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

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."

Thomas flushes from the aftermath and the compliment, and he can't really say anything until he's back to himself, his heart beat slowing to something that doesn't feel like it's going to break a rib.

"Wait here," he tells him softly. "Don't move."

He pulls out of his lap, adjusts himself accordingly and hurries, with a little wobble on jelly legs, to the kitchen.

"Turnabout," he murmurs under his breath with the slightest, shortest bark of a laugh, when Thomas leaves the room. It amuses him for a moment to consider he's usually the one more likely to leave the room in a hurry, particularly after such intimacy. He's so curious and wants to follow him, but he's also not entirely sure he's capable of movement just yet. He was issued a directive and he takes it seriously — his curiosity about what waiting and not moving will bring overrides the need to follow after him, but only just.

But he does call out to him with a teasing lilt — "And why can't I move, exactly?"

Thomas comes back with a mug, steam forming at the top. "Because I want to ensure that you enjoy this without thinking of the cold."

He takes a drink of it, letting it burn his tongue slightly, then leans in to kiss him deeply, his lips no longer cold, his mouth warm from the drink.

Whatever he'd been about to say in response is muffled the moment Thomas kisses him. Really, it would have been nonsensical fluff anyway, and words are less important right now. Thomas does have a way of quite perfectly redirecting his priorities. So, there's only a soft hmph against his lips before he's responding to the kiss, parting his lips a little, enjoying this moment for as long as it can linger. He'd shifted a bit on the sofa when Thomas moved away, leaning forward with his legs tucked beneath him, and now he leans forward even more, chasing his lips eagerly with his.

Thomas pulls back and takes another drink, keeping the cup in his hand, before he's back to kissing him, free hand trailing down the front of his shirt to his trousers, unbuttoning them with deft fingers.

"Clever," he manages to say at last, a bit delayed, the word husky and brief on his tongue. He can only think of the heat of Thomas' lips, and that growing heat in himself again. He hasn't been touched quite like this before, and it's such a shift for him to consider letting it go further, but he wants this, he wants him.

These sorts of thoughts so rarely cross his mind, it's not a need for him the way it is for many humans. Yet, everything continues to change with Thomas, and it will be very obvious when he unbuttons his trousers that the Doctor is relieved to be free of the tight fabric around him now.

He pulls back and settles onto his knees in front of him. "I have thought about this for a while," he admits, finishing the drink and setting it aside. The hand that had been wrapped around the cup coaxes him out of his trousers, then he takes him into his mouth.

It's been a while since Thomas has done this, but there are skills that he will never forget. This is one of those skills.

His thoughts tumble about loosely in his head with seemingly no coherency, the moment he feels his mouth on him.

This is —

This —

God, this feels—

His lips part and he gasps, and it's only then he realizes he hasn't actually been saying any of that out loud, those were only thoughts in his head, though his flushed skin, his soft noises, and the tight gripping of the fabric of the sofa might perhaps fill in where evidently words have left him. This, this is entirely new, and he had no idea it could feel like this at all. It's incredible, and one hand comes out for a moment just to grip at the back of Thomas' head, while he manages to gasp his name at last, "Thomas, Thomas..."

His name is so sweet on his lips, and Thomas moans deep in his throat, running his tongue along the underside. His heart is hammering still in his chest and he takes him deeply, finding his rhythm.

There's nothing but static in his mind, nothing but the feeling of being filled, of enjoying him and listening to him enjoy himself.

He can't say anything, obviously, but he closes his eyes, hands on the Doctor's knees.

That Thomas had thought about this far before this moment finally clicks with him and just adds to the pleasure of this, the importance of this moment for him. To the Doctor, it's finally letting go of so much, all the time he's spent completely walled off to feeling the depths of emotion he's truly capable of feeling. Here and now, with Thomas, it's incredible.

Thomas is beautiful to him in every way, and even as the pleasure builds and he stiffens, he tries to keep touching him as much as he can. He keeps his hips nearly still, with only the slightest trembling as his nerves alight with pleasure. His only movement is the trail of his fingers through Thomas' hair, down his cheek, to his shoulders. He's learning as he goes, what feels good, and this absolutely does. He's sensitive, as it turns out, and he knows he won't last long.

"That's, uh..." He laughs breathlessly, biting his lip. "That's very, very good..." Eloquent!

That breaks his concentration and he laughs to himself. It throws off his rhythm a little, but he gets back to it, cheeks hollowed out as he pulls back, still trying not to laugh.

He just - loves this man so goddamn much. He curls his tongue around the tip, teasing and sucking him down again, learning him as best he can. What makes him squirm, what makes him gasp, what makes him talk and - what makes him not talk? It's Thomas' favorite game.

It's a curious thing for the Doctor, the euphoria of pleasure engulfing him at the same time there's simply a persistent hum of emptiness in his mind, as though all of his thoughts, all of his endless wondering about everything has simply gone quiet; this seems to be a running theme, though, when he's with his Thomas. The power this man has over him is really quite something, and he's taken it up so many notches so suddenly. Never would he have ever thought it could feel like this, or that anyone would want to do this, or more to the point, that he would want and welcome this.

The moment his tongue is on him like that, the Doctor gasps again, louder this time as it takes him by surprise in the most pleasant of ways. He watches Thomas as long as he can until the intensity of pleasure building makes his head tip back a little, his eyes close, his cheeks flush ever so slightly. "That — that's...yes," he moans, biting his lower lip again, reaching out to anchor to Thomas again, with a hand grabbing at his arm, fingertips digging in just a bit. "Thomas, I'm..."

Almost there. Evidently, he can't manage to really talk coherently or finish sentences. He feels he should warn him, though, when he's right there on the edge, when he knows he can't hold on any longer. "— almost." Right there, nearly gone.

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