Fanfic - DW/RW: So, a Doctor … - Ch.5 - Into the Future
Title: So, a Doctor, a King, and a Knight Walk Into a TARDIS and …
Author: eboniorchid
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Chapter Five: Into the Future
"But where will we go?" Max's face twitched as he drank hot black tea, clearly a most unusual breakfast for him.
"Anywhere. Everywhere." The Doctor shrugged, his smile wide despite the number of times he'd had this same conversation. "Or anywhen, if you like."
"And Michael agreed to this?"
"Well … 'agreed' might be a strong word, but … it seemed like he'd at least think about it."
"What am I thinking about?" Michael wandered into the TARDIS kitchen, bleary-eyed and all but ignoring the men at the table in his study of the various containers on the counter.
"Traveling." Max sought out Michael's eyes, drawing out the words he wouldn't say.
Michael shrugged, leaning back against the counter with a packaged snack bar in hand (not really granola, though he probably imagined it to be). "I don't like it, but I like being chased by Skins even less."
"You don't want to stay and fight?" Max's gaze narrowed as he watched his friend.
Michael looked down, jaw shifting in protest to the question or, maybe, the inevitable answer. "It's not strategic."
Max's eyes seemed to widen for a moment before their focus slid back to his tea and the clockwork of the Doctor's brain began to piece more of them together.
"Soldier." He said it with a nod of respect and recognition in Michael's direction. "An officer, maybe?"
Michael held his tongue and the Doctor's eyes, neither confirming nor denying the suggestion.
"Second in command." Max's words were quiet but weighted with a profound sense of pride as well as indebtedness.
The Doctor's head tipped as he regarded Max, honestly having classed him as more the diplomat than the warrior, but … "Second to … you?"
Max's nod was almost imperceptible, but the youth in his face couldn't hide everything old in his eyes.
"Brilliant!" Nearly knocking his chair over as he stood, the Doctor began to pace the room, smacking Michael excitedly on the arm as he passed, eyes twinkling brightly in Max's direction. "Well no wonder they're chasing you. You're the what? Chieftan? President? King?" Max's slight shift made him laugh out loud. "I'm having a cuppa with the King of Antar!" He stopped in his tracks midway through his third circle around the table, peering from one to the other of his companions with a sudden depth of confusion that he couldn't fill. "But you're hybrids." His next breath brought the puzzle fully into view, reworked and free of its previous holes. "More than hybrids, hybrid copies of a deposed dynasty." Then he was grinning again. "Oh that's brilliant!"
"Glad you find our science-project life so interesting." Michael bit off the last of his breakfast and tossed the wrapper into the rubbish bin with what must have been his usual blank face.
The Doctor slid up next to Michael, smirking in defiance of Michael's feigned boredom. "You mean it's not remotely fascinating to you that you've lived two different but intertwined lives, that you've aged from infants to adults on two different planets?"
Michael rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge their proximity by staring at the wall across the room instead. "It's not interesting. It's just a hassle."
"Doesn't have to be." His voice went lower than he'd meant for it to go, but he couldn't regret it when he saw the movement of Michael's chest stop-and-start, even if only briefly.
"What does that mean?" Michael still wasn't looking at him, though his voice had gentled.
"He can give us our memories back, Michael."
The Doctor allowed himself the room to take in Max's expression, the earnest near-pleading in his eyes as he spoke to his young general.
Michael stilled, his words falling out slowly. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Max was watching Michael mixing the compassion of a friend with the authority of a sovereign.
Michael blew off from the counter, gesturing his way across the room in a rush of annoyance bordering on anger. "I just don't want some stranger rifling through my memories!"
When Michael's short tirade ended, Max was sitting further back on his chair, lips held tightly. "Did you think I would suggest this if I thought there was another option? We only know things halfway and the important things that we should've known ages ago keep popping up on their own time. We can't afford to be in the dark anymore, Michael."
The distress in Michael's eyes was only a blip, but it wasn't hidden fast enough even though he tried to play it all cool, dismiss all urgency. "We're not even staying in the fight, Max. Hell, we may not even stay in this solar system or this century. So, why do we have to do this now?"
Max's own distress flared, a mirrored reaction that he didn't bother to hide. "What are you afraid of? Are you keeping something from me?"
Michael's mouth stopped moving, refusing to either lie or explain.
"Michael?" There was a waver in Max's voice, a way his scarred heart revealed itself, begging for something other than betrayal.
"It's not like that."
The Doctor's heart clutched in sympathy with Max as Max stood and stalked over to Michael with more intensity than he'd ever revealed in the Doctor's presence before. "What's it like then? Like Isabel? Like Tess?"
"Hell no!" Michael seemed to take offense, regardless of whatever his actual level of betrayal was.
"Then what's going on?"
Michael shook his head, but dropped his eyes, a gesture that shifted Max's stance immediately.
Max's voice was soft. "Is this even about Antar?"
Michael's breath hitched and he turned to put his back fully to the Doctor, shoulders tense. "I don't know." He shook his head again, pulling further away.
Setting a hand on Michael's back, present but not coddling or overwhelming, Max guided him into the corner as if the other side of the room was really out of the Doctor's earshot. "He doesn't have to see any more than what we remember from Antar."
It was kind of true even though it also kind of wasn't. He'd only be able to see what was down the paths they opened to him within their minds. Rarely did paths remain discrete, however, tending to crisscross at the speed of thought, jumping from one association to the next.
"Maybe it's better that we don't remember."
It was Max's turn to shake his head and he did so with perplexity written all over his face. "Where did this come from?"
Michael finally turned to face his comrade. "Dreams, Maxwell. Not bad like- ..." He stopped, but Max nodded his understanding. "Just- ... I don't understand them. They don't fit with the other things I remember."
"That's all the more reason to try to straighten this all out, learn what really happened."
Michael stared at him for a long time, breathing unsteadily. "I only want what's best for all of us."
"I know that."
Nodding slowly, Michael repositioned himself to face the Doctor again, clearly psyching himself up for the task as he strode closer. "Okay, Doc, hit me with the memory ray."
The easy humor masked little and the Doctor felt his face scrunch. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"No, but I don't see any better choices right now."
"You're going to have to open up." His tone was the one he used when requesting that people stick their hands in hot vats of unknown goo.
Michael's eyelids twitched, but he sniffed, rubbing his nose with a bounce on the balls of his feet like a boxer readying to take (or maybe dodge) a hit. "Just do it."
The Doctor breathed deep and shook his hands free of their sleeves before pressing the tips of his fingers to Michael's temples and closing his eyes. "Focus on what you remember of Antar."
Flash. The colors of a new world, old world. Landscapes blurring into each other. Majestic beings in a shade of white-grey. A face. The feel of something akin to a smile. An embrace. Purple-clear water surrounding. Holding on. Bringing pleasure in secret. Hiding away. Loyalty like love like worship. The faces changing. Human and sweat-slick. Max groaning under him, over him, each image in a hazy frame. Somewhere in the distance "stop" seemed like an important word, but it was fear-based and hesitant, so it didn't hold its own.
"Remember Antar." He said it firmly - thought it? - and the view struggled but shifted back to colorless rooms that absorbed the brilliant colors outside. An embrace interrupted. Injured pride. Vilandra flashing her hand too soon. Distrust and disillusion. His comrades, his soldiers turned against him. His king slated for isolation, quiet destruction by medical exile. A coup within a coup, scientists risking their lives to give new life even as they were required to shut away old lives. Darkness. Waking up to a life - a pseudo-human life - of running.
"Earlier. Your youth." A human childhood spent fighting. Dark rooms with darker shadows. Heaviness laying on him until suffocation seemed imminent. Silent pain and silent rage. Running. Max tending bruises and talking him to sleep.
"Antar, your youth on Antar." Youthful fighting for survival blended like a watercolor painting into training. Sleek young grey warriors, their powers growing with every tournament. His assertiveness and confidence peeking royal interests. The honor of the Great House's mark as the sparring partner of the prince. They clashed like cymbals until their ears were ringing. Then they found themselves bound together, never fully understanding but closer than any other pair. One to war and one to the academy. Both were ready when the era of their elders ended. Wives joined the sea of joy and celebration. Still, their true embrace was for each other.
Deep in the sudden haze, Max leaned against Michael, Michael against a window, and the image felt like ownership, like devotion, like safety and sacrifice, like love, even as the picture blurred back to sweat, gasps, and hitched breaths.
"Stop," sounded in the distance again, but this time the Doctor felt pushed, shoved down hallways and pathways, through doors and windows and tiny cracks where he'd squeezed and tapped and tweaked. Finally, his eyes flung open and his hands flung away just in time to see the burning knowledge, pain, and reactionary anger in Michael's eyes before a hand was on his chest and he was flying backwards, crashing against the counter with a sickening crack.
"Michael!" Max ran to the Doctor's side, but stared at his friend, shocked. "Why did you do that?"
"Rath." His former name fell coldly from his lips. "And don't trust him."
It didn't matter, Max was already on his knees and working, a hand over the Doctor's chest to quiet the screaming pain in his body. When the Doctor could breathe through the aches, though, he kindly pushed Max's hand away, noting the cold sweat on the poor boy's brow.
"Are you- ...?" Max panted as he leaned back on his heels.
"Oh, I'm alright, but I don't think your friend wants me to be."
Max seemed to remember a forgotten Michael who was still standing and glaring at them. Despite his obvious fatigue, Max's anger didn't seem dampened as he climbed to his feet. "What was that for?"
"He saw more than just Antar."
Slowly, the Doctor worked his way to his feet, still somewhat wary of Michael, though nothing but honest. "Yes, but not because I went scrounging around like some nosey nellie. Memories work by association! I say orange and you think fruit which reminds you that tomatoes are fruits which brings up memories of a friend's Gran making tomato soup and your mind flits onto what games you played with that friend and which school he transferred to and how he never wrote to you but no one ever does and, really, all I said was orange!"
Michael's glare held for another moment, but eventually his jaw shifted and he shrugged, crossing tense arms over his chest like armor. "Whatever. It's done. Never again."
"Fine." The Doctor tried not to scowl and instead brushed himself off, eyebrows a little raised.
"Did it work, though?" Max's voice seemed quiet but threaded with anticipation, the barely contained excitement of someone trying not to get their hopes up.
Michael nodded a subtle yes and Max immediately turned back to the Doctor.
"Show me."
The Doctor eyed Michael, uncertain. "I would. I think it would be best for everyone, but maybe you two should- ..."
Michael cut him off at the pass, shaking his head. "I can't. Just- ..." The color was draining from his face, but he swallowed and nodded with conviction. "Finish it."
Sighing, the Doctor tried not to let Michael make him feel like the bearer of bad news because he wasn't. The tension in the room wouldn't let his smile resurface, though. He shifted so both he and Max were leaning against the counter and facing each other, then he set his fingertips to Max's temples and slowed his breathing, working to match up with Max. "Close your eyes and think of Antar."
Flash. Colors exploded into view, bits and pieces of dreams scrambling over each other, faster and faster, like a river pushing itself over a waterfall. It was almost overwhelming. Yet, as he followed the stream of images deeper into Max's mind, the way became treacherous, guarded. "Relax." Concentrating harder, a ring of stones came into view - no, not stones, lights. Power blinded him for a moment, but then the darkness was lit and the memories were speeding by again, like a scrapbook-turned-flipbook, animating the rise of a prince, a friendship, a reign, betrayal and war, death and new life. Heat seemed to swell around him as the final book was opened, embrace after embrace, joy and pleasure, service and trust and love.
Max gasped, his breath speeding even as the invasive procedure faded to its conclusion and the Doctor pulled his hands away.
Looking into eyes so wide, the Doctor could only surmise that Max had little dream-based exposure to his more … passionate … memories and that he had no idea what to do with them. Max just kept looking at the man who had freed his memory from the protective cage in which it had been placed for over two decades.
"Maxwell." The word was quiet, stoicism masking desperation, but it got Max moving again, his eyes dropping their hold on the Doctor as he seemed to work through what to do next, how to respond to his friend and more. "Say something."
Max did more than say. He turned, eyes still down, and walked right up to Michael, both of their breaths shoved out by the way his hand settled gently on Michael's cheek as Max found his partner's eyes and then his lips.
Michael seemed frozen, but it wasn't long before he was pulling away, shaking his head with his eyes darting to anything but Max. "We can't, Max. I- …"
"Rath." Max didn't waste time being timid, didn't worry over Michael's reaction, he just stepped into Michael's space again, even more confident than before, and this time he wrapped his hand around the back of Michael's neck and held him fast, his tone low with an air of authority. "Don't run from me."
"Zan." Michael's eyes fell shut as he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years, his shoulders letting go of some of their usual tension. "It's different now."
The Doctor scarcely had time to blink before a thin band of blue light was tracing symbols into the left side of Michael's chest as Michael huffed breath like he'd just run a mile. As it etched the final markings, a thick circle of blue seemed to flash around Michael's neck, constrict for a moment, and then disappear, leaving Michael panting.
"Is it?" Max closed what little space there was left between himself and Michael. "Marked and loyal? Protective to a fault?"
Michael finally allowed himself to look at Max and a hint of self-deprecating cynicism slipped into his voice. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Max's soft laugh was only partly one of agreement. "Sure, but I don't either. We'll learn." He mashed their lips together again, more open this time, something sweet making him hum happily - or maybe his possessive squeeze on Michael's nape was what made Michael hum. They both groaned as Michael's tentative hand found Max's hip, dragging the hem of his t-shirt upwards until his thumb could boldly hook over the waistband and tug, no doubt bringing tenting boxers into more contact, a cottoned rub worth groaning for.
Max moved back until his ass met the edge of the large kitchen table, pulling Michael right along with him and keeping him close as he fumble-climbed upwards and back so he was sitting on the table with Michael's hips between his thighs.
Michael broke away from the kiss, reddened lips sliding against Max's cheek as he whispered over skin with something more than caution. "We're not alone."
"I know." Max's voice shook some, more the shy boy than the young king, but he wasn't going to back down. He pulled back enough to glance at the Doctor, but seemed to blush with desire more than anxiety as he yanked his shirt up and off and let his eyes return to the Doctor's, bold now and defiant.
It made the Doctor wonder if he needed to be seen because they'd been hidden for so long, worn so many layers of masks made of misunderstandings and warped memories. Now, not everyone had to be on the outside anymore - not him anyway. They could be fully real and fully visible, uncovered and unashamed. That freedom made his own smile feel so deep, so genuine, that he could only grin harder.
"Max?" Max was shucking his boxers, letting them fall half-draped over Michael's feet, and Michael seemed a little lost, but he hadn't bolted yet, nor had his temper flared again.
Max quieted him with one hand at his nape and another down the front of his shorts, their foreheads set against each other as they both huffed and Michael groaned his way to a pleasure-tense body. Michael's finger flexed and tightened at his sides at least twice before he shifted, tugging Max to groaning as he took hold of his bare cock and stroked it beside his own pleasantly tormented one. Max's hand soon found its way from cock to waist, though, shoving Michael's boxers down one side at a time until they dropped to bunch at his ankles. Then he pulled Michael to him and over him as he leaned back and lay out on the kitchen table, one leg wrapping possessively around Michael's back despite Michael's hesitation. Reassuring and powerful at Michael's nape, Max's fingers guided him down to press their cocks together and thrust, each small shift of their bodies large enough to make them both groan.
Max's gasped 'harder' and 'please' broke all the men in the room and emptied any reserved control into puddles on the floor. The Doctor couldn't swallow his shudder, his hand itching to press against the bulge in his pants, and Michael's groan became a growl as he ground his cock down against Max's, faster and rougher, breathing more and more rapidly as Max's hips rocked to meet his in a blur of raw need. They shouted their release within moments, come spurting and smeared from cock to navel to neck between their slowing bodies.
After a long moment of closed-eyed breathing, Michael straightened up, regaining some of his rugged cockiness with a smirk that was all for Max - well, Max and the Doctor as Michael's gaze shifted. "Traveling buddies, right?"
"Right." The Doctor's word was as breathless as he was.
There was a look exchanged between Max and Michael before Max put a hand up and Michael pulled him up to sitting. Then there was a more intimate look exchanged, after which Max's head turned and he spoke, though his hand was busy cupping Michael's nape again. "Doctor?"
In that moment, the Doctor felt frozen in a way he hadn't in a long time, but he went to them anyway, following Max's 'come here a minute'. The closer he got, the more he could see Michael's tension rising as well as Max's efforts to soothe him, but he did finally get close enough for Max to put a hand at his waist and draw him flush to both boys' skin, feeling their heat and sweat press into his clothes. All their heartbeats were rapid, but Max just squeezed harder at Michael's neck, forcing a sound into the back of his throat as Max leaned over to kiss the nearly unmoving Doctor.
The questions of why and how kept chasing themselves around and around in his head and he tried to quiet them, but it didn't work until the hand at his waist became a hand on his neck and he was pulled relentlessly deeper into Max's kiss. The stroke of Michaels' tentative hand against his side served as a grounding rod while his body handled an internal lightning storm centered on his lips and teeth and tongue. He felt thoroughly, surprisingly, shaken when Max finally pulled back again.
"Is there someplace where we can clean up?"
The Doctor nodded, slowly swallowing even as his lost voice worked to croak out words. "Turn left, seventh door on the right." He coughed, wondering if he should step back, but unable to convince himself to do it.
Michael had relaxed some and he laughed, half his smirk setting in once more. "It's a maze our there, Doc. … We could probably use a little help figuring things out."
The Doctor just blinked at him for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh of his own. "Well … can't have you getting lost on my watch, now can we?" His hands found their way enough to dance gently down each of their backs, causing parallel shivers that made him grin like the charming madman he was. "Shall we?"
They both offered short nods with softly smirked smiles and shifted away from the table, letting him lead them out the door, down the hall, and on to many new adventures.
One - Two - Three - Four - Five
Author: eboniorchid
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Chapter Five: Into the Future
"But where will we go?" Max's face twitched as he drank hot black tea, clearly a most unusual breakfast for him.
"Anywhere. Everywhere." The Doctor shrugged, his smile wide despite the number of times he'd had this same conversation. "Or anywhen, if you like."
"And Michael agreed to this?"
"Well … 'agreed' might be a strong word, but … it seemed like he'd at least think about it."
"What am I thinking about?" Michael wandered into the TARDIS kitchen, bleary-eyed and all but ignoring the men at the table in his study of the various containers on the counter.
"Traveling." Max sought out Michael's eyes, drawing out the words he wouldn't say.
Michael shrugged, leaning back against the counter with a packaged snack bar in hand (not really granola, though he probably imagined it to be). "I don't like it, but I like being chased by Skins even less."
"You don't want to stay and fight?" Max's gaze narrowed as he watched his friend.
Michael looked down, jaw shifting in protest to the question or, maybe, the inevitable answer. "It's not strategic."
Max's eyes seemed to widen for a moment before their focus slid back to his tea and the clockwork of the Doctor's brain began to piece more of them together.
"Soldier." He said it with a nod of respect and recognition in Michael's direction. "An officer, maybe?"
Michael held his tongue and the Doctor's eyes, neither confirming nor denying the suggestion.
"Second in command." Max's words were quiet but weighted with a profound sense of pride as well as indebtedness.
The Doctor's head tipped as he regarded Max, honestly having classed him as more the diplomat than the warrior, but … "Second to … you?"
Max's nod was almost imperceptible, but the youth in his face couldn't hide everything old in his eyes.
"Brilliant!" Nearly knocking his chair over as he stood, the Doctor began to pace the room, smacking Michael excitedly on the arm as he passed, eyes twinkling brightly in Max's direction. "Well no wonder they're chasing you. You're the what? Chieftan? President? King?" Max's slight shift made him laugh out loud. "I'm having a cuppa with the King of Antar!" He stopped in his tracks midway through his third circle around the table, peering from one to the other of his companions with a sudden depth of confusion that he couldn't fill. "But you're hybrids." His next breath brought the puzzle fully into view, reworked and free of its previous holes. "More than hybrids, hybrid copies of a deposed dynasty." Then he was grinning again. "Oh that's brilliant!"
"Glad you find our science-project life so interesting." Michael bit off the last of his breakfast and tossed the wrapper into the rubbish bin with what must have been his usual blank face.
The Doctor slid up next to Michael, smirking in defiance of Michael's feigned boredom. "You mean it's not remotely fascinating to you that you've lived two different but intertwined lives, that you've aged from infants to adults on two different planets?"
Michael rolled his eyes, refusing to acknowledge their proximity by staring at the wall across the room instead. "It's not interesting. It's just a hassle."
"Doesn't have to be." His voice went lower than he'd meant for it to go, but he couldn't regret it when he saw the movement of Michael's chest stop-and-start, even if only briefly.
"What does that mean?" Michael still wasn't looking at him, though his voice had gentled.
"He can give us our memories back, Michael."
The Doctor allowed himself the room to take in Max's expression, the earnest near-pleading in his eyes as he spoke to his young general.
Michael stilled, his words falling out slowly. "I don't know if that's a good idea."
"Why not?" Max was watching Michael mixing the compassion of a friend with the authority of a sovereign.
Michael blew off from the counter, gesturing his way across the room in a rush of annoyance bordering on anger. "I just don't want some stranger rifling through my memories!"
When Michael's short tirade ended, Max was sitting further back on his chair, lips held tightly. "Did you think I would suggest this if I thought there was another option? We only know things halfway and the important things that we should've known ages ago keep popping up on their own time. We can't afford to be in the dark anymore, Michael."
The distress in Michael's eyes was only a blip, but it wasn't hidden fast enough even though he tried to play it all cool, dismiss all urgency. "We're not even staying in the fight, Max. Hell, we may not even stay in this solar system or this century. So, why do we have to do this now?"
Max's own distress flared, a mirrored reaction that he didn't bother to hide. "What are you afraid of? Are you keeping something from me?"
Michael's mouth stopped moving, refusing to either lie or explain.
"Michael?" There was a waver in Max's voice, a way his scarred heart revealed itself, begging for something other than betrayal.
"It's not like that."
The Doctor's heart clutched in sympathy with Max as Max stood and stalked over to Michael with more intensity than he'd ever revealed in the Doctor's presence before. "What's it like then? Like Isabel? Like Tess?"
"Hell no!" Michael seemed to take offense, regardless of whatever his actual level of betrayal was.
"Then what's going on?"
Michael shook his head, but dropped his eyes, a gesture that shifted Max's stance immediately.
Max's voice was soft. "Is this even about Antar?"
Michael's breath hitched and he turned to put his back fully to the Doctor, shoulders tense. "I don't know." He shook his head again, pulling further away.
Setting a hand on Michael's back, present but not coddling or overwhelming, Max guided him into the corner as if the other side of the room was really out of the Doctor's earshot. "He doesn't have to see any more than what we remember from Antar."
It was kind of true even though it also kind of wasn't. He'd only be able to see what was down the paths they opened to him within their minds. Rarely did paths remain discrete, however, tending to crisscross at the speed of thought, jumping from one association to the next.
"Maybe it's better that we don't remember."
It was Max's turn to shake his head and he did so with perplexity written all over his face. "Where did this come from?"
Michael finally turned to face his comrade. "Dreams, Maxwell. Not bad like- ..." He stopped, but Max nodded his understanding. "Just- ... I don't understand them. They don't fit with the other things I remember."
"That's all the more reason to try to straighten this all out, learn what really happened."
Michael stared at him for a long time, breathing unsteadily. "I only want what's best for all of us."
"I know that."
Nodding slowly, Michael repositioned himself to face the Doctor again, clearly psyching himself up for the task as he strode closer. "Okay, Doc, hit me with the memory ray."
The easy humor masked little and the Doctor felt his face scrunch. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"No, but I don't see any better choices right now."
"You're going to have to open up." His tone was the one he used when requesting that people stick their hands in hot vats of unknown goo.
Michael's eyelids twitched, but he sniffed, rubbing his nose with a bounce on the balls of his feet like a boxer readying to take (or maybe dodge) a hit. "Just do it."
The Doctor breathed deep and shook his hands free of their sleeves before pressing the tips of his fingers to Michael's temples and closing his eyes. "Focus on what you remember of Antar."
Flash. The colors of a new world, old world. Landscapes blurring into each other. Majestic beings in a shade of white-grey. A face. The feel of something akin to a smile. An embrace. Purple-clear water surrounding. Holding on. Bringing pleasure in secret. Hiding away. Loyalty like love like worship. The faces changing. Human and sweat-slick. Max groaning under him, over him, each image in a hazy frame. Somewhere in the distance "stop" seemed like an important word, but it was fear-based and hesitant, so it didn't hold its own.
"Remember Antar." He said it firmly - thought it? - and the view struggled but shifted back to colorless rooms that absorbed the brilliant colors outside. An embrace interrupted. Injured pride. Vilandra flashing her hand too soon. Distrust and disillusion. His comrades, his soldiers turned against him. His king slated for isolation, quiet destruction by medical exile. A coup within a coup, scientists risking their lives to give new life even as they were required to shut away old lives. Darkness. Waking up to a life - a pseudo-human life - of running.
"Earlier. Your youth." A human childhood spent fighting. Dark rooms with darker shadows. Heaviness laying on him until suffocation seemed imminent. Silent pain and silent rage. Running. Max tending bruises and talking him to sleep.
"Antar, your youth on Antar." Youthful fighting for survival blended like a watercolor painting into training. Sleek young grey warriors, their powers growing with every tournament. His assertiveness and confidence peeking royal interests. The honor of the Great House's mark as the sparring partner of the prince. They clashed like cymbals until their ears were ringing. Then they found themselves bound together, never fully understanding but closer than any other pair. One to war and one to the academy. Both were ready when the era of their elders ended. Wives joined the sea of joy and celebration. Still, their true embrace was for each other.
Deep in the sudden haze, Max leaned against Michael, Michael against a window, and the image felt like ownership, like devotion, like safety and sacrifice, like love, even as the picture blurred back to sweat, gasps, and hitched breaths.
"Stop," sounded in the distance again, but this time the Doctor felt pushed, shoved down hallways and pathways, through doors and windows and tiny cracks where he'd squeezed and tapped and tweaked. Finally, his eyes flung open and his hands flung away just in time to see the burning knowledge, pain, and reactionary anger in Michael's eyes before a hand was on his chest and he was flying backwards, crashing against the counter with a sickening crack.
"Michael!" Max ran to the Doctor's side, but stared at his friend, shocked. "Why did you do that?"
"Rath." His former name fell coldly from his lips. "And don't trust him."
It didn't matter, Max was already on his knees and working, a hand over the Doctor's chest to quiet the screaming pain in his body. When the Doctor could breathe through the aches, though, he kindly pushed Max's hand away, noting the cold sweat on the poor boy's brow.
"Are you- ...?" Max panted as he leaned back on his heels.
"Oh, I'm alright, but I don't think your friend wants me to be."
Max seemed to remember a forgotten Michael who was still standing and glaring at them. Despite his obvious fatigue, Max's anger didn't seem dampened as he climbed to his feet. "What was that for?"
"He saw more than just Antar."
Slowly, the Doctor worked his way to his feet, still somewhat wary of Michael, though nothing but honest. "Yes, but not because I went scrounging around like some nosey nellie. Memories work by association! I say orange and you think fruit which reminds you that tomatoes are fruits which brings up memories of a friend's Gran making tomato soup and your mind flits onto what games you played with that friend and which school he transferred to and how he never wrote to you but no one ever does and, really, all I said was orange!"
Michael's glare held for another moment, but eventually his jaw shifted and he shrugged, crossing tense arms over his chest like armor. "Whatever. It's done. Never again."
"Fine." The Doctor tried not to scowl and instead brushed himself off, eyebrows a little raised.
"Did it work, though?" Max's voice seemed quiet but threaded with anticipation, the barely contained excitement of someone trying not to get their hopes up.
Michael nodded a subtle yes and Max immediately turned back to the Doctor.
"Show me."
The Doctor eyed Michael, uncertain. "I would. I think it would be best for everyone, but maybe you two should- ..."
Michael cut him off at the pass, shaking his head. "I can't. Just- ..." The color was draining from his face, but he swallowed and nodded with conviction. "Finish it."
Sighing, the Doctor tried not to let Michael make him feel like the bearer of bad news because he wasn't. The tension in the room wouldn't let his smile resurface, though. He shifted so both he and Max were leaning against the counter and facing each other, then he set his fingertips to Max's temples and slowed his breathing, working to match up with Max. "Close your eyes and think of Antar."
Flash. Colors exploded into view, bits and pieces of dreams scrambling over each other, faster and faster, like a river pushing itself over a waterfall. It was almost overwhelming. Yet, as he followed the stream of images deeper into Max's mind, the way became treacherous, guarded. "Relax." Concentrating harder, a ring of stones came into view - no, not stones, lights. Power blinded him for a moment, but then the darkness was lit and the memories were speeding by again, like a scrapbook-turned-flipbook, animating the rise of a prince, a friendship, a reign, betrayal and war, death and new life. Heat seemed to swell around him as the final book was opened, embrace after embrace, joy and pleasure, service and trust and love.
Max gasped, his breath speeding even as the invasive procedure faded to its conclusion and the Doctor pulled his hands away.
Looking into eyes so wide, the Doctor could only surmise that Max had little dream-based exposure to his more … passionate … memories and that he had no idea what to do with them. Max just kept looking at the man who had freed his memory from the protective cage in which it had been placed for over two decades.
"Maxwell." The word was quiet, stoicism masking desperation, but it got Max moving again, his eyes dropping their hold on the Doctor as he seemed to work through what to do next, how to respond to his friend and more. "Say something."
Max did more than say. He turned, eyes still down, and walked right up to Michael, both of their breaths shoved out by the way his hand settled gently on Michael's cheek as Max found his partner's eyes and then his lips.
Michael seemed frozen, but it wasn't long before he was pulling away, shaking his head with his eyes darting to anything but Max. "We can't, Max. I- …"
"Rath." Max didn't waste time being timid, didn't worry over Michael's reaction, he just stepped into Michael's space again, even more confident than before, and this time he wrapped his hand around the back of Michael's neck and held him fast, his tone low with an air of authority. "Don't run from me."
"Zan." Michael's eyes fell shut as he exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for years, his shoulders letting go of some of their usual tension. "It's different now."
The Doctor scarcely had time to blink before a thin band of blue light was tracing symbols into the left side of Michael's chest as Michael huffed breath like he'd just run a mile. As it etched the final markings, a thick circle of blue seemed to flash around Michael's neck, constrict for a moment, and then disappear, leaving Michael panting.
"Is it?" Max closed what little space there was left between himself and Michael. "Marked and loyal? Protective to a fault?"
Michael finally allowed himself to look at Max and a hint of self-deprecating cynicism slipped into his voice. "I don't know what I'm doing."
Max's soft laugh was only partly one of agreement. "Sure, but I don't either. We'll learn." He mashed their lips together again, more open this time, something sweet making him hum happily - or maybe his possessive squeeze on Michael's nape was what made Michael hum. They both groaned as Michael's tentative hand found Max's hip, dragging the hem of his t-shirt upwards until his thumb could boldly hook over the waistband and tug, no doubt bringing tenting boxers into more contact, a cottoned rub worth groaning for.
Max moved back until his ass met the edge of the large kitchen table, pulling Michael right along with him and keeping him close as he fumble-climbed upwards and back so he was sitting on the table with Michael's hips between his thighs.
Michael broke away from the kiss, reddened lips sliding against Max's cheek as he whispered over skin with something more than caution. "We're not alone."
"I know." Max's voice shook some, more the shy boy than the young king, but he wasn't going to back down. He pulled back enough to glance at the Doctor, but seemed to blush with desire more than anxiety as he yanked his shirt up and off and let his eyes return to the Doctor's, bold now and defiant.
It made the Doctor wonder if he needed to be seen because they'd been hidden for so long, worn so many layers of masks made of misunderstandings and warped memories. Now, not everyone had to be on the outside anymore - not him anyway. They could be fully real and fully visible, uncovered and unashamed. That freedom made his own smile feel so deep, so genuine, that he could only grin harder.
"Max?" Max was shucking his boxers, letting them fall half-draped over Michael's feet, and Michael seemed a little lost, but he hadn't bolted yet, nor had his temper flared again.
Max quieted him with one hand at his nape and another down the front of his shorts, their foreheads set against each other as they both huffed and Michael groaned his way to a pleasure-tense body. Michael's finger flexed and tightened at his sides at least twice before he shifted, tugging Max to groaning as he took hold of his bare cock and stroked it beside his own pleasantly tormented one. Max's hand soon found its way from cock to waist, though, shoving Michael's boxers down one side at a time until they dropped to bunch at his ankles. Then he pulled Michael to him and over him as he leaned back and lay out on the kitchen table, one leg wrapping possessively around Michael's back despite Michael's hesitation. Reassuring and powerful at Michael's nape, Max's fingers guided him down to press their cocks together and thrust, each small shift of their bodies large enough to make them both groan.
Max's gasped 'harder' and 'please' broke all the men in the room and emptied any reserved control into puddles on the floor. The Doctor couldn't swallow his shudder, his hand itching to press against the bulge in his pants, and Michael's groan became a growl as he ground his cock down against Max's, faster and rougher, breathing more and more rapidly as Max's hips rocked to meet his in a blur of raw need. They shouted their release within moments, come spurting and smeared from cock to navel to neck between their slowing bodies.
After a long moment of closed-eyed breathing, Michael straightened up, regaining some of his rugged cockiness with a smirk that was all for Max - well, Max and the Doctor as Michael's gaze shifted. "Traveling buddies, right?"
"Right." The Doctor's word was as breathless as he was.
There was a look exchanged between Max and Michael before Max put a hand up and Michael pulled him up to sitting. Then there was a more intimate look exchanged, after which Max's head turned and he spoke, though his hand was busy cupping Michael's nape again. "Doctor?"
In that moment, the Doctor felt frozen in a way he hadn't in a long time, but he went to them anyway, following Max's 'come here a minute'. The closer he got, the more he could see Michael's tension rising as well as Max's efforts to soothe him, but he did finally get close enough for Max to put a hand at his waist and draw him flush to both boys' skin, feeling their heat and sweat press into his clothes. All their heartbeats were rapid, but Max just squeezed harder at Michael's neck, forcing a sound into the back of his throat as Max leaned over to kiss the nearly unmoving Doctor.
The questions of why and how kept chasing themselves around and around in his head and he tried to quiet them, but it didn't work until the hand at his waist became a hand on his neck and he was pulled relentlessly deeper into Max's kiss. The stroke of Michaels' tentative hand against his side served as a grounding rod while his body handled an internal lightning storm centered on his lips and teeth and tongue. He felt thoroughly, surprisingly, shaken when Max finally pulled back again.
"Is there someplace where we can clean up?"
The Doctor nodded, slowly swallowing even as his lost voice worked to croak out words. "Turn left, seventh door on the right." He coughed, wondering if he should step back, but unable to convince himself to do it.
Michael had relaxed some and he laughed, half his smirk setting in once more. "It's a maze our there, Doc. … We could probably use a little help figuring things out."
The Doctor just blinked at him for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh of his own. "Well … can't have you getting lost on my watch, now can we?" His hands found their way enough to dance gently down each of their backs, causing parallel shivers that made him grin like the charming madman he was. "Shall we?"
They both offered short nods with softly smirked smiles and shifted away from the table, letting him lead them out the door, down the hall, and on to many new adventures.
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