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The Seventh Doctor sighed, not knowing whether to be amused or resigned. A clattering noise had come from the kitchen island, making them both turn their heads but only one knowing what had caused it. Being the latter, Seven had bounced up from the sofa and paced away from the Sixth Doctor to collect the noisemaker.
Seven had overall been impressed that teatime with himself hadn’t yet ended up in a row. Or a death-defying adventure, or at the very least a machine malfunction, serving as an excuse for the TARDIS to enjoy some multi-Doctor bonding time as they helped repair whatever damage she could come up with. It had just been teatime.
Then again, the older Doctor had had the fortune of stumbling into a middle-aged Six, the one with the blue coat, and the two were in good spirits.
Seven picked the thing up from the floor, and nearly put his palm to his forehead. Of course. He’d never forgotten this one. Couldn’t help but recite the lines in his head, too, before concluding that he would get them right without trying.
”I really don’t think now is the best time, Old Girl…” Seven mumbled.
”What is it now, Doctor?” Six’s voice came from the sofa.
”Oh, nothing much. The TARDIS has given me something.” The older Doctor examined the item, dragging a hand along it, smelling the scent of leather.
He heard his younger self chuckling. ”Oh dear, should I be frightened?”
”Up to you,” Seven replied, turning around to reveal his hand grasping a riding crop, readied against his palm.
Six’s eyebrows flew up. ”What in the - why would she give you, of all selves -”
”Perplexing, indeed,” Seven said, calmly eyeing the crop while walking over. He fell back on the sofa, some space between him and Six. At this point, he knew an old thing had popped up in his previous self’s mind - a peculiar flame. Slowly, they turned their heads towards each other. Six shifted, pulling one leg up onto the cushions. Seven tilted his head, twirling the crop around.
”I seem to remember…” he said, cautious. Still holding the younger man’s gaze. ”An odd - shall we call it - revisiting, of certain interests?”
”I, on the other hand,” Six replied, his voice suddenly low, ”seem to predict a fairly shameless scene. Truly, outrageous in Time Lord eyes.”
Seven had to admit, even he could feel a tinge of giddiness at the sight of his Sixth face’s sensual features forming a lecherous smile, at the way he slowly leaned back, propped up on his elbows. At those glittering eyes.
”You never change, you rapscallion. I ought to retrain you from the older side, this time.”
”You cannot tame me - not in my lifetime,” his younger self sneered.
Seven raised the crop as he stood up. ”As if I haven’t done it before. Tut-tut, Doctor.”
The riding crop cracked, unnaturally loud, when it hit Six’s inner thigh, and Seven stepped back when Six hissed and practically bared his teeth at him.
”Kitten.” Seven grinned. ”I’ll make you stay put, in time.”
”Bastard!”
”Irredeemably, yes. Take off you necktie, Doctor.”
Dexterous hands went up to remove the indigo cravat as he looked at the older man from underneath his lashes. ”Are you perhaps planning to tie me up? Predictable old man.” Yet he smirked. Seven was fascinated by how his partner’s behavior made him believe that the room itself was heating up, and rather pleasantly so.
He answered, very softly:
”Yes. In fourteen minutes.”
Six scoffed. ”I bet I can rewrite that.” He nonchalantly tossed the cravat onto the table and sat up to face the little man, who gently poked his chin up with the tip of the leather crop - arching his neck, eventually forcing him to lean back again, pressed against the cushioning.
”Trust me on this one, for once.” Seven paused, kept crop against skin. He leaned in close, laid his other hand on his shoulder. ”You won’t want to… Tarts.”
In one swift motion, he took a page from his younger selves’ book by digging his fingernails into the side of the curly-haired Doctor’s neck, simultaneously dragging his tongue from collar bone to behind his ear.
(In the millisecond before Six reacted properly, he felt as if he was back in his Fifth body; the sharp pain mingled with shuddering pleasure, almost interchangeable. And the acting, the nickname Six usually used on the others, the power of the Seductive Older Self and the helplessness of the younger…)
Six moaned, just now realizing he’d been rock hard from the first whip.
”We have both been Five, Doctor,” Seven whispered, lips nudging his ear. ”And Four. I can simply… take on the role, once more. Can you?”
”Oh, never.” Six’s voice had become husky, nearly a snarl. ”I’ll be me, you be your me, and this might get interesting.”
The crop crept from chin to chest, dipping into a partially open shirt. ”Thirteen minutes.”
”Make me.”
”Deal.”
~*~*~*~
”Oh, by all divinities disproven and worships disengaged!”
Seven shook his head as he left the kitchen with the refilled teapot. ”What is it now, Doctor?”
Six - clad only in checkered purple boxers, mismatched socks and his shirt - stretched on the sofa, far too cat-like for Seven not to snicker.
”I was exhilarated, now I’m plain exhausted! Where in the wide universe have I been, to be capable of such elaboration?”
”Eight visits us all, Sixie,” he said, pouring new cups. ”I’m preparing myself, as it may be.”
”You didn’t even shed all your clothing,” Six whined. He laid his head in the other Doctor’s lap to get his hair petted, which Seven complied with, both out of a reawakened habit from years and, to Seven, faces ago.
”Why would I need to? You seemed more than able to take care of yourself.”
”You utter goblin.”
”I renounce that opinion, you diva,” Seven said, lifting a steaming cuppa. Six sat up, rubbed a sore shoulder, and grabbed his own cup.
The older Doctor took the riding crop from where it had been left on the cushions, and threw it up and to the side, knowing he would discover that the TARDIS had stored it underneath his bed. He looked down at his previous self, who had snuggled in beside him.
”Resume teatime?”
”Resume teatime.”
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