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The pull of the human on his mind was irresistible. Like honey, Rory moved gradually, slowly through his thoughts, layering himself in sweet ripples across the Doctor’s hours. The taste of this thought of the human was golden, deep and warming and he found his mind turning obsessively round and round in circles to the thought of Rory’s mouth. The curve of it, the way he bit at his bottom lip a little, when he was nervous or aroused (usually when the Doctor was around him), the way his tongue would come out just a little to wet it - all these images played on repeat through his mind, and filling him with a liquid heat. How would that mouth taste? Would it taste like Rory felt inside his mind, all sweetness and amber, sticky across his tongue, like sunshine or pollen? Or would the taste of him be sharper, fresher, quenching, rain or mist?
He prowled restlessly in obscure corners of the Tardis, driven to distraction by the heat of the maddening thought. He pleaded problems with some ancient wiring and absented himself from his companions. He took to walking the corridors, pacing in old rooms that smelled of Time gone stale, they hadn’t felt the touch of breath for so many years. Oh, he was well aware of the reasons for his thoughts - he set the cold, logical, rational part of his mind spinning back to that single touch of Rory’s hand against his in the underbelly of his ship. The sharp skin to skin contact, the heat of the human’s skin against his - for seconds, only for seconds -and all of his very own manipulations laid broad and bare across Rory’s mind.
All that love, all that care that a human was capable of floating just under the surface, a spring to be tapped which would bubble up and flow free when released, the timeline that had layered itself out before him. Something inside him had answered; the deep wild loneliness that drove him to roam the universe pursued by the raging fires and the sleeping ghosts of Gallifrey, the parched loneliness of no one else like me not ever again, no one to share minds , no one to understand, to know me, not ever again, only me now, . The rising spring of feeling in Rory had threatened to quench the terrible thirst inside his bone marrow. It had fed and twisted its way into his own mind and body, it had raced along his nerves and lodged itself deep inside him.
Dangerous.
And they were capable of feeling so very very much, these humans. They burned for such a short time in comparison to him, but they burned so very very bright when they did - and their hearts could do so much....
…and, oh, his mouth, bruising lips against mine, the wetness, the heat....
Guilt slashed at him, and he stopped pacing, kicking at one of the Tardis walls, pressing his palms to the wall and muttering a soft "Sorry," when there was a whirring grumble of complaint.
"You don't blame me do you old girl? You know me and you know him as well, it would have come to this anyway."
There was a noncommittal clicking and whirring from the floor beneath him, and he sighed, his breath gusting a mist against the wall in front of him. "He felt it anyway, he would have felt like this anyway," he told himself more than his ship,
...his tongue sliding against mine, the slickness of it as he pushes me back and, oh god....
"He would have loved me anyway"
hands in my clothes, clenching and pulling, warmth of his body sinking into mine....their warmth, i always forget how warm they are.....
He pushed his hands against the wall, levering himself away and paced out of the room, his steps echoing hollowly from the walls of the deserted corridor - he really must come down here more often - he didn't want the neglected parts of his ship to become a ghost town, a haunted house. There was an offended mumbling from the walls.
"Sorry, sorry. Oh God Sexy, what am i doing, where am i going right now? I know where i'm going....it's okay isn't it? It's okay; it's done now, it's done, i can't undo it, i can't, it's okay, it'll be okay."
*
The library was wide and long, high ceiling and traditionally panelled walls, it had an antiquated air just the way he liked it best. It was all warm woods, the insides of a forest split to share the warmth of it sap with room. Desk lamps cast hazy halos and battered leather chairs punctuated the end of shelves and were scattered randomly over the floor. Books were lined on the shelves, their spines a blend of faded rainbows and the bright splashes from the newer volumes. Just the way he liked it.
Rory was there, bent over a book at one of the desks, the golden glow of the lamp highlighting the straw of his hair, ruffled where he must have run his hand through it as he read. The Doctor could hear his soft breathing in the quiet of the room, could almost catch the whisper of his thoughts drifting out from under his skin.
"Rory," he said very quietly, not meaning for him to hear, and immediately regretted it as the human jumped as if he'd been electric shocked, his head snapping up to look t the Doctor wide eyed. His eyes relaxed into crinkles at the corner as he smiled warmly, too warmly - but how could he not now - at the Doctor
Oh god, didn't mean for him to see me, Rory, i'm sorry sorry sorry, but it will be okay, i just made it happen faster that's all
"Doctor. Hi."
He tried to analyse Rory’s tone, his ears searching for nuance, hidden meanings in the pitch and the reverberation, but he couldn’t read it. It was only two words, and maybe there was nothing there anyway, and it didn’t matter that he had seen him after all.
"Hi Rory."
He couldn't help himself fidgeting with his hands as he stood in the doorway - and damn the hands of this incarnation anyway, they were always in constant motion like leaves blowing restlessly on a tree in high winds, giving away how he felt. He opted to run them through his hair instead, pulling and tugging it back away from his face nervously as he tried to find somewhere for his eyes to rest. He darted them around the room quickly, alighting on books, chairs, shelves - anywhere but Rory's face and his eyes, and his bones, and the glow of the lamp against his skin. And oh no, there it was again, the slow drift of pheremones from Rory to himself, inevitable and relentless, pushing towards him and into his nostrils, his mind automatically and instantly assessing the constituent chemicals and their emotional meaning. Attraction, lust...no not just lust, something deeper that that, something with a deeper hue and a heavier feeling to it - passion. His hearts thudded uncontrollably when he identified the feeling and he pressed a hand to his right heart in annoyance, his tweed itching against his palm as he tried to control his reaction....slow the breathing, pull in the air, hold for longer in the chest and let it pass through the pale wall of the lungs into the blood, muscles relaxing... setting up a biofeedback process for his body to bring himself under control.
But the scent was stronger than it had been ever before - it traversed the still air of the room as relentlessly as electricity through water, hitting him as hard as if it was a current. He had thrown up mental and emotional walls against this before he visited the Library, aware of the allure of the human’s sleeping adoration, wishing only to observe, to think, to decide what to do and how to undo. But the scent laden air was melting all mental walls as quickly as if they had been a glacier thrown into the centre of a star, vapourised into nothingness within its heat. Synapses fired off as if they were burning him, nerves thrilling at the scent, and it was like...sun on his face and in his veins, and his hearts wrapped into softness, and all the nerves of his fingers and toes so alive, the feel of his boots, the hairs he still grasped with one hand making fingers ache to be touched, to touch.
He felt his body begin to respond again before he could properly monitor and control his bio-reactions. Fire passed through his nerves, into his belly, burning paths which etched their way down towards his crotch. He tried desperately to regulate his bloodflow, but his circulatory system bypassed the response he was pushing at it, and he felt himself grow hard, throbbing, aching..... oh no no no no, what’s going on? ...He moved quickly towards the table where Rory sat before the human could notice his erection. It wasn’t a deliberate choice, he wanted to turn heel and flee but - the thoughts and the options flashed through his mind in split seconds, lights going on and off - he’d said hello and nothing else, and then Rory would know something was wrong and would come after him asking what it was, and then there would be no hiding it
….why is my body not working, my mind, come on, slow the heart, blood rushing away, blood vessels capillaries draining, emptying, vacant, void, nerves numbing...
By the time he discovered - again - that he couldn’t bypass his body and the aching and tingling was growing more intense, he was standing behind Rory and bending down, his head next to the human’s in order to feign interest in the book that he was reading.
“The Lacnunga...all of human and alien medical technology you’ve seen, all i could show you and you’re reading a book on Anglo Saxon recipes and charms?”
Rory’s skin was just a few inches from his and he could feel the heat radiating from the humans body like a true open flame in cold air, and he wanted urgently to lean into it. He never felt cold, ever, it didn’t touch him, but next to the heat of Rory’s body his skin was suddenly chilled all over where he couldn’t feel the human’s heat. And he could smell him. Not just the pheromones which he was beginning to feel drunk on, heavy and red in his mind sending blood rushing, making his cock ache and throb. But he could smell the scent that was uniquely Rory’s, clean clothes, a little of Amy (he pushed that thought aside quickly), something almost woodsy and earthy - so delicious he couldn’t help himself breathing in a little deeper. Then it happened before he could stop himself, he inhaled deeply and Rory slammed shut the book and began to turn…nononono don’t do that.... to look up at him.
“Doctor, are you sniffing me? I’ll have you know i’m interested in the history of medicine, just because...”
As Rory’s eyes met his, the human trailed off suddenly, his jaw slightly ajar as if the words had been stolen from his mouth and he was waiting for them to be replaced again. The Doctor meant at that moment to unbend his body from where he leaned, palms pressed to the desk, grain of the wood against his palms. His face was just inches from Rory’s, and he thought he had told himself to unbend. But somehow it never happened, and the next thing he knew, he was fixed like granite in place, staring at Rory intently.
He’d never been this close to him, and he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from the human’s face. They began to make a slow journey mapping out and memorising things he hadn’t noticed before; they tracked the precise structure of Rory’s cheek, jaw and brow bones, the way they pressed up under his skin creating the unique face that was fundamentally Rory Williams. He traced the humans hairline, watching the way the soft light brown of his hair gave way to the smooth pink skin of his forehead. His eyes were pulled to Rory’s mouth, still very slightly ajar, and he tried to look at something, anything else - the short goatee the human was beginning to grow as he hadn’t bothered to shave for a couple of days - but oh his mouth, the blush of pink lips, the narrow bow shape, wet tongue just visible inside the shadow of it...no no no bad idea....He forced his eyes up to Rory’s again, noticing for the first time the flecks of green in the blue irises and the hazy black line that surrounded the pupil.
Rory hadn’t moved a muscle, hadn’t spoken - hadn’t breathed in fact - and the Doctor was starting to get worried, when the human suddenly darted his tongue out and licked his bottom lip nervously, before drawing in a long breath and letting it out again. The air in the room was simmering, a heady concoction of Rory’s pheromones and the Doctor’s own more exotic ones. His scent was now unmistakably entwining with Rory’s and the human was unconsciously responding to it, pumping out more of his own, made sharp and metallic by the scent of fear and anxiety....fear? Why was Rory afraid?
He should leave right now.
He watched as Rory’s pink tongue came out again, tracing and wetting his top and bottom lips. He could feel the human taking deep, long breaths as if to steady himself, and then he watched as Rory flicked his eyes down, just for a microsecond, to the his mouth, an unconscious tell of what he was about to do...
oh god he’s going to kiss me...he can’t be, he must be, it’s my fault....oh yes yes yes please Rory, please...i want to kiss you, but i can’t it’s not fair, you choose, you choose Rory, it’s all your choice, it’s up to you, if you want to choose it, choose me, but please please please...
He was a Timelord. He knew how time passed, how the human mind could play tricks, tricks he wasn’t susceptible to - but nevertheless the seconds stretched themselves out into a thin thread, taking longer and longer the closer Rory leaned into him, the more he tilted his head, the more his eyelids fluttered as they began to close and shutter away those blue blue eyes. It was happening and he was fixed, heavy in place, a rock rooted to the floor - he didn’t want to move, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t ever move - as Rory’s closed eyes, and warm skin, and pink mouth came towards him.
Finally Rorys mouth met his....
...yes, thank you, yes...
...gently at first, his lips parted only slightly, the warmth of them like sun across his, pressing soft and so human onto him. It was a gentle, tentative, slow thing, the way their mouths met, just slightly open, no wetness just all soft flesh, and for one awful moment the Doctor thought Rory was going to pull away after just that kiss, and held himself stock still...
...you choose, Rory, it’s all up to you, your decision, but please please please...
...but Rory leaned his head back in and this time his mouth was wider on his, and the Doctor opened his own wider in response. A hint of wetness, of salve, of a quenching of his own thirst for this mouth he’s been obsessing about for days was just on the borderline, on the cusp. Again, their mouths closed...would he pull back, pull away now, surely now he would...but then Rory’s mouth was opening wider and pressing suddenly hard and urgent against his and he felt the human’s tongue slide like silk into his mouth, hot and wet and tasting...oh...of liquorice and somehow sweet and sharp at the same time. He felt one of Rory’s hands go to the back of his head, wrapping and tangling in his hair there as the human gave himself to the kiss with abandon, pushing him in closer, harder, while the other hand came to cup his cheek, burning a mark onto him. And his own hands were moving, mirroring Rory’s, one at the back of his head, pushing him harder against him, the other cupping his cheek, the softness of the skin there giving way to his rough beard as he slid his hand down that cheek, and under his chin to press and hold Rory’s neck.
He held his mind back, deliberately. He was apprehensive, frightened of what was going on in Rory’s and his own head now, how the way he had influenced both of them was playing into this moment. He had a sense of dark responsibility settling onto him and he didn’t want to know, couldn’t know, how heavy that was...
...it’s okay though, i’ll take care of you, look after you, i’ll be good to you now you’ve decided you want me until we can work this out, i’ll take care of you...
...he knew what lay there under the surface in Rory and as much as he wanted it, he was terrified to look inside and see if it was breaking the surface, rushing over his conscious mind now. So he kept himself reined back beyond the boundary of skin to skin, yet he felt himself shaking, deep tremors inside him, birthing half out of fear, half out of excitement and desire.
Their kiss grew deeper, and that scent of heavy read passion wrapped them both in layer of the moment, the scent of DoctorRory all around them. Their mouths grew urgent, bruising at each other, devouring each other, their tongues wrapping and twisting around, the kiss growing sloppy and wet in their careless want for each other. He licked at the human as if he could not taste him enough, ran his tongue across the back of Rory’s teeth, flicked at the roof of his mouth, pushed his tongue deep into him, hearing himself hum and moan as Rory mirrored his movements and then took control of the kiss, leading where the Doctor followed into dizzying undulating motion that was all heat and wetness and....
oh...god....
The blood travelling to the spot in-between his legs was now moving in torrents, and he was painfully hard, pressing and aching against the inside of his trousers, and he shifted minutely to try and relieve some of that pressure
...oh want to press up against you, pull you out of that chair, hold you against the shelves, the books at your back, dust all over you, me pressing up against you...
Again, he lost track of time where he shouldn’t have done, but the whole Universe was Rory’s mouth hungry on his and his hands on his face, in his hair, lips bruising his...it could have been an aeon, it could have been forever. Galaxies could have died and stars burned up, wars could have been fought and whole races destroyed, the Universe could have gone to hell and then back, and then to hell again and he wouldn’t have known or cared.
But everything ends.
Rory’s hand loosened in his hair, and their kiss slowed gradually by degrees, until finally their mouths stilled. Then they pulled apart away from each other, and the Doctor held his eyes on Rory’s lips - red and swollen, all the blood rushed to the surface - his heart and mind reeling, afraid to look up at him.