Support Stacie Fic: Watching (2/3)
Title: Watching (2/3)
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose/Ten2 (all together)
Rating: Adultish for soft-focus secks, Tencest, and the f-bomb
Intrepid Beta: fid_gin
Summary: The Doctors and Rose land in Swinging London (yeah, baby!). UST-without-much-plot, occasional RST-without-much-plot, and some character study. Voyeurism, public sex, Tencest, but all of fairly mild sorts.
A/N: Hooray! This here is the fic I have written for my benefactress xebgoc , who won me in the Support Stacie Author Auction waaaay back in September. She requested a historical setting, with voyeurism and Tencest. I have endeavoured to oblige. A fic in three parts, posted Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The reboot after the chronomapping recalibration went off without a hitch. He'd told the other Doctor and Rose that it'd be boring in the hopes that they'd beg off.
Not that he didn't appreciate having them both around, and not that he didn't enjoy them both in various carnal and non-carnal ways, but there was a part of him that did miss dyad interactions: himself and his ship, himself and Rose, himself and the other Doctor, without a third party being involved as well. Technically, the chronomapping systems didn't really need to be recalibrated just yet, but he had found himself yearning for some time alone with the old girl.
The shops were closing now, and the clubs hadn't quite opened yet. He strolled for a few blocks and didn't see his companions, thinking perhaps they'd gone back to the TARDIS and they'd crossed one another. He got out the sonic screwdriver and discreetly pointed it to the ground. One advantage of travelling with a one-of-a-kind hybrid was the ease with which his biosigns could be located. He put his glasses on to inspect the readout and began to walk back the way he'd come.
The shop where he'd left his double and Rose was dark and locked up, with no sign of them there. He continued on, but paused as he walked by the opening to a narrow passageway.
He heard voices, though they were too low to make any words out. Still, anyone lurking about in dark passages had a high probability of being either up to no good, or being the Doctor and Rose. He gave it fifty-fifty odds as he hugged one wall and edged towards the sounds.
The passageway was already narrow, but also obstructed at regular intervals by wooden crates, stacked up precariously. The Doctor stood behind one and listened.
He didn't have to wait long for confirmation of who he was listening to, but simultaneous to that was also the realisation that his companions weren't so much talking as moaning. Or rather, moaning and then shushing one another amidst giggles.
How odd, thought the Doctor, that this particular vocalisation should be so easily-recognisable and also so peculiarly affecting on an instinctual, gut level. One knows the cries of one's lovers in the primitive part of the brain that even Time Lords still had vestiges of.
He felt frozen to the spot, in one way not really knowing what to do, but in another knowing with great precision what he wanted to do. He shifted one of the crates he was standing behind, cringing when it made a bit of a creaking sound. The noise of London right outside the passageway was omnipresent, but muffled by stone walls on three of four sides.
He was now able to visually confirm that they hadn't noticed him there. The sight that greeted him was both surprising and distressingly arousing, to the point where the Doctor fell back against a nearby wall as his head went a little funny for a second.
Rose looked smashing in her mod dress, now accessorised with black leather go-go boots and the appropriate hair-do and make-up. She sat primly on top of a crate, her hands braced behind her, and her head thrown back, exposing the length of her neck, now encircled by a silver choker. Her dress, short as it was in the first place, road up almost to her hips and the Doctor's gaze continued downward to see that his double was pulling her knees further apart so that he could hungrily continue kissing his way up her thigh.
Since they'd all been together, he'd been having a difficult time fully unpacking his feelings for the pair of them, but any serious attempts to figure it all out were usually derailed rather quickly by their very physical presence. And, of course, there was the incontrovertible fact of his desire to touch both of them rather a lot, in some extremely intimate ways. This outside-looking-in angle was a new one, however.
He studied them. His counterpart's hands splayed on the outsides of Rose's thighs, familiar long fingers creating dimples in her flesh. Those hands-his hands, really-were just hands and nothing more. He looked down at his own, turning them palm-up and then palm-down, then looked back at the scene in the alley. Rose's thighs were plump and smooth, as he was familiar with them being. They were lovely, to be sure, but in an every-day sort of way. This feeling in him now of fluttering wings all up and down his insides couldn't just be attributable to something he saw every day.
It was in the shadows, he thought. Not the shadows creeping up the walls of the dank alley as night came on, but the shadows created by the other Doctor's fingers desperately clutching at Rose's thighs as he pulled her towards the edge of the crate she was seated on, and buried his head between her legs. A little round shadow pooled around the tip of each of his fingers, a creation of flesh against flesh, two bodies clashing together in an attempt to get as close as possible to becoming one.
The Doctor leaned back against a nearby wall again, pondering this, and finding himself strangely short of breath. This sort of contemplation was perhaps not good for his constitution, and he very quietly backed out of the alley the way he'd come. He'd let his companions finish their liaison and locate them again later. Perhaps he'd bring up some of these vital questions, but he doubted either would understand-the other Doctor was becoming more human with each passing day.
Back out on the street, the image of his counterpart and Rose (so full of ill-considered passion for one another that they'd have intercourse in an alley, of all things) danced before his eyes like he'd been looking too closely at a sun. It wasn't pretty, what they'd been doing-which surprised him. Having been such a frequent participant in those same activities, he'd assumed that the way it felt to him (splendid) translated into what it looked like from the outside. Quite to the contrary, however, what he'd seen was much less sweetness and fireworks and candlelight and much more the terrifying fury of a singularity, an ion storm, the creation of a planet from rock and dust and dirt: inevitable, messy, and thrilling.
The dim street with the lamps just coming on was painted in shades of grey, but all the people walking about seemed to be looking straight at him and asking the same question: What would we look like if we fucked? The young man in the smart suit standing by his scooter, what would it look like? Would they even take their jackets off to do it? Who would bend whom over the seat of that little motorbike? The pretty young girl with ginger hair that had obviously been ironed flat-how would it be for her to wrap her legs around him, what would that picture be like? Even the young couples that hustled by on their way to urgent dates in dark clubs, he imagined what they'd look like, rutting on some unmade mattress somewhere, so hungry for each other that there was no point in waiting.
"Oi, mate, watch where you're going!"
The Doctor had run headlong into what felt like it could have been a tree, but in fact was the bouncer standing outside a club. The sounds of clinking glasses came floating out onto the street, as well as a few blats from a horn section warming up.
"Sorry," he mumbled, but the perked up a bit when he thought that something to take his mind off of this new obsession would be just the thing for his sanity. "I was just looking for my papers, and here they are!" He produced the little wallet with his psychic paper and flashed it at the enormous chap with the meaty-looking fists. "I'm the inspector, here to do some... inspecting. I'll just be heading on in, then."
The bouncer grunted, which the Doctor chose to take as assent, but moved quickly enough that even if it wasn't, he was out of swinging-distance and into the safety of the club in a flash.
~000~
"You ever seen him like that?" Rose nudged the Doctor in the ribs, which made him wince given the bruise that was forming there now. The injury had been worth it, for probably the best shag he'd had in his brief human life, but already he was beginning to ache in some interesting places.
"You have no idea what a weird question that is for me to contemplate," he said, his brain now aching along with his side.
Rose screwed up her face to think about it for a second. "Permission to rephrase, sir?"
"Granted."
"Having never seen the Doctor in a strip club before, I'd like to register my shock and surprise at the bit of drool forming on his chin." She raised an eyebrow. "But who knows, maybe you were in these sorts of places loads of times, before you met me."
The Doctor snorted. "No, I can assure you that this is much more the domain of Jack Harkness than any self-respecting Time Lord. A bit prudish, that lot."
"You wouldn't know from how you boys carry on," Rose said, suggestively running a finger down the Doctor's arm.
"I will take that as a compliment, thank you. But you know, he's different. From humans, I mean. He's got different... drives. Different needs. A different way of seeing the world. That's why it's been such a learning curve for me, this being human nonsense."
"You seem to be doing all right, if the splinters on my bottom are any indication." Rose refocused her attention back to the woman on stage, who was straddling a chair and running her feather boa through her hands suggestively. "D'you think we should just leave him be?"
They were able to just barely make out the Doctor's face in an ornate mirror with gilt peeling off its heavy frame. His brow was furrowed in thought even while his mouth hung a bit slack, eyes trained on the dancer. He was clearly pondering something quite deeply, and it bothered the other man to not know what. Being a nearly exact copy, it always hurt a bit to be reminded that, however connected they may still be to each other, they would always now be separated, and ultimately alone.
"Nah," the Doctor said finally, shaking off his self-centred distraction. "The Small Faces are playing tonight at the Cavern and I fancy a nip back to the TARDIS for tea first." He rubbed his hands together and grinned. "You are going to love this, and with your new kit, you'll fit right in! Best get a move on, though."
"You do realise we are in possession of a time machine, yeah?"
He turned his back to her and peered towards the other Doctor again. "Don't you find half the fun of going somewhere brilliant is all the rush and fuss to get there?"
She took his hand and squeezed it before bringing it up to her lips for a kiss. "Spoken like someone for whom that bit is optional."
Characters/Pairings: Ten/Rose/Ten2 (all together)
Rating: Adultish for soft-focus secks, Tencest, and the f-bomb
Intrepid Beta: fid_gin
Summary: The Doctors and Rose land in Swinging London (yeah, baby!). UST-without-much-plot, occasional RST-without-much-plot, and some character study. Voyeurism, public sex, Tencest, but all of fairly mild sorts.
A/N: Hooray! This here is the fic I have written for my benefactress xebgoc , who won me in the Support Stacie Author Auction waaaay back in September. She requested a historical setting, with voyeurism and Tencest. I have endeavoured to oblige. A fic in three parts, posted Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
The reboot after the chronomapping recalibration went off without a hitch. He'd told the other Doctor and Rose that it'd be boring in the hopes that they'd beg off.
Not that he didn't appreciate having them both around, and not that he didn't enjoy them both in various carnal and non-carnal ways, but there was a part of him that did miss dyad interactions: himself and his ship, himself and Rose, himself and the other Doctor, without a third party being involved as well. Technically, the chronomapping systems didn't really need to be recalibrated just yet, but he had found himself yearning for some time alone with the old girl.
The shops were closing now, and the clubs hadn't quite opened yet. He strolled for a few blocks and didn't see his companions, thinking perhaps they'd gone back to the TARDIS and they'd crossed one another. He got out the sonic screwdriver and discreetly pointed it to the ground. One advantage of travelling with a one-of-a-kind hybrid was the ease with which his biosigns could be located. He put his glasses on to inspect the readout and began to walk back the way he'd come.
The shop where he'd left his double and Rose was dark and locked up, with no sign of them there. He continued on, but paused as he walked by the opening to a narrow passageway.
He heard voices, though they were too low to make any words out. Still, anyone lurking about in dark passages had a high probability of being either up to no good, or being the Doctor and Rose. He gave it fifty-fifty odds as he hugged one wall and edged towards the sounds.
The passageway was already narrow, but also obstructed at regular intervals by wooden crates, stacked up precariously. The Doctor stood behind one and listened.
He didn't have to wait long for confirmation of who he was listening to, but simultaneous to that was also the realisation that his companions weren't so much talking as moaning. Or rather, moaning and then shushing one another amidst giggles.
How odd, thought the Doctor, that this particular vocalisation should be so easily-recognisable and also so peculiarly affecting on an instinctual, gut level. One knows the cries of one's lovers in the primitive part of the brain that even Time Lords still had vestiges of.
He felt frozen to the spot, in one way not really knowing what to do, but in another knowing with great precision what he wanted to do. He shifted one of the crates he was standing behind, cringing when it made a bit of a creaking sound. The noise of London right outside the passageway was omnipresent, but muffled by stone walls on three of four sides.
He was now able to visually confirm that they hadn't noticed him there. The sight that greeted him was both surprising and distressingly arousing, to the point where the Doctor fell back against a nearby wall as his head went a little funny for a second.
Rose looked smashing in her mod dress, now accessorised with black leather go-go boots and the appropriate hair-do and make-up. She sat primly on top of a crate, her hands braced behind her, and her head thrown back, exposing the length of her neck, now encircled by a silver choker. Her dress, short as it was in the first place, road up almost to her hips and the Doctor's gaze continued downward to see that his double was pulling her knees further apart so that he could hungrily continue kissing his way up her thigh.
Since they'd all been together, he'd been having a difficult time fully unpacking his feelings for the pair of them, but any serious attempts to figure it all out were usually derailed rather quickly by their very physical presence. And, of course, there was the incontrovertible fact of his desire to touch both of them rather a lot, in some extremely intimate ways. This outside-looking-in angle was a new one, however.
He studied them. His counterpart's hands splayed on the outsides of Rose's thighs, familiar long fingers creating dimples in her flesh. Those hands-his hands, really-were just hands and nothing more. He looked down at his own, turning them palm-up and then palm-down, then looked back at the scene in the alley. Rose's thighs were plump and smooth, as he was familiar with them being. They were lovely, to be sure, but in an every-day sort of way. This feeling in him now of fluttering wings all up and down his insides couldn't just be attributable to something he saw every day.
It was in the shadows, he thought. Not the shadows creeping up the walls of the dank alley as night came on, but the shadows created by the other Doctor's fingers desperately clutching at Rose's thighs as he pulled her towards the edge of the crate she was seated on, and buried his head between her legs. A little round shadow pooled around the tip of each of his fingers, a creation of flesh against flesh, two bodies clashing together in an attempt to get as close as possible to becoming one.
The Doctor leaned back against a nearby wall again, pondering this, and finding himself strangely short of breath. This sort of contemplation was perhaps not good for his constitution, and he very quietly backed out of the alley the way he'd come. He'd let his companions finish their liaison and locate them again later. Perhaps he'd bring up some of these vital questions, but he doubted either would understand-the other Doctor was becoming more human with each passing day.
Back out on the street, the image of his counterpart and Rose (so full of ill-considered passion for one another that they'd have intercourse in an alley, of all things) danced before his eyes like he'd been looking too closely at a sun. It wasn't pretty, what they'd been doing-which surprised him. Having been such a frequent participant in those same activities, he'd assumed that the way it felt to him (splendid) translated into what it looked like from the outside. Quite to the contrary, however, what he'd seen was much less sweetness and fireworks and candlelight and much more the terrifying fury of a singularity, an ion storm, the creation of a planet from rock and dust and dirt: inevitable, messy, and thrilling.
The dim street with the lamps just coming on was painted in shades of grey, but all the people walking about seemed to be looking straight at him and asking the same question: What would we look like if we fucked? The young man in the smart suit standing by his scooter, what would it look like? Would they even take their jackets off to do it? Who would bend whom over the seat of that little motorbike? The pretty young girl with ginger hair that had obviously been ironed flat-how would it be for her to wrap her legs around him, what would that picture be like? Even the young couples that hustled by on their way to urgent dates in dark clubs, he imagined what they'd look like, rutting on some unmade mattress somewhere, so hungry for each other that there was no point in waiting.
"Oi, mate, watch where you're going!"
The Doctor had run headlong into what felt like it could have been a tree, but in fact was the bouncer standing outside a club. The sounds of clinking glasses came floating out onto the street, as well as a few blats from a horn section warming up.
"Sorry," he mumbled, but the perked up a bit when he thought that something to take his mind off of this new obsession would be just the thing for his sanity. "I was just looking for my papers, and here they are!" He produced the little wallet with his psychic paper and flashed it at the enormous chap with the meaty-looking fists. "I'm the inspector, here to do some... inspecting. I'll just be heading on in, then."
The bouncer grunted, which the Doctor chose to take as assent, but moved quickly enough that even if it wasn't, he was out of swinging-distance and into the safety of the club in a flash.
~000~
"You ever seen him like that?" Rose nudged the Doctor in the ribs, which made him wince given the bruise that was forming there now. The injury had been worth it, for probably the best shag he'd had in his brief human life, but already he was beginning to ache in some interesting places.
"You have no idea what a weird question that is for me to contemplate," he said, his brain now aching along with his side.
Rose screwed up her face to think about it for a second. "Permission to rephrase, sir?"
"Granted."
"Having never seen the Doctor in a strip club before, I'd like to register my shock and surprise at the bit of drool forming on his chin." She raised an eyebrow. "But who knows, maybe you were in these sorts of places loads of times, before you met me."
The Doctor snorted. "No, I can assure you that this is much more the domain of Jack Harkness than any self-respecting Time Lord. A bit prudish, that lot."
"You wouldn't know from how you boys carry on," Rose said, suggestively running a finger down the Doctor's arm.
"I will take that as a compliment, thank you. But you know, he's different. From humans, I mean. He's got different... drives. Different needs. A different way of seeing the world. That's why it's been such a learning curve for me, this being human nonsense."
"You seem to be doing all right, if the splinters on my bottom are any indication." Rose refocused her attention back to the woman on stage, who was straddling a chair and running her feather boa through her hands suggestively. "D'you think we should just leave him be?"
They were able to just barely make out the Doctor's face in an ornate mirror with gilt peeling off its heavy frame. His brow was furrowed in thought even while his mouth hung a bit slack, eyes trained on the dancer. He was clearly pondering something quite deeply, and it bothered the other man to not know what. Being a nearly exact copy, it always hurt a bit to be reminded that, however connected they may still be to each other, they would always now be separated, and ultimately alone.
"Nah," the Doctor said finally, shaking off his self-centred distraction. "The Small Faces are playing tonight at the Cavern and I fancy a nip back to the TARDIS for tea first." He rubbed his hands together and grinned. "You are going to love this, and with your new kit, you'll fit right in! Best get a move on, though."
"You do realise we are in possession of a time machine, yeah?"
He turned his back to her and peered towards the other Doctor again. "Don't you find half the fun of going somewhere brilliant is all the rush and fuss to get there?"
She took his hand and squeezed it before bringing it up to her lips for a kiss. "Spoken like someone for whom that bit is optional."