Work Text:
”Good gracious! Fancypants, you’re doing it all wrong!”
”Excuse me, Scarecrow? Explain how I could do something twice over and yet perform poorly.”
”Perhaps, old chap, I’m getting a bit senile concerning our likes and dislikes. And since it was so long ago for you, our poor First is too polite to say anything.”
”Oh, please. If anything, he’d be complaining more than you are. I could only be doing it perfectly!”
”Enough!” exclaimed the First Doctor, and ripped off his necktie – currently serving as a blindfold. He lay cradled in his Second self’s embrace on a bed in the TARDIS, with his Third above them, propped up on his arms. All three were clothed, save for their shoes, their coats and jacket, and some buttons undone here and there.
”How do you two ever move on from all this squabbling, hm? What’s the point, eh?”
Three sat back, legs folded under him. Two shifted. Neither wanted to meet One’s stern gaze – at least not at first.
”Now, see, I don’t care for this closed-up attitude while you feign some sort of, hm, concern for my impression of my future… technique, as it were! Why not just show me, hm?”
”But we really are–” The man behind him hesitated.
”…Nervous,” the eldest admitted. ”Just a tad.”
”Now, now, my young fellows,” the Doctor told himselves, never realizing the inaccuracy of this statement. ”There shall be plenty of time to assess each other’s performances, I’m sure. Yes, I’ll simply save my critique for later, hm?”
”He’s right, you know,” the eldest said, his deep voice softer than before.
”Yes, yes, quite so,” the other mumbled.
The youngest Doctor felt soft lips against his thin hair, and the tie taken out of his hand to remake the blindfold. At around the same time as those lips went down his neck, the other’s larger hands finished unbuttoning his trousers, kissing and caressing.
Save for some trivial complaints about longevity and clumsiness, the night turned out quite satisfying.
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