Fic: Doing It Both Ways - Chapter 7
Title: Doing It Both Ways 7/? written with jadedgothchild
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Tennant/Simm; Doctor/Master
Disclaimer: We don't know the actors and we don't own the characters. Just having some dirty fun with them, no harm intended.
Warning: This is a work of RPS and FPS, don't like, don't read. Also, happens to be totally AU.
Summary: David and John film new scenes and live them by accident, the Doctor and the Master live them on purpose and only film it accidentally.
***Just some notes on our getting crackier and hotter by the minute fic....We know all the wrongs. Is it silly of us to think pretend that Doctor Who might film porn? Well, yeah! But we like it, and come on, you know you’d watch it. We know that the lovely John Simm is married to a pretty lady and they have two kids. We know that David Tennant likes girls. We get it. But in our heads, this is so much better : )
Anyway, this is our pervert’s corner and this is how we like to decorate it. So get those crack!AU glasses on, ok?? ***
The Doctor starts to mindlessly undress; first come the shoes and then the jacket, both dropped haphazardly to the floor. He moves on then to the shirt, his fingers lingering longer over each button. His head feels fuzzy, and before he knows it that sultry tendril of the Master's mind caresses his own. It is gentle at first, almost asking for permission. He knows he should push it away, put up all the defences he has, but part of him wants to give in, that part of him that remembers what it can be like, how the night can go on for what feels like an eternity, wrapped around the body of another Timelord; wrapped around the Master.
The shirt hangs loose now around him and he unwittingly lets it cascade slowly down his arms before it glides to the floor. He inhales sharply at the feel of the cool air against his bare torso before thumbing at the button of his trousers, finally dragging one hand across his ribs and unzipping with the other, fingers grazing against his own erection. He hears the Master in his head, feels the sweet sting of his own touch as it was the Master.
What a good puppet you are. So pretty.
He steps out of the rest of his clothes, leaving himself bare and on edge. He has not submitted fully to the Master's voice in his head. He tenses his shoulders, rolls his neck and exhales deeply. The gentle tendril pushes further into his mind, curling softly around him like a lover before plundering harder and deeper, no longer asking permission, unhinged thoughts and unbridled images forcing him into the bathroom, into the shower where he finds the Master waiting for him.
The Doctor wastes no time; the surge of need he feels compelling him. He crushes his body first against the Master's, pushing his body up against the wall of the shower before then crashing his lips against the Master's. The kiss is demanding and relentless before the Master uses his clarity of mind to push the Doctor away from him, holding him at an arm's length, directly under the steaming spray of water.
"Look at you. You're aching for me. So gorgeous." The Doctor stands there, eyes to the floor as the Master studies him. "Oh no, no, you will look at me, Doctor." The Doctor looks at the Master, not sure if it is through his own will. "There, that's better. Now, tell me, "the Master's voice is low, thick with power and desire as he pushes the Doctor up against the shower wall, regaining control, "will you let me into your body as easily as you let me into your mind?"
**
John was just walking onto the set when he saw David and Barrowman locked in an embrace, the crew cheering them on. He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but a picture was worth more than enough. He had no right to be jealous, really, except it's fucking John Barrowman and that man was smugger than a man half his age and just as pretty kissing his David. John's hands were low on David's waist and he couldn't even do anything, or say anything, or even just twitch in case someone saw him.
They parted and he watched John depart, spring in his step and a smug little smirk on his face.
"That looked like fun," He comments, a metallic edge just creeping over his words.
David looks over at him sharply, "Just a laugh." There's confusion on his face too, and disbelief that John is really doing this.
"Of course. You kiss him all the time anyway. Oh, no that's me."
Tension floods through David and he speaks slowly and definitively, "Things happen. Work might not be the place to discuss it. If, indeed there's anything to discuss. You want discretion? Shut the hell up."
John shrugs as if it means nothing and walks away. It sat, cold and bulky in his stomach all day, even as he flirted and manipulated and groped as the Master. For once he felt like he really was just acting.
When it was time to go, David shot him a questioning look, inclining his head in invitation. He shook his in reply and turned away, heading out to the pub and then home, collapsing into bed early, confused. He shouldn't be reacting like this. It was just a kiss, and it wasn't like he and David were a declared couple or anything. Still, every time he closed his eyes he saw it again, the way David curled his body toward John, and those big hands in his hair, around his waist. Where his own hands should be. He wanted him all to himself, but there was no way to ask without overstepping what they had, which was still labelled casual sex, he supposed, even if it could be more.
**
The Doctor answers the question silently by jerking his hips forward, his body wanting more skin to skin contact, his mind wanting that final connection, the one that allows him the tongue that slides past his lips, the hands in his wet hair, pulling and grabbing, the one that allows him to enjoy the exquisite feel of his cock as he ruts against the Master like an animal in heat.
The Master laughs against the Doctor's lips, more than a little amused with pulling the puppet strings. He pulls his lips away and tugs at the Doctor's hair with a hand to the back of his head, holding him forcefully against the wall, allowing him better access to the Doctor's neck. He nips first, eliciting a series of moans that become more urgent as he bites, marking the skin, claiming it as his own. The bites are followed by a slow drag of the tongue over the broken skin before he brings his lips back to the Doctor's, diving back both into his mouth and his mind, twofold.
The Doctor hears the Master in his head again. This time there is no hesitation, the walls have come crumbling down and he is lost amongst the rubble.
Use my name.
"Master." The name is dripping in want as it leaves the Doctor's lips. The Master shivers against him, renewed in his desire to completely work over the Doctor, body and spirit. He spins the Doctor roughly around, thrilling in the gasp that leaves the his lips as he pushes two slick fingers inside of him, spurred further on by the way the Doctor pushes back down on his fingers, whimpering at the sudden intrusion.
Again.
This time the word is not only echoed in the Doctor's head, but growled in his ear. "Again, Doctor. Say it again."
"Master." The Doctor moans again. "Master, please." He whimpers again, briefly, as two fingers leave him, quickly replaced by three.
"That's it...That's right. Look at you, fucking yourself on my fingers like a licentious whore." The Doctor thrusts back onto his hand harder, the burning stretch eased by the voice in his ear, the voice in his head, where one stops and one ends now he isn't sure. All he is sure of is this need encompassing him.
In one swift move the Master drags his fingers out of the Doctor and presses harder, thicker heat into him, finally succumbing to his own need. His first stroke is smooth and steady, graceful. He releases the breath he was holding onto and breathes into the Doctor, dropping his own shields, offering up his mind as the Doctor offers up his body.
"So tight..." the Master pulls out slightly and slowly thrusts back up into the Doctor again. "...like I'm fucking you for the first time..." he grunts "all over again."
The Doctor is hit with long forgotten images, the two of them together, like this, all those years ago. He is inside the Master's head now, seeing himself, seeing them as the Master does, as he has for centuries. He is overwhelmed, drowning in sensation as the Master continues to fuck his mind and his body. Years of pent up raw desire and aggression wash over the Doctor as the Master slips his fist down around his pulsating heat.
The Master's thrusts become harsher, more abusive; he is pounding the Doctor into the wall, his own hostility taking over, pushing him over the edge in a boiling wave of heat and sensation, the Doctor's name leaving his lips again and again as he comes.
**
David doesn't know quite what he's thinking when he sweet talks the girl at the desk into giving him the key to John's room. He's staying in a (fairly nice) hotel for the duration of filming. Not much longer now. The thought leaves a dull kind of ache in his chest and he almost stops right there. He cannot be feeling this way. This is just a little on set romance. It's not... Except that it is, and John was so cute and jealous this morning over a little kiss, and it made him seven different kinds of warm and fuzzy.
So he lets himself in quietly, slips off his shoes, and pads over to the bed, looking down at John, hair every which way, sheets tucked up around his chin. Gently he sits on the edge, stroking his hand down John's cheek, then slowly lying down next to him, one arm around his waist. He nuzzles against John's hair, and gets a shifting sigh in response, the body under the blankets stretching and pushing back against him, warm and sleepy.
"You're just too adorable," David sighs softly into John's hair, "You've turned me into a complete woman."
John snuffles and rubs his head deeper into the pillow. David hums a little and strokes his hand down John's arm, kissing his neck. John tenses for a moment, obviously awake now, but then relaxes after a breath.
"Time is it?" He asks muzzily, turning his head to blink at David.
"It's early, I just wanted to come say sorry. It was a stupid little thing," David tells him, kissing his neck again, "Barrowman caught me in an off moment."
"Me too," John says solemnly, rolling over to face him and kissing him, still a little asleep. David purrs and deepens it, one hand on John's neck and the other smoothing down his body over the blankets, curving around his arse and hitching him closer. John moaned, fisting his hands in David's shirt and pulling him along as he rolls onto his back.
When David pulls away a little to breathe John whines, eyes closed and hands in David's hair, "No stay... Take advantage of me..."
"Well, you are all sleepy and defenseless..." David murmurs, their lips barely brushing together, "I could do whatever I wanted..." With one hand he starts to push the blankets covering John down, trailing over newly bared skin lightly
John moans then, soft and dirty, pulling David back to him and sucking his lip into his mouth, teasing his tongue over it, "You really could..."
David's chuckle feels like a caress and John arches up under him, sliding his hands under his shirt and scratching up his back. John's sleeping in only his underpants, and his sleep fogged mind is protesting the imbalance. David should be naked too, and under the covers where all the delicious warm things are. He doesn't realise he's been mumbling out loud until David declares him brilliant and slides in, after somehow magically removing his clothes. John grins and squirms close, tangling their legs and kissing him again, slow and appreciative.
It's all like that, really, David nibbles on his lip and curls a hand around his dick, stroking slowly, dry but good, so good, and he can't resist the gentle drawn out orgasm that comes with it. Neither can David, which is good because after that John's more than ready to fall asleep again. He pushes against John's hip and kisses him again, deep and hungry, then comes with a low whine and a little bite.
"'pology accepted. Sleep. Stay," John orders, arms tight around David, already mostly asleep.
Click Here for Chapter Eight