Smith and Saxon
folder
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,140
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
1 through F › Doctor Who
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
2,140
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dr. Who, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
3
The floor is cold beneath John’s knees, a sharp contrast to the heat of the flesh in his hand, slipping gingerly through his inexperienced fingers. There is a soft chuckle above him followed by words of encouragement and gentle sighs of appreciation, sounds that spur him on, make him want to explore more. He leans forward, awkwardly mouthing at the hardened flesh, waiting for another sound, another clue; anything that tells him this is okay, this glorious feeling of want.
He finds the effect he is looking for when his lips slide down that heated flesh and strong hands grasp the back of his head. John whimpers and tries to look up as he learns this new rhythm set for him, those same hands easing up on their grasp to allow his lips to move back up and then tightening again in their command to move down once more. He needs to see the face of the man who commands him in such an intimate way, the man who allows him this want that had previously been nothing more than a locked, closed door at the back of his mind, a door that he not dare to open.
“Yes...John.” The man says, John’s name leaving his lips as an afterthought, a pause, voice heavy with his own want, familiar at once but fleeting.
The sound of his name feels strained, like a lie. Your name....Remember...Look at me John, remember.
His lips burn as they seek out more flesh, more desire. His tongue, jealous of the carnal pleasure being had by its brother, begins its own assault, tasting, savouring...remembering.
The symphony of desire sounds through John’s head, loud and with a prominent drum beat. He licks, sucks...takes in time to the drums, their furious crescendo pounding in his ears, threatening to explode. The hands on his head jerk him quickly away and he wakes; the silence of the room deafening. With one hand on his racing heart and the other wrapped around his painful erection he comes, violently, the loneliness in his heart creeping around him in the confines of his cold bed.
**
Harry spends the day biding his time, resisting the urge to walk down the hall and sit in on one of John’s classes; taunting him. Instead he toys with the new trinket stashed in his pocket, John’s old watch, fingering the chain and thumbing at the clasp every now and then, the thought of opening it sending a delicious thrill down his spine as he sets about to looking as if he is indeed the new teacher, setting up his classroom and dusting off lesson plans.
He looks about the small classroom, feet perched arrogantly on the desk, thinking of the night before, revelling in how effortless it had been, how easy and how fun it had been to get in John’s mind. Part of him missed the usual defiance of the Doctor, that particular thrill of the chase, that meeting of strong willed and steely, brilliant minds. But this, oh this was heartbreaking, this lonely soul stranded here on Earth, this John Smith, stuck in the tenth regenerated body of the Doctor, mind full of locked doors just begging to be ripped open. This, he had to admit, was a thing of beauty, a desperation that only the Doctor could create. He reaches into his pocket again, the strum of energy from the watch pulling him in like a magnet.
There is a faint knock on his door. “Pulling him like a magnet too.” Harry says quietly as he moves quickly towards the door, blowing out a steady breath before he answers it, trying to remove all traces of his giddy, almost maniacal smile.
“John.” He says as he calmly as he opens the door, standing with a hand on the doorknob. “Come in, come in.” He ushers John in, poking his head out and glancing both ways down the hallway before he closes the door and turns his attention to John, motioning for him to sit. “I’m glad you stopped by, I’ve been meaning to...”
“I’m sorry.” John blurts out, refusing the seat and choosing instead to stand arms crossed, feet shuffling nervously against the wood of the floor, eyes cast down.
Harry releases the doorknob with a quick twist of his fingers against the lock. “Sorry? John you have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a step closer toward John. “I...I am the one who is so sorry. I don’t know what to say.” He moves closer, advancing on him. “I was worried about you. I wanted to come to you, but...”
“What?” John asks; eyes still to the floor.
“But I thought it inappropriate. I’ve been thinking about you all day...” Harry stops to watch John change position and uncross his arms, bringing them to rest at his sides before drawing his eyes up to Harry’s.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you too.” John says quietly as Harry closes the final distance between them, brushing his fingers against John’s, mirroring the night before. “I don’t know if...” John’s thought is lost in soft, tentative lips against his.
He finds the effect he is looking for when his lips slide down that heated flesh and strong hands grasp the back of his head. John whimpers and tries to look up as he learns this new rhythm set for him, those same hands easing up on their grasp to allow his lips to move back up and then tightening again in their command to move down once more. He needs to see the face of the man who commands him in such an intimate way, the man who allows him this want that had previously been nothing more than a locked, closed door at the back of his mind, a door that he not dare to open.
“Yes...John.” The man says, John’s name leaving his lips as an afterthought, a pause, voice heavy with his own want, familiar at once but fleeting.
The sound of his name feels strained, like a lie. Your name....Remember...Look at me John, remember.
His lips burn as they seek out more flesh, more desire. His tongue, jealous of the carnal pleasure being had by its brother, begins its own assault, tasting, savouring...remembering.
The symphony of desire sounds through John’s head, loud and with a prominent drum beat. He licks, sucks...takes in time to the drums, their furious crescendo pounding in his ears, threatening to explode. The hands on his head jerk him quickly away and he wakes; the silence of the room deafening. With one hand on his racing heart and the other wrapped around his painful erection he comes, violently, the loneliness in his heart creeping around him in the confines of his cold bed.
**
Harry spends the day biding his time, resisting the urge to walk down the hall and sit in on one of John’s classes; taunting him. Instead he toys with the new trinket stashed in his pocket, John’s old watch, fingering the chain and thumbing at the clasp every now and then, the thought of opening it sending a delicious thrill down his spine as he sets about to looking as if he is indeed the new teacher, setting up his classroom and dusting off lesson plans.
He looks about the small classroom, feet perched arrogantly on the desk, thinking of the night before, revelling in how effortless it had been, how easy and how fun it had been to get in John’s mind. Part of him missed the usual defiance of the Doctor, that particular thrill of the chase, that meeting of strong willed and steely, brilliant minds. But this, oh this was heartbreaking, this lonely soul stranded here on Earth, this John Smith, stuck in the tenth regenerated body of the Doctor, mind full of locked doors just begging to be ripped open. This, he had to admit, was a thing of beauty, a desperation that only the Doctor could create. He reaches into his pocket again, the strum of energy from the watch pulling him in like a magnet.
There is a faint knock on his door. “Pulling him like a magnet too.” Harry says quietly as he moves quickly towards the door, blowing out a steady breath before he answers it, trying to remove all traces of his giddy, almost maniacal smile.
“John.” He says as he calmly as he opens the door, standing with a hand on the doorknob. “Come in, come in.” He ushers John in, poking his head out and glancing both ways down the hallway before he closes the door and turns his attention to John, motioning for him to sit. “I’m glad you stopped by, I’ve been meaning to...”
“I’m sorry.” John blurts out, refusing the seat and choosing instead to stand arms crossed, feet shuffling nervously against the wood of the floor, eyes cast down.
Harry releases the doorknob with a quick twist of his fingers against the lock. “Sorry? John you have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a step closer toward John. “I...I am the one who is so sorry. I don’t know what to say.” He moves closer, advancing on him. “I was worried about you. I wanted to come to you, but...”
“What?” John asks; eyes still to the floor.
“But I thought it inappropriate. I’ve been thinking about you all day...” Harry stops to watch John change position and uncross his arms, bringing them to rest at his sides before drawing his eyes up to Harry’s.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about you too.” John says quietly as Harry closes the final distance between them, brushing his fingers against John’s, mirroring the night before. “I don’t know if...” John’s thought is lost in soft, tentative lips against his.