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

"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.

He reaches down to wrap his fingers around his wrist, guiding him gently in the way that he wants, rocking forward into him. "Christ," he murmurs, his other hand cupping the back of the Doctor's head, fingers toying with the short hairs there.

He hasn't had this in so long that he can't even remember what it's like. Surely it wasn't this way before. Surely he didn't immediately feel a flush of warmth that made him want to kiss him.

Everything on him is cold, even now, but he finds he doesn't care as he leans forward to kiss him firmly.

It's not only been so very long for the Doctor as well, he hasn't wanted for this, thought of this. He just doesn't; every time he's come close, he couldn't, and he pushed aside those feelings. For one reason or another, or it was wrenched away from him. But all that he feels now is want for him, not only to feel him, but a reaffirmation of how very much he wants to take care of him, spoil him, love him.

It's impossible to ignore the cold of Thomas' body, but it's not enough at all to make him pull away. Nothing could right now. "I didn't know how much I wanted this," he confesses, a little breathless as he pulls back from the kiss for a moment before kissing him again, moving his hand slowly along the length of him, his thumb across the tip of him. He wants more than even this, though, but — for now, for now, he simply wants to feel him in his hand. His other hand moves across the bare skin of Thomas' back, up and down his spine, while the movement of his hand against Thomas' cock quickens, though he trusts Thomas will guide him again if this isn't what he wants. He likes being shown, guided, he likes knowing exactly what he wants.

Once upon a time, Thomas would have been forceful. He would have told him, in no uncertain terms, what he wanted and how. There were plenty of times he had nothing but a quick romp in an alley, covering his partner's mouth with his hand to keep them from being noticed. He had loved moments like that, or so he thought. Because that, he decided, would be all he could ever have.

But this is extraordinary, and the normally restrained Thomas lets him know it. His grip on his wrist is loose as the Doctor's touch is perfect, and he pulls back from the kiss, breathing out a moan.

"I did," he confesses in a breathless whisper. "I - hoped, at least."

"And you were very, very right to hope." It's not that the feelings hadn't been there, they had, but — years of loss and fear and bundling up deep emotions into neat little boxes and tucking them away...old habits. But here they are, and he finds himself very eager to continue kissing every part of Thomas' skin within easy reach, even if their lips aren't meeting.

"Now all I want to do is hear you, and feel you." He moves his other hand again, running his fingers through Thomas' hair with a little tug, while his other hand moves with something like reverence and desire all at once, along the length of him. "This feels good?" He needs to be sure, even if he trusts Thomas would guide him otherwise, if it's too much or not enough.

"I would - mm - tell you otherwise." Thomas is always so put together, always so eloquent when he needs to be, but this is not one of those moments. Each movement is drawing him closer and closer to his edge, but he wants to draw this moment out as long as he can.

"Don't stop," he begs him, rocking into him, changing the pace, wanting something more desperate. Faster.

It is possibly not the most romantic of thoughts to have, but the Doctor is the Doctor, and so while he's equally captivated by the sight of Thomas growing ever more aroused, and while he's absolutely enamored of the way it feels to have him in hand like this and to know every tingle of pleasure he feels is a direct result of his own touch, the Doctor also can't help but think about the way his own body responds, and the mechanism behind it. He feels so much pleasure just from this already and as that builds, he's growing warmer, more flushed; increased blood flow, hearts pumping faster, he thinks, his mind turning it over in utter fascination.

Having this now, it's unlocked this selfishness for more, so much more, to spoil him utterly in every way.

"Oh, not ever," he's quick to promise, now with his lips close to Thomas' ear, kissing the skin there, then down his neck again, ever more heated while he silently responds to the faster rocking of Thomas' hips, tightening his hold on him and moving his hand at a quicker pace to match. He hasn't stopped the movement of his hips, rocking a bit slower, though, more focused on the man he loves at the moment.

Thomas' jaw clenches and he so very much wants to kiss him, but he can't. He rests his forehead against the Doctor's shoulder, breath coming in shallow pants as he builds. He's warm, warm in a way that he doesn't feel anymore, warm from the inside as he's sure his heart is going to be right through his chest.

He's unaware that he's saying anything else, but soft words spill out anyway, begging him to keep going, to not stop, and then he's right there at the edge and there's no going back because the man that he loves, who loves him in return smells like woodsmoke and home, and Thomas lets himself fall right over that edge. He rocks into him with a few final erratic, desperate movements, pressing kisses along his neck and face.

He feels his own hearts beating faster still, even more now as Thomas lets go while he has his hand around him. There are so few pleasures that compare to this, to holding close the emotion of what they've confessed to each other, while this man he loves, this man who is...his, somehow, and miraculously, this man is lost to the pleasure from his touch and all this time he'd forgotten how this could feel. He hardly wants to move at all, and his other arm has in the meantime tightened around Thomas' waist to keep him close.

"You are beautiful to me, Thomas Jopson," he repeats huskily, pressing his face up close to his neck to breathe him in, to kiss, with such intensity still behind every touch of his lips, lingering and intent. "Every part of you."

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Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor