for just_fck_me: Masturbate.
He is not a sexual man.
It's not because sex is unpleasant for his species. On the contrary, he's had encounters with those of his own kind that've brought him to mind-blowing pleasure. Even with a human, or another alien species, sexual acts are (in general), incredibly pleasing. The rush of blood, the heightened nerves, it's all very nice.
It's also not because of the general taboo about sex in his culture. Yes, it's ingrained in the minds of all Time Tots that sex is a barbaric and disgusting act, and yes, he sat in on a number of those classes. And yes, he did wear the high-neck head garment of the Time Lord, the one that blocked from view the immensely taboo back of the neck, where a Gallifreyan derived a good deal of sexual pleasure. But, really, the disgust his people found in sex fueled his desires, in his youth. His need to be rebellious made him far more promiscuous than his fellows, occasionally taking a lover (or even two!) every decade or so.
It's not even because of how messy the act is. Fluids and sweat and all sorts of things going into it just make the whole thing seem really unappealing, but he's been through far worse, really. And, if one charted out sexual pleasure versus messiness, the pleasure is far greater than the cost of a shower and a change of clothes or bedcovers.
It's just that the act…doesn't really interest him.
There are far more fascinating things out there, far more worlds to explore, more thoughts to have. Aliens and stars and nebulas and oh-yes-the-world-is-ending-didn't-you-notice? He can't really focus on that sort of thing when he's got so much thinking to do.
But humans! It's like a bloody disease with them! That's all they seem to think about. It's in their movies, it's in their magazines, on posters, and even in the spam email he collects in his old UNIT account. He awkwardly looks from the message down to his sex and wonders why, exactly, he'd want to make it larger without side effects.
Really, the whole planet doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but they're generally a fun lot, so he travels with them. They don't discuss sex with him very often, probably because they don't think he'll understand, or maybe because they're far too nervous that he will understand, and that would take away from his alien mystique or something. It's for the best, really, because it would probably be the most awkward conversation he'll have had since the time he had to explain X Factor to a group of tone-deaf Zygons.
But, really, it's most awkward when they have sex on the TARDIS. He supposes, if he thinks about it, that the whole idea isn't really that surprising. The sexual drive in humans is fairly high, and they're locked up for long periods of time in their rooms. It's really a wonder they don't do it more often. Actually, since he usually only travels with one at a time, it's not that much of a wonder.
He can hear it, when they're having sex, no matter how quiet they try to be. It's part of his connection with the TARDIS. He can generally hear how the water runs through the hydraulic systems, how the engine purrs when she hits the hyperdrive, when a companion sings in the shower, or when two of them are having sex.
Like right now.
Mickey has just started traveling with them. Mickey, who hasn't seen Rose in a good long while, sneaks away from his room while the Doctor's working on a conduit rewiring, and it's not long before he can feel the heat go up in that section of the TARDIS, and then hear them.
It's not as if he wants to hear them. In fact, given who it is, he'd verymuch rather not hear them, but her moans and his grunts were audible even before he passed by her room on the way to his own. And, no matter how much he tries to distract himself or move to other areas of the TARDIS, he can't exactly block it out. The noise is more psychic than audio, so no wax in the ears would stop the noise.
Oh, God, she groans.
It's funny, he's never heard Rose like that before. Oh, he's no fool. She's nineteen, he doesn't think she's inexperienced, it's just…odd, hearing her. It's that little moan, that sound of pleasure he's used to hearing when she bites into a particularly delicious alien food or…actually, it's not even quite like that. It's…significantly more than that.
He sighs and lays back in his own, empty bed, the sounds penetrating his mind. He's had this bed for about 564 years, and he's never had sex on it. He's never bothered pleasuring himself, either, because what's the point in that? It's all fluids and messiness without even the real enjoyment of another's company. And listening to two people have sex isn't at all arousing. It's more irritating, especially because he had planned on sleeping at least an hour or so this evening.
It's been a while for her, she's been traveling with him. He can tell from the way she gasps every time there's a particularly loud slap or grunt. Rose lets out a low moan that sounds almost like a purr. Since he has very little else to do while he's lying in bed, he tries to imagine exactly what her expression would be, combined with that moan. He's seen her excited and pleased before, but never aroused. Well, not since she was taken over by Cassandra and forcibly snogging him. Which, at the time, wasn't all that pleasant. It wasn't Rose.
He imagines her, eyes heavy-lidded like they were when she was taken over by Cassandra, but biting her lip in that saucy way she does as herself sometimes. He has to admit, it's not an unattractive image. And he's long since admitted to himself that he's attracted to Rose, well, her mind at least. Her body is attractive, too, he supposes. The way some of her shirts and trousers cling to her hips and breasts, it is quite appealing. Also, since she's cut her hair, he occasionally gets glimpses of the back of her neck, which give him a private thrill he knows she wouldn't understand.
Yes, she purrs again. He rolls his eyes. This is ridiculous, of course. And, really, pretty violating of their trust in him. If they just had sex somewhere that wasn't the TARDIS, he wouldn't have to hear them, and wouldn't be forced to think about what it's like for them. And he's trying not to think about it.
Is this what it's like for a human, only without the background noise? Constantly thinking about what other people are doing recreationally in their bedrooms? It's little wonder so many of them are mad. It really is like a disease, rotting their brains.
Rose asks if she can turn over. Ah, time for a new position, apparently. Took them long enough. Jack, the Doctor knows from the one (and only!) time he allowed him to bring a "friend" on board, could manage eight positions in under five minutes. That was a very long, sleepless night for the Doctor. Mickey, it appears, is more prone to habit.
He wonders what position Rose is asking to turn into. He doesn’t know a great deal of positions, Jack Harkness he is not, but he imagines she might be asking to turn onto her stomach, or onto her knees. He thinks, if her hair is still in those big curls she set them into the last time they were in the console room, the back of her neck would be visible from that sort of a position. And she does have a lovely neck, Rose. Long and pale, with little wisps of blonde hair at the nape.
Without warning, a little pulse of arousal shoots through him and his pinstripe trousers tighten slightly. He catches his breath, privately embarrassed. Well, it's been quite a while since that sort of thing's happened. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Just give it a minute, the blood flow will sort itself out.
She gasps this time, and the Doctor's eyes go towards his bedroom door. What is Mickey doing that's making her gasp like that? The slapping noise has stopped, the only sound her small gasps and moans. Well, if she were lying on her stomach, many humans have their back as an erogenous zone. Maybe Mickey's kissing her back.
Mickey. The image makes the Doctor's nose crinkle in distaste. He really needs to find something else to do. Another book to read. Another---anything else to do. She moans again, and the Doctor imagines her back arching upwards into the kiss, imagines what it might taste like if he were the one kissing her, tracing his lips up her spine. The way her body might feel, warm and human, against him.
His eyes snap open. This is really an inappropriate line of thought, and it's not at all helping his unpleasant and unbid erection. He sighs, and unbuttons his trousers to relieve some of the pressure there. Just as his thumb pushes the zipper aside, she cries out sharply in pleasure. The fantasy is back again, her pushing back on him, his thumb taking the place of---of---
No, no, no. He's uncomfortable enough, listening to them having sex. He's not going to sit here and put himself into those grunts, groans, and noises. He's certainly not going to---do whatever it was he was considering doing to that noise. Talk about barbaric. He gives up trying to focus on other things and begins focusing on redirecting bloodflow.
He hears Rose speak again, this time giving instruction. Kiss my neck. Oh, now, that's just not fair. He imagines kissing up her spine, tracing his tongue across the back of her neck. She would reach her hand up behind herself, making noises like she is now, scraping her nails across the back of his neck. Her nails would graze his skin, he would lean over to kiss her…
His hand goes up with the fantasy, tracing his short nails across the sensitive nerves on his own neck. The arousal he'd completely failed to get rid of was now sharp and sensitive, and he felt the all-too-human urge to relieve himself through this fantasy. Through just imagining what it might be like, touching her, feeling her like that. Listening to the moans with his ears, instead of through the psychic connection he has with his ship.
The hand by his sex moves slowly, almost nervously, stroking himself once, just once, to test out the sensation. Of course, that sensation goes right along with another moan from Rose, and the sound of skin pounding against skin. He moves his hand again, imagining moving within her, feeling her against his body, her flesh against his. Her turning towards him, hooking a leg around his hip, digging her fingers into his hair, her fingertips against his neck…
Doctor! she cries out, and he strokes a little faster. His body is confused, not certain why, exactly, he's making himself feel this when he's not having sex, and equally out of practice. It's only moments before he feels a wave of pleasure like he's moving towards climax. The fantasy continues to play in his mind. Rose, beautiful and brilliant and confusing, kissing him and touching him and---and---
The soundtrack had stopped. No moving flesh, no moans. Only:
Wot did you just call me? Mickey's voice. Exhausted and furious.
Sorry, Mickey, I just---got lost in the moment--- Rose, panting and embarrassed.
Yeah, right.
The Doctor can't quite control himself. He barks a laugh at his empty room. He'd been wrapped up in the moment, too. So wrapped up he'd forgotten who, precisely, was part of that scenario. He hears a door slam, and quickly hops to his feet, stuffing himself back into his trousers and zipping up before he opened the door. Mickey is storming off to his own room, his clothes askew.
Rose is leaning out her door, as well, her hair mussed, her lips red and swollen. She turns back, looking at him in his own doorway. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her makeup dark and a little smudged. She flushes a little at the sight of him. She isn't at her best, certainly, but there's something about her rumpled appearance that's so utterly sexy.
And that isn't a word the Doctor uses often to describe anyone.
"You all right?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.
"Yeah," she says. She nods to his appearance. "Didn't wake you, did we?"
"Nah. You know me, always mean to sleep but I can never find the time."
Her blush deepens. He wonders what she'd imagined while she was with Mickey, before reminding himself that it's none of his business. He certainly shouldn't have been---well, thinking about it.
"Night," he says, quickly, shutting the door behind himself. He looks off to the shower in his bedroom. A good cold shower, that would be good. Be calming. Should've taken it earlier. Good idea.
After all, he's not a particularly sexual man.
But if sex is a disease, he's certainly not immune.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,234
It's not because sex is unpleasant for his species. On the contrary, he's had encounters with those of his own kind that've brought him to mind-blowing pleasure. Even with a human, or another alien species, sexual acts are (in general), incredibly pleasing. The rush of blood, the heightened nerves, it's all very nice.
It's also not because of the general taboo about sex in his culture. Yes, it's ingrained in the minds of all Time Tots that sex is a barbaric and disgusting act, and yes, he sat in on a number of those classes. And yes, he did wear the high-neck head garment of the Time Lord, the one that blocked from view the immensely taboo back of the neck, where a Gallifreyan derived a good deal of sexual pleasure. But, really, the disgust his people found in sex fueled his desires, in his youth. His need to be rebellious made him far more promiscuous than his fellows, occasionally taking a lover (or even two!) every decade or so.
It's not even because of how messy the act is. Fluids and sweat and all sorts of things going into it just make the whole thing seem really unappealing, but he's been through far worse, really. And, if one charted out sexual pleasure versus messiness, the pleasure is far greater than the cost of a shower and a change of clothes or bedcovers.
It's just that the act…doesn't really interest him.
There are far more fascinating things out there, far more worlds to explore, more thoughts to have. Aliens and stars and nebulas and oh-yes-the-world-is-ending-didn't-you-notice? He can't really focus on that sort of thing when he's got so much thinking to do.
But humans! It's like a bloody disease with them! That's all they seem to think about. It's in their movies, it's in their magazines, on posters, and even in the spam email he collects in his old UNIT account. He awkwardly looks from the message down to his sex and wonders why, exactly, he'd want to make it larger without side effects.
Really, the whole planet doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but they're generally a fun lot, so he travels with them. They don't discuss sex with him very often, probably because they don't think he'll understand, or maybe because they're far too nervous that he will understand, and that would take away from his alien mystique or something. It's for the best, really, because it would probably be the most awkward conversation he'll have had since the time he had to explain X Factor to a group of tone-deaf Zygons.
But, really, it's most awkward when they have sex on the TARDIS. He supposes, if he thinks about it, that the whole idea isn't really that surprising. The sexual drive in humans is fairly high, and they're locked up for long periods of time in their rooms. It's really a wonder they don't do it more often. Actually, since he usually only travels with one at a time, it's not that much of a wonder.
He can hear it, when they're having sex, no matter how quiet they try to be. It's part of his connection with the TARDIS. He can generally hear how the water runs through the hydraulic systems, how the engine purrs when she hits the hyperdrive, when a companion sings in the shower, or when two of them are having sex.
Like right now.
Mickey has just started traveling with them. Mickey, who hasn't seen Rose in a good long while, sneaks away from his room while the Doctor's working on a conduit rewiring, and it's not long before he can feel the heat go up in that section of the TARDIS, and then hear them.
It's not as if he wants to hear them. In fact, given who it is, he'd verymuch rather not hear them, but her moans and his grunts were audible even before he passed by her room on the way to his own. And, no matter how much he tries to distract himself or move to other areas of the TARDIS, he can't exactly block it out. The noise is more psychic than audio, so no wax in the ears would stop the noise.
Oh, God, she groans.
It's funny, he's never heard Rose like that before. Oh, he's no fool. She's nineteen, he doesn't think she's inexperienced, it's just…odd, hearing her. It's that little moan, that sound of pleasure he's used to hearing when she bites into a particularly delicious alien food or…actually, it's not even quite like that. It's…significantly more than that.
He sighs and lays back in his own, empty bed, the sounds penetrating his mind. He's had this bed for about 564 years, and he's never had sex on it. He's never bothered pleasuring himself, either, because what's the point in that? It's all fluids and messiness without even the real enjoyment of another's company. And listening to two people have sex isn't at all arousing. It's more irritating, especially because he had planned on sleeping at least an hour or so this evening.
It's been a while for her, she's been traveling with him. He can tell from the way she gasps every time there's a particularly loud slap or grunt. Rose lets out a low moan that sounds almost like a purr. Since he has very little else to do while he's lying in bed, he tries to imagine exactly what her expression would be, combined with that moan. He's seen her excited and pleased before, but never aroused. Well, not since she was taken over by Cassandra and forcibly snogging him. Which, at the time, wasn't all that pleasant. It wasn't Rose.
He imagines her, eyes heavy-lidded like they were when she was taken over by Cassandra, but biting her lip in that saucy way she does as herself sometimes. He has to admit, it's not an unattractive image. And he's long since admitted to himself that he's attracted to Rose, well, her mind at least. Her body is attractive, too, he supposes. The way some of her shirts and trousers cling to her hips and breasts, it is quite appealing. Also, since she's cut her hair, he occasionally gets glimpses of the back of her neck, which give him a private thrill he knows she wouldn't understand.
Yes, she purrs again. He rolls his eyes. This is ridiculous, of course. And, really, pretty violating of their trust in him. If they just had sex somewhere that wasn't the TARDIS, he wouldn't have to hear them, and wouldn't be forced to think about what it's like for them. And he's trying not to think about it.
Is this what it's like for a human, only without the background noise? Constantly thinking about what other people are doing recreationally in their bedrooms? It's little wonder so many of them are mad. It really is like a disease, rotting their brains.
Rose asks if she can turn over. Ah, time for a new position, apparently. Took them long enough. Jack, the Doctor knows from the one (and only!) time he allowed him to bring a "friend" on board, could manage eight positions in under five minutes. That was a very long, sleepless night for the Doctor. Mickey, it appears, is more prone to habit.
He wonders what position Rose is asking to turn into. He doesn’t know a great deal of positions, Jack Harkness he is not, but he imagines she might be asking to turn onto her stomach, or onto her knees. He thinks, if her hair is still in those big curls she set them into the last time they were in the console room, the back of her neck would be visible from that sort of a position. And she does have a lovely neck, Rose. Long and pale, with little wisps of blonde hair at the nape.
Without warning, a little pulse of arousal shoots through him and his pinstripe trousers tighten slightly. He catches his breath, privately embarrassed. Well, it's been quite a while since that sort of thing's happened. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Just give it a minute, the blood flow will sort itself out.
She gasps this time, and the Doctor's eyes go towards his bedroom door. What is Mickey doing that's making her gasp like that? The slapping noise has stopped, the only sound her small gasps and moans. Well, if she were lying on her stomach, many humans have their back as an erogenous zone. Maybe Mickey's kissing her back.
Mickey. The image makes the Doctor's nose crinkle in distaste. He really needs to find something else to do. Another book to read. Another---anything else to do. She moans again, and the Doctor imagines her back arching upwards into the kiss, imagines what it might taste like if he were the one kissing her, tracing his lips up her spine. The way her body might feel, warm and human, against him.
His eyes snap open. This is really an inappropriate line of thought, and it's not at all helping his unpleasant and unbid erection. He sighs, and unbuttons his trousers to relieve some of the pressure there. Just as his thumb pushes the zipper aside, she cries out sharply in pleasure. The fantasy is back again, her pushing back on him, his thumb taking the place of---of---
No, no, no. He's uncomfortable enough, listening to them having sex. He's not going to sit here and put himself into those grunts, groans, and noises. He's certainly not going to---do whatever it was he was considering doing to that noise. Talk about barbaric. He gives up trying to focus on other things and begins focusing on redirecting bloodflow.
He hears Rose speak again, this time giving instruction. Kiss my neck. Oh, now, that's just not fair. He imagines kissing up her spine, tracing his tongue across the back of her neck. She would reach her hand up behind herself, making noises like she is now, scraping her nails across the back of his neck. Her nails would graze his skin, he would lean over to kiss her…
His hand goes up with the fantasy, tracing his short nails across the sensitive nerves on his own neck. The arousal he'd completely failed to get rid of was now sharp and sensitive, and he felt the all-too-human urge to relieve himself through this fantasy. Through just imagining what it might be like, touching her, feeling her like that. Listening to the moans with his ears, instead of through the psychic connection he has with his ship.
The hand by his sex moves slowly, almost nervously, stroking himself once, just once, to test out the sensation. Of course, that sensation goes right along with another moan from Rose, and the sound of skin pounding against skin. He moves his hand again, imagining moving within her, feeling her against his body, her flesh against his. Her turning towards him, hooking a leg around his hip, digging her fingers into his hair, her fingertips against his neck…
Doctor! she cries out, and he strokes a little faster. His body is confused, not certain why, exactly, he's making himself feel this when he's not having sex, and equally out of practice. It's only moments before he feels a wave of pleasure like he's moving towards climax. The fantasy continues to play in his mind. Rose, beautiful and brilliant and confusing, kissing him and touching him and---and---
The soundtrack had stopped. No moving flesh, no moans. Only:
Wot did you just call me? Mickey's voice. Exhausted and furious.
Sorry, Mickey, I just---got lost in the moment--- Rose, panting and embarrassed.
Yeah, right.
The Doctor can't quite control himself. He barks a laugh at his empty room. He'd been wrapped up in the moment, too. So wrapped up he'd forgotten who, precisely, was part of that scenario. He hears a door slam, and quickly hops to his feet, stuffing himself back into his trousers and zipping up before he opened the door. Mickey is storming off to his own room, his clothes askew.
Rose is leaning out her door, as well, her hair mussed, her lips red and swollen. She turns back, looking at him in his own doorway. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, her makeup dark and a little smudged. She flushes a little at the sight of him. She isn't at her best, certainly, but there's something about her rumpled appearance that's so utterly sexy.
And that isn't a word the Doctor uses often to describe anyone.
"You all right?" he asks, his voice a little hoarse.
"Yeah," she says. She nods to his appearance. "Didn't wake you, did we?"
"Nah. You know me, always mean to sleep but I can never find the time."
Her blush deepens. He wonders what she'd imagined while she was with Mickey, before reminding himself that it's none of his business. He certainly shouldn't have been---well, thinking about it.
"Night," he says, quickly, shutting the door behind himself. He looks off to the shower in his bedroom. A good cold shower, that would be good. Be calming. Should've taken it earlier. Good idea.
After all, he's not a particularly sexual man.
But if sex is a disease, he's certainly not immune.
Muse: The Doctor (Ten)
Fandom: Doctor Who
Word Count: 2,234