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It was the splitting headache that woke him. Groaning, the Doctor lifted his pounding head, letting it drop back to the soft and unfamiliar pillow when the throb only intensified. He didn't think he was going much of anywhere for a while. Squinting as the bright light attacked his eyes from what was probably a window by his right, he took in his surroundings. The place he had slept in appeared to be a moderately comfortable hotel room, furnished with nothing but the basics. Some abstract prints here and there on the walls, a small kitchenette in the far corner, an armchair and TV in a small sitting area, a closet by the main door- everything one would usually expect in a cheap 21st century Earth hotel room. A junky digital clock on the wooden nightstand beside him told the Doctor it was 9:53AM, far later than he would have slept even after the most exhausting of adventures. The unmade and unremarkable bed in which he lay, exposed from the waist up, was not his own. This in itself was not unusual; he frequently stayed in lodgings provided by grateful would-be-victims on foreign planets, more often than not out of courtesy than necessity. The fact that he was currently lying on his left side tangled up in the covers was no big deal, either, as he often tossed and turned in his sleep, still haunted by nightmares of loss, war and pain. Depressing, but by no means a cause for alarm.
The sudden realization that he was stark naked, however, came as a bit of a shock. And that he had no memory of arriving here last night. And that he hurt, all over, including certain places in the lower half of his anatomy that hadn't felt such... abuse for well over a few hundred years. He knew a killer hangover when he felt one, and knew from past experience that an extraordinarily pissed Time Lord, left naked in a hotel bedroom, was not a situation to be taken lightly by anyone who wished to live with their sanity intact. Or at all. He froze, desperately wishing he had his usual range of motion and that his head would stop hurting so he could actually do something about his predicament.
The bed shifted underneath him slightly, sending another tidal wave of pain throughout his body. The Doctor silently cursed himself for not checking the other half of (what only just now registered as being) the large queen-size mattress before examining the room's rather vague decor. Despite the mental morning damper, possible bed-mates flowed through his head at an incredible pace. Rose and Jack were the most likely suspects, unless his enemies had suddenly taken a liking to thoroughly humiliating the man who would then shut down their businesses or topple their empires with nothing but a few words (and occasionally a couple well-placed explosives).
Bracing himself, the Doctor prepared to flip over and face his... assailant? Companion? It didn't matter; he was more than a bit ticked off, and someone was going to wish they hadn't been born this morning. Before he could, a soft sigh escaped from the being next to him, a sigh too deep for the females of every species he thought might have considered coming on to him. Fortunately, this ruled out Rose; he really hadn't wanted to send her home just yet. But now the warning lights in his head were on- he hadn't seen Jack since leaving him behind on Satellite 5, but the Doctor had to admit he really wouldn't put it past the ex-time-agent to stalk him across time and space. If the figure beside him was indeed the immortal, he could expect to die today- several times over by the time the Doctor was done with him. Preparing for the worst, he armed himself with his most displeased-looking glare and turned to confront his current partner. He blinked. The not-at-all surprised face beside him (which did not belong to Jack) smiled softly.
"Good morning. Slept well? I should think so, since that's how I remember it." Okay, forget a 'bad thing'- looking into the paler man's deep and intense green eyes, the Doctor knew this was a very very bad thing. "Oh," he breathed, "would you look at you." An equally pasty arm extracted itself from the rumpled sheets, reaching out and gently brushing away a few strands of sleep-tousled hair from the Doctor's face. A thick curtain of straight dark brown covered some of his own, and the younger-looking man continued, seemingly oblivious to the Doctor's bewildered stare. "Blimey, no wonder it took so long to remember this- Rassilon, were we drunk! Then again, wasn't like I'd ever been seduced by myself before. Not for you yet, anyway. Took me six of those bloody banana daiquiris we were so fond of just to get you on the dance floor, and another seven to finally bring you back up here. I daresay you really won't be wanting another one for a while, not if I've got this morning's memories straight. What a nasty hangover that was! Too bad you won't remember this, really- not for a while yet, at least; I'd say maybe eighty years? Ah, well. Certainly one of the best nights we'd had in a long time, and you haven't even-."
"That's enough!" the Doctor cut in sharply. His future self's endless stream of chatter certainly wasn't helping his headache or his mood. He briefly wondered if this was how Rose felt some days when he wouldn't shut up.
"Er, yeah, right. Sorry. Spoilers and all that, though I suppose you haven't made it there yet either. Bugger."
"Just... stop. Please." The tenth Doctor shook his head, cringing and stopping quickly as the alcohol and stiffness-induced pain only intensified. The older Doctor (younger Doctor? The man looked not much older than a human in their bloody mid-twenties!) smiled and nodded sympathetically, his soft post-sex hair flopping cutely over one bright eye as he did so. Ten was acutely aware of the body radiating heat under the blankets next to him, of the arm resting casually on his thigh. He sighed tiredly, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, trying to stay in control. "Why? Why would you -we- do this? Was it really worth risking a paradox just so you could satisfy some bizarre fetish we pick up sometime in my future? Any ulterior motives? Loss? Pain? What?" His brow was crinkled in irritation, and he still hadn't opened his eyes again.
Though he knew his younger self couldn't see it, the future Doctor smiled smugly at his past form's questions. "Nope! On the contrary, this little trip was more celebratory than anything else; a last goodbye to loneliness, you might say. I've already dealt with a few of our others; if this were the cause of some massive, universe-ending paradox I wouldn't remember any of it, would I? We always did like this body more than a fair number of the others, and actually, the first I've revisited was Three- quite the memory-wipe we needed, eh? As for when my -our- "bizarre fetish" begins, I seem to recall it started as of last night (just wait until you track down Five! Eight's no huge disappointment either, by the way). So to answer your next unspoken question, yes we are the youngest we've ever been and the least mature."
The older Doctor yawned and stretched, catlike, revealing a smooth, flat, nearly hairless chest. Pulling back the covers, he shot one last appraising glance at Ten's deceptively muscular body before standing up, giving his past form an eyeful before bending over to sift through various articles of clothing tossed haphazardly around the small suite. Scrambling to hide himself from view with the thin sheet once more, a startled (and furiously blushing) Ten watched him dress from the cool and slightly sticky bed.
A few minutes later he was done. The still naked Doctor in bed raised an eyebrow at him while his dark brown eyes glinted mischievously. "Back to bow ties, then?" he joked. "Damn, I thought we were rid of those. You look like a kid who just crawled out of their grandfather's closet in that; trying to compensate for something, perhaps?" The future Doctor shot him a hurt look.
"Bow ties are cool, at least I thought so when I changed." He smirked and leaned forward, just inches away from the younger him's face. "And compensation? That's not what you screamed last night when I took you the first time. Or the second time. Not even the third, fourth, or fifth time. And you know what? It was wonderful..." Ten gulped, unable to look away from the black fire burning in his own old eyes. The future Doctor stepped back, gaze slowly working its way down and back up his former figure hungrily. He noted with satisfaction that his eternally-messy hair was even wilder than usual, and the bite marks on his neck and shoulders would be quite difficult to cover up. Leaving the bedside, he strode towards the door and rested his hand on the knob, prepared to head back to his proper timeline. His mouth twitched at the memory of trying to explain his disheveled appearance to Rose back on the TARDIS later that day. It hadn't gone well. He looked back over his shoulder at the other him. "Your TARDIS is where you parked it last night, two blocks over, the emergency signal you picked up was a false alarm, you never saw me, and yes, in numerical order I'm just after you. Anything else?"
Ten smiled at his eleventh form evilly, finally rising from the bed to wrap his long arms around the other Doctor's skinny waist. He was pleased to discover that he was still the taller of the two, and bent his head as he crushed Eleven's body closer to him. "Just one thing," he growled in his older self's ear, causing him to shiver as Ten's warm lips ghosted down the others neck. Eleven could feel every rippling muscle in the Time Lord's lanky body behind him, including a hot firmness pressed into the cleft of his arse, and it felt fantastic.
"Yes?" he asked, his voice only shaking the slightest bit more than his hands, clenched tightly to his sides. Rassilon, he felt good...
"Yeah..." Ten suddenly flipped him around, pinning Eleven against the door with his body and holding his arms high above his head. He tilted his head down and grinned triumphantly as their lips mashed together. He pulled back panting a few moments later, insane smile still plastered to his face. "Just when can I look forward to remembering this?"