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

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.

There is no force in the world that would make Thomas pull back at this point. He stays there on his knees, leaning into him, his entire body made for the Doctor now. He would do anything for him, and this, making him feel that good, is only the start. He's said his feelings to him, he's shown him now.

He moans deeply, gripping his trousers with tight fingers, encouraging him silently to finish, to let himself go.

And let go, he does. With another sharp gasp, a tight grip on Thomas' arm, his other hand clutching at the fabric of the sofa, and a moan of Thomas' name as he fully loses himself. There is no other thought, there's only this, only them. He breathes unevenly, starting to settle a bit now, feeling weightless almost. And so incredibly good, and in love.

God. Yes. They'd said that, hadn't they?

He loves him, he's in love with this man, and they've done this, and he only wants more of everything, every moment that could possibly await them here.

"Well," he laughs a little huskily, so much affection in his voice as he reaches down to fondly weave his fingers through his hair. "You're incredible, Thomas Jopson. I didn't know — that was...that was very." He should finish the sentence. "I've never experienced that before and you absolutely know what you're doing."

Of course he talks too much. Enough that Thomas can't help a small chuckle to himself as he sits back, quite impressed with himself. It really doesn't ever get any more difficult, he tells himself with a grin.

He brushes his hand past his mouth and joins him on the couch again, stretching his legs out as far as they can go. He does enjoy being on his knees, but it takes a toll.

"I thought the tea would work," he remarks softly, looking down to his hands. He's suddenly shy, suddenly a little unsure.

"Far more than the tea worked." He smiles a little playfully, a little fondly, as he settles from the disruptive euphoria of it all. Delightfully disruptive, really. When he can think to move, he tidies himself up, sorting his trousers, smoothing a hand over his sweater and his hair.

He doesn't entirely pick up that Thomas is a little unsure, though he is himself a little unsure of what to say or do next, so he leans into the absurd and cheeky response. "Is this all because you were very impressed by how well I stirred that pot earlier? Had I known, I might have offered sooner," he teases like a besotted idiot who's extremely clumsy when he even just attempts to flirt. He reaches out, though, resting a hand on Thomas' knee.

For a moment, Thomas simply stares at him, and then he starts to laugh, nudging him gently with his arm before leaning on him completely.

"Yes, it was the pot stirring, sir. Truly, you were a wonder at it. If I had known it was so simple to find your talents, I would have tried that earlier. You would have been stirring pots at least a month ago."

Or before that.

Thomas has been wanting this for a while.

"Well, I just had to warm up for it, you know, takes a bit of effort," he smirks a little, more than willing to poke fun at himself for this. Or it takes quite a lot of effort with him, he knows. Technically, it's taken many years and then more months of knowing Thomas to get him to this night, this moment where he could actually speak to his feelings out loud.

"I'll have to really impress you with trying my hand at a sort of...close approximation to bolognese or the like. Loads of stirring there."

He smirks, then sits up and pulls him into a kiss, deliberately not worried about the cold of his skin any longer.

"Loads?" he mutters. "More than this? I don't know if that is a good idea for you."

"You suggest otherwise?" He raises a playful eyebrow, quick to kiss him back. Though realistically, of course, Thomas is right. It doesn't mean he can't be a little stubborn and teasing about it.

"Oh never, sir," he grins. "But I do suggest it. For your own good."

It's mostly nonsense teasing now. "But for now, we should clean the kitchen."

He smiles a little, playful, and moving on to the focus at hand. "Then might I suggest something for your own good?" His tone is light, soft. Not quite teasing because he's serious, but he'll not force Thomas one way or another, of course.

He pats Thomas' knee lightly, then stands slowly; finding his footing after that takes a moment. "We should not clean the kitchen, but I absolutely should. A two person job is easily a one person job if that one person is me." He also just — wants Thomas to have a moment to rest. He's done a lot in the kitchen, and he's done a lot...well. He's done a lot tonight.

He looks up to him in disbelief. "But I - I cannot simply sit here."

What's he supposed to do? There's a little static in his brain as he tries to figure out some way to be sneakily productive.

"Simply as an adverb can imply that an action, or inaction in this case, is the sole purpose in a particular moment. When actually, you simply sitting here and talking to me while I keep busy is multipurpose and very important."

A pep in his step, he does a little spin around to guide himself towards the kitchen, smiling over his shoulder.

"Talk to me, please. About anything. Uh — how about...alright, we're short on books around here. I wish we had loads more. A shelf full of some of your favorites! Which would be..." He trails off, while he starts to tidy up, though still listens intently, for whatever might be said in response.

"My favorites? I don't have time for books!" he laughs. "I read what's available to me. I enjoy stories of adventures, but that may be because I only have access to the journals of the explorers who came before me." He leans back on the couch, stretching his legs, listening to the Doctor putter in the kitchen.

"I have read Voltaire. I enjoyed it. Do you know it?"

"Yes!" He pops his head around the corner, leveling a bright grin at him for a moment before he disappears again. He's read, of course, many beyond Earth, but he loves the works of so many humans.

"Lovely chap. I'm fond of Charles Dickens, Shakespeare...Agatha Christie!" There's some light clacking and banging that quickly stops before he continues. "I can think of loads of adventure stories you'd love, too."

Thomas resists the urge to stand up and wander over to see what he's doing in the kitchen. If he's messing with his pots and pans.

Dammit.

He closes his eyes instead, grinning. "Agatha Christie?" he wonders, calling out to him.

"She wrote loads of mystery novels!" He calls back. "Intrigue, investigations, detectives on the case. Whodunits, essentially. Quite a bit after your time."

His voice grows slightly fainter, shifting from putting things away and in their proper place to washing everything now.

"I do enjoy mysteries," he admits, lying back on the couch and closing his eyes comfortably. "But I don't know about reading them. Are they difficult to follow? Do they seem real?"

"They're meant to be...well, a bit winding, you might say. Steering you in one direction, seemingly, but then there's more clues and you go another way and there's details to recollect, a puzzle to work out. Close...ish to real, sort of, or rather — things that could happen." He pauses and there's a steady stream of water for a minute while he rinses.

"They're fun! Trying to work out who did it."

"Ah, there is your love of riddles, sir," he calls out to him, standing slowly to join him in the kitchen. "I am not here to clean!" he assures him, his hands up. "Merely for a pot of water to boil. For my knees."

After all, his knees have been given quite a workout.

He does stop short of chiding him when Thomas quickly explains his presence, and with wet hands, the Doctor turns to look over his shoulder and he winces a bit, lightly smacks his own forehead with the palm of his hand.

"Of course you need that! I know you need that. But I didn't get that — lovely, well done, Doctor." He quickly dries his hands, moving to rest them briefly on Thomas' shoulders, though he stops there at least. "You're not tending yourself."

Thomas looks up to him and then takes one of the Doctor's hands to kiss his fingers. "You can't think of everything all the time. You're helping with the kitchen," he mutters. "That is - more than enough."

"That's the point of this, though," he taps the side of his head with his free hand. He knows he's said similar before, more or less, and he remembers what Thomas said then. But, old habits. He squeezes his hand, though, and gestures to the sofa.

"Will you at least go back and lie down?"

"Oh yes, sir, I would be happy to," he says with a breathless whisper of a laugh, kissing the Doctor's hand before he moves back to the couch.

He does not lie down. He sits. Defiantly.

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

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor

Re: Preparation; Closed for the Doctor