singillatim | Be always on the watch, and pray that you may be able to escape all that is about to happen

He doesn't remember the last time he was so easily distractible by — well, anything like this at all. Closeness. Affection. Fondness. Love. Enough that thinking is less important than just being and feeling. So he's led, quite easily and happily. There's a feeling of...contentment in him, with everything they've said between them tonight. There's more, of course, so much more he's feeling inside, but this is perfect.

"You're quite persuasive," he makes a dumb joke while they move to settle in the living room. Of course, what else was he going to do but follow him?

"Mm, I have kept my Captain alive for many years through gentle persuasion," he reminds the Doctor, pulling away so he can sit on the couch. "It is one of my many skills."

He raises his arm, holds out a hand for him. "Sit with me," he mutters. "Sit and we can talk here by the fire."

Thomas isn't very keen on simply "talking," though. He's already imagining wrapping his arms around him again.

For as much as the Doctor can talk and talk endlessly, he finds that at least for now, he wants far more to just be close to Thomas. As close as possible. And the words and the talking matter less — for once — than just being near him.

"Many skills," he's quick to agree. Normally he might tease about not letting it go to his head, but when it comes to Thomas, he can only be sincerely besotted. "One quite noteworthy one among many, in fact, but which has me already thinking of doing it again." Kissing. He means kissing. But he does sit close, and he does tug his hand briefly to his lips to kiss his knuckles.

"Allow me." Thomas gives him a brief reprieve, just for a moment, and then he kisses him again there on the couch where he can't get away. Where neither of them can get away. He's happy here right by the fire, though he does glance nervously over at it to make sure the fire is high enough.

"Are you comfortable, sir?" he mutters, running his hands down the Doctor's arms.

He's well past thinking that kisses are quite lovely, but meant for others and not for him. He's shifted, instead, to thinking this is the sort of thing he's been keeping himself away from for far too long, for...some protection from pain and hurt, and loss. All the things that can't ever really be avoided, but love — that can be held onto, instead. And he wants to.

As they kiss and the question is asked, he takes an honest assessment as he sinks back against the cushions. He doesn't feel fidgety, he feels content. "Thanks to you, yes." He smiles and leans in to briefly kiss him again. "Now, the cushions help, of course, but mainly it's you, Thomas."

He scoffs, sitting up taller even as the Doctor does the opposite. "You give me too much credit," he mutters. "You aren't cold?"

It's not a new question, but nor is it something he's comfortable assuming any longer. It serves no purpose for him to fret, and he's come to trust that the Doctor will care for himself when it comes to these things.

"It's always cold here," he says so nonchalantly, but he knows that's not what Thomas is really asking. "But the fire is warm and some things are more important."

He's not trying to be or sound wilfully stubborn. To him, that shock of cold is like jumping into cold water at first, and the body adjusts. And after long moments of touch, perhaps, it will get more unpleasant, but he adjusts and he wants to touch him longer.

He rolls his shoulders back. "I find it rather sweltering at times, sir. Enough to go swimming on occasion." He places one hand on his chest, ensuring that he isn't touching skin.

"There is nothing more important to me than your continued happiness," he adds softly, not wanting to break apart from him.

"We match then," he smiles softly, moving to rest his hand lightly over Thomas', where it rests on his chest. It's a ginger touch, mindful of his skin, but he wants to press closer, touch longer. Linger.

"I want you to be happy. And I want to — well, does it feel sweltering now? I could help. If you needed it. Not that you can't take your own shirt off, but, I'm good at it!"

Witness his clumsy attempt at flirting.

Thomas draws back slightly, looking more than slightly skeptical, though it's mostly play. He doesn't say anything about it, though. Instead, he takes the Doctor's hand and brings it to his sweater, encouraging him to lift it over his head.

He casts a glance to the door, ensuring that it's locked.

The Doctor lets out a breath, a moment to pause, before he leans forward and lifts that sweater slowly off of him. It wasn't so long ago he'd seen him shirtless, more than once, but it's so different now. He's looking at him, really looking.

"This is okay?" He reaches forward now, resting a hand on his bare chest for a moment. He wants it to be, he wants to spoil him, he wants to make him happy. But he needs to hear it, that this is okay, this is wanted. And he might sound less fumbling and clumsy, and more genuine and soft, some old confidence coming back to him.

"Of course," he assures him, and he feels warm for the first time in a long time. The hand on his chest sends gooseflesh along his arms, but he puts a hand over his. "Careful, or you'll get frostbite."

He warns him with a smile, cautious and gentle.

"Don't you worry, I know what I'm doing," he smiles gently. Does he? Who knows. Not even he does. But he's fully assured now and he feels at ease enough to tease, but also to enjoy this. There's nothing typical about this, of course. Every part of Thomas that he wants to touch will be cold as ice. It makes everything a little trickier, yes, but nothing he can't handle, he reasons. Not when it means so much. At the very least, he can dote on him. Slowly and carefully.

He moves his hand away, but only to keep moving that hand, and his other hand, touching Thomas' bare skin with the tips of his fingers, starting from his shoulders down to his hips. At some point, he leans in and presses a kiss to his shoulder before his lips move to his chest. If he keeps moving his lips and fingers like this, the chill doesn't have a chance to set in enough to be uncomfortable. At least for now. "You're beautiful, Thomas."

It's a lie. Thomas knows he's far too skinny, the bones prominent against his skin, the scars from the travels and simple life standing out. He's pale, though at least he's no longer too sickly, and he knows that he's not as handsome as, say, Fitzjames. Or the Doctor himself.

But the compliment still warms him in a way the fire never could and he reaches up, brushing fingers through the Doctor's hair when he leans in close.

"It is the dark in the room that deceives you," he says lightly, passing it off as mostly a joke. "But - don't stop." He shifts closer to him at the touch to his hips, sitting up and just moving boldly into his lap.

The Doctor perceives beauty and attractiveness in different ways, not always in a way that's understood, but Thomas is beautiful in a way that's like a truth of the universe to him, far beyond his attraction to him. As he moves into his lap, the Doctor's hands shift to hold him closer, to press him closer, wrapping his arms fully around him. It occurs to him that beyond just wanting to kiss the skin that's bare to him, he's eager to learn what Thomas enjoys most, where he wants to be touched, what he likes and doesn't.

It's so incredibly important to him, and it's with that in mind that he hums a little, kisses against his neck, and murmurs, "Oh no, I'm quite right and I'll show you." Just how beautiful he is to him, in every way.

The fire is warm against his back, making him feel better about the cold that comes from his skin. He's exceptionally self conscious about it, about the way the Doctor holds him, but he has trusted him thus far to tell him when enough is enough.

If words could warm on their own, the Doctor's would have made the room light up. As it is, he shivers, hitching his hips against him before he raises up and cups the Doctor's face. "And how do you intend on doing so, hm?"

"Less talking, more of this," he murmurs, by way of explanation, as his own hips raise to move against Thomas' slowly, slowly enough to be stopped if he moves too fast, though he can easily be encouraged to move faster.

If his own skin were completely bare, he might have to stop himself, or pause more frequently, but for now between their movements and the fire, it's not too much, even with Thomas holding his face. But it's the perfect opportunity to lean in and kiss him again, to linger as long as he dares.

Thomas has often dreamed of this moment. The most intrusive sort of dream, actually, where he wakes up and finds the bed cold beside him with the greatest disappointment. But he has him now, and pulls away after the kiss, sliding his hands down his shoulders as he raises up to meet the rocking of his hips.

"Is that something you're capable of?" he murmurs, leaning down to brush a kiss along his mouth, then his jaw and neck. "Less talking?"

"I feel like you're teasing me now," he's quick to laugh, a bit breathless, and getting warmer even with Thomas kissing him as he is. He's finding it an interesting combination, actually, the cold of his skin, the fire, and the warmth naturally building with the Doctor's own arousal.

"And you absolutely should." Apparently he's not quite capable of less talking, but he can multitask easily. There is something so important to him about touching every part of Thomas that he can, letting his hands caress up and down his back. He keeps flashing back to his words, that he has him, that he loves him, and this all won't suddenly be lost to him a moment from now. It just makes him move faster, but with no less intent and focus.

"Most of the words I say to you are intended to tease you," he mutters, his heart hammering in his chest as he thinks about what they could do, where they could go. But he does have a question - a forward question that's been drilling in the back of his brain.

"But you are - " He pulls back, resting his hands on the Doctor's chest again. "You are - I know you aren't human, but - "

He doesn't know where the uncertainty is coming from, but it feels - silly. Strange and new.

He should be able to quickly fill in the blank, but it does take him a moment to catch up, his own thoughts filled with wanting so much now, more than he'd thought possible ever again. And with Thomas.

"I'm — well, if you're asking what I think you're asking, I'm not human but I feel what you feel. I want what you want, at least, I want what I think you want," he fumbles a little. "And I can be with you." He takes Thomas' hands, moving them lightly, just to position them over his dual heartbeats. "The only really obvious difference between us is that I have two hearts. But much of the rest is...the same."

Thank god, because he did not want to explain that any more than he already did. Thomas is already lingering here on a knife's edge, wanting to push for more and wanting to pull away before it gets too much, too fast.

He feels those two hearts, the way they thrum in his chest, and he leans forward to kiss him. Thomas makes his choice right then, rocking his hips against him as he sits up and tangles his fingers in his hair.

They are most assuredly thrumming faster now, his body feeling flush in a way he hadn't anticipated. It's all so new, yet not. It's been so long and he never thought he'd experience this again, feel this again, love again. His own thoughts consider for a moment if he should stop them and slow down, but it's like a switch turning on and he can't stop it now. He doesn't want to.

He almost doesn't want to move too much to risk disrupting anything, particularly as the friction builds between them, but he reaches down now for him, breathlessly asking, "Can I..." He wants to touch him, feel him. His own pleasure, at least for the moment, is secondary.

"Yes," he answers immediately, not even letting him finish the sentence. "In fact, I insist."

Thomas has never been the shirking violet. He's not shy and he's not timid. He's been quite the opposite in the past, but he doesn't feel the need to take all the control here because the Doctor doesn't demand anything from him. Ever.

What keeps the Doctor from holding back what he wants, from talking himself out of it for any idiotic reason again, is knowing Thomas wants it, too. Not only wants it, insists on it, which thrills him more than he knew was possible. He should say that, maybe; for all he talks, these are the things he doesn't say aloud, hasn't thought to say aloud, isn't used to saying to anyone at all. This is new, and he wants this with Thomas more than anything. "You should," he finally says, with a brief smile before he leans in closer, shifting his hips carefully and hooking a leg loosely around him. "Insist, that is. More often."

His hands move quickly now, undoing Thomas' trousers. And with one arm secure around his hip, he uses his other hand quickly to trail along bare skin, beneath every layer of clothing separating them until he finds exactly what he wants, and his hand wraps securely around him. There are no sudden movements, not yet. Some might rush this, but not him, not with this man he loves and wants to adore in every way. For now, he only moves the pad of his thumb across the tip of him before wrapping his full hand around him and gently touching the length, all while he lands kisses to his neck.

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