Fic: Playing With Fire

[stick_poker]

Title: Playing With Fire
Author: stick_poker
Beta: ms_prue , woo
Rating: Adult, no, really
Characters: Eleven/River
About this: This is your CAPSLOCK NON-CON WARNING. By which I mean, if non-con is a no-go for you, you don't want to read this. Having said that, this arose from the conflation of a couple of kinkmeme prompts involving an unexpectedly dominant Eleven and a surprised River, so I suppose this is a story about... who they could be to each other. And when.

The door of the blue box was ajar. She pushed it open and stepped through, smiling at the bizarre interior, its curious mixture of the organic and the mechanical. The walls glowed, the whole room bathed in their soft orange light, and air was filled with sounds, a hum and a trill and something like breathing. She climbed the steps cautiously, turning her head, looking for any sign of the ship’s owner.

Her caution didn’t help. An arm whipped around her from behind, impossibly strong, trapping her, while a hand clamped across her mouth. The briefest effort told her how useless it was to struggle against him, so she relaxed into the body behind her, trying to signal her quiescence.

They stood together for a long moment, until he seemed satisfied with her stillness, and without removing his hand from her mouth, the grip around her body gradually loosened. His arm moved across her, his hand snaking down her hip, finding the blaster strapped to her leg.

“I don’t like guns,” he murmured in her ear, his voice rich, warm, familiar. The Doctor, and that at least was a relief. She felt him lift the gun from its holster, saw it held up in front of her face.

“Guns are for cowards. Are you a coward?”

She hesitated, and then felt him relax his hand a little across her mouth. Just enough for her to shake her head.

“Then you don’t need this.” The blaster clattered as it span away. His grip tightened across her face.

“There are some other things you won’t be needing,” he remarked, and his voice didn’t sound as reassuring as it always had before. His other hand went to her jacket, slipping it off her shoulders. She didn’t help him, but she didn’t resist, the jacket sliding over her hands, dropping on the floor between them where he kicked it away. The belt full of pouches round her hips was unfastened, swung free, tossed after the blaster.

She knew the line of it didn’t show through her clothes. She’d had it specially made, fitted just for her. But his hand still went to the knife at the small of her back, pulled it out, held it out before her.

“More weapons? What were you planning?”

His fingers squeezed tighter, pinching her jaw, making it clear that he didn’t want an answer.

“No, I don’t care what you thought you were going to do. Just as long as you understand that I’m in control here.” He threw the knife away too, and she watched it skitter across the glass floor.

“Do you understand?” His voice dropped lower, closer, and she felt his hand relax fractionally. She nodded, in the tiny range that he allowed her.

“Good.” His free hand slid up her side and across her chest.

“I’m in control here,” he repeated, “and there’s something I want from you.”

She hadn’t quite allowed herself to think what could happen next, until he took hold of the zip at the front of her top. She closed her eyes as he dragged it slowly down, the sudden realisation catching her off-balance, her breath rushing out where his hand trapped it under her nose. With the zip entirely undone, his fingers brushed lightly over the bare skin underneath, rising along the centre line of her body, up between her breasts, up to her shoulders.

She stood as calmly as she could, her back straight, her arms by her sides, the air cool on her flesh. Some more deft moves of his fingers and the top fell away, leaving her naked from the waist up. They stood for a moment longer, his hand across her face the only point of contact, and she forced herself to open her eyes, try and be ready for what might happen next.

The clink of jointed metal was only too familiar. The cold of the cuffs closing around first one wrist and then the other was no shock, although she stumbled at first when he pushed her forwards, gasped as his weight bore her down, flattening her onto the sloping surface in the middle of the room. Her arms were stretched out in front of her, and then the chain of the cuffs was hooked on to something, caught, trapping her.

She tugged against the handcuffs, but they were solid, simple metal, and she didn’t have the leverage to free herself. He made a noise of satisfaction and lifted his weight from her. If that was him giving her space to get comfortable she took it; she shifted and wriggled, half-hanging from her arms, trying to avoid the angular shapes of the assorted junk underneath her. Her feet only just reached the floor, and even though she was still wearing her sturdy trousers, the way her bottom lifted over the edge of the panel made it feel more exposed than her naked back. She took the chains of the cuffs in her fingers, for something to grip, uncertain yet what she might have to hold on through.

In a peculiarly tender gesture, he slipped his open hand across her small fist, trying, it seemed, to soothe her. She let him loosen her fingers, close her hand around one of the bizarre shapes on the control surface, pat it protectively. He nuzzled his face into her hair for a moment, his body resting gently against hers, and then she felt him move away, straighten up.

“Now. The rules. You won’t speak, you won’t even make a noise, unless I tell you to. But when I do so, you will answer quickly, and you will tell me what I want to hear. Because there is pleasure, and there is pain, and between the two of them, I can control you entirely. Do you understand?”

She hesitated for a moment, thinking of his voice, caught in the confusion between what it sounded like and what it was telling her. For too long a moment; his hand came down heavily across her raised bottom, a thump rather than a slap, the heel of his hand thudding into her. She pressed her face into a clear bit of surface under her, surprised once again by his strength.

“I said, do you understand?”

“Yes.” She answered briskly, clearly, but the sensation of that fierce impact rang on under his palm, unsettling her more than the handcuffs, more than his commands.

His hand moved gently, stroking, exploring the curve of her backside.

“Good.”

It came down hard again, in a slightly different place, the sound of the smack muffled by the thick fabric, the force of it transmitted undiminished. He ground his palm into the same spot, drawing out the impact into a smouldering ember of sensation.

“Don’t think, by the way, that you’ll escape punishment by obeying me.” His hand trailed along her curves, down her thigh, back up and across, resting on the other side of her bottom. She found herself expecting it, the gentle pressure of his resting hand a foreshadowing of what was to come, waiting for the next impact.

“Because you’re nothing. You’re mine to do what I like with, and if I want to punish you, I will.”

The next strike thudded into her and when the pain and pressure sparked into her mind, she realised that she was waiting and wanting.

She thought back to the first time she’d seen him, strolling along a corridor at the university, dangling what looked very much like an ancient Thanatoan vase in one hand as if was something from a junk shop. And the week after, when they’d run and run through the tunnels of the dig site, saved who knew how many lives from that thing in the tomb... She’d had to drop a previously unseen ancient Thanatoan vase into the abyss it had created. Well, unseen apart from...

But then he’d been full of brightness as well as his cleverness, boundlessly confident but cheerful with it, and he’d accepted her capability in the rescue without question. And she was fairly certain he’d been flirting with her, or at least considering it. So what was this? The disownable source of that cockiness?

“Hmm. What does this arse of yours look like, I wonder? Before I’ve beaten it black and blue?”

Before she could react there was a clink, and then a whine; she felt a buzz of something pass across the small of her back. The rest of the seam ripped apart under his hands and he yanked her trousers down her thighs. Another quick buzz followed by the zip of tearing fabric and her underwear was gone. She bit her lip and fought the urge to shift, to test the feel of her exposed skin in the cool air, and tried not to think about what else she wanted to feel again.

“Look at that. Red already, and I’ve barely even started. Honestly, humans are rubbish.”

Humans. She knew he wasn’t human, she’d heard him talking, that time, that stupid time when she’d hidden behind a curtain just to hear him again, the goods still on her and the ambassador’s party still in full swing. His voice, and the way she’d imagined him then, on the other side of that flimsy barrier... She’d imagined his hands on her, it was true, but not like this. She felt his fingers tease lightly over her skin, exploring the surface.

She shut her eyes when his touch passed over the three ragged scars on the back of her hip; medical technology could remove them in an instant, but she’d kept them. She hid them from prying eyes, in case someone tried to stop her, but she knew she couldn’t, wouldn’t ever stop playing with fire. They were her reminder, the mark of someone who didn’t pass by the open door, and once again they did their job. She was determined not to regret her decision to open this one.

The smile had barely begun to spread across her face when the slap hit her bare rump. The sting of it exploded across her skin, igniting the smoulder of the deeper impacts into a burning fire. She bit her lips together, determined to keep quiet through this if she could, not so much to obey his rules but to try and hold on to some sort of control for herself.

A fusillade of quick, sharp strokes tested her resolve. She’d never been quite certain about spanking; it was fun to do to other people, sometimes, but done to her it seemed to be all noise, a cheap thrill that came and went. But this was something different, something deeper, and something much more effective.

Two more hard, thudding strokes, one on each side, and he leaned his body on hers, his weight pressing down on the sore flesh, his clothes rough on her sensitive skin. The echo of it resounded in her pelvis, the slow burn of the hard strokes and the quick sting of slaps tied together by his solidity. Despite her determination, a low moan escaped her lips as she tried to lift her hips, press herself further into him.

He pulled off her abruptly, and she heard him step back, leaving her stranded.

“Now, hang on. Don’t tell me you’re enjoying that. Don’t tell me you’re one of those sick people who like being punished.” His fingers slipped down over the curve of her arse, down between, finding the opening of her cunt. Finding it wet, and hot, just from his hand on her.

The shock of discovery flamed on her face in a rush of blood. She had no idea her body could react like that, to him, to what he was doing to her, to this.

“Well, well. I think you’re enjoying that too much. I’m going to have to think of something else to do to you, aren’t I?”

His fingers slicked up and down the line of her cunt, teasing, spreading out the treacherous moisture. No-one had ever had the nerve to treat her like this before, but something in her appeared to like it.

And then his fingers rose a little higher, one wet fingertip nudging at the ring of muscle. She tensed up, involuntarily, instantly, and he must have been able to see it. Under his control, and apparently slipping further away from hers, his words about pleasure and pain returned to her, and she felt a flicker of fear for the first time. Which would this be?

But his finger was still moving slowly, massaging, trying to get her to relax. She heard small noises, felt him moving around, and then there was the shock of cold lube there too, quickly warming. So he didn’t want pain, but...?

Okay, okay. There were always choices, even in the darkest of situations. She could fight it, or she could relax, let him in. It wasn’t like she’d never done that before, even if only when she was firmly in control. She tried to resign herself to losing that now, and breathed deeply, pulling on her bonds for a moment to give herself room, feeling the bite of the metal on her wrists.

There. She felt herself open to him, his finger slipping just inside her. But he took it faster than she wanted, pushing quickly into her, and she gasped when she felt the ridge of his knuckles against her sore arse.

“Oh, I see,” he remarked with infuriating calmness. “Not so sure about that, are you? You’re the one who sneaked your way into my ship, you foolish girl, and you’ll take what’s coming to you. Do you understand?” His voice rose sharply as he bent over her, his jacket brushing against her sensitized skin.

“Yes,“ she answered, beginning to wonder whether regret might be something she would have to learn after all. He said nothing in reply, merely straightening up, standing over her, planting his other hand firmly on the small of her back.

She squeezed her eyes shut again, waiting for the worst, but he began to move gently, working her carefully. The motion of his hand was more tantalising than tormenting. That was better, that was surely better than having this hurt, but the contrast between his words and his actions was making her head spin.

Or maybe that was just what he was doing to her. The motion of it, the way he twisted his finger just a little at the end of a stroke, the way it pulled at the tight little opening... She had thought she might have to endure, but now that felt turned on its head. When he slipped his finger all the way out and she felt two of them pushing at her, it was all she could do to stop herself rocking her hips up, moaning for more.

What was he doing to her? Pain and pleasure, and so far everything that had been offered as pain had only been good. Even the way she was stretched out, forced into this suggestive position, was part of it, part of why... she felt her cunt throb with her excitement and bit her lip again, but this time she couldn’t stop the lift of her hips.

He responded, driving his hand harder into her, his knuckles twisting past her reddened cheeks, the force of it stirring up the excitement from her spanking. And the excitement of being out of control, at not being able to tell him to stop, and not wanting to... She closed her eyes and a sigh escaped her.

“Oh, don’t tell me. Don’t tell me you like this too.” He lifted his hand from her back, and she groaned when he found her clit, her swollen clit, hot and slick under his fingers.

“You do. You like this, don’t you?”

She gritted her teeth, refusing to answer, either him or herself. The fire of excitement was building in her, fingers pushing and twisting inside her, stretching her, filling her. The fingers of his other hand slid rapidly over her clit and she clung on to the random objects under her hands, stretching up as far as she could on her toes, her thighs trembling as he drove her on. A guttural sound she could hardly believe was her own came forcing its way out of her mouth and she came hard around him, her hips shaking, his fingers finally stilling when she collapsed to hang from her restraints.

He let her be for a few moments, pulling out, letting her recover herself, her breathing slowing. She heard him pacing around behind her. Of all things she became peculiarly conscious of the remnants of her trousers, flopping down over her knees like great flamboyant boot tops. It probably looked quite good, at least, and she smiled at the thought, shifting her face on the console surface.

Instantly he was there, standing over her again.

“Honestly, what sort of pervert are you? You like it when I tie you up, you like it when I beat you, and you like it when I stick my hand up your arse, you little slut.” She felt him lean down over her, his breath on her shoulder. “But you know you’re a slut, don’t you? I punish you and all you do is moan for me, get wet for me, come for me. My little slut.”

Words, words were nothing, she’d been called all sorts of things in her time, but in that voice they carried a different weight and she struggled to let them go. And meanwhile he trailed his mouth down her back, moving slowly over her, a strange route that seemed full of deliberation, a purpose she couldn’t comprehend. His tongue marked curves and swirls, beguiling but mystifying. He moved lower, and she felt his breath pausing over her marked hip.

Kisses, one, two, three; one for each scar, tender but quick, there and then gone. Her eyes opened wide in surprise. She had never told anyone about -

“Well, if you’re my little slut, I suppose I’ll just have to fuck you.”

Her mind reeled in confusion. He didn’t know, couldn’t know, unless... This strange ship, and the way he’d been so instantly, casually familiar with her in the mines. Unless he knew her. Knew much more about her than she did about him, and was using that knowledge to do this to her. To abuse her, to dominate her, and to make it clear he knew how to.

She saw his clothes being thrown away across the glass floor, and frantically tried to recall what she knew about him. He looked basically human, with his clothes on. Without them... Her shoulders blocked the view behind her, and all she could see were glimpses of pale skin as he stripped, his movements rapid, functional. There could be any sort of bizarre sex organs hiding under those clothes, something slimy, or something... something sharp -

No. She tried to get a grip on her imagination. Every time, she’d trusted him like he’d trusted her, straight away. She’d taken the open door today because of how he was, his warmth, his wonder, his joy, and for all his harsh words to her, his actions had been - he’d hurt her in a way she’d enjoyed? He’d forced a breathtaking orgasm out of her? Still forced her; she tried not to think the word that came up. But no, he knew her, somewhere, somewhen, so this was - what was this?

His hand on her arse interrupted her scattered thoughts, caressing the heated skin. More of his skin against her, surprisingly soft and smooth, his chest on her back, his arms stroking along hers, his lips on the back of her shoulder, covering her tenderly.

This was - oh fuck. She felt something bump against her inner thigh, and whatever shape it was, the mass of it alone set her mind going at full tilt again. He mocked her with his words and now he mocked her with his body; whatever it was, it slid along her thigh, catching at the damp flesh, the skin of his hip brushing against her as he moved above her.

“What about this, my little slut? Do you like this?”

He lifted his hips higher, and as he pushed forwards, it caught at her, bumping over her, sliding through her moisture. He drew back again, the thick shape of it pressing against her, revealing itself. She wasn’t quite sure whether to be relieved that it was just a cock, or concerned at the size of it.

“Do you want it? Do you want me to fuck you?”

So that was his game. Sliding his cock over her clit, her cunt soaking already and getting wetter. Not just doing it to her but making her want it. The frustration of it jetted up inside her and she couldn’t answer even if she’d wanted to.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.” Another long, dragging stroke along her, the thick shaft of it spreading her labia, the whole thing slick with her moisture now.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” He repeated the question, slowly, deliberately, insultingly.

What choice did she have? But there was still only so much her pride could take.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Sorry, what? What was that?”

“Yes,” she called, louder, but she couldn’t keep the edge out of her voice.

“Really? I’m not sure you mean that. If you mean it, ask me. Ask me to fuck you.”

Fuck, the heat inside her, and his cock slicking along her, and it was all she could think of. She should be screaming, fighting, doing something, but nothing made sense any more; everything he did to her should have been wrong but it wasn’t wrong and something inside her snapped.

“Yes. Do it. Fuck me.”

She dropped her head, waiting for him to take her, but he did nothing, stayed silent, just moving against her, another long stroke.

“Yes. Just, fucking, yes, please. I want you to fuck me.” She was practically shouting with it, trembling with frustration under him, and still he ignored her, moving against her, not inside her.

She ground her forehead on the surface. What did he want? He wanted her to submit to him, not just to have her body but to control her. And it was fucking working, damn him. Just for a second she hated him, absolutely, but that didn’t get her off, and then she knew what would.

She let her anger drain away, and answered him quietly, as calmly as she could.

“Please. Yes.”

And then with another shift of his hips he was inside, the cock she hadn’t even seen hard within her, his quick strokes going deeper every time. She gave up on trying to keep quiet as he filled her, reaching somewhere so far in it made her cry out in unbearable pleasure. She didn’t even tense, push back against him, just let herself hang there, the rough thrusts jamming her thighs against the edge of the surface, her hands dropping loose in the cuffs. Locked in place at the just the right angle, he went harder, deeper than she would have thought possible, and with the shame of giving in burning hotter than her sore skin, she surrendered to the crashing orgasm and lost herself in sensation.

When she came to her senses again, she could feel him still, hard, there. He hadn’t reached his own satisfaction, but he withdrew, his hands gently holding her hips, giving her time.

Time. That was it. A mismatch in time, because he was from some other time when he knew her, when she would be like this, when she would be submissive and enjoy it. This would be how they were, together, in that time. Some deep part of her raged at the enormity of the changes that would have to happen, the person she would have to become to like this, but on the surface there was nothing but calm acceptance.

Hands over hers, the handcuffs released. She let him pull her upright, not only the fight but the urge to fight gone from her. She stared down at the glass floor, not even looking at whatever he was doing with switches or something, and didn’t resist when he laid his hands on her shoulders, pushed her down to her knees. One hand chained, again, and her fingers wrapped around another control.

“Good. You seem to understand your position a little more clearly, now.” He stood above her, tall and commanding. His hand went to her chin, gripping it, lifting her face, and she saw him properly for the first time; the man she remembered, from times that had been dark but filled with the light he brought. It was all the more chilling that he looked just the same now.

“I’ll get what I want out of you. But all that racket you make, blimey. I can’t concentrate when you’re shouting like that.” His smile was cold, abstracted. “Which suggests an obvious solution, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t stop herself glancing down. His cock, still hard, hanging there between them. Human enough, heavy with his blood and slick with her shame, and that was why she was on her knees. She shut her eyes against the sight of it but the pulse of excitement was there no matter how much she cursed it.

The her who liked this wasn’t some future, distant version. It was her, here and now, who liked this, who liked being tied up and insulted and made to submit. Even as she felt the smooth tip touch against her lips, even as she opened her mouth around him, she knew she wanted it. The line of him sliding along her tongue, the ridge of the head against the roof of her mouth, it all made perfect sense, it all fitted with what she was, a stupid girl who’d never even known before that she loved this.

He wouldn’t even touch her, his hands hovering near her face, brushing over her hair, but avoiding real contact. He moved slowly, letting her taste herself on him, letting the reality of what was happening sink in. She risked another glance up at him, the face she remembered, his lips parted in pleasure, her mouth full of him, and she pushed against him, wanting more of him.

He withdrew abruptly, wet with her saliva.

“No.” His eyes hardened, staring down at her. “Oh, no.” He took hold of his cock, his hand working the length of it right in front of her face, flaunting it, and she couldn’t stop herself watching.

“You’re enjoying that too, aren’t you? Perverted little slut.”

She felt the returning surge of heat between her legs. No-one, no-one talked to her like this. But it was all true, and she knew it, and knew that she had to convince him.

“Yes. Okay, yes. But, please, let me.”

He laughed at that, his cold green eyes locked onto hers.

“And why should I?”

“Please. I want... I want to suck you off. I’ll do it well, if you’ll let me.” She stared pleadingly up at him, no thought of control left, just wanting, anything to feel him, to taste him.

“Say my name.”

“Doctor. Please, let me.”

“No. Ask me properly. My name.” His eyes bored into her, so intense, but she had to break his gaze, look away in confusion.

His name. She knew what to call him, what other people called him, but it wasn’t a name, was it? And it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

His hand stroking at the shaft, the dark head of it right there in front of her face, and the thought of him coming in her mouth, after everything he’d done to her, the thought of his cock spilling deliciously into her mouth overtook everything else, made her reach deep inside herself for something she would have never dreamed she’d say. What do you call the man who makes you want all of this?

“Please. Master.”

He was spluttering, for some reason or other, but she didn’t care. His hands went behind him, holding him up against the edge of the console, and that left him open to her. One hand was still shackled but she grabbed on to him with the other, steadying herself to take him deeply as she could. She devoured him hungrily, almost choking, but when she heard him cry out, felt the pulse of it, tasted the first of him, the urgent need was still on her. She held on, taking all of him, swallowing him down until it ended, and still she wanted more of him, more than he could give her.

He slumped back against the console with a groan, pushing her off. Something odd was happening; the commanding manner melting away from his whole form, and she felt suddenly unsteady in the changing atmosphere. The taste of him was strong and strange, her mouth and her cunt soaking wet from him, but the transformation was even stranger, a warm smile creasing his face, the twinkle of his eyes banishing the coldness. And then he sprang into movement, kneeling with to her to release the handcuffs, taking her wrists and rubbing them to soothe them, holding her hands, bringing her fingers to his mouth to kiss.

“You, you, you,” he said, still grinning. “Just when I think I’m getting the hang of this you pull the rug out from under me again. ‘Master’ indeed.” He sprawled carelessly on the floor next to her, pulling her across him, holding her tenderly.

“I’m not cut out for role-play, you know. There’ve been too many times... I don’t think I could do it for anyone else.” He cradled her close, pressing his face to her hair. “Oh, my love, my love.”

The way her hand rested so naturally on his shoulder, the way her leg balanced across his hip, the way her cheek slid onto his chest, herself as she was and himself as he would be. His body formed a shape she fitted into with an uncanny ease.

Like the ease with which the disparate pieces of what had just happened were starting to slot together.

“That was better, wasn’t it? That bit where I called you a slut, though, I thought I’d blown it then. I was sure you’d go for the regulator.”

Well, it was probably time to say something.

“The regulator?” she asked mildly.

She felt him tense, lift his head to stare at her.

“The regulator. The tachyon field regulator. You know, the... safe...” He gestured, spreading his hand over an imaginary control.

She watched him search her face, looking for recognition of whatever it was he was on about, watching the horrified fascination dawn in his eyes.

“When... how early did you send me? Don’t tell me this is before... Oh, River, no... When is this?”

She lay in the arms of a man from her future, a man who had just made her want things she’d never known she wanted, uncovered a side of her she didn’t know existed, and she felt his imbalance; how flustered he was now, by no more than a couple of words from her. What should she tell him? What had she told him about this, in the future? And would it still have happened if she’d explained?

“Don’t worry, dear. You did very well.” She rested her cheek on his chest, and thought about a future filled with fire, and laughed.