The Doctor had made a miscalculation. He was always doing that, as perfect as he pretended to be. So we had ended up here on this godforsaken penal colony, running for our lives. Prisoners, typically, are bad people to make your enemy, but that never stopped the Doctor. So we were running. We did a lot of running.
"Quick! In here!" He caught my hand hard enough to give me whiplash and pulled me down to the ground. I fell sort of on top of him, turning awkwardly as I realized I was falling between his legs and tried to avoid sensitive areas. He, however, paid that no mind and pulled me tighter to him, pulling a door I hadn't seen closed with his foot.
We were plunged into darkness, and as my eyes adjusted, I listened to the sound of my pounding heart and our frantic breaths. He adjusted slightly behind me as if to get more comfortable. Neither of us was particularly comfortable. I was stuck between his legs, my back pressed against his chest, my head just to the left of his. There was some short of shelf above us, preventing him from sitting straighter, and forcing our legs to be contorted awkwardly into each other.
"A cupboard, Doctor?" I whispered.
"Shhh," was his only reply.
I shifted, trying to sit up a bit straighter so my spine wasn't so curved. Suddenly, when I realized how tight we actually were, I stopped squirming.
Oops. I hadn't meant to touch that.
I felt my blush spreading. I was thankful for the darkness, that he couldn't see my face. I was also extremely grateful for the need for silence, as I didn't want to acknowledge that particular mistake.
Shit. I could feel it now that I was thinking about it, against me. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Was it just me or was it getting sort of hard?
He shifted again, and I realized he was trying to shift it away from me. Oh, my god. Was he getting hard? It was an accident, I swear. I'm so sorry. But he didn't seem too tense, or like he was embarrassed. He was just trying to avoid embarrassing me. Of course. He was the Doctor. It was a fact of biology. It didn't matter to him. But for humans, it always meant something. Trying so hard to equate biology to emotion.
He didn't quite succeed in his movement. There wasn't enough room, not with the way we had ended up crammed in here. I could still feel it, against my side now, and definitely harder.
I swallowed forcefully. What exactly was I making of this? I still wasn't sure. It was a fantasy come true, sort of, but fantasies like this weren't meant to come true. We were just friends, and while I was extremely attracted to him, I had never seriously considered being in any sort of sexual situation with him. Not that this was really a sexual situation. For him it was an inconveniently timed biological reaction. What was it for me?
I was trying to prevent myself from processing this situation, from really thinking about what was pressing against me, about the way it was rubbing against my side with both of our breaths. I knew if I thought about it I would have a real human reaction, and whether it was panic or something else I couldn't be sure.
I imagined him behind me, eyes closed, trying as hard to control his biology as I was trying not to think about it. He was probably worried that it was offending me, but I wondered if Time Lords had the same downfalls of humans. Now that he was thinking about it, was he acutely aware of the way it was touching me? Could he not make it go away because the more he thought about it, the stronger it got?
Stronger. Yes definitely stronger. My body had calmed from the running, but my heart was still pounding. The blood was going where? Oh, god, no. Not now.
My puny human brain had gone there. Sex. It latched on to sex. Suddenly, I was aware of how I was feeling: really aroused. I was dying to be naughty, to jack him off without looking him in the eye. While I was pressed against him, I could give him the orgasm of his life.
Stop! You can't think about that now, in some dark cupboard on a penal planet, hiding from hundreds of homicidal prisoners!
Oh, but what harm would it do? You wouldn't even have to look him in the eye. And he can't speak, so he can't rationalize why you shouldn't do it. You've always wanted this. Why not take it the one time you have a chance?
No. I wouldn't. It would be weird. It could ruin everything. He could take me straight home for misbehaviour. I could never see him again.
My hand wouldn't listen to reason. It brushed against him on its quest for his button, and this time he tensed. I could tell he was dying to say something. He probably wanted to scold me, to tell me to be more careful, to pretend this was anything other than what it was.
My fingers had found the button, and with some effort, they pulled it open. Slowly, giving him every chance to stop me with his hand, I pulled down his zipper. He had a million questions. I could feel them bubbling up in him, but he asked not one. Still his hands remained at his sides. I pushed his underwear aside and pulled his erection out. I readjusted my leg until his cock rested against my thigh. Slowly, I rubbed my right hand up and down its length once, and he barely repressed a shudder.
He couldn't say a word, but if he really had wanted me to stop, he would have done something.
He did nothing.
His arm hesitantly snaked underneath my right arm, and I felt his hand come to rest on my breast. My breath was so shallow and so quiet I wondered if he could even hear it anymore. After a moment, his other hand pushed under my shirt to press splayed against my stomach. It was tensing and releasing in rhythm with my strokes, and he was pulling me closer.
I was so aroused now that I couldn't stay still. I pressed myself harder against him, and he seemed to realize he was allowed to reciprocate. Very hesitantly, his hand slipped beneath the waistband of my jeans. I shifted to open my legs farther, begging him with every fibre of my being to just do it already.
Oh. He did.
His fingers found, with ease, exactly the way I wanted to be touched. My breath caught in my throat, and my head fell back against his chest. My hand was moving erratically on him now, not that he seemed to care. I could feel his hearts beating in his chest, feel his spine arching slightly against me. I pressed us hard against the back wall of the cupboard, my head moving closer to his. His hot breath was directly on my ear now, and I could hear hints of the sounds of pleasure he was stopping in his throat.
Unlike him, I didn't think I would be able to make a sound even if I were allowed. I was so aroused that I couldn't breathe.
"Shh," he whispered in my ear, and I wasn't sure why he said it.
And then, with one deft move of his finger, he pushed me over the edge. Frantically, I rubbed him, and his breath caught in his throat. He held on to me for dear life as orgasm claimed both of us. We writhed against each other, keeping back sounds, determined to stay secret.
I lay in his arms as we both caught our breath. I suddenly was very drowsy. He rearranged himself, made himself presentable again, smoothed my shirt, and then just held me against him. I felt so content, so warm. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I was in the Doctor's arms, and the way he was holding me was so tender that I felt so, so safe.
"Shh," he whispered again, and I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeats return to normal, hearing air fill his lungs. He was so alien and yet so familiar. His hearts and breaths lured me to sleep.