Chapter Text
The Doctor kisses his way softly down Turlough's stomach, lips brushing against the wiry red hair that curves up from his crotch. His breath ghosts across the skin, lips just barely touching, and Turlough whines, trembling as his body aches to press up against the Doctor, to close the distance between them and leave no part of his skin unloved. But his hands are tied firmly behind his back, linked to his feet, folded up underneath him. The angle of his hips forces his cock high up into the empty air, exposed and aching with unmet need. Moisture leaks between the leaves as the tips undulate, one touch away from breaking apart. His cock shudders, begging for that touch, while the Doctor ignores it as he kisses along his belly instead. Turlough is immobile, completely.
The Doctor's teeth scrape lightly against him, and Turlough chokes on an involuntary whimper.
"Shhhhhhh." the Doctor whispers in his ear, breath hot and tickling, which is impossible, as a moment ago his mouth was —
still is —
never moved from —
{is not on —
{the base of his cock, kissing its slow way up the shaft, tonguing tenderly at the aching tip}
— the Doctor softly kisses the tip of his cock from above, and his mouth disappears. It was never there.}
— kissing his way down his stomach forever and ever, somehow never arriving at the destination —
{ but is not there, because he's —
(whispering in his ear) — }
The Doctor nips the tip of his ear before ghosting back down to the base of his cock, and Turlough bites his tongue to hold back the moan that threatens to escape him. It's so hard to hold it inside, so very very hard, but he wants to —
needs to —
be a —
"there's a good boy." says the Doctor gently, in that tone he gets sometimes when he's pulling him from a bomb site, when he's soothing him to sleep after a nightmare; and Turlough can't help it, he can't — the moan finds its way out as his body bucks upwards, towards the Doctor's gentle lips and oh-so-soft fingers.
"Yes, you are trying so hard, aren't you?" the Doctor says thoughtfully. His teeth scrape along the hollow of Turlough's hips.
"Please…" Turlough gasps, "p-please…"
"Please what?"
"Please… s-sir…"
"Yes?" the Doctor sounds almost distracted, speaking even as his tongue laps at the sweat glistening on Turlough's skin.
"Let me… c-come, sir, I can't…"
"No." it is as if the Doctor suddenly snaps into focus, all the vaguely wandering parts of him pulling together from impossibly disparate places across Turlough's body into one concrete, single being, alert and firm. "You don't come until I allow it."
Turlough whines.
“Y-yes sir…” he chokes out, as the Doctor swoops down and kisses the inside of his thigh.
He wishes his cock got the message, but it only trembles harder, aching as the tip opens slightly despite itself. He wants this to go on forever.
The Doctor smiles, softening.
"Yes, you are a good boy, aren't you?"
“I am… I am…” he whispers. He wants this, he wants to be good, he wants to be—
“And who do you belong to?”
And it's too much, he can't, he —
can't—
“You…” he gasps through the moan working its way up and out the back of his throat, “you, sir, you!”
“Me.” the Doctor agrees in a growl, and his lips brush, ever so slightly, against the base of Turlough's cock as he speaks, “My good, good Turlough.”
And that's —
just —
too much, he —
can't, he —
c a n ‘ t
s t o p
i t
he —
is —
he —
is —
a million tiny pieces of sunlight, fracturing as he —
s o a r s —
above the sky and the sun and the stars and he is —
he —
is —
is —
The Doctor watches Turlough's seed rocket upwards and ricochet off the ceiling, his cock wide open, leaves parted all the way to the base as his body convulses and trembles.
The Doctor clucks.
“I…. I'm sorry sir.”
Turlough whispers as he comes back into himself, a lump in his throat.
“Indeed.” the Doctor replies. “Oh Turlough, what are we going to do with you?”