks bursting forth in the next bicentennial, diapers and knitting and piloting lessons and equations and....
It slipped through his grasp like the ephemeral force it was. He was holding Missy in her powder room in the vault beneath a university in Bristol in the UK on Earth. She was clinging to him, squirming in his arms, eyes open and yet unseeing. He eased themselves upright, adjusting his hold on her, enjoying the way her chest heaved and skin flushed brightly. He brushed his nose against a cheekbone, stroking back and forth, breathing in her essence. His cock began to stir in anticipation.
She blinked, coming back down to earth, eyes full of tears. “How long?” he asked. How far into the possible future had she seen? How long had the longing held her in its grasp?
“Don't ask me that,” she whispered. She refused to meet his gaze. “It comes to naught.” She stiffened in his arms and gently pushed him off of herself, laying back in the tub again, pulling her torn nightgown closed at the neck. He eased away from her carefully, averting his own eyes, his eyes inadvertently landing on her body beneath his.
Her thighs had fallen open, sodden fabric clinging to her ever crevice and curve. He could see the muscles in her lower stomach and swollen labia fluttering, still working desperately. “Fuck, it won't stop,” she whined. She bit her lip, arching beneath him in desperation, whimpering and squirming, hands cupping her lower abdomen. His cock jerked, impatient. He didn't have long to wait now, but wait he must.
She lifted herself next, began to climb out of the tub. He could feel her longing inadvertently expressed through the brief press of her hand against his chest. She braced herself against his shoulder as she climbed down from the tub. “I'm going to lose my mind,” she lamented, lifting her hands to her forehead. Her body was still screaming at her for more, every nerve raw. He felt ashamed of how her suffering only fueled his desire.
She shut herself in the shower. He pulled the chain, releasing the frigid water from the tub, and stood. His entire body was vibrating in anticipation. He was torn between following her and allowing her some modicum of privacy. He stripped his trousers and pants off, squeezed the water out of them, and stepped out of the tub to cross the room and drop them into the washing machine that was tucked into the nearby closet. A whimper came from the shower, causing him to freeze in surprise. His body waited, tensed, as his ears strained to hear each pant and sigh that fell from Missy's lips. Was she touching herself? His body thrilled at the concept, his cock hardening impressively, suddenly at full staff again. She was being very naughty and he was surprisingly okay with that.
chapter 3b