Fic: The Utterly Secret Secret Code (Of Porn)
In honour of hurricanine's birthday:
Author: uktechgirl
Title: The Utterly Secret Secret Code (Of Porn)
Request: Five/Turlough. Plot or plotless, between or during episodes, none of that matters. Just Fivey and Turlough. And tie!porn. There must be tie!porn. Requested by hurricanine.
Rating: PG13. Slash. Contains non-explicit references to m/m sexual activity.
Summary: I think the icon says it all. (Happy Birthday, hurricanine!)
The Doctor yawned, smiled, and wondered where exactly his trousers were.
Turlough’s enthusiastic approach to gaining access to their contents had been appreciated at the time. Welcomed, in fact. But the consequences did tend to be messy. The Trion sprawled on the billiard table beside him certainly looked quite untidy, with his shirt hanging half-unbuttoned, his tie askew, and red hair sticking up in tufts. By the smirk on Turlough’s lips, however, he didn’t seem overly concerned.
Attempting to comb his own hair back into a less ruffled state with his fingers, the Doctor sat up, and cast about for his clothes.
‘It’s not very good form to just bugger off, you know,’ came a lazy voice from the table. ‘Next you’ll be leaving me a stack of fivers on the mantelpiece.’
The Doctor hesitated as he located his shirt, and briefly contemplated asking quite how Turlough had become acquainted with that particular snippet of Earthly etiquette. Then again, one never liked to pry.
‘As far as I recall it’s not considered good form to seize upon someone in a corridor and challenge their dignity, either,’ he answered, spotting his trousers dangling from the cue rack.
‘I don’t recall you complaining,’ said Turlough languidly.
A pair of pale blue eyes watched as he hunted for socks: sparkling, and ever so slightly smug.
‘Yes, well, the secret to true etiquette is to echo the sentiments of one’s host. Do to others as one would be done to oneself?’
‘Is that an offer?’
Despite the circumstances, the Doctor found himself blushing at the sheer salaciousness of Turlough’s tone. He sat down rather awkwardly on the edge of the billiard table, ignored the rather shameless pose Turlough had adopted, and cleared his throat.
‘As it happens, no. Rather a request. I suspect we may not be the most subtle travelling companions when it comes to, ah, such encounters.’
He looked hopefully at Turlough. Turlough looked blankly back.
‘Tegan?’
Turlough’s lip curled. ‘Doctor,’ he said, leaning forward and giving his knee a tritely sympathetic pat. ‘I think she knows.’
The Doctor took a deep breath, and glanced skywards. ‘Well, obviously. And, as it happens, she’s been most accommodating about the matter. Quite supportive, in fact.’
‘You’ve talked to her? About...that?’
Turlough’s expression of horror was so sincere that the Doctor felt slightly reluctant about continuing. However, the prospect of seeing the same look on Tegan’s face, again, as she happened to be strolling quite casually to the cloister, or the library, or even (and this really had been a step too far) her own bedroom, was encouragement enough.
‘Enjoyable as I find your fondness for spontaneous activity, Turlough, we really must be more considerate.’
The horror faded to suspicion. ‘You mean, we should plan our spontaneous activity?’
The Doctor gave him an admonishing look. ‘Not at all. But we might find a way of indicating to one another that the moment might be right for, er, spontaneous activity,’ (surely there had to be a better phrase than that?) ‘via some more subtle means than you...well, doing what you did earlier in the console room.’
Turlough’s sulk was replaced by a smirk, as he recalled the moment. ‘I have it on good authority that you like it when I do that. Hard evidence, as it were.’
The Doctor gave him a glare. ‘Precisely why we need an alternative strategy. A system of communication - non-physical - which might accommodate both your impulses, and Tegan’s continuing peace of mind.’
Turlough pouted, but shrugged his assent. ‘Do you have something in mind?’
The Doctor beamed. ‘Naturally,’ he said.
*
Turlough yawned, frowned, and wondered if there was something wrong with the Doctor.
The lean, slightly sweaty body of the Time Lord stretched on the console room floor beside him was never anything but an appealing sight. The faint tingling sensation he felt in certain not-insignificant parts of his anatomy was evidence enough that he’d been enjoying himself: the sleepy, lop-sided half-smile on the Doctor’s lips proof that it had been mutual.
But something was definitely not quite right. Ever since they’d started using this new secret code, he was...well, exhausted. And very busy. In fact, he was starting to think Tegan was even more likely to happen upon them in flagrante now their trysts were supposedly being governed by the signal. Turlough was quite accustomed to being thought of as somewhat slutty: prided himself on it, in fact. Now it seemed he had competition.
Not that he was exactly complaining. This newly insatiable Doctor was unexpected, and a little tiring, but certainly very pleasant company.
‘Going so soon?’ said the Doctor, drowsily, from the floor.
Turlough glanced up at the door, as he pulled at his clothes, fussing with buttons. ‘We are in the console room. Not exactly subtle.’
He twisted his neck to allow room to do up the top button on his wing-collared shirt, then adjusted the knot of his tie, pulling it tight.
The Doctor’s eyes widened. ‘Again? Already? Well, if you will insist...’
Turlough looked down at his hands, hesitated, then shrugged, deciding not to notice that the Doctor was quite hard to kiss when he was grinning so much.
Author: uktechgirl
Title: The Utterly Secret Secret Code (Of Porn)
Request: Five/Turlough. Plot or plotless, between or during episodes, none of that matters. Just Fivey and Turlough. And tie!porn. There must be tie!porn. Requested by hurricanine.
Rating: PG13. Slash. Contains non-explicit references to m/m sexual activity.
Summary: I think the icon says it all. (Happy Birthday, hurricanine!)
The Doctor yawned, smiled, and wondered where exactly his trousers were.
Turlough’s enthusiastic approach to gaining access to their contents had been appreciated at the time. Welcomed, in fact. But the consequences did tend to be messy. The Trion sprawled on the billiard table beside him certainly looked quite untidy, with his shirt hanging half-unbuttoned, his tie askew, and red hair sticking up in tufts. By the smirk on Turlough’s lips, however, he didn’t seem overly concerned.
Attempting to comb his own hair back into a less ruffled state with his fingers, the Doctor sat up, and cast about for his clothes.
‘It’s not very good form to just bugger off, you know,’ came a lazy voice from the table. ‘Next you’ll be leaving me a stack of fivers on the mantelpiece.’
The Doctor hesitated as he located his shirt, and briefly contemplated asking quite how Turlough had become acquainted with that particular snippet of Earthly etiquette. Then again, one never liked to pry.
‘As far as I recall it’s not considered good form to seize upon someone in a corridor and challenge their dignity, either,’ he answered, spotting his trousers dangling from the cue rack.
‘I don’t recall you complaining,’ said Turlough languidly.
A pair of pale blue eyes watched as he hunted for socks: sparkling, and ever so slightly smug.
‘Yes, well, the secret to true etiquette is to echo the sentiments of one’s host. Do to others as one would be done to oneself?’
‘Is that an offer?’
Despite the circumstances, the Doctor found himself blushing at the sheer salaciousness of Turlough’s tone. He sat down rather awkwardly on the edge of the billiard table, ignored the rather shameless pose Turlough had adopted, and cleared his throat.
‘As it happens, no. Rather a request. I suspect we may not be the most subtle travelling companions when it comes to, ah, such encounters.’
He looked hopefully at Turlough. Turlough looked blankly back.
‘Tegan?’
Turlough’s lip curled. ‘Doctor,’ he said, leaning forward and giving his knee a tritely sympathetic pat. ‘I think she knows.’
The Doctor took a deep breath, and glanced skywards. ‘Well, obviously. And, as it happens, she’s been most accommodating about the matter. Quite supportive, in fact.’
‘You’ve talked to her? About...that?’
Turlough’s expression of horror was so sincere that the Doctor felt slightly reluctant about continuing. However, the prospect of seeing the same look on Tegan’s face, again, as she happened to be strolling quite casually to the cloister, or the library, or even (and this really had been a step too far) her own bedroom, was encouragement enough.
‘Enjoyable as I find your fondness for spontaneous activity, Turlough, we really must be more considerate.’
The horror faded to suspicion. ‘You mean, we should plan our spontaneous activity?’
The Doctor gave him an admonishing look. ‘Not at all. But we might find a way of indicating to one another that the moment might be right for, er, spontaneous activity,’ (surely there had to be a better phrase than that?) ‘via some more subtle means than you...well, doing what you did earlier in the console room.’
Turlough’s sulk was replaced by a smirk, as he recalled the moment. ‘I have it on good authority that you like it when I do that. Hard evidence, as it were.’
The Doctor gave him a glare. ‘Precisely why we need an alternative strategy. A system of communication - non-physical - which might accommodate both your impulses, and Tegan’s continuing peace of mind.’
Turlough pouted, but shrugged his assent. ‘Do you have something in mind?’
The Doctor beamed. ‘Naturally,’ he said.
*
Turlough yawned, frowned, and wondered if there was something wrong with the Doctor.
The lean, slightly sweaty body of the Time Lord stretched on the console room floor beside him was never anything but an appealing sight. The faint tingling sensation he felt in certain not-insignificant parts of his anatomy was evidence enough that he’d been enjoying himself: the sleepy, lop-sided half-smile on the Doctor’s lips proof that it had been mutual.
But something was definitely not quite right. Ever since they’d started using this new secret code, he was...well, exhausted. And very busy. In fact, he was starting to think Tegan was even more likely to happen upon them in flagrante now their trysts were supposedly being governed by the signal. Turlough was quite accustomed to being thought of as somewhat slutty: prided himself on it, in fact. Now it seemed he had competition.
Not that he was exactly complaining. This newly insatiable Doctor was unexpected, and a little tiring, but certainly very pleasant company.
‘Going so soon?’ said the Doctor, drowsily, from the floor.
Turlough glanced up at the door, as he pulled at his clothes, fussing with buttons. ‘We are in the console room. Not exactly subtle.’
He twisted his neck to allow room to do up the top button on his wing-collared shirt, then adjusted the knot of his tie, pulling it tight.
The Doctor’s eyes widened. ‘Again? Already? Well, if you will insist...’
Turlough looked down at his hands, hesitated, then shrugged, deciding not to notice that the Doctor was quite hard to kiss when he was grinning so much.