Fic: Doing It Both Ways - Chapter 9 (Complete)
Title: Doing It Both Ways 9/9 written with
jadedgothchild
Rating: NC 17
Pairing: Doctor/Master; Tennant/Simm
Final cracky!dislcaimer: Like Who would film porn like this?? We wish! Maybe we can have a chat with RTD....But really, this is our little perverted corner of the world full of AU RPS and FPS where what we want to happen, well,happens. John and David like girls, a shame I know....
Note from Jen: I had sooo much fun writing this with my new found filthy soul mate
jadedgothchild
He rocks (yes Shane, you do!!) and I <3 him : ) And he wrote all the lovely Tennant/Simm stuff, I mean, what's not to love, right??
Thanks for reading!!!!! Enjoy the end : )
John's biting a line of fire down his neck and he can't seem to get enough air, he's panting, clutching at John's shirt blindly.
"God fucking... Ahh..." He pants, earning him an amused hum, vibrating through his neck, little shockwaves of pleasure. He groans as John's hand slips between them and cups his arousal, just the right side of rough.
"Right here, like this. You're mine..." John growls possessively in his ear, and a shiver runs through him. He moans agreement and hooks a leg around John's pulling him impossibly closer.
"Better take me while you can. The sun will rise. Always bloody does. And then you'll be gone..." He growls in frustration and pulls John's mouth to meet his, kissing him fierce and angry, railing that he can't have more time in this delightful little cocoon.
"Screw the damn sun. That was a lark I heard," John moans between kisses. He's actually quoting Shakespeare. David falls irrevocably in love, sealing his fate and not caring anymore, needing to drown himself in John, in what they could have.
Between them they wriggle out of their shirts, using every excuse to touch, to mark, to hold and have. Another minute and they're properly naked, shoes and pants strewn about the room. John's fingers are hot and thick, working between his legs, stroking too lightly to be anything but deliberate torture.
"There's... lotion in the..." David groans, waving his hand and hitching his leg a little higher.
John nods and kisses him once more before pulling away and grabbing what they need, already slicking his fingers as he returns to find David turned and braced on the wall, arse pointed toward him invitingly.
"Oh you're for it now, Tennant," He purrs, coming up behind him and stroking wet fingers up his balls to his arse, pushing in light pulses until David whines and then sinking two in all at once. They moan in time and it would be amusing if it weren't so damn hot, to hear desire reflected back equally.
In no time David is pushing back on his fingers impatiently, demanding more, subsiding with a satisfied sigh when he gets it in the form of a third finger and John's thumb stroking over the stretched rim of his arse.
"Come on, I want to feel it for days, just fuck me already..." David whines, shooting John a smouldering look over his shoulder. John growls and bites David’s shoulder, pulling his fingers out of him slowly and smoothly replacing them with his cock, slow and easy, his hands spread wide over David's on the wall beside his head.
He pins him there easily, despite David's height advantage, and takes his time sinking all the way inside, resting there even as David squirms beneath him, wanting more. He waits a beat, then another, the tension between them ratcheting higher and higher, on an unstoppable upward spiral. Finally he breaks and pulls back almost all the way before pushing back in a rush, starting to fuck him fast and hard, wringing desperate gasping moans from the body beneath him.
It's almost too easy to lose himself in his, feeling only the demands of his body, the way David shivers and arches and moans in reply. Minutes pass, or maybe only seconds. and he's biting David's shoulder again as he comes, smothering whatever he might have said in a savage need to mark him for more than just tonight, to leave a reminder that he was here, that he owned this body, just for a little while.
When he comes down enough to remember how to move he finds David rocking back against him with needy little pants. He croons softly and moves one hand, stroking a flat palm over his chest and stomach to grip his cock, rocking his hips just enough to rub up against David in all the right ways, stroking him once before feeling him tense against his chest, pushing back on the wall and coming with a groan that sounded almost pained.
**
The Master tries again in vain to thrust his hips up towards the primal heat he feels radiating off the Doctor. The legs he has hooked around the Doctor aren’t enough, he wants more, wants to take and be taken. He’s chased the Doctor for hundreds of years, entire lifetimes, always chasing, catching and taking before the Doctor leaves. The Doctor does not take, he gives; not one of the ten incarnations of the Doctor has taken anything other than pain from the Master in any form, any body.
The voice in his head demands but does not take, speaks silent, soft words of acceptance and forgiveness, fear and desire. He starts to let his guard down, starts to lose control to the exquisite feeling of the Doctor, eyes shut tight.
“Open your eyes.” The Doctor tells him; soothe voice tickling against his lips. “I want you to look at me, to remember this. I want you to see me bare to you, open and honest, for once in our many lifetimes.” The Master opens his eyes. “I want you, Master. I want you to want me...I need you to want this. Make it happen...Please.”
The Master’s voice is no more than a mere whisper. “Doctor...Take me...Please. Use me...Take from me.”
The Doctor lowers his body and his defences, pouring himself wholly into the Master, body and soul, holding nothing back. He crashes his lips down on the Master’s, a far cry from the tender moment before, need facilitating him. He bites and marks; a part of him needing to scar the body, to serve as a physical reminder that he was there, that this body was his for the night.
He brings his hands to the Master’s face, pulling him in as close as he can get, rips his lips away and thrusts his fingers into the Master’s mouth, slicking them up, then drags the palm of his hand over his rough tongue, coating it in saliva before he brings the palm to his own mouth, running his tongue back over the same spot, mixing their sweat and spit, bringing it between his legs where he thrusts into the wet heat of his palm for lubrication.
It isn’t enough but it has to do as he digs his palms into the Master’s flesh, pulling his legs up and inching into him slowly, drawing it out with each held breath until they are one and he is sheathed inside of the insane heat of the Master’s body and the maniacal energy of his mind.
For a moment in time, their moment in time, they are one, together, breath, bodies, spirit, the way it could have been all those lifetimes ago. This is their moment, Doctor and Master, the one that defines them and they lie still for as long as they could stand it, wanting this feeling for so long and now afraid to let it go. But time is fleeting and the moment passes, urgency overtaking everything in a whirlwind of sheer, raw emotion.
The Doctor thrusts into the body and mind of the Master, truly fucking him in every primal sense of the word, losing himself in him completely. The Master is grunting beneath him, meeting every push with one of his own. Both hold on longer than they think they can, neither ready to let go until the Master hears the Doctor one last time in his head, loud above the noise, above the drumming and the hurt.
Let go.
Two simple words followed by two body rocking thrusts and the Master is pushed over the edge, body wracked with orgasm, the Doctor’s name on his lips. The Doctor feels the Master lose control beneath him and because of him, pushing him to his own edge with one last push before he collapses on top of the Master, settling his head on his chest, four heartbeats beating as close to one as they would ever get.
**
They show up at work the next morning together and looking as though they were up all night. Which is essentially true. They napped a few times, but mostly they just fooled around, not talking about what would happen later by unspoken agreement. Of course, later was fast becoming now, and David was definitely paying for it. The make up girls teased him about the bags under his eyes and the bite shaped bruise on his shoulder but to be honest, he was half asleep and half lost in his brooding. John was leaving. Just a few more moments and then they were done. Even if it had to be this way, and he was pretty sure it did, it still hurt like a bitch. He wasn't ready to be done with John, there was so much more on his list of things to appreciate in great depth.
There were only a few scenes left, half of them were naked, and David was glad of his exhaustion, because at least it tamped down his physical reactions to being all over John, pretending to fuck him into the mattress as they melded their minds for the mother of all orgasms. It was strange, how easily he could now discard the dozens of eyes on them and just revel in his last chance to kiss him. He was beyond caring if anyone saw anything in how he was acting. He felt a little crazed, between the lack of sleep and his sense of impending doom reality was wobbly and vague. He didn't care. John tasted like coffee and the muffin he'd had for breakfast and that was all he really needed to know.
Before he knew it they were finished filming and everyone was heading out to the pub they'd booked for departure drinks. The general consensus seemed to be that if they couldn't keep John for the whole season they should at least get him pissed before he left. It was smoky and noisy and jarring, and not at all what David wanted to be doing but it was something, and there was alcohol and John was still here, even if there were twenty people between them.
**
They lay there, together, like that for what seemed like another eternity, a lifetime; no words. The Doctor moves first, rolls over on to his side to lay his head on the outstretched arm of the Master, who is still tied to the bed posts. The Doctor debates unwrapping the silk from his wrists but the small part of him that doesn’t want to let go keeps him there and soon they are asleep, some hazy dream occupying both of them, a last transfer of thoughts between two great minds.
They are young in the dream, surrounded by the orange and gold hills of Gallifrey. Tender words are spoken between gentle caresses and talk of promises to come. The Doctor wakes with a start, almost expecting to be there, back on their home planet, back in the days when the dance began, so many lifetimes ago. With a pang of regret he leaves the bed to gather his clothes and dresses in silence. He picks up the Master’s clothes, reaches into a pocket and pulls out the laser screwdriver. He leaves the clothes in a pile on a nearby chair and places the screwdriver on the bed, next to the Master before quietly pointing his own sonic screwdriver at each bed post, and catching the Master’s wrists in his hands, gently lowering them.
He walks up to the Tardis, opens the door and quickly closes it, without a glance back. In seconds he is off, running once more. He is well and truly alone in the universe, no one to save or look after but himself.
**
The Master wakes from his lazy dream when he feels a breeze on his face, hears the unmistakable sound of the Tardis as she disappears to who knows where. He doesn’t open his eyes; he knows the Doctor is gone. There is a moment of something sad before a smile creeps over his features. His Doctor is running, once more, the purpose is clear.
Let the dance begin once more.
**
It had quietened somewhat over the last three hours. Now there were only twenty odd people left, and they were clumped together at different tables discussing the depths of the universe and humanity. John couldn't stop looking over at David, wishing for a little time alone with him before he had to go. The taxi taking him to the train station would be here in just half an hour and all they'd had a chance to do was clap each other on the back and listen to everyone telling them how wonderful they were together, how they handled their intimate scenes so well for two straight guys. He was ready to scratch whoever next mentioned his heterosexuality right out of existence. He was a Timelord; he could do that, right?
"You know," He announces suddenly, beer loosening his tongue, "If I was going to go a little queer... Davey'd be the one to do it. He's all..." Here he waved his hand expressively and everyone obediently laughed and nodded.
"Aw, John, I'd no idea you cared," David replies, fluttering his eyelashes, and pouting, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
John grinned, "I would have, but you're completely insane. Having sex with you would probably have killed me." A thousand little deaths, over and over. It was wonderful, why couldn't he have more?
"Oh, that. Well, yes, but really. It's a good way to go, I promise!" David shoots him a dirty look and a wink, waggling his eyebrows comically until the people around them collapse into laughter. Barrowman slaps him on the back.
"If you two want to be alone, I can cover for you," He shouts, "No one would even notice!"
They both roll their eyes and the conversation moves on, even if all they're doing now is staring at each other, reality lifting over the horizon line to crack and break open their beautiful denial.
A second later the taxis arrived and there's a swarm of people demanding hugs and that he call or email and come back to Cardiff soon. He's trying to keep track of David but it's hard. Finally the crowd thins and David's there, hugging him like the world was ending.
"God I'm going to miss you," he says, quietly so no one can hear, "Anytime you're in town..."
David murmurs soft reciprocation as the taxi horn blasts. They hold on a moment longer, then another, breathing, and then he's seized by a sudden reckless need. His hand is in David's hair before he knows it, guiding him away from a hug and into a kiss that could in no way be mistaken for one between friends. David's hand is warm and splayed widely over his back and he has a sudden flash of clarity, he might never feel that again. With a soft needy noise he pulls back.
"Seriously. Any time at all," he murmurs again, not looking at the crowd of by turn’s stunned, amused and victorious crew around them. With a final wave he heads out to the car, getting in and not looking back, as if that would save him from the finality of watching everyone wave goodbye.
On the driveway, David stands there doing his best impersonation of a statue as behind him, Suzie declares that she's won the pool with 'fucking like bunnies, trying to be subtle, big reveal at the last moment' and that drinks are on her.