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She was in the library when it happened. Plush armchair soft beneath her as she sat, legs crossed at the knee, half-way through a battered copy of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities. There was a little tickle at the back of her mind. She ignored it at first. Concentrating on the words. Flicking through the old, crinkled pages.
It wasn’t long before that tickle escalated into an all-out, irritating itch, though. Like an old phone ringing off the hook. Brring… Brring…... Brring… Brring…... She scrunched her nose up and slammed the book closed between her palms. It wasn’t too hard to figure out what it was. Or, rather, who. She allowed him to slip in past her initial mental barrier. Best to get this over with, she thought, with mounting trepidation.
Contact…
“So, you escaped then. That was fast.” She said, voice echoing out into the stacks.
“You know me, Doctor…” It was like he was whispering directly into her ear, voice low and raspy. She could practically feel his breath on her neck.
She did know him. And because she knew him, she had a good idea of what was going to happen next. She wondered if he’d begun his next plot yet. His next scrambling bid for her attention.
“Not yet, love. Maybe in a few hours,” he said, sniffing. He must have plucked that thought from the swimming surface of her mind, she thought, a small line appearing between her eyebrows.
She definitely felt it. Breath, soft on her neck. She twitched, head jerking to look over her shoulder. “How are you doing that?” She asked, alarmed.
“I used my TARDIS’s telepathic circuits to boost our connection. You know,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, and it was infuriating. “That connection you forged between us, when we were in France.”
He appeared. Leaning over the back of her armchair, inches from her face. She stood up sharply, dropping her book as she spun around to face him. She felt like slamming her hand into her own forehead. She stopped herself, though. It would only amuse him further. By connecting with him, she’d left him an open path to follow. She’d had little choice at the time, but still. Rookie mistake.
He stopped and looked down at her book. He snorted out a laugh. “Surely you can do better than that, Doctor,” he looked around her library pointedly, eyes scanning up the vast shelves. “I have a fondness for War of the World’s myself. That Wells could be quite,” his mouth twitched, “masterful.” As an afterthought, he added: “Sometimes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “All those people dying, not really my cup of tea. Do like the ending, though.” She smiled. “Humanity triumphs and all that.”
He grimaced. It was the one bit he would change, she could tell. She could imagine him ripping the final few pages out, crunching them up in his fist. She thought about her recent trip home. Thought about his message. Her smile dimmed slightly, and her eyes hardened again.
“What do you want? Why’re you here? There’s no way you’ve just popped in to chat about my reading choices,” she said. Despite her better judgment, she couldn’t help her curiosity. It was a true constant, burning within her at all times. Like the sacred flame on Karn, though less boring.
He walked towards her. Steps slow. Shoes somehow clicking against the floor despite the fact that he wasn’t really here. Her mind must be filling in details to compensate. Creating a shared mindscape and layering it over reality. He was quite close to her now. Almost too close. She lifted her chin up and stared him down, unblinking. He leaned in slightly, eyes roving across her face. She didn’t move.
“All those years I had to live through, trapped in one place, one time. You know what I kept thinking about,” he tilted his head to one side. “You, Doctor. You,” he took another step, right into her space, “saying my name.” Mania quivered in his dark eyes. She shivered involuntarily at the reverence in his voice, knowing what he wanted even before he said it. “Go on. Use my name.”
She could see his desperation, and it was hard to watch. His shoulders moving up and down as he waited. She took a step back, retreating before his intensity, and he matched her. She took another. Then another. He followed her. Their relationship in microcosm, she thought. And he must have heard that, the thought strong enough to echo across their shared connection, because he laughed.
Back bumping against the side of one of her bookcases, she stopped. “You don’t have anything to blackmail me with this time. In fact,” she made a furious show of thinking about it, pursing her lips. “You’re not even really here, are you. So, no.” Her smile was a thin, sharp line. “No, I don’t think I will.”
She’d expected him to look disappointed. Or angry. Neither of those emotions were what settled on his face, though. No. He looked… purposeful. She knew that look very well, and she didn’t welcome the sight of it right at this moment. It was his ‘I have a plan’ look. She could practically see the calculations, the manipulations, running apace behind his eyes.
He brought a hand up. She kept still. Despite herself, she was curious. Whenever she saw that look, she couldn’t help herself. She always wanted to know what it was he was going to do. No matter how dangerous. How utterly bonkers. They had gotten into a lot of trouble at the academy because of that look. From bunking off and picking drunken fights with Shobogan’s in Low Town, to wild time experiments that, now she thought about it, they really shouldn’t have attempted at the tender age of forty-five.
He stroked the back of his index finger against her cheek. Her face twitched at the sensation. She watched his eyes follow the movement, before they settled upon her lips.
“Oh, dear Doctor.” He said it softly, a low whisper into the silence. “I want to hear you say it.” His finger travelled up, the back of it resting upon her temple. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. Her jaw clenched stubbornly. “Still no, then,” he sighed through his nose. “I’ll just have to make you say it, then.” He was so close now. And she couldn’t deny she felt that old, familiar pull. She swallowed, throat clicking. She knew exactly where this was going.
Images, thoughts, feelings flicked through her mind, telegraphed directly from his. A jumble of chaotic sensation that eventually crystallised into a familiar scene. She felt him trembling, on his knees in the middle of a graveyard. Tears threatening to drip from his eyes and into the dull grass. Then, hands on his cheeks. Her hands. Bigger than they are now. Older, too. More calloused and weary. She felt her lips on his. Felt the whole complicated mess of his feelings as they pressed together in that supreme act of forgiveness and realisation.
The memory faded, as did the question it held within it. His face was all she could see, so close he eclipsed their surroundings. She didn’t need to be connected to his mind to know what he was feeling. He’d never been very good at hiding his emotions. At least, not from her. No matter what face he wore, it always gave away everything.
Right now, it was like he was searching for something. Eyes desperately flicking across every inch of her face. He moved his hand to the nape of her neck, winding his fingers through the hair there, as he tilted her head back slightly. She swallowed and didn’t stop him as he pressed his lips against hers.
It felt a bit strange, and it took her a moment to figure out why. He was taller than her. Only by a little bit, but still. It was enough to throw her slightly off kilter. She was so used to leaning down. To tilting his head back, or lifting him up. She could count on one hand the amount of times he was the taller of the two of them.
There was something vaguely exciting in that lack of familiarity. She was an adventurer, a traveller. She liked to experience new things. She had made a bit of a habit out of grabbing danger with both hands. Though, not usually quite this literally.
As she began to kiss back, it got rougher, less controlled. They were two hurricanes smashing together, with all the chaos that entailed. His lips were soft and open against hers as their mouths slid against each other. His tongue stroked hers, his hand twisting tightly in her hair. Holding her firmly in place. She hissed, biting at his bottom lip, and he groaned in response.
As her hands flexed against the material of his jacket, grip tightening in the stiff fabric, she began to feel trapped. Between him and the bookcase. Between his hand clenched in her hair, and his ferocious mouth. Chafing against his need, against his claustrophobic desire for absolute control. She desperately partitioned the rising panic off in a corner of her mind. A blocked-off place that he had no access to. But it built within her. Writhing against the sides of the partition, stretching it taut. His grip on her got even tighter, and her follicles stung. She drew in a quick breath, and snapped.
With a thought, she pushed him out of her mind. It was simple. As easy as shutting a door in his face. He flickered, and faded away with a scowl. The mindscape dissolved around her, and she was back in her armchair, breathing heavily. Trying to regain some modicum of control over herself. There was something buzzing through her veins, making her hands tremble. She clutched the armrests. He wanted control over her. It was what he always wanted, and it could feel stifling. So she’d chucked him out. He needed a little reminder that he would never have it. No matter what he tried, or how things seemed. No matter what happened between them.
She could imagine him standing in his TARDIS, at the telepathic circuits. Rigid with impatience. Red light painting his handsome face as he waited for her. Barely holding himself together. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it. He’d lit something within her. Something she hadn’t felt yet, not in this body. It blazed through her with all the composure of a wildfire. An itch that she knew only he could scratch. Slowly breathing in, she reached out with her mind. It wasn’t hard to find him.
Contact…
His answering whisper filled her mind. She blinked, and was back against the bookcase, the mindscape reasserting itself. His hand was around her neck in seconds. She smiled. Smug at his obvious frustration. He growled, fingers pressing in on either side of her throat. Moving in close, his nose brushed her cheek.
Teeth bared, insecurity curling around his words, he asked, “what did you do that for, Doctor?”
She laughed, the thrill of the game leaving her breathless. She’d always enjoyed pushing his buttons. “What, were you worried. Scared you didn’t have all my attention.” All humour left her eyes as she tilted her head towards him, smile dripping away. “You don’t control me.”
The jibe landed and his lips twitched up in a snarl. “Maybe not, Doctor.” He released her. Pressed his hand against the bookcase beside her head. Then leaned down and, with his mouth, began pressing rough kisses into her neck. “I can still make you say it, though.”
He moved down across her collarbone, sucking and nipping at her skin. His short beard scraped pleasantly against her chest, making her shiver. She’d missed that tickling, scratching sensation. It had been a while. The last time they had been together like this while he’d had a beard was... her fifth body. No, wait. Her eighth. Maybe. That period of her life was still a bit hazy.
It was becoming increasingly hard to think. She let her arms rest across his shoulders as he sunk down to his knees in supplication. One hand wound into his short hair as he unclipped the braces from her trousers with a snap. It wasn’t long before his head was between her parted legs. Fingers digging into her thighs. Her hips twitched against his mouth, and she cried out.
This was a first for her. She hadn’t expected it to be like this. To feel like this. It was certainly different to what she was used to. The first few touches of his tongue were like electric shocks, eliciting sharp, surprised gasps from her. Her head was swimming with arousal, and it didn’t take him long to bring her to the edge. It was like her body was out of control. Squirming, wet, and quivering. She felt an almost constant urge to squeeze her thighs together. Like that was the only way to satisfy the ache between them. But, at the same time, the paradoxical need to spread them wider was almost uncontrollable.
Her hand clenched in his hair as she moaned breathlessly. He looked up at her, not ceasing his ministrations. His eyes shined with a familiar glint of evil, and she realised. He’d known. He’d known exactly what this would do to her. To her control. He’d been on the receiving end of it before. She had a vivid memory of his last incarnation, writhing against dark bedsheets, legs wrapped tightly around her head. And thinking of that did her absolutely no favours in the self-control department.
The white-hot heat that wholly engulfed her wracked body began to crystallise into one focused point of pleasure. It built within her lower belly, almost to the point of pain. Just as she felt herself about to tip over the edge, he pulled back.
She choked out a desperate groan. “Don’t…”
“Say it, Doctor.” His voice was hoarse, lips glistening.
She clenched her teeth together, jaw tight. His eyes narrowed. He leaned back in and, firmly holding her hips in place, slowly licked up. Just barely grazing against the sensitive skin. She watched him, rapt. Tenseness in her jaw unwinding as her lips parted, quick breaths passing between them. She felt herself pulsing as she fixated on the swiping movement of his tongue, arousal rushing through her.
Her breath hitched in her throat, “Master.”
His whole body shuddered with satisfaction, and she felt his pleasure through their connection. Like a stretched bowstring un-tensing after the arrow had been fired. Hot arousal throbbed between them, back and forth, doubling and tripling in intensity. He stopped teasing her. Burying his head between her thighs with a rough moan, and wrapping one solid arm around her waist for leverage.
She didn’t even think about trying to take it back. Didn’t have to capacity to, all coherent thought gone. She came moments later, writhing against him, her moans reaching a violent crescendo.
He rested his head against her bare inner-thigh for a moment as they both caught their breath. The otherwise silent library filled with the coarse, gasping sound. He removed his arm from around her waist, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he stood up. Her legs felt unusually unsteady beneath her, her limbs heavy and warm, and she was glad for the solid bookcase at her back.
A slow smirk grew across his face, “oh, my dear Doctor,” he said, rough voice chocked full with ruthless satisfaction, “didn’t I tell you-”
She felt viciously satisfied as she cut him off. His inevitable gloating monologue stopped in its tracks as he was flung unceremoniously from her mind.
She was back in her chair in the space of a blink, and quite grateful to be sitting down again. Her legs felt like jelly. She swallowed, imagining him. Clutching at his console, grip so tight his knuckles were showing through his skin. Her lips twitched. He must be in a state of frustrated agony. Or, at least, she hoped he was. He deserved it for making her kneel in front of all those people at the gallery. At least they were even on that score now. Well. They were half-even. The next time she saw him, though. She didn’t even want to think about it. She would hear about this again, of that, there was absolutely no doubt.
She took a deep, shaky breath, and, with growing trepidation and unease, began to consider something quite worrying. She’d been reckless. She can’t help but think it. It wasn’t the first time the old thrill of the game had blinded her in the moment. She often forgot about the consequences until it was too late. Her old friend was never more dangerous than when he was encouraged. And never more encouraged than when he felt he had her attention.
Her mind turned to her home, and she felt a rush of guilt. Both hearts constricting painfully in her chest. As she wallowed, book resting untouched upon her knee, something else tumbled out from the recesses of her memory. An old familiar voice. Collateral damage… it’s our Paris...
It came to her, a whisper from the past. Smooth and coy. And, she couldn’t deny the truth of it.